To a Lady.

Once to your little town I came,
And wandering as my fancy led,
I met in you the fairest dame
That rough Dunbar had ever bred.

You shew me in your father's hall,
Two skilful paintings rare and old—
Our beauteous Queen admired of all,
And Scotia's son, Belhaven bold.

And now whene'er I try to trace
These famous people of the past,
I seem to gaze upon your face,
As in that room I saw you last.

For what are ablest pictures worth—
Though each may be an artist's pride—
page 19 When youth and health in pensive mirth
Stand sweetly blooming at one's side.

You know, dear Lady, that to some,
Even in this later grovelling time,
Whene'er a better thought will come,
It yearns to struggle into rhyme.

Then let us both a lesson take,
From those who lived in times of strife;
And out of each occasion make
Some firm resolve for after life.

I still shall walk, howe'er belied
The path that bold Belhaven trod,
And serve through life, whate'er betide,
My country always next my God.

And you, I'm sure, well warned by one,
That was not half so fair as you,
Will cleave to right, all evil shun,
And evermore be kind and true.

So shall we in that distant spot,
Where neither cares nor sorrows stay.
Enjoy our happy blessed lot,
In endless everlasting day.