To me no song so sweet, no lay so soft,
As the sweet song of her who sings in grief;
Of those that sound the lyre of poetry, is none
Whose strains can penetrate the heart like thine.
Laura inspired the melancholy troubadour
Petrarca; but thee, the Muse herself inspires:
Love sweet, though unrequited, swell'd his lyre;
The graces guide thy hand, sustain thy song.
Cease not, I pray thee then, sing on for ever;
Enwrapt I listen to thy dulcet lays
Which blunt the edge of keenest suffering:
O sing again that strain so sad and sweet,

Why shak'st my heart like waters of the lake,
Perturbed by airs too weak to move a reed?
Wilt thou be ever swelling, like to break,
With idle words that others would not heed?
Woe worth the feeling soul — ordained to feed
On sorrows day by day, while none can take
The arrows from his wounded heart, and make
It cease to palpitate, and ache, and bleed.
Oh! sensibility! I pray thee take
Thy melting pangs for ever from my heart,
And let it wax insensible as stone;
Withdraw both joy and pain, and let me wake

Wallace wight, upon a night,
Came riding oer the linn,
And he is to his leman's bower,
And tirld at the pin.

" O sleep ye, wake ye, lady?" he said,
" Ye 'll rise, lat me come in."
" O wha 's this at my bower-door,
That knocks, and knows my name?"
" My name is William Wallace,
Ye may my errand ken."

" The truth to you I will rehearse,
The secret I 'll unfold;
Into your enmies' hands this night
I fairly hae you sold."

" If that be true ye tell to me,
Do ye repent it sair?"

April is in my mistress' face,
And July in her eyes hath place,
Within her bosom is September,
But in her heart a cold December.

They say my warrior now no more
Can come again to me;
He sleeps upon a foreign shore,
Or deep beneath the sea:
But how can I believe it true?
Can I have prayed in vain
That he might fight his battles through,
And come in joy again?

My younger friends all crowd around
And smile, and sing, and say,
A little mirth will heal my wound,
And drive my grief away.
But in the ball, and at the play,
My warrior haunts me still,
I cannot drive my grief away,
I sigh against my will.

Ladies and gentlemen of Mere, once more ye
See I am come to make my bow before ye.
How are ye all! I've wandered many miles
Since last I shared your kind approving smiles.
And, having been so well received before,
I have presumed to visit you once more,
Hoping (and it is not a vain hope is it?)
That you will frequently return the visit,
And when you want a change your minds to cheer
You'll come and spend a cheerful evening here,
That is if I should be at home, for my days
For seeing company are Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays.

PHILOSOPHER

My dear old friend, where'er we meet,
How steals the happy time away;
We lose our present cares in sweet
Remembrance of some happier day.

BOTH

O what on earth can e'er beguile
The never ending toil and strife,
And heart corroding cares of life,
Like friendship's beaming smile.

PHILOSOPHER

Long have we borne each other's care,
Though held by fortune far apart;
Then let us still in common bear
The heavy burthen of the heart.

BOTH

But now we'll throw our sorrows in

The youthful flower of chivalry
Who love and fame inspire:
How high so'er his pedigree,
Contented is with low degree
Of warrior's faithful 'squire.

To manhood ris'n, a belted knight:
(His mantling blood bestirs)
" In court, or hall, (he cries) or fight,
May curses on my memory light,
If I disgrace my spurs! "

Apricot about to fade, raindrops quiet now;
filling the paths, patches of moss,
the green has stained my clothes.
The wind is strong—I cannot get the little window shut:
flower petals and my poems
go flying through the air.

Approach this court with deference
— Lest silence strike you dumb.
The stark, judicial solitude
— Appraises all who come.

Submit your spirit; do not think
— To find recourse from these
Irrevocable judgments
— Of the parliament of trees.

Approach this court with deference
Lest silence strike you dumb.
The stark, judicial solitude
Appraises all who come.

Submit your spirit; do not think
To find recourse from these
Irrevocable judgments
Of the parliament of trees.