STILL was the night, and gently roll'd the wave,
When Almond's banks a pensive poet sought,
And free from care his rustic lay attun'd,
When, lo! by some superior pow'r compell'd,
The silver waves in equal parts divide,
And thence two lovely virgin forms arise,
(The fairest they of Caledonia's fair,)
Who thus with accent soft the bard bespeak:
"Be thine the task our hapless fate to sing,
Whilst we, O Bard, thy rustic verse inspire,
Still on these banks our pensive spirits stray,
And oft at evetide by the swains are seen.
In ages past we were for friendship fam'd;
Nor love, nor death, our friendship could destroy.
One happy youth, by both alike belov'd,
Was with our kindest, tenderest wishes bless'd;
Whilst he for each with equal passion burnt.
When from contagions dire we hither fled,
For us, on yonder hill, a bower he built,
And oft at evetide climb'd the steepy brae
To meet the willing partners of his love;
But when at once the azure skies we sought,
O'er our remains a simple tomb he rear'd,
Then died, and join'd us in the realms of light.
Oh! from our tender tale this moral learn,
That real friendship lives beyond the grave;
And when from earth remov'd it seeks the skies,
It then for ever burns a flame serene,
And gilds the regions of eternal day. "