TO MY NAMESAKE AND NEPHEW. 247 And when I oped mine eyes on day, Behold, my cares were there! And all the fancied fairy things Like friends delusive fled, Nor flutter'd longer on their wings So come, my loved, my infant boy! Estranged to life's dismay. Alas! that childhood should expire Sweet time of sinless bliss! Alas! that aught should quench the fire LINES WRITTEN EXTEMPORANEOUSLY ON THE BEAUTIFUL SCENERY OF INVERARY-SO GENEROUSLY LEFT OPEN TO ALL TRAVELLERS BY HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ARGYLE. RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE MISSES M'CLEAN. ON Donaquaich's high-towering head, In transport wrapt I lay, Musing upon each hill and glade, Below me flowed the famed Lochfyne, While lovely Inverary shone, Like spirit white-robed and alone, The ducal palace of Argyle, With grey enduring towers, Glen-shera oped its beauteous vale, And with a hill between, Glen-Era's songsters skimm'd the dale, Among the foliage green. While far on high Ben-Cruachan rear'd And dread Glen-Croe all dark appear'd, Rose golden in the light of day, And round each base came gushing on Which drink the mountain rills! O such an endless world of rocks, And man's most noble effort mocks ; For God hath made the whole. Here let the Atheist learn to pray ; Then, chang'd in heart, wend on his way! THE DAYS O' YOUTH! DEDICATED, WITH SINCERE AFFECTION, TO MY MOTHER. O WAE's me! wae's me for the time, When I was young an' gay! When heart an' hopes were baith in prime— The world a summer day! When carelessly I wander'd glad, By hill, an' wood, an' glen :— O wae's my heart! its grown sae sad;— Sae wae an' worn since then! Its sweet to think o' early days, When warld's cares caused nae alarm. O wae's me on the change! How sea-like seem'd each wimpling stream; How high each hill appeared; Though time has clothed them a' in dream, Yet are they mair endear'd! The valleys then were doubly green; The flowers were doubly fair: The hawthorn tree-the forest queen! Embalm'd the passing air. The merry birds sang shrill an' sweet, Upon the leafy spray, An' tenderly did lambkins bleat, On ilka heathery brae! The verra breeze that santer'd by How alter'd are their voices now; As once they were tae me, |