English

Set to Music by Mr. R. A. Smith .

Though dark scowling Winter, in dismal array,
Remarshals his storms on the bleak hoary hill,
With joy we assemble to hail the great day
That gave birth to the Bard who ennobles our Isle.
Then loud to his merits the song let us raise,
Let each true Caledonian exult in his praise;
For the glory of Genius, its dearest reward,
Is the laurel entwin'd by his country's regard.
Let the Muse bring fresh honours his name to adorn,

RECITATIVE .

W HILE Gallia's chief, with cruel conquests vain,
Bids clanging trumpets rend the skies,
The widow's, orphan's, and the father's sighs,
Breathe, hissing through the guilty strain;
Mild Pity hears the harrowing tones,
Mixt with shrieks and dying groans;
While warm humanity, afar,
Weeps o'er the ravages of war,
And shudd'ring hears Ambition's servile train,
Rejoicing o'er their thousands slain.
But when the song to worth is given,

S TESICHORUS TO E RATOSTHENES

A LADY walking in the street
Her lover lately chanced to meet:
But dared not speak when he came nigh,
Nor make a sign, nor wink her eye,
Lest watchful spouse should see or hear:
And servants too were in the rear.
A plea she sought to stop his walk,
To touch his hand, to hear him talk:
A plea she sought, nor sought in vain;
A lucky scheme inspired her brain.
Just as they met, she feign'd to trip,
And sprain her ankle in the slip.
The lover, ready at his cue,

With awe my soul the wreck of Nature views,
The storm amid the echoing mountain hears;
The sighs of Autumn, mingling with my tears,
Mourn the sad ravages which time pursues.
Hear the wild roar of the tempestuous blast,
Whirling the forest leaves to distant air!
See blooming flowers in scatter'd fragments cast,
While torrents pouring thunder on the ear!
The sun's bright beam in dreary winter lost,
Not joyless is, as me, on passion's tempests tost.

My youthful charms fade 'neath my burning eyes,

SONG I.

WILD wing my notes, fierce passions urge the strain;
Strong flame the fires that kindle in my soul;
I strike the wiery harp, nor will refrain;
Mad is despair, and scorns each feeble rein,
Feelings like mine no virtue can control.
Stifled, th' inflated heart with pain respires,
My crimson veins with struggling blood are press'd,
My cheeks are flush'd with passion's transient fires;
My brain with agonies distracted flies,
Till the fierce streams burst from my burning eyes,

HYMN XII.

Whene'er one sinner turns to God,
With contrite heart and flowing eyes,
The happy news makes angels smile,
And tell their joys above the skies.

Well may the church below rejoice,
And eccho back the heavenly sound:
" This soul was dead, but now's alive;
" This sheep was lost, but now is found.

See how the willing converts trace
The path their great Redeemer trod;
And follow thro' his liquid grave,
The meek, the lowly son of God.

HYMN XI.

See in what grave our Saviour lay,
Before he shed his precious blood;
How he mark'd out the humble way
To sinners thro the mystick flood.

The sun of righteousness his beams,
Tho so divinely fair and bright,
Immers'd in Jordan's swelling streams,
Submitting to this holy rite.

O Jordan! honour'd oft before!
What greater glory would'st thou have,
Than Christ descending from thy shore,
To find in thee a liquid grave?

Thy streams retir'd on either side,

HYMN X.

I N such a grave as this
The meek Redeemer lay,
When he, our souls to seek and save,
Learn'd humbly to obey.

See how the spotless lamb
Descends into the stream!
And teaches sinners not to scorn
What him so well became.

His body sanctifies
The salutary flood,

HYMN IX.

When fam'd Bethesda's waters flow'd,
By a descending angel mov'd;
The wondrous pool a sovereign bath
For every pain and sickness prov'd.

Hither distemper'd crouds repair,
Hither the feeble, lame and blind;
The first who steps into the spring,
Leaves his disease and pains behind.

That languishing and dying souls
A nobler cure might freely meet,
The son of God came down and stirr'd
Baptismal waters with his feet.

Lord, 'tis but just we follow thee,

HYMN VIII.

The great Redeemer we adore,
Who came the lost to seek and save;
Went humbly down from Jordan's shore,
To find a tomb beneath a wave.

" Thus it becomes us to fulfil
" All righteousness, he meekly said:
Why shou'd we then to do his will,
Or be asham'd, or be afraid?

With thee into thy watry tomb,
Lord, 'tis our glory to descend;
'Tis wondrous grace that gives us room
To lie inter'd by such a friend!

But a much more tempestuous flood