See! the wide wasting ruin extends all around, 5
Our ancestors’ dwellings lie sunk on the ground,
Our foes ride in triumph throughout our domains,
And our mightiest heroes lie stretched on the plains.

Ah! dead is the harp which was wont to give pleasure,
Ah! sunk is our sweet country’s rapturous measure, 10
But the war note is waked, and the clangour of spears,
The dread yell of Sloghan yet sounds in our ears.

Ah! where are the heroes! triumphant in death,
Convulsed they recline on the blood sprinkled heath,
Or the yelling ghosts ride on the blast that sweeps by, 15
And ‘my countrymen! vengeance!’ incessantly cry.

OCTOBER, 1809.

11.  SONG.

Fierce roars the midnight storm
O’er the wild mountain,
Dark clouds the night deform,
Swift rolls the fountain—­

See! o’er yon rocky height, 5
Dim mists are flying—­
See by the moon’s pale light,
Poor Laura’s dying!

Shame and remorse shall howl,
By her false pillow—­ 10
Fiercer than storms that roll,
O’er the white billow;

No hand her eyes to close,
When life is flying,
But she will find repose, 15
For Laura’s dying!

Then will I seek my love,
Then will I cheer her,
Then my esteem will prove,
When no friend is near her. 20

On her grave I will lie,
When life is parted,
On her grave I will die,
For the false hearted.

DECEMBER, 1809.

12.  SONG.

TO [HARRIET].

Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain,
And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze,
And sweet is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain,
’Neath the verdant arcades of yon shadowy trees.

But sweeter than all was thy tone of affection, 5
Which scarce seemed to break on the stillness of eve,
Though the time it is past!—­yet the dear recollection,
For aye in the heart of thy [Percy] must live.

Yet he hears thy dear voice in the summer winds sighing,
Mild accents of happiness lisp in his ear, 10
When the hope-winged moments athwart him are flying,
And he thinks of the friend to his bosom so dear.—­

And thou dearest friend in his bosom for ever
Must reign unalloyed by the fast rolling year,
He loves thee, and dearest one never, Oh! never 15
Canst thou cease to be loved by a heart so sincere.

AUGUST, 1810.

NOTE: 
11 hope-winged]hoped-winged 1810.

13.  SONG.

TO —­ [HARRIET].