Энн Грант (Anne Grant)

An Epistle to a Friend

THOUGH long by fate's austere decree remov'd
From scenes still pleasing, and from friends still lov'd,
I see low shelter'd in my humble shed
The stormy gloom invest the mountain's head,
Shake solid rocks, with snows eternal crown'd,
Or bid a hundred torrents dash around;
Inur'd by habit, and a length of time,
To look well pleas'd on Nature's dread sublime;
Though smiling comfort warms her in my cot,
Still pilgrim fancy seeks my native spot;
The fond attachments of my early youth,
Blest season of ingenuous warmth and truth;
Affections void of interest or of art,
Still twist their silken ties around my heart;
Nor shall that heart forego those tender ties
Till death's long slumber close my weary eyes.
Still fancy hovering on unwearied wing,
On Cart's green banks sees native flow'rets spring;
Or from the hazel copse the blackbird hears,
Whose mellow notes his brooding consort cheers;
Or hears the hollow'd rock resound the din,
Where Cart descends on WILLY WILKIE'S linn;
Or stops where WILLY WILKIE wont to rave,
When in his lowly dwelling in the cave,
Imperious death, deaf to his pray'rs and vows,
Laid his cold hands on WILLY WILKIE'S spouse;
While WILLY , wild with frantic sorrow, swore,
Ne'er to review his habitation more;
But through the world with pilgrim steps to rove,
And like a turtle mourn his parted love!
While TOM and I with gaping sorrow stood,
And with compassion's tears increas'd the flood!
Yet ere the moon had three times fill'd her horn,
The sun shone bright on WILLY'S bridal morn!
Dear recollection! trace those early days,
Ere known the toils of life's perplexing maze,
When friendship led to Bogtown's tranquil grove,
Where every milder virtue wont to rove;
Where Innocence and Joy together play'd,
Like sister cherubs in the peaceful shade:
There meek simplicity, with artless mien,
Loose-robed in snowy vestments walk'd the green;
There sportive humour, Nature's harmless Child,
With stingless mirth the languid hours beguil'd;
And soft humanity, and worth sincere,
With glowing heart and melting eyes were there;
Thou too wert there, my kind, my guardian friend,
In whose pure mind those kindred graces blend,
Though early sorrow, like an envious shade,
Obscur'd thy spirit, and thy bloom decay'd:
Yet stern affliction, with more soften'd grace,
And stronger meaning mark'd thy pensive face,
And taught each speaking feature how to move
The secret springs of pity and of love.
Thus wet with Morning's tears the dewy rose,
With head declin'd, in modest beauty glows:
Admiring thus we view some flow'ret bloom,
That sheds its fragrance o'er the silent tomb:
Pleas'd I retrac'd lov'd Bogtown's opening glades,
Oh! that my Muse could consecrate these shades!
Blest be their memory, who in happier days
"Oft made them vocal with their Maker's praise;"
From the strong heavings of his ardent breast,
By zeal and tender sorrow half suppress'd,
Oft have I heard thy pious father's prayer
The meltings of his fervent soul declare;
Oft seen his eyes with grateful transports shine,
Fir'd by the blest records of love divine,
When the mild lustre of their azure beams
Was quench'd by sacred Pity's silent streams,
Benignant Sanctity appear'd to view
In fairer form than RAPHAEL ever drew.
His was the placid brow, the vivid smile
That spoke the open heart, devoid of guile:
The worthy partner of his blameless life,
In tender union, void of anxious strife,
Saw years elapse amidst a duteous race,
Who strove their parent's spotless paths to trace,
And still those years, that stole away their youth,
Increas'd their store of tenderness and truth.--
May blessings crown, and memory mark the day
That saw them now retrace their pleasing way,
Where tottering tow'rs o'erlook the cultur'd plain,
To Bogtown's venerable haunts again!
Well-pleas'd my CHARLOTTE told the welcome tale,
Well-pleas'd I heard it in my distant vale--
Methought I saw the Genius of the place,
Array'd in rustic robes with decent grace,
Smiling through tears, his aged arms extend
To bless and welcome every well-known Friend;
The pleasing scene while glowing fancy drew,
Reviving images rush'd thick to view--
The mouldering castle lifts its ivy'd brow,
Reflected in the wandering Cart below;
Near its gray walls, again, methinks I see,
Clipp'd into formal shape, that ancient tree
Whence royal MARY , with affrighted eye,
Beheld her banners drop, her forces fly,
And headlong fled to hide her fatal charms
In a false, treacherous rival's cruel arms!
Fair Forms, in virtue's paths that early trode,
Who sleep long since beneath the grassy sod,
The strong creative power restores to view
In youth's first prime, with beauty ever new,--
And AGNES , whose large heart has never known
One wish that center'd in herself alone:--
MAXWELL , with open mind, from art as free
As the sweet smiles of guiltless infancy--
And MARY MAXWELL , who amid these bowers
Oft tended with delight her opening flowers;
And oft with me in tuneless concert sung
Till through the shades discordant echoes rung.
Nor yet are JOHN MACUTCHEON'S psalms forgot,
That filled with sacred melody his cot;
And faithful memory still retains the names
Of ANDERSON the laird, and uncle JAMES;
And often pleas'd recals the uncouth phrase
Of JAMIE DICK and valiant JOHNNY STRAES,
Or at her wheel hears JENNY sing aloud,
Resolv'd to wed whene'er she spun her shroud.

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