Where'er thy morning breath has play'd,
Whatever Isles of ocean fann'd,

Come to my blossom-woven shade,
Thou wandering wind of fairy land!

For sure from some enchanted Isle,

Where Heav'n and love their sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile, Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould;

From some green Eden of the deep,
Where pleasure's sigh alone is heav'd,
Where tears of rapture lovers weep,
Endear'd, undoubting, undeceiv'd;

From some sweet Paradise afar,
Thy music wanders, distant, lost;
Where nature lights her leading star,
And love is never, never cross'd.

Oh! gentle gale of Eden bowers,
If back thy rosy feet should roam,
To revel with the cloudless hours,

In nature's more propitious home

CAROLINE.

PART II.

GEM

of the crimson-coloured even,

Companion of retiring day,

Why at the closing gates of heaven,
Beloved star, dost thou delay?

So fair thy pensile beauty burns,
When soft the tear of twilight flows,
So due thy plighted step returns,
To chambers brighter than the rose;

To peace, to pleasure, and to love
So kind a star thou seem'st to be,

Sure some enamour'd orb above

Descends and burns to meet with thee.

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour, When all unheavenly passions fly ; Chased by the soul-subduing power Of love's delicious witchery,

H

Oh! sacred to the fall of day,
Queen of propitious stars, appear !
And early rise, and long delay,
When Caroline herself is here.

Shine on her chosen green resort,

Where trees the sunward summit crown; And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them down.

Shine on her sweetly-scented road,
Thou star of evening's purple dome!
That lead'st the nightingale abroad,
And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.

Shine, where my charmer's sweeter breath
Embalms thy soft exhaling dew;

Where dying winds a sigh bequeath
To kiss her cheek of rosy hue.

Where, winnow'd by the gentle air,
Her silken tresses darkly flow,

And fall upon her brows so fair,
Like shadows on the mountain snow.

Thus, ever thus, at day's decline
In converse sweet to wander far,
Oh! bring with thee my Caroline,
And thou shalt be my ruling star!

ODE

TO THE

MEMORY OF BURNS.

SOUL of the Poet! wheresoe'er

Reclaim'd from earth thy genius plume
Her wings of immortality;

Suspend thy harp in happler sphere,
And with thine influence illume
The gladness of our jubilee.

And fly like fiends from secret spell,
Discord and strife, at Burns's name,
Exorcis'd by his memory;

For he was chief of bards that swell
The heart with songs of social flame,
And high delicious revelry.

And Love's own strain to him was givin
To warble all its extacies,

With Pythian words unsought, unwill'd,

Love the surviving gift of Heaven,

The choicest sweet of Paradise

Who that has melted o'er his lay
To Mary's soul in Heav'n above,
But pictur'd sees in fancy strong,
The landscape and the livelong day
That smil'd upon their mutual love,-
Who that has felt forgets the song?

Nor skill'd one flame alone to fan-
His country's high-soul'd peasantry
What patriot-pride he taught !-how much
To weigh the inborn worth of man!
And rustic life and poverty

Grow beautiful beneath his touch.

Him in his clay-built cot the muse
Entranc'd and shew'd him all the forms
Of fairy-light and wizard gloom,
(That only gifted Poet views.)
The Genii of the floods and storms,
And martial shades from glory's tomb.

On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse
The Swain whom Burns's song inspires
Beat not his Caledonian veins,

As o'er the heroic turf he ploughs,
With all the spirit of his sires,

And all their scorn of death and chains?

* Burns was born in Clay-cottage, which his father had

built with his own hands.