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By Carron's fide a shepherd's boy,
He binds his vale-flowers with the reed; He wears love's sunny eye of joy,
And birth he little seems to heed.
But ah! no more his infant sleep
Closes beneath a mother's smile, Who, only when it clos'd would weep,
And yield to tender woe the while.
No more, with fond attention dear,
She seeks th' unspoken wish to find; No more shall she, with pleasure's tear,
See the soul waxing into mind.
Does nature bear a tyrant's Breaft?
Is she the friend of stern controul ? Wears she the despot's purple veft ;
Or fetters she the free born soul?
Where, worst of tyrants, is thy claim,
In chains thy children's brealts to bind ? Gav'd thou the promethean flame?
The incommunicable mind ?
Thy offspring are great Nature's, --free,
And of her fair dominion heirs ; Each privilege the gives to thee;
Know, that each privilege is theirs.
They have thy feature, wear thine eye,
Perhaps fome feelings of thy heart; And wilt thou their lov'd hearts deny
To act their fair, their proper part?
The Lord of Lothian's fertile vale,
Ill fated Ellen claims thy hand : Thou know'st not that thy Nithisdale
Was low laid by his ruffian-band.
And Moray with unfather'd eyes,
Fix'd on fair Lothian's fertile dale, Attends his human facrifice,
Without the Grecian painter's veil.
O married love! thy bard shall own,
Where two congenial souls unite, Thy golden chains inlaid with down,
Thy lamps with heaven's own splendor bright.
But if no radiant star of love
Ohymen ! smile on thy fair rite,
Thy lamp a fad fepulchral light.
And now has time's slow-wandering wing
Borne many a year unmark'd with speedWhere is the boy by Carron's spring,
Who bound his vale-flowers with thc reed ?
Ah me! those flowers he binds no more ;
No early charm returns again ; The parent, nature keeps in store
Her best joys for her little train.
No longer heed the sun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can, Reason has lent Her quivering light,
And shewn the checquer'd field of man.
As the first human heir of earth
With penfive eye himself survey'd, And, all unconscious of his birth,
Sate thoughtful oft in Eden's shade.
In pensive thought so Owen stray'd
Wild Carron's lonely woods among, And once, within their greenett Glade,
He fondly fram'd this simple fong:
Why is this crook adorn'd with gold?
A filken veft like mine so
green, In shepherd's hut I have not seen Why thould I in such vefture joy, If I am but a Mepherd's boy?
I know it is no shepherd's art
This bracelet bright that binds my arni
And, O thou filent picture fair,
Ah lovely youth! thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong ; See'it'thou yon nightirgale a prey:
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his song? His little heart is large with love :
He sweetly hails his evening star, And Fate's more pointed arrows move,
Insidious from his eye afar.
The shepherdefs, whose kindly care
Had watch'd o'er Owen’s infant breath, Must now their filent manfions share,
Whom time leads calmly down to death.
• O tell me parent if thou art,
What is this lovely picture dear? Why wounds its mournful eye, my heart,
Why flows from mine th' unbidden tear
"Ah! youth! to leave thee loth am I,
Tho' I be not thy parent dear ; "And woud'ft thou with, or ere I die,
• The story of thy birth to hear ?
• But it will make thee much bewail, • And it will make thy fair eye
fwellShe said, and told the woesome tale,
As footh as shepherdess might tell.
The heart, that sorrow doom'd to share,
Has worn the frequent seal of woe, Its sad impreflions learns to bear,
And finds full oft, its ruin Now.
But when that seal is first imprest,
heart its pain shall try, For the soft, yielding, trembling breaft,
Oft seems the startled soul to fly.
Yet fled not Owen's—wild amaze
In paleness cloath'd, and lifted hands, And horror's dread, unmeaning gaze, Mark the
poor ftatue, as it Itands.
The fimple guardian of his life
Look'd wistful for the tear to glide, But when she saw his tearless strife,
Silent, she lent him one, and died.
• No, I am not a shepherd's boy,'
Awaking from his dream, he said, .Ah where is now the promised joy
• Of this?--for ever, ever fled!
• O picture dear i for her lov'd fake
· How fondly could my heart bewail ! • My friendly shepherdess, O wake,
6 And tell me more of this sad tale,
• O tell me more of this sad tale
• No; thou enjoy thy gentle sleep! . And I will go to Lothian's vale,
· And more than all her waters veep.'
Owen to Lothian's vale is filed
Earl Barnard's lofty towers appear-"O! art thou there,' the full heart said,
· 0! art thou there, my parent dear?'