With Battery, shall record: from each low view, PRECEPTS OF CONJUGAL HAPPI- FRIEND, sister, partner of that gentle heart And Time puts on the yellow robe of Joy; Where sweetContentment smiles on Virtue's way; May each fair pleasure court thy favour'd breast, So Friendship vows, nor shall her vows be vain; By Nature form'd, by genius taught to please, In some sad hour, by transient grief opprest, Still to the distant prospect stretch your eye, Pass the dim cloud,and view the brightening sky, On Hope's kind wing, more genial climes survey, Let Fancy join, but Reason guide your way; For Fancy, still to tender woes inclin'd May sooth the heart, but misdirects the mind. The source of half our anguish, halfour tears, Is the wrong conduct of our hopes and fears; Like ill-train'd children,still their treatment such, Betrays those succours Reason lends the heart. Yet these, submitted to fair Truth's coutroul, These tyrants are the servants of the soul; Through vales of peace the dove-like Hope shall stray And bear at eve her olive branch away, ́ Love, like the flower that courts the Sun's Will flourish only in the smiles of day; If heart-felt quiet, thoughts unmix'd with pain, While Peace weaves flowers o'er Hymen's golden chain, If tranquil days, if hours of smiling ease, The sense of pleasure, and the power to please, trembling height, Falls to the temperate measures of delight; True tender love one even tenour keeps; 'Tis reason's flame,and burns when passion sleeps, The fairer plains of Carron spread; The charm connubial, like a stream that glides [ And far for him their fruitful store O bliss beyond what lonely life can know, Long, beauteous friend, to you may Heaven im- OWEN OF CARRÓN. There is something romantic in the story of the following poem; but the author has his reasons for believing that there is something likewise authentic. On the simple circumstances of the ancient narrative, from which he first borrowed his idea, those reasons are principally founded; and they are supported by others, with which, in a work of this kind, to trouble his readers would be superfluous. This poem is inscribed to a lady, whose elegant taste, whose amiable sensibility, and whose unaffected friendship, have long contributed to the pleasure and happiness of THE AUTHOR. On Carron's side the primrose pale, That purple grows the primrose pale; From each fair eye in Marlivale. The evening star sate in his eye, The Sun his golden tresses gave, Tho' nobly born, is Owen laid, Yet still, when May with fragrant feet Far echoed from each evening fold. 'William the Lion, king of Scotland. An only daughter crown'd his bed. To Ellen's charms, were earth and stone, The Frenchman gay, the Spaniard grave, And many an English baron brave, No foreign loves her breast beguile, Paid with a cold, but courteous smile. Thy voice, the music of the shade! Alone to thy soft tale would yield! The conflict of a ruder field." And cast a rueful glance behind, With aught that fear or fate suggest. Of clouds that wander'd west away, Her fairy robe of night and day; And the wave slept against the shore, Left his last smile on Lemmermore 3; There is some kind and courtly sprite That o'er the realm of Faucy reigns, 2 The lady Ellen, only daughter of John earl of Moray, betrothed to the earl of Nithisdale, and afterwards to the earl Barnard, was esteemed one of the finest women in Europe, insomuch that she had several suitors and admirers from foreign courts. * A chain of mountains running through Scotland from east to west. *Tis told, and I believe the tale, At this soft hour that sprite was there, And spread with fairer flowers the vale, And fill'd with sweeter sounds the air. Darts on the unsuspecting sight); Or yielded here their shining stores. That loves to weave the lover's bower. The ash, that courts the mountain-air, In all her painted blooms array'd, The wilding's blossom blushing fair, Coinbin'd to form the flowery shade. With thyme that loves the brown hill's breast, The cowslip's sweet reclining head, The violet of sky-woven vest, Was all the fairy ground bespread. But who is he, whose locks so fair Adown his manly shoulders flow? Beside him lies the hunter's spear, Beside him sleeps the warrior's bow. He bends to Ellen-(gentle sprite, Thy sweet seductive arts forbear)— He courts her arms with fond delight, And instant vanishes in air. Hast thou not found at early dawn Some soft ideas melt away, If o'er sweet vale, or flowery lawn, The sprite of dreams hath bid thee stray? Hast thou not some fair object seen, And, when the fleeting form was past, And felt the fond idea last? Seen in some vision counted vain, And brought the long-lost dream again. With warrior-bow, with hunter's spear, With locks adown his shoulders spread, Young Nithisdale is ranging near He's ranging near yon mountain's head. To Carron's banks his fate consign'd; Sweet Ellen took her wonted way, Oh!-who is he whose ringlets fair (Ah me! that sprites can fate control!) From Earth to breathe elysian air, To find its future fate restore The object of its former flame: So Ellen stood-less power to move Had he, who, bound in Slumber's chain, Seem'd hap'ly o'er his hills to rove, And wind his woodland chase again. She stood, but trembled-mingled fear, And fond delight, and melting love, Seiz'd all her soul-she came not near, She came not near that fated grove. She strives to fly-from wizzard's wand As well might powerless captive flyThe new-cropt flower falls from her handAh! fall not with that flower to die! Hast thou not seen some azure gleam Smile in the Morning's orient eye, And skirt the reddening cloud's soft beam, What time the Sun was hasting nigh? Thou hast and thou canst fancy well As any Muse that meets thine ear, The soul-set eye of Nithisdale, When, wak'd, it fix'd on Ellen near. Silent they gaz'd-that silence broke; "Hail goddess of these groves," he cry'd, "O let me wear thy gentle yoke! O let me in thy service bide! "For thee I'll climb the mountain steep, Unwearied chase the destin'd prey; For thee I'll pierce the wild-wood deep, And part the sprays that vex thy way. "For thee"-"O stranger, cease," she said, And swift away, like Daphne, flew; But Daphne's flight was not delay'd By aught that to her bosom grew. 