Shone there a dawn so glorious and so gay, Round through the vast circumference of sky Lolling, in amaranthine flowers enroll'd, That they may spy the precious light of God, Flung from the blessed East o'er the fair Earth abroad. The fair Earth laughs through all her boundless range, Heaving her green hills high to greet the beam; City and village, steeple, cot, and grange, Gilt as with Nature's purest leaf-gold seem; The heaths, and upland muirs, and fallows, change Their barren brown into a ruddy gleam, And, on ten thousand dew-bent leaves and sprays, Twinkle ten thousand suns, and fling their petty rays. Up from their nests and fields of tender corn DESCRIPTION OF MAGGY LAUDER. FROM THE SAME. UPON a little dappled nag, whose mane Her form was as the Morning's blithsome star, New-wash'd, and doubly fulgent from the streams; The Chaldee shepherd eyes her light afar, Her face was as the summer cloud, whereon Mocking the morn, and witching men to gaze; Her locks, apparent tufts of wiry gold, A lover's soul hung mercilessly strangling; The tresses in their arms so slim and tangling, And thrid in sport these lover-noosing snares, And play'd at hide-and-seek amid the golden hairs. Her eye was as an honour'd palace, where A choir of lightsome Graces frisk and dance; What object drew her gaze, how mean soe'er, Got dignity and honour from the glance; Woe to the man on whom she unaware Did the dear witchery of her eye elance! 'Twas such a thrilling, killing, keen regard― May Heav'n from such a look preserve each tender bard! So on she rode in virgin majesty, Charming the thin dead air to kiss her lips, And with the light and grandeur of her eye Shaming the proud sun into dim eclipse; While, round her presence clustering far and nigh, On horseback some, with silver spurs and whips, And some afoot, with shoes of dazzling buckles, Attended knights, and lairds, and clowns with horny knuckles. Not with such crowd surrounded, nor so fair pour'd Satrap, and turban'd squire, and pursy Chaldee lord. WILLIAM AND MARGARET. MALLET. 'Twas at the silent solemn hour, Her face was like an April morn So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown : Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, But love had, like the canker-worm, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek,- Awake! she cried, thy true-love calls, Come from her midnight grave: Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refus'd to save. This is the dark and dreary hour, Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Why did you promise love to me, How could you say my face was fair, Why did you say my lip was sweet, That face, alas! no more is fair, Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear : But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence; |