ORIGINAL POETRY.

TO THE

NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS.

BY THE LATE SIR GREY COOPER, BART,

The idea of the subject is taken from an Alcaic Fragment, written by Mr. Gray, and preserved in the Memoirs of his Life and Writings, of which Mr, Mason says, that " no Poet of the Augustan age produced four more perfect lines, or which would sooner impose upon the best critic, as being a "genuine ancient composition."

66

66

Vide MEMOIRS, p. 33.

Oh Lachrymarum Fons! tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore, Te pia Nympha! sensit

HAIL, pious Nymph! whose guardian power
The holy Spring of Tears protects,

And each soft drop, and tender shower,
From the mysterious source directs;

Not tears, that on th' approach of death
Down the pale cheeks of tyrants roll,
When Conscience to the latest breath,
up the mirror to the soul:

Holds

Nor such as moisten the dark cells
Where, whilst the slaves the rack
The stern Inquisitor compels
Even godlike virtue to despair.

These bitter waters of distress

prepare

Arise from other springs than thine, Springs which infernal gnomes possess,

Dread ministers of wrath divine.

Heaven gives to thee the sacred part
Of watching the pure streams, that flow
From the soft motions of the heart,
That learns to feel another's woe;

To raise the head by care depress'd,
With gentle, delicate relief,
To pour into the wounded breast,
The balm of sympathetic grief:

Such soothing offices engage

Thy Sylphs, the messengers of grace,

Sent by thy order to assuage

The sorrows of the human race.

To thee belong the gushing rills

Of sudden joy, and glad surprise, The rapt soul's transport, that distils Glistening in th' expressive eyes.

Let me, thy suppliant, take my part
In all thy pleasures, all thy pain;
And ne'er, tho' exquisite the smart,
Of sensibility complain:

Oft let me leave the busy scene,
Devotion at thy shrine to pay;
Oft taste with thee the calm serene
Evening of a well-spent day:

And in thy grotto's hallow'd shade
Gaze at the children of the world,
In Vanity's light barks convey'd,
With every glittering sail unfurl'd:

Smile at the Great, for what they choose
In each fond wish, and fickle mood,
And pity them for what they lose,—
The power divine of doing good.

View the mild glory round the Throne,
Love with obedience command:
For other's rights maintain its own,
And rule to bless a grateful land.-

To cheer me in the vale of years

Still, pensive Nymph! thy grace impart,
Still let thy spring of tender tears
Enlarge and purify my heart;

For with those social feelings flow
The best affections of the mind,

The warmth of friendship, and the glow
Of charity to all mankind.

THE FLOWER o' ANNAN *.

A BALLAD.

BY HECTOR MACNEILL, ESQ.

#6 THE flower it blaws!-it fades!-it fa's!
And lies unmarkt by ony!

Nae tolling bell sounds its death knell!
And sae lies my luve Johnnie!

"Nae flower that blaws in shelter'd shaws,

Nae rose that decks the valley,

E'er match'd that face, where manly grace,
Blent wi' the rose and lily!

"Nae flower sae rare, sae sweet, sae fair,
On Liffey's banks or Shannon,
E'er lent perfume, or shed a bloom,
Like the sweet rose o' ANNAN!

"He came we met; unwarn'd by fate,

Soon flew Luve's swiftest arrow! Alas the while! Luve lent the smile To close the scene in sorrow!

"The morn that's fair, grieves aye the mair, (The witless mind believing)

Whan mid-day pours its storms and showers
To prove the fause deceiving!

* Annandale in the shire of Dumfries,

"War's trumpet blew! my hero flew!
But leil to Luve and Honor,

Wi' parting aith, swore endless faith
To Luve and NANSY CONNOR!

"A rival came, (accurs'd the name!)
I fled the banks o' Shannon;

I fled frae power, and sought the flower,
The sheltering pride o' Annan!

"Where Kirtle's * braes wi' flow'ring slaes,
And hawthorns bloom sae bonie!
There fair to view! it blossom'd true,
The sweetest flower o' ony!
"Kirkonnel's vale soon heard the tale,
The tale o' Truth and Honor!
Kirkonnel's vale now hears the wail
O' Death and Nansy Connor!

"Wha strack the knell when beauty fell!
Wha met the fae o' Shannon ?
In deadly strife wha lost his life!
Wha but the pride o' Annan!

"By Kirtle's flood he drapt in blood!
In Kirtle's stream he's lying!

In Kirtle's bed! his heart's blood red
The chrystal waves deep dying!

"The flower it blaws!-it fades!-it fa's!
And lies unmarkt by ony!

Nae tolling bell sounds its death knell!
And sae lies my luv'd Johnnie!

One of the tributary streams of the river Annan,