Page images
PDF
EPUB

Richard Cecil.

Born 1748.

Died 1810.

AN eminent divine, born in London, and for many years one of the most eloquent preachers of the Church of England.

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT AT DAYBREAK.

"CEASE then longer to detain me,
Fondest mother, drowned in woe;
Now thy kind caresses pain me;
Morn advances,-let me go.

"See yon orient streak appearing,
Harbinger of endless day!

Hark! a voice, the darkness cheering,
Calls my new-born soul away.

"Lately launch'd, a trembling stranger,
On the wide world's boisterous flood,
Pierced with sorrows, toss'd with danger,
Gladly I return to God.

"Now my cries shall cease to grieve thee;
Now my aching heart find rest;

Kinder arms than thine receive me,
Softer pillows than thy breast.

"Weep not o'er these eyes that languish,

Upward turning to their home;
Raptured, they'll forget all anguish,
While they watch to see thee come.

"There, my mother, pleasures centre ;-
Weeping, parting, care and woe

Ne'er our Father's house can enter:-
Day is breaking,—let me go.

"As, amidst this holy dawning,
Silent glides away my breath,
To an everlasting morning,-
Gently close mine eyes in death.
"Blessing endless, richest blessing,
Pour in streams upon thy heart!
(Though no language yet possessing,)
Breathes my spirit e'er we part.

"Yet to leave thee sorrowing pains me ;—
Hark, again the voice I hear:

Now thy love no more detains me ;-
Follow me, my mother dear."

John Logan.

Born 1748.

Died 1788.

LOGAN was born at Soutra, Mid-Lothian, in 1748. His father was a small farmer, and gave him a liberal education. While at the University he wrote a number of short poems, which brought him into notice. Logan was educated for the Church, and was in 1770 ordained to the pastorate of South Leith. In 1779 he published a volume of his poems, which reached a second edition in a few months. This success induced him to write a tragedy, which, however, did not add to his reputation. Logan's parishioners, being dissatisfied with his engrossment in literary matters, clamoured for his resignation, and he ultimately retired on receiving a small annuity. He then went to London, where he obtained some literary employment, till his early death on 27th December 1788. Logan is the author of some hymns, which are adopted in nearly every collection for public worship.

THE COUNTRY IN AUTUMN.

'Tis past! no more the summer blooms!
Ascending in the rear,

Behold congenial autumn comes,
The Sabbath of the year!

What time thy holy whispers breathe,
The pensive evening shade beneath,
And twilight consecrates the floods;
While Nature strips her garment gay,
And wears the vesture of decay,

O let me wander through the sounding woods!

Ah! well-known streams!-ah! wonted groves,
Still pictured in my mind!

Oh! sacred scene of youthful loves,

Whose image lives behind!

While sad I ponder on the past,

The joys that must no longer last;

The wild-flower strown on summer's bier,

The dying music of the grove,

And the last elegies of love,

Dissolve the soul, and draw the tender tear!

Alas! misfortune's cloud unkind
May summer soon o'ercast!
And cruel fate's untimely wind

All human beauty blast!

The wrath of nature smites our bowers,
And promised fruits and cherished flowers,
The hopes of life in embryo sweeps;
Pale o'er the ruins of his prime,

And desolate before his time,

In silence sad the mourner walks and weeps!

Yet not unwelcome waves the wood
That hides me in its gloom,
While lost in melancholy mood
I muse upon the tomb.

Their chequered leaves the branches shed,
Whirling in eddies o'er my head,

They sadly sigh that winter's near;

The warning voice I hear behind

That shakes the wood without a wind,

And solemn sounds the death-bell of the year.

TO THE CUCKOO.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of Spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,

And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, the new voice of spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fliest thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No Winter in thy year!

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.

John Lowe.

ONLY known for his beautiful piece "Mary's Dream."

Born 1750.

Died 1798.

He was born in

Kenmore in Galloway, and ultimately emigrated to America.

MARY'S DREAM.

THE moon had climbed the highest hill
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tower and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
When, soft and slow, a voice was heard,
Saying, "Mary, weep no more for me!"
She from her pillow gently raised

Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With visage pale, and hollow e'e.
"O Mary dear, cold is my clay;
It lies beneath a stormy sea.
Far, far from thee I sleep in death;
So, Mary, weep no more for me!
"Three stormy nights and stormy days
We tossed upon the raging main;
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Even then, when horror chilled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee:

The storm is past, and I at rest;

So, Mary, weep no more for me!

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare;

We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more!"
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

Lady Anne Barnard.

{

Born 1750.

Died 1825.

DAUGHTER of the Earl of Balcarres, and wife of Mr Barnard, son of the Bishop of Limerick. The ballad of "Auld Robin Gray" was written by her in 1771.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come hame,
And a' the weary warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside;
To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea,
And the crown and the pound-they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day,

When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away;
My mither she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea,
And Auld Robin Gray came a-courting me.

My father couldna work-my mither couldna spin-
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,
Said, "Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?"
My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back,
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack,
His ship was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee,
Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair-my mither didna speak,
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand-my heart was in the sea-
And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

« PreviousContinue »