3
Is there a man can mark, umnov’d,
Dear woman’s tearful eye?
Oh! bear him to some distant shore,
Or solitary cell,
Where nought but savage monsters roar,
Where love ne'er deign’d to dwell.
For there’s a charm in woman’s eye,
A language in her tear,
A spell in every sacred sigh,
To man——to virtue dear.
And he who can resist her smiles,
With brutes alone should live,
Nor taste that joy which care beguiles——
That joy her virtues give.
ROSLIN CASTLE.
’Twas in that season of the year,
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sijng his rural lay.
Of Nannie’s charms the shepherd sung,
The hills and dales with Nannie rung;
While Roslin castle beard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.
Awake, sweet Muse! the breathing spring
With rapture warms, awake and sing!
