And that the virtues he possess’d May in thy bosom glow, She does indulgent heav’n request, Who mitigates her wo. May he, on whom her hope relies, Protect thy lovely form, While sudden blasts impetuous rise In life’s tempestuous storm. For thee, be calm the rolling flood, Be still the blust’ring wave: May’st thou be bless’d with every good A mother’s heart can crave. ON A GENTLEMAN’S PROPOSING TO TRAVEL 300 MILES _TO SEE J----. H----. Esq.’s CHILD_. Is it true! does Alonzo from London propose A visit to Scotia’s bleak plain, Ere the beams of bright Sol have dispersed our snows, Or the warblers enliven’d their strain? Does the city prove irksome, insipid the ball, Nor the theatre claim a delay? Is it friendship or int’rest that ushers the call, Which he seems in such haste to obey? I ask’d, and in whispers, by Fame I was told, That his heart was by int’rest unmov’d, That the ties of pure friendship were stronger than gold, And it’s exquisite charms he had prov’d. But ah! he is gone, whose reception so kind, Would have fully compensate his toil! Can the sight of a babe give solace to his mind, Or reward the fatigue by a smile? Let the trifling vain clamours of stoics be mute, While friendship directeth the scales: Let them wonder, but never attempt to dispute, While self o’er their feelings prevails. In vain let them guess what Alonzo must know, Since friendship each action inspires; His presence will tend to alleviate wo, That done, it is all he desires. _VERSES_ WRITTEN ON A FOREIGNER’S VISITING THE GRAVE OF A SWISS GENTLEMAN, BURIED AMONG THE DESCENDENTS OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE, GUARDIAN OF SCOTLAND IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY. Our regal seat to Edward fallen a prey, Our Chief’s insulted corse his victim lay; Our ruin’d land no monument could raise; Yet grateful bards still sung his heart-felt praise. Long ages hence her hero still she’ll mourn; Still her brave sons with emulation burn. His spirit guarding still our native place, Proclaims this mandate to his latest race: “Let sacred truth bid living fame be thine; “Ne’er trust for honour to a sculptur’d shrine. “Those modest merits marbles ne’er impart, “Love writes them deepest on the human heart.” Thus mid thy race did their lov’d Henry dwell, Whose dust shall mix thy memory with Tell[3]: Truth, honour, spirit, animate that form, Which beauty, grace, and symmetry adorn. Here that rich blossom dropp’d, scarce fairly blown; The friend, the husband, father we bemoan! Wail by the grave a mother’s cheerless throes, And share a widow’s agonizing woes! Dear youth, thy name to latest time descends, Where gentle virtues made mankind thy friends. From no vain marble need you borrow fame; Truth, love and friendship, here embalm thy name. A parent’s silver hairs bestrew thy shrine; Her griefs were mortal, but her joys sublime: In tears we mourn the body laid to rest; She hails thy spotless soul ’mid angels blest.