By Carron's fide a fhepherd's boy,
He binds his vale-flowers with the reed;
He wears love's funny eye of joy,
And birth he little feems to heed.
But ah! no more his infant fleep
Clofes beneath a mother's fmile,
Who, only when it clos'd would weep,
And yield to tender woe the while.
No more, with fond attention dear,
She feeks th' unfpoken wish to find;
No more shall she, with pleasure's tear,
See the foul waxing into mind.
Does nature bear a tyrant's Breast ?
Is fhe the friend of ftern controul?
Wears the the defpot's purple veft;
Or fetters fhe the free born foul?
Where, worst of tyrants, is thy claim,
In chains thy children's breasts to bind?
Gav' 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'ft not that thy Nithifdale
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 fhall own,
Where two congenial fouls unite,
Thy golden chains inlaid with down,
Thy lamps with heaven's own fplendor bright.
But if no radiant ftar of love
Ohymen! fmile on thy fair rite,
Thy chain a wretched weight fhall prove,
Thy lamp a fad fepulchral light.
And now has time's flow-wandering wing Borne many a year unmark'd with fpeedWhere is the boy by Carron's fpring,
Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed?
Ah me! thofe flowers he binds no more;
No early charm returns again;
The parent, nature keeps in ftore
Her beft joys for her little train.
No longer heed the fun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can,
Reafon has lent Her quivering light,
And fhewn the checquer'd field of man.
As the firft human heir of earth
With penfive eye himfelf furvey'd,
And, all unconfcious of his, birth,
Sate thoughtful oft in Eden's fhade.
In penfive thought fo Owen stray'd Wild Carron's lonely woods among, And once, within their greeneft Glade, He fondly fram'd this fimple fong:
Why is this crook adorn'd with gold?
Why am I tales of ladies told?
Why does no labour me employ,
If I am but a fhepherd's boy?
A filken veft like mine fo
green,
In fhepherd's hut I have not feen-
Why should I in such vefture joy,
If I am but a fhepherd's boy?
I know it is no shepherd's art
His written meaning to impart
They teach me, fure, an idle toy,
If I am but fhepherd's boy?
This bracelet bright that binds my arm-
It could not come from fhepherd's farm ;
It only would that arm annoy,
If I were but a shepherd's boy.
And, O thou filent picture fair,
That lov't to fmile upon me there,
O fay, and fill my heart with joy,
That I am not a shepherd's boy.
Ah lovely youth! thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong;
See'ft thou yon nightingale a prey;
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his fong?
His little heart is large with love:
He fweetly hails his evening ftar,
And Fate's more pointed arrows move,
Infidious from his eye afar.
The fhepherdefs, whofe kindly care
Had watch'd o'er Owen's infant breath,
Muft now their filent manfions fhare,
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 ftory of thy birth to hear?
'But it will make thee much bewail,
And it will make thy fair eye fwell-'
She faid, and told the woefome tale,
As footh as fhepherdefs might tell.
The heart, that forrow doom'd to share,
Has worn the frequent feal of woe,
Its fad impreffions learns to bear,
And finds full oft, its ruin flow.
But when that feal is firft impreft,
When the young heart its pain fhall try,
For the foft, yielding, trembling breaft,
Oft feems the ftartled foul to fly.
Yet fled not Owen's-wild amaze
In palenefs 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 the faw his tearless ftrife,
Silent, fhe lent him one,—and died.
No, I am not a fhepherd's boy,'
Awaking from his dream, he faid,
Ah where is now the promised joy
Of this?-for ever, ever fled!
O picture dear for her lov'd fake
How fondly could my heart bewa.l!
My friendly fhepherdefs, O wake,
And tell me more of this fad tale.
O tell me more of this fad tale-
No; thou enjoy thy gentle fleep!
And I will go to Lothian's vale,
And more than all her waters weep.'
Owen to Lothian's vale is fled-
Earl Barnard's lofty towers appear
'O! art thou there,' the full heart faid,
O! art thou there, my parent dear?'
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