Sent when the star that rules your fates Hath reach'd its influence most benign— When every heart congratulates, And none more cordially than mine. So speed my song-mark'd with the crest Who won the Lady of the West, The daughter of Macaillain Mor. Crest of my sires! whose blood it seal'd Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield Degenerate thoughts or faithless words! Yet little might 1 prize the stone, If it but typed the feudal tree From whence, a scatter'd leaf, I'm blown In Fortune's mutability. * A Norman leader, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung. No!-but it tells me of a heart, Allied by friendship's living tie; A prize beyond the herald's art Our soul-sprung consanguinity! KATH'RINE! to many an hour of mine Light wings and sunshine you have lent; And so adieu, and still be thine The all-in-all of life-Content! GILDEROY. THE last, the fatal hour is come, I hear the dead note of the drum, The bell has toll'd: it shakes my The trumpet speaks thy name; And must my Gilderoy depart To bear a death of shame ? No bosom trembles for thy doom; The gallows' foot is all thy tomb, The sledge is all thy bier. heart; Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then So soon, so sad to part, When first in Roslin's lovely glen You triumph'd o'er my heart? Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen, Your hunter garb was trim; And graceful was the ribbon green That bound your manly limb! Ah! little thought I to deplore Those limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon the scaffold floor, The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combined He could not injure you! A long adieu! but where shall fly Thy widow all forlorn, When every mean and cruel eye Regards my woe with scorn? Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears, And hate thine orphan boy; Alas! his infant beauty wears The form of Gilderoy. Then will I seek the dreary mound And weep and linger on the ground, |