O Heav'n! when shall once more these eyes be cast On scenes where all my spring of life was pass'd; Where, oft responsive to the falling rill, Sylvia and love my artless lays would fill? While Zephyr's fragrant breeze, soft breathing, stole A pleasing sadness o'er my pensive soul: Care, and her ghastly train, were far away; } While calm, beneath the sheltering woods I lay } Mid shades, impervious to the beams of day. } Here--sad reverse!--from scenes of pleasure far, I wage with sorrow unremitting war: Oppress'd with grief, my ling'ring moments flow, Nor aught of joy, or aught of quiet, know. Far from the scenes that gave my being birth, From parents far, an outcast of the earth! In youth's warm hours, from each restriction free, Left to myself in dangerous liberty. Ah! scenes of earthly joy! ah, much-lov'd shades! Soon may my footsteps tread your vernal glades. Ah! should kind Heav'n permit me to explore Your seats of still tranquillity once more! E'en now to Fancy's visionary eye, Hope shews the flattering hour of transport nigh, Blue shines the aether, when the storm is past; And calm repose succeeds to sorrow's blast. Flourished, ye scenes of every new delight! Wave wide your branches to my raptur'd sight! While, ne'er to roam again, my wearied feet Seek the kind refuge of your calm retreat. Now pale disease shoots thro' my languid frame, And checks the zeal for wisdom and for fame. Now droops fond hope, by Disappointment cross'd; Chill'd by neglect, each sanguine wish is lost. O'er the weak mound stern Ocean's billows ride, And waft destruction in with every tide; While Mars, descending from his crimson car, Fans with fierce hands the kindling flames of war. Her gentle aid let Consolation lend; All human evils hasten to their end. The storm abates at every gust it blows; Past ills enhance the comforts of repose. He who ne'er felt the pressure of distress, Ne'er felt returning pleasure's keen excess. Time who Affliction bore on rapid wing, My panting heart to happiness may bring; I, on my native hills, may yet inhale The purer influence of the ambient gale. _Observer_, II-95, Aug. 8, 1807, Balto. [Albrecht von Haller, _Sehnsucht nach dem Vaterlande_.] Walter Scott, Esq., whose honoured name is now perfectly familiar to every lover of poetical description, has lately published a ballad which we are solicitous to preserve in this paper. The gayety of the beginning, contrasted with the solemnity of the conclusion of this terrifick ballad cannot fail to strike all who relish The Castle of Otranto, or The Romance of the Forest. FREDERICK AND ALICE.