LINE S, WRITTEN IN 1794, WHILE SUPERINTENDING SOME PRISONERS WHO WERE MENDING THE ROADS AT A VILLAGE NEAR ROUEN IN FRANCE. How fcowls the wind athwart yon rocky ridge, I fhelter now beneath thy low'ring form, Like yon fcath'd fhrub, as defolate and wild, I bear the fhock of dire Misfortune's blaft. On me in youth how fweetly Nature fil'd, And dazzling funfhine glow'd within my breaft: alas! I'm wretched and forlorn, Like yon poor fhrub the wind drives to and fro, With weary Care my fecret foul is torn, But now, And life to me is one fad fcene of woe. E. S. J. A SONG, WRITTEN IN FRANCE, 1794. 'Twas once I went out on a wild windy day, The fky it was lowring and bluftring away, The The fields they were cauld, and cover'd with wiet, The tewhits play'd wild, wild o'er the lee, The magpies did chatter, blawn frae their feet, And loud the ftorm rav'd, but it rav'd not at me; With fancy as wild, wild as the day. My forrows did tremble, they blufter alang, The tempeft that rang, it thrill'd through my foul, My fortune was like the sharp fleety fcoul, My hopes as forlorn as the wild tumbling wave. Yet whiles the bright fun gied a glent through the cloud, Difperfed the gloom that hung on my mind, I check'd the gay fmile-for, hark! it thuds loud, The cotter that works in yonder cauld ditch, And smile at its comforts, when day clos'd its eye. E. S. J. LINES, LINES TO G. N. L. WRITTEN WHILE SITTING ON THE SEA-SIDE NEAR HAVRE DE GRACE, THE NIGHT BEFORE ESCAPING Toss'd like the weed by the wild ridging wave, Yet fixt as the ftone, as the ftone to the grave, Tho' fixt as the weed unto the wild ftone, Wild paffions drive it to and from, And is my foul ftill fixt on thee, As the wild weed to the ftone, love, With doubts and fears fill tearing me, Yet faithful as the binding weed, In vain the wild waves angry toil, In vain the raging passions boil, E. S. J. FINIS. |