Cold as yon mountain snow
Donald thy love lies low,
He sent me to sooth thy woe,
Weeping in Mora.

"Well fought our gallant slain On Saratoga's plain :

Thrice fled the hostile train

From British glory.

But, oh! tho' our foes did flee,

Sad was each victory;

Youth, Love, and Loyalty,

Fell far from Mora!

"Here, take this love-wrought plaid, (Donald, expiring, said),

Give it to yon dear maid

Drooping in sorrow :

Tell her, oh, Allan! tell,
Donald thus bravely fell,
And that in his last farewell

He thought on his Flora."

Mute stood the trembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair;
Then, striking her bosom bare,

Sigh'd out poor Flora-
"Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day!"
Was all the fond heart could say ;
At length the sound died away
Feebly in Mora.

TO SIGH, YET FEEL NO PAIN.

MRS FERRIER.

To sigh, yet feel no pain,

To weep, yet know not why,

To sport an hour with beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by ;

To bend the knee at every shrine,

Yet lay the heart at none;
To think all other charms divine
But those we just have won—
This is love-faithless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove!

To keep one sacred flame

Through life unchang'd, unmov'd;
To love in wintry age the same
That we in youth have lov'd;

To feel that we adore

With such refin'd excess,

That though the heart would burst with more,

It could not do with less

This is love-constant love,

Such as saints might feel above!

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

POPE.

FATHER of all! in every age,

In every clime ador'd,

By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou great First Cause, least understood,

Who all my sense confin'd

To know but this, that thou art good,

And that myself am blind;

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding Nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.

What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,

This teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.

What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;

For God is paid when man receives-
To enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round:

Let not this weak, unknowing hand,
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land,
On each I judge thy foe.

If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay:

If I am wrong, O teach my heart
To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent

At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.

Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.

Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath,
O lead me, wheresoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.

This day, be bread and peace my lot;
All else beneath the sun

Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.

To Thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all being raise !
All Nature's incense rise !

A TALE OF LOVE.

COLERIDGE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed Knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve !
She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story-
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
For well she knew, I could not chuse
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he woo'd
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pin'd; and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace,