James Beattie (25 October 1735 – 18 August 1803 / Laurencekirk in the Mearns, Scotland)
Poems of James Beattie
|3.||Elegy (Tir'd with the busy crouds)||1/1/2004|
|4.||Elegy, Written In The Year 1758||4/21/2010|
|5.||Epistle To The Honourable C. B.||5/7/2012|
|6.||Epitaph [To This Grave Is Committed]||4/21/2010|
|7.||Epitaph On Two Young Men Of The Name Of Leitch, Who Were Drowned In Crossing The River Southesk||4/21/2010|
|8.||Epitaph, Intended For Himself||4/21/2010|
|9.||Epitaph: Being Part Of An Inscription For A Monument||4/21/2010|
|10.||Hope Beyond The Grave||4/21/2010|
|12.||Life And Immortality||4/21/2010|
|14.||Ode On Lord Hay's BirthDay||4/21/2010|
|15.||Ode To Hope||4/21/2010|
|16.||Ode To Peace||4/21/2010|
|17.||On The Report Of A Monument To Be Erected In Westminster Abbey, To The Memory Of A Late Author (Churchill)||4/21/2010|
|18.||Pygmaeo-gerano-machia: The Battle Of The Pygmies and Cranes||4/21/2010|
|20.||Song, In Imitation Of Shakspeare's||4/21/2010|
Life And Immortality
'O ye wild groves, oh, where is now your bloom!'
(The muse interprets thus his tender thought)
Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,
Of late so grateful in the hour of drought?
Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought
To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake?
Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought?
For now the storm howls mournful through the brake,
And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.