FINAL FRAGMENT.

TO AURA.

The stars their midnight radiance pour,
The clock hath told the drowsy hour
When fays and sprites may roam secure,
In paths unblest—

While Fancy hovers o'er the bower

Where thou dost rest.

A thousand thoughts upon me throng,
Wild impulses and feelings strong,
That all to thee and love belong-

Strange dreams of old;

Oh! would that I in fitting song

Could them unfold.

Would that the harp of BURNS were mine,

Or BYRON's-only not divine

That so my heart might breathe to thine

Its pleasing pains;

And that I might thy name entwine

In deathless strains.

O were but mine one hour the meed
To wake my friend GILFILLAN's reed,
Or those sweet tones that now do plead
In realms above,

The dear old Ettrick Shepherd's creed-
Lost Bard of Love!

Then dearest, truest, brightest, best!
In fitting verse should be confest,
The charms that long my soul have blest :
Wild wish and vain!

In homelier garb, sincere, be drest

My humble strain.

And yet with scorn thou wilt not view,
Though feeble be its notes and few,
A Harp whose tones all vibrate true
To Love and Thee;

And if not wild, nor bold, nor new,
Are clear and free.

I hear the clanging anchor chain,
I hear the crew's wild cheery strain,
I mark the vessel to the main

In silence glide—

And were my feelings not of pain,

They'd be of pride.

For, oh! most glorious is the sight
To mark that gallant vessel's flight,
And yet full many a heart to-night
Was agony.

Ere that fair bark, with all her freight,
Sought the wide sea.

Farewell! farewell! oh! word of dread, That links the living with the deadMutter'd to those that round the bed

Of Death do move,

Spoken when all of hope is fled,

From hearts that love.

Farewell! that word was utter'd most By those, whom, unforseen, we've lost, When partings, seeming brief, have past, That word-Farewell! Hath proved by fell Misfortune crost, Love's latest knell.

In the poor man's deserted shed,
Or where a monarch's dying head,
Mid courtier crowds on down is laid-

On well-fought field,

Where patriots in gory bed

Their last breath yield.

Farewell's the word that's latest spoken, Brief sound that oft hath souls awoken From deadly sleep ;-Love's latest token, Most potent spell,

And source of many a heart that's brokenFarewell!-farewell!

Come back, my wandering muse, and say, Why when my soul beneath the sway

Of gentle Love desired to stay,

That thou did'st please

To bear me from soft thoughts away

To themes like these?

"Oh! could I hear the anchor weigh'd,
Nor think of many a parting made,
And when my vagrant Fancy stray'd
To where thy Love,

Far, far from thee in southern glade
Doth softly move?

"Could I despise the tender smart
I knew was trembling in thy heart,
Or could it fail to wake my art

That thou wast far

From her, thy true affection's chart,
Thy guiding Star?"

Thus pleads my Muse: nor wilt thou chide,
My beautiful!-my promised Bride !
Whilst thus, long sever'd from thy side,
O thought of pain!

That gloomy feelings thus should glide
Into my strain.

Where'er I am, in glee or gloom,
Where the wild roses sweetly bloom;
Or where old Ocean's billows boom

Upon the shore

Rushing as tho' Earth had not room
For their wild roar :

Or when in morning sweet and clear,
The waters of the deep appear
To mingle with the atmosphere-
The rocks below,

And clouds above, so thin and sere,

Do seem to show :

Or when in evening soft and mild,

Nought save the cliffs are grim and wild;
And at their feet, like placid child,

The waters sleep,

Gleaming as tho' in dreams they smiled,

Smooth, still, and deep.