John Logan

Three moves in sixth months and I remain
the same.
Two homes made two friends.
The third leaves me with myself again.
...

Lo, winter's hoar dominion past!
Arrested in his eastern blast
The fiend of nature flies;
Breathing the spring, the zephyrs play,
...

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome ring.
...

Ye virgins! fond to be admired,
With mighty rage of conquest fired,
And universal sway;
Who heave th' uncