d at
Brompton, near London, on the 2d April 1820, and his remains were
conveyed for interment to the churchyard of his native parish. Amidst a
flow of ornate and graceful language, the poetry of Dr Brown is
disfigured by a morbid sensibility and a philosophy which dims rather
than enlightens. He possessed, however, many of the mental concomitants
of a great poet; he loved rural retirement and romantic scenery; well
appreciated the beautiful both in nature and in art; was conversant with
the workings of the human heart and the history of nations; was
influenced by generous emotions, and luxuriated in a bold and lofty
imagination.[113]

[113] Margaret Brown, one of the three sisters of Dr Brown, published
"Lays of Affection." Edinburgh, 1819, 12mo. She was a woman of gentle
and unobtrusive manners and of pious disposition. Her poems constitute a
respectable memorial of her virtues.

CONSOLATION OF ALTERED FORTUNES.

Yes! the shades we must leave which my childhood has haunted,
Each charm by endearing remembrance improved;
These walks of our love, the sweet bower thou hast planted,--
We must leave them to eyes that will view them unmoved.

Oh, weep not, my Fanny! though changed be our dwelling,
We bear with us all, in the home of our mind;
In virtues will glow that heart, fondly swelling,
Affection's best treasure we leave not behind.

I shall labour, but still by thy image attended--
Can toil be severe which a smile can repay?
How glad shall we meet! every care will be ended;
And our evening of bliss will be more than a day.

Content's cheerful beam will our cottage enlighten;
New charms the new cares of thy love will inspire;
Thy smiles, 'mid the smiles of our offspring, will lighten;
I shall see it--and oh, can I feel a desire?

THE FAITHLESS MOURNER.

When thy smile was still clouded in gloom,
When the tear was still dim in thine eye,
I thought of the virtues, scarce cold in the tomb,
And I spoke not of love to thy sigh!

I spoke not of love; yet the breast,
Which mark'd thy long anguish,--deplore
The sire, whom in sickness, in age, thou hadst bless'd,
Though silent, was loving thee more!

How soon wert thou pledged to my arms,
Thou hadst vow'd, but I urged not the day;
And thine eye grateful turn'd, oh, so sweet were its charms,
That it more than