The stars of midnight shall be dear Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give, Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake The work was doneHow soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; And never more will be. Smith. ODE. Ormond's glory, Marlborough's arms, The British youths for thee submit to fear, Rend again the trembling sky; Great George revives to calm our fears, * George Prince of Denmark, husband to the Queen. Scott. THE LAST MINSTREL. : THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy; The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry. For, well-a-day! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest. No more on prancing palfrey borne, He carolled, light as lark at morn; No longer courted and caressed, High placed in hall, a welcome guest, He poured, to lord and lady gay, The unpremeditated lay: |