My baby to my breast I fold, But little warmth, poor boy! have he, Poor negro woman, Ulalee! CLV. CALEDONIA. Despite of every yoke she bears, That land is glory's still and theirs.-Byron On Albyn's mist-clad hills of grey The hosts of Rome, in olden day, On Albyn's steeps of strength, unfurled And in the wild breeze gayly curled The badge of proud supremacy, * We abstract this excellent piece of poetry from the Kilmarnock Mir. for, a work of taste and merit, published monthly. On Albyn's rocks the haughty tow'r Or hung in rude defying low'r, To fix a nation's slavery. Where now the hosts that sparkling gleam'd, The banner where, that gayly stream'd? And where the tower, that proudly seem'd To look to heaven in rivalry. Low sleep the mighty men of yore And where the lofty turrets rose No stone is left, the thistle grows Where stood their proud security, Land of the Brave! oh, could it be, Crouch to a servile enemy! No! she may spread her fierce control Far as the waves of ocean roll, But ne'er shall crush thy lion soul→→→ CLVI. TRUE SORROW*. Light springs the pang, light passes by, That melts itself in tears, The stricken spirit that can sigh, No mortal sorrow bears; When comes the last, true agony, The heart nor heaves, nor melts the eye. And mine has come no more I weep, No more the heart's pale slave; My sleep must be the unwaking sleep, My bed must be the grave; Thro' my wild brain no longer move, *From the Italian of Pulci. CLVII. O CHECK, MY LOVE, THE FALLING TEAR. O check, my love, the falling tear, Which dims thy bonny e'e, The world may frown, and friends prove false, But I'll be true to thee. O check, my love, the rising sigh, When far awa', that falling tear, Shall aft remember'd be, The rising sigh which swells thy heart, Shall ne'er be lost on me. Then check, my love, the falling tear, Which dims thy bonny e'e, The world may frown, and friends prove false, But I'll be true to thee. CLVIII. I WAS YOUNG, AND SHE WAS FAIR. Deep in love, yes 'tis love, Wakes the fond, the ceaseless sigh, Oh! this love will be my death, Sweetest death, of love to die! Heaven knows I little thought That from such eyes such ills could flow, But who could gaze as I have gaz'd, And not feel, as I feel now. Deep in love, &c. I was young, and she was fair, I was sad, and then she sigh'd, I grew timid, then she smiled, Sued for pity, she gave more, And thus my youthful heart beguiled, |