THE REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST ENHANCES HIS MISERY

When I look back upon the many years
Which in their flight my best thoughts have entomb'd,
And spent the fire, that, spite her ice, consumed,
And finish'd the repose so full of tears,
Broken the faith which Love's young dream endears,
And the two parts of all my blessing doom'd,
This low in earth, while heaven has that resumed,
And lost the guerdon of my pains and fears,
I wake, and feel me to the bitter wind
So bare, I envy the worst lot I see;
Self-terror and heart-grief on me so wait.
O Death, O Fate, O Fortune, stars unkind!
O day for ever dark and drear to me!
How have ye sunk me in this abject state!

Macgregor.

When memory turns to gaze on time gone by
(Which in its flight hath arm'd e'en thought with wings),
And to my troubled rest a period brings,
Quells, too, the flame which long could ice defy;
And when I mark Love's promise wither'd lie,
That treasure parted which my bosom wrings
(For she in heaven, her shrine to nature clings),
Whilst thus my toils' reward she doth deny;—
I then awake and feel bereaved indeed!
The darkest fate on earth seems bliss to mine—
So much I fear myself, and dread its woe!
O Fortune!—Death! O star! O fate decreed!
O bitter day! that yet must sweetly shine,
Alas! too surely thou hast laid me low!

Wollaston.