And thou wert aye a masquer bold :
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this alter'd size;
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of Morning,
But the tears of mournful Eve;
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old :

That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking leave:
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismiss'd,
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome-while
And tells the jest without the smile.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

1774-1843.

THE HOLLY TREE.

O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly Tree ?

The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves

Order'd by an intelligence so wise

As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen:

No grazing cattle through their prickly round
Can reach to wound;

But as they grow where nothing is to fear
Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.

I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize;

And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree
Can emblems see

Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme,
One which may profit in the after-time.

Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear
Harsh and austere,

To those who on my leisure would intrude
Reserved and rude,—

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

And should my youth, as youth is apt I know,
Some harshness show,

All vain asperities I day by day

Would wear away,

Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,

The Holly leaves their fadeless hues display
Less bright than they,

But when the bare and wintry woods we see
What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree,-

So, serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng,
So would I seem, amid the young and gay
More grave than they,

That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly Tree.

THE SCHOLAR.

My days among the Dead are pass'd
Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty Minds of Old :

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe

My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead: with them
I live in long-past years;

Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;

And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place with them will be;
And I with them shall travel on

Through all futurity:

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

1774-1810.

LOVE'S FEAR.

O sair I rue the witless wish

That gart me gang wi' you at e'en !

And sair I rue the birken bush

That screen'd us with its leaves sae green!

And though you vow'd you would be mine, The tear of grief aye dims my ee,

For O I'm fear'd that I may tine

The love that ye hae promised me

While others seek their evening sports,
I wander dowie, a' my lane :
For when I join their glad resorts

Their daffin' gie's me mickle pain.
Alas! it was na sae short syne,

When a' my nights were spent wi' glee: But O I'm fear'd that I may tine

The love that ye hae promised me.

Dear Lassie! keep thy heart aboon,
For I hae wair'd my winter's fee:
I've coft a bonnie silken gown

To be a bridal gift for thee.

And sooner shall the hills fa' down,

And mountain high shall stand the sea,

Ere I'd accept a gowden crown

To change that love I bear for thee.

MINE AIN DEAR SOMEBODY.

When gloaming treads the heels of day, And birds sit cowering on the spray, Alang the flowery hedge I stray

To meet mine ain dear Somebody.

The scented briar, the fragrant bean,
The clover bloom, the dewy green,
A' charm me as I rove at e'en

To meet mine ain dear Somebody.

Let warriors prize the hero's name!
Let mad Ambition tower for fame!
I'm happier in my lowly hame,

Obscurely bless'd wi' Somebody.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

1771-1832.

THE CLAN-GATHERING.

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu!

Pibroch of Donuil !
Wake thy wild voice anew!
Summon Clan-Conuil !
Come away! come away!
Hark to the summons !
Come in your war array,
Gentles and Commons !

Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky!
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.
Come, every hill-plaid and

True heart that wears one!
Come, every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one!

Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter!
Leave the corpse uninterr'd,
The bride at the altar!
Leave the deer! leave the steer!
Leave nets and barges !
Come with your fighting gear,
Broadswords and targes!

Come, as the winds come when

Forests are rended!

Come, as the waves come when

Navies are stranded!

Faster come! faster come!