While trembling on the falling dew
Like beauty shining through a tear.

Or, hanging o'er that mirror-stream,
To mark that image trembling there,
Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam,
To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing on the arch of night,
The moon thy timid beams outshine
As far as thine each starry light;-
Her rays can never vie with thine

Thine are the soft enchanting hours

When twilight lingers on the plain, And whispers to the closing flowers, That soon the sun will rise again.

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover's sigh,
And bids the yielding heart expand
In love's delicious ecstasy.

Fair STAR! though I be doom'd to prove

That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain,

Ah! still I feel 'tis sweet to love!

But sweeter to be lov'd again!

TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.

SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine!
What vanity has brought thee here?
How can I love to see thee shine

So bright, whom I have bought so dear?-
The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear

For twilight converse, arm in arm;

The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to charm.

By Chérical's dark wandering streams,
Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild,
Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams
Of Teviot lov'd, chill, still, and mild,
Of castled rocks stupendous pil'd

By Esk or Eden's classic wave,

Where loves of youth and friendship smil'd, Uncurs'd by thee, vile yellow slave!

Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade!
The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime,
That once so bright on fancy play'd,
Revives no more in after time.

Far from my sacred natal clime,

I haste to an untimely grave;

The daring thoughts that soar'd sublime

Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.

Slave of the mine! thy yellow light

Gleams baleful on the tomb-fire drear

A gentle vision comes by night

My lonely widow'd heart to cheer;

Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine:

Her fond heart throbs with many a fear!

I cannot bear to see thee shine.

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,
I left a heart that lov'd me true!
I cross'd the tedious ocean-wave,

To roam in climes unkind and new:
The cold wind of the stranger blew
Chill on my wither'd heart:-the grave
Dark and untimely met my view-
And all for thee, vile yellow slave!

Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock
A wanderer's banish'd heart forlorn,
Now that his frame the lightning shock
Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne?
From love, from friendship, country, torn,

To memory's fond regrets the prey,

Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! Go mix thee with thy kindred clay!

CLARE.

MARY LEE.

I HAVE traced the valleys fair
In May morning's dewy air,
My bonny Mary Lee!

Wilt thou deign the wreath to wear,
Gather'd all for thee?

They are not flowers of Pride,

For they graced the dingle-side;

Yet they grew in Heaven's smile,

My gentle Mary Lee!

Can they fear thy frowns the while, Though offered by me?

Here's the lily of the vale,

That perfumed the morning gale,

My fairy Mary Lee!

All so spotless and so pale,

Like thine own purity.
And might I make it known,
"Tis an emblem of my own
Love-if I dare so name

My esteem for thee.

Surely flowers can bear no blame,
My bonny Mary Lee!

Here's the violet's modest blue,

That 'neath hawthorns hides from view, My gentle Mary Lee,

Would show whose heart is true,

While it thinks of thee.

While they choose each lowly spot,

The sun disdains them not;
I'm as lowly too, indeed,

My charming Mary Lee;

So I've brought the flowers to plead, And win a smile from thee.

Here's a wild rose just in bud;
Spring's beauty in its hood,
My bonny Mary Lee!
'Tis the first in all the wood

I could find for thee.

Though a blush is scarcely seen,
Yet it hides its worth within,
Like my love; for I've no power,
My angel, Mary Lee,

To speak unless the flower

Can make excuse for me.

Though they deck no princely halls,
In bouquets for glittering balls,

My gentle Mary Lee!

Richer hues than painted walls

Will make them dear to thee;
For the blue and laughing sky
Spreads a grander canopy
Than all wealth's golden skill,

My charming Mary Lee!

Love would make them dearer still,

That offers them to thee.