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This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue;
Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night,
Away went Macgregor, but went not alone ;
Few minutes had pass’d, ere they spied on the stream,
Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach,
Tho' fast the red bark down the river did glide,
Macgregor ! Macgregor !" the echoes replied,
Some lone and pleasant dell,
Some valley in the west,
The weary soul may rest ?-
Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Whose billows round me play,
Some island far away,
The bliss for which he sighs,
And friendship never dies ?--
That with such holy face
Hast thou not seen some spot
May find a happier lot ? —
Tell me, my sacred soul,
Oh! tell me, Hope and Faith,
From sorrow, sin, and death?
Where mortals may be bless’d,
And weariness a rest ?-
CELADON AND AMELIA.
The tempest grows : but, as it nearer comes,
wider ; shuts and opens still,
Guilt hears appal’d, with deeply troubled thought : And yet, not always on the guilty head Descends the fated flash.—Young Celadon And his Amelia were a matchless pair; With equal virtue form’d, and equal grace, The same; distinguish'd by their sex alone : Her's the mild lustre of the blooming morn, And his the radiance of the risen day.
They lov’d; but such their guileless passion was
So pass’d their life-a clear, united stream,
Which thunders terror through the guilty heart,
SCENE FROM "THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.”
Lady R.--O la !—I am quite fatigued- -I can hardly move why don't you help me, you barbarous man?
Sir C.-There : take my arm-
-I don't love you.
Lady R.--No. Dear me! this glove! why don't you help me off with my glove! Pshaw! you awkward thing ; let it alone : you an't fit to be about me. -Reach me a chair-you have no compassion for me.
I am so glad to sit down.-Why do you drag me to routs ?You know I hate 'em.
Sir C.-Oh! there's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do.
Lady R.—But I am out of humour—I lost all my money.
Sir C.--Never fret for that~I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happiness.
Lady R.-Don't you !-Not value three hundred pounds to please me? Sir C.-You know I don't.
Lady R.-Ah! you fond fool! But I hate gaming-It almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury-Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times to-night-I had a huge oath at the very tip of my tongue.
Sir C.-Had ye?
Lady R.--I caught myself at it—and so I bit my lips; and then I was crammed
up in a corner of the room with such a strange party at a whist table, looking at black and red spots—did you mind 'em ?
Şir C. You know I was busy elsewhere.
Lady R.—There was that strange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved so strangely to her husband; a poor, inoffensive, good-natured, good sort of a good-for-nothing kind of man. But she so teazed him ; “How could you play that card ? Ah, you've a head! and so has a pin-You're a numskull, you know you are-Ma'am he has the
poorest head in the world ; he does not know what he is about—you know you don't; ah fie! I'm ashamed of you !"
Sir C.--She has served to divert you, I see.
Lady R. -And then, to crown all, there was my Lady Clackitt, who runs on with an eternal volubility of nothing, out of all season, time, and place. In the very midst of the game she begins: “Lard, ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your Ladyship- -my poor little dog, Pompey; the sweetest thing in the world! A spade led ?-there's the knave-I was fetching a walk, M'em, the other morning in the Park—a fine frosty morning it was ; I love frosty weather of all things-Let me look at the last trick-And so, M'em, little Pompeyand if your Ladyship were to see the dear creature pinched with the frost, and mincing his steps along the Mall, with his pretty little innocent faceI vow I don't know what to play ; and so, M'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey-your Ladyship knows Captain Flimsey? Nothing but rubbish in my hand ! I can't help it. And so, M'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor Pompey, the dear creature has the heart of a lion ; but who can resist five at once? And so Pompey barked for assistancethe hurt he received was upon his chest—the doctor would not advise him to venture out till the wound is healed, for fear of an inflammation. Pray, what's trumps ?"
Sir C.-My dear, you'd make a most excellent actress.
Lady R.-But, Sir Charles; how shockingly you played the last rubber, when I stood looking over you !
Sir C.--My love, I played the truth of the game.
Sir C:--Death and fury, do you think I don't know what I'm about ? I tell you once more the club was thë judgment of it.
Lady R.-May be so-have it your own way.
Sir C.-Vexation! you're the strangest woman that ever lived ; there's no conversing with you-Look'ye here, my Lady Racket—'tis the clearest case in the world, I'll make it plain in a moment.
Lady R.-Well, Sir !-ha! ha! ha!
Sir C.--I had four cards left- -a trump had led—they were sixno, no, no, they were seven, and we nine- -then you know—the beauty of the play was to
Lady R.-Well, now, 'tis amazing to me that you can't see it-Give me leave, Sir Charles—your left hand adversary had led his trump—and he had before finessed the club and roughed the diamond-now if you had put on your diamond
Sir C.-But, Madam, we played for the odd trick.