WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 71 From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise, The son of parents passed into the skies. And now, farewell!- Time, unrevoked, has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again, To have renewed the joys that once were mine Without the sin of violating thine; And while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, left. MYSTERIES OF PROVIDENCE. GOD moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines He treasures up his bright designs, Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take! Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his works in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain. WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. [1734-1788.] THE MARINER'S WIFE. AND are ye sure the news is true? Mak haste, lay by your wheel; And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Gie little Kate her button gown, And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he 's been lang awa'. There's twa fat hens upo' the coop, Been fed this month and mair; And mak our table neat and clean, For wha can tell how Colin fared Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in 't As he comes up the stair. And will I hear him speak? The cauld blasts o' the winter wind, JOHN LANGHORNE. So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, gay, And beauty immortal awakes from the On neighbor Dodson's wedding-day, tomb." JOHN LANGHORNE. [1735-1779-] THE DEAD. Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold, For many a tender thought is due. Why else the o'ergrown paths of time Why seeks he with unwearied toil, Death called aside the jocund groom And, looking grave, "You must," says he, "Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." "With you! and quit my Susan's side? What more he urged I have not heard, His reasons could not well be stronger; And left to live a little longer. Through Death's dim walks to urge his And further, to avoid all blame way, Reclaim his long-asserted spoil, And lead oblivion into day? 'Tis nature prompts, by toil or fear, Unmoved, to range through Death's domain; The tender parent loves to hear Her children's story told again! MRS. THRALE. [1740-1822.] THE THREE WARNINGS. THE tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; "T was therefore said by ancient sages, That love of life increased with years So much, that in our latter stages, Of cruelty upon my name, To give you time for preparation, And grant a kind reprieve, Well pleased the world will leave." What next the hero of our tale befell, The willing muse shall tell : Nor thought of Death as near: He passed his hours in peace. But while he viewed his wealth increase, While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. The unwelcome messenger of Fate Half killed with anger and surprise, "So soon returned!" Old Dodson cries. "So soon, d' ye call it!" Death replies; "Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest! Since I was here before "T is six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now fourscore." "So much the worse," the clown rejoined; "To spare the aged would be kind: However, see your search be legal; And your authority, is 't regal? Else you are come on a fool's errand, With but a secretary's warrant. Beside, you promised me three warnings, Which I have looked for nights and mornings; But for that loss of time and ease "I know," cries Death, "that at the I seldom am a welcome guest; "Hold," says the farmer, "not so fast! I have been lame these four years past. "And no great wonder," Death replies : "However, you still keep your eyes; And sure to see one's loves and friends For legs and arms would make amends.” "Perhaps," says Dodson, "so it might, But latterly I've lost my sight." "This is a shocking tale, 't is true; But still there's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he; and if there were, THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam the closing eyes, How gently heaves the expiring breast! So fades a summer cloud away, So sinks the gale when storins are o’er, So gently shuts the eye of day, So dies a wave along the shore. Triumphant smiles the victor brow, Fanned by some angel's purple wing;Where is, O grave! thy victory now? And where, insidious death! thy sting? Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, Where light and shade alternate dwell! WHAT ails this heart o' mine? What ails this watery ee? Thou 'lt dearer grow to me; When I gae out at e'en, Or walk at morning air, And live aneath the tree, I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied, JOHN LOGAN. [1748-1788.] TO THE CUCKOO. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! What time the daisy decks the green, Delightful visitant! with thee And hear the sound of music sweet The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, What time the pea puts on the bloom, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, No winter in thy year! O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! YARROW STREAM. THY banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream, |