'Twas Atalanta's golden fruit, The fond idea that confin'd Fair Ellen's steps, and bless'd his suit, Who was not far, not far behind. O Love! within those golden vales, Those genial airs where thou wast born, Thy tale, O soul-subduing Love! Ah! wherefore should grim Rage be nigh, And Jealousy's reverted eye Be near thy fair, thy favour'd place? Earl Barnard was of high degree, Had love, but not of gentle kind. He watch'd with all a miser's care; May thus with fair affection part! And, winding far where Carron flows, Sudden he sees the fated bower, And red rage on his dark brow glows. For who is he?-'Tis Nithisdale! And that fair form with arm reclin'd On his ?-Tis Ellen of the vale, 'Tis she (O powers of vengeance !) kind. Should he that vengeance swift pursue ? No-that would all his hopes destroy; Moray would vanish from his view, And rob him of a miser's joy. Unseen to Moray's halls he hies He calls his slaves, his ruffian band, And," Haste to yonder groves," he cries, "And ambush'd lie by Carron's strand. "What time ye mark from bower or glen A gentle lady take her way, To distance due, and far from ken, Allow her length of time to stray. "Then ransack straight that range of groves, With hunter's spear, and vest of green, If chance, a rosy stripling roves,— Ye well can aim your arrows keen. " And Ellen takes her homeward way: And wondering still how they could part. Ere yet his tender dreams depart; He lies beneath yon poplar pale; Left his last smile on Lemmermore; Along the fairy-featur'd vale; Bright o'er his wave does Carron play, And soon she'll meet her Nithisdale. She'll meet him soon-for at her sight Swift as the mountain deer he sped; The evening shades will sink in night,Where art thou, loitering lover, fled ? O! she will chide thy trifling stay, She's not in Moray's splendid train ; For her no balms their sweets exhale: Her limbs are on the pale turf thrown, Press'd by her lovely cheek as pale. On that fair cheek, that flowing hair, The broom its yellow leaf hath shed, And the chill mountain's early air Blows wildly o'er her beauteous head. As the soft star of orient day, When clouds involve his rosy light, Darts thro' the gloom a transient ray, And leaves the world once more to night; Returning life illumes her eye, And slow its languid orb unfoldsWhat are those bloody arrows nigh? Sure, bloody arrows she beholds! What was that form so ghastly pale, That low beneath the poplar lay?'Twas some poor youth-"ah Nithisdale !" She said, and silent sunk away. The morn is on the mountains spread, The wood-lark trills his liquid strainCan morn's sweet music rouse the dead, Give the set eye its soul again? A shepherd of that gentler mind Which Nature not profusely yields, O'er all his paly visage glides- When life, he finds, has but retir'd ;With haste he frames the lover's tomb, For his is quite, is quite expir'd! "O hide me in my humble bower," Returning late to life she said; "I'll bind thy crook with many a flower; With many a rosy wreath thy head. "Good shepherd, haste to yonder grove, And, if my love asleep is laid, Oh! wake him not; but softly more Some pillow to that gentle head. "Sure, thou wilt know him, shepherd swain, Thou know'st the sun-rise o'er the seaBut oh! no lamb in all thy train Was e'er so mild, so mild as he." "His head is on the wood-moss laid; I did not wake his slumber deepSweet sings the redbreast o'er the shadeWhy, gentle lady, would you weep?” As flowers that fade in burning day, At evening find the dew-drop dear, But fiercer feel the noon-tide ray, When soften'd by the nightly tear; Returning in the flowing tear, This lovely flower, more sweet than they, Found her fair soul, and, wandering near, The stranger, Reason, cross'd her way. Found her fair soul-Ah! so to find Was but more dreadful grief to know! Ah! sure the privilege of mind Can not be worth the wish of woe. On melancholy's silent urn A softer shade of sorrow falls, But Ellen can no more return, No more return to Moray's halls. Beneath the low and lonely shade The slow, consuming hour she'll weep, Till Nature seeks her last-left aid, In the sad, sombrous arms of Sleep. "These jewels, all unmeet for me, Shalt thou," she said, "good shepherd, take; These gems will purchase gold for thee, And these be thine for Ellen's sake. "So fail thou not, at eve and morn, The rosemary's pale bough to bring- And I her friendly roof will share. " That wears Love's sunny eye of joy- Or is it but a shepherd's boy? By Carron's side, a shepherd's boy, He binds his vale-flowers with the reed; He wears Love's sunny eye of joy, And birth he little seems to heed. But ah! no more his infant sleep Closes beneath a mother's smile, She seeks th' unspoken wish to find; Is she the friend of stern Controul ? Or fetters she the free-born soul? Thy offspring are great Nature's-free, And of her fair dominion heirs ; Each privilege she gives to thee; Know, that each privilege is theirs. They have thy feature, wear thine eye, Perhaps some 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'st not that thy Nithisdale Was low laid by his ruffian-band. And Moray, with unfather'd eyes, Fix'd on fair Lothian's fertile dale, Attends bis human sacrifice, Without the Grecian painter's veil. O married Love! thy bard shall own, Where two congenial souls unite, Thy golden chain inlaid with down, Thy lamp with Heaven's own splendour bright; But if no radiant star of love, O Hymen! smile on thy fair rite, Thy lamp a sad sepulchral light. And now has Time's slow wandering wing Borne many a year unmark'd with speed- Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed? Her best joys for her little train. Sate thoughtful oft in Eden's shade; Wild Carron's lonely woods among, He fondly fram'd this simple song : "This bracelet bright that binds my arm- |