Could make ev'n Fancy's visions fade
Like stars before the sun?

I gazed, and felt upon my lips
Th' unfinish'd accents hang:
One moment's bliss, one burning kiss,
To rapture changed each pang.

And though as swift as lightning's flash
Those tranced moments flew,
Not all the waves of time shall wash
Their memory from my view.

But duly shall my raptured song,
And gladly shall my eyes,
Still bless this day's return, as long
As thou shalt see it rise.

LINES

ON RECEIVING A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL CREST,
FROM K. M, BEFORE HER MARRIAGE.

THIS wax returns not back more fair
Th' impression of the gift you send,
Than stamp'd upon my thoughts I bear
The image of your worth, my friend!-

We are not friends of yesterday;-
But poets' fancies are a little
Disposed to heat and cool (they say)
By turns impressible and brittle.

Well! should its frailty e'er condemn
My heart to prize or please you less
Your type is still the sealing gem,
And mine the waxen brittleness.

What transcripts of my weal and woe
This little signet yet may lock,-
What utt'rances to friend or foe,

In reason's calm or passion's shock.

What scenes of life's yet curtain'd page
May own its confidential die,
Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page
And feelings of futurity!--

Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift
To date th' epistolary sheet,
The blest occasion of the gift

Shall make its recollection sweet:

Sent when the star that rules your fates
Hath reach'd its influence most benign-
When every heart congratulates,

And none more cordially than mine.

So speed my song-mark'd with the crest
That erst th' advent 'rous Norman* wore
Who won the Lady of the West,

The daughter of Macaillain Mor.

*A Norman leader, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung.

Crest of my sires! whose blood it seal'd
With glory in the strife of swords,
Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield
Degenerate thoughts or faithless words!

Yet little might I prize the stone,
If it but typed the feudal tree
From whence, a scatter'd leaf, I'm blown
In Fortune's mutability.

No!-but it tells me of a heart,

Allied by friendship's living tie; A prize beyond the herald's artOur soul-sprung consanguinity!

Kath'rine! to many an hour of mine

Light wings and sunshine you have lent,

And so adieu, and still be thine
The all-in-all of life-Content!

GILDEROY.

THE last, the fatal hour is come,
That bears my love from me:
I hear the dead note of the drum,
I mark the gallows' tree!

The bell has toll'd: it shakes my heart;
The trumpet speaks thy name;
And must my Gilderoy depart
To bear a death of shame?

No bosom trembles for thy doom;
No mourner wipes a tear;

The gallows' foot is all thy tomb,
The sledge is all thy bier.

Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then
So soon, so sad to part,

When first in Roslin's lovely glen
You triumph'd o'er my heart?

Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen,
Your hunter garb was trim;
And graceful was the riband green
That bound your manly limb!

Ah! little thought I to deplore
Those limbs in fetters bound;
Or hear, upon the scaffold floor,
The midnight hammer sound.

Ye cruel, cruel, that combined
The guiltless to pursue;
My Gilderoy was ever kind,
He could not injure you!

A long adieu! but where shall fly
Thy widow all forlorn,

When every mean and cruel eye
Regards my woe with scorn?

Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears,
And hate thine orphan boy;

Alas! his infant beauty wears

The form of Gilderoy.

Then will I seek the dreary mound
That wraps thy mouldering clay,
And weep and linger on the ground,
And sigh my heart away.

ADELGITHA.

THE ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded,
And sad pale Adelgitha came,

When forth a valiant champion bounded,
And slew the slanderer of her fame.

She wept, deliver'd from her danger;
But when he knelt to claim her glove-
"Seek not," she cried, "oh! gallant stranger,
For hapless Adelgitha's love.

"For he is in a foreign far land

Whose arm should now have set me free; And I must wear the willow garland

For him that's dead, or false to me."

"Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!"— He raised his vizor-At the sight

She fell into his arms and fainted;
It was indeed her own true knight!

ABSENCE.

"Tis not the loss of love's assurance,
It is not doubting what thou art,
But 'tis the too, too long endurance
Of absence, that afflicts my heart.

The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish,
When each is lonely doom'd to weep,
Are fruits on desert isles that perish,
Or riches buried in the deep.