HE DESCRIBES HIS SAD STATE If Love to give new counsel still delay, My life must change to other scenes than these; My troubled spirit grief and terror freeze, Desire augments while all my hopes decay. Thus ever grows my life, by night and day, Despondent, and dismay'd, and ill at ease, Hara**'d and helmless on tempestuous seas, With no sure escort on a doubtful way. Her path a sick imagination guides, Its true light underneath—ah, no! on high, Whence on my heart she beams more bright than eye, Not on mine eyes; from them a dark veil hides Those lovely orbs, and makes me, ere life's span Is measured half, an old and broken man. Macgregor.