قراءة كتاب The Hubble-Shue
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Were all my numbers flowing rills, all glittering stars my dots,
Yet could I never sing the ills of—Mary Queen of Scots!
Oh! she was bright and beautiful—her charms her birth enhance;
Descended from a hundred kings—the Dowager of France.
Yet she was born in grief, to bear the trials Heaven allots—
To which, "alas! all flesh is heir"—e'en Mary Queen of Scots!
Yes, she was bright and beautiful—unfortunate and fair;
The captive of a tyrant Queen, the victim of despair;
What youthful heart from folly's free? what star hath not its spots?
The virtues veil the faults we see in Mary Queen of Scots.
Away! away!—the breezes swell—the surging waters foam!
"Farewell! beloved France; farewell, my country, and my home!
"I'll never, never see thee more, tho' dear to all my thots:" [4]
Thus sobb'd, as sunk the fading shore, poor Mary Queen of Scots. [5]
We cannot pass over the little gem entitled
THE NIGHTINGALE.
Oh! could my sweet plaint lull to rest,
Soften one sigh—as thou dream'st,
I'd sit the whole night on thy tree,
And sing, —— —— sing, —— ——
With the thorn at my breast.
We omit innumerable beauties to insert this sweet song to the tune of "Here awa', there awa'."
Farewell my Betty, and farewell my Annie,
And farewell my Ammie, and farewell my friends.
&c.
Farewell to these plains and to innocent freedom,
Believe me, my heart was akin to these scenes.
&c.
In each cheerful moment I meant you a pleasure,
And ne'er gave offence, but it gave me more pain.
&c.
Through the lang muir I'll think of my Willie,
And through the lang muir I'll think o' him again.
Through the lang muir I'll think o' my Willie,
And through the lang muir I'll think o't again.
While the foregoing exquisite lines still ring upon the ears of the reader, the merit of the ensuing stanzas cannot be fully appreciated.
VERSES UPON A MUFF.
Altho' it may be black,
Altho' it may be grey,
Altho' it may be brown,
'Tis all the same to me.
For while it keeps my fingers warm,
I care not for its colour,
But I wish it as large as a sugar barrel,
And as soft as a down pillow.
It is delightful to mark the strong amor patriæ displayed in the following lines addressed to a young lady who was going to India:
Shall we once more then meet on Albion's coast,
Before, my dear, in India you're a toast?
There gilded pleasures wait your jet-black eyes,
And Asian youths for Scots Maria dies.
Yes! they may die—and die—and die again,
But ye's return, and wed a Scotish swain—
Or wed him there.
We shall conclude our extracts with the following magnificent effusion, the exact meaning of which kindred minds only can understand.
Sept. 13, 1786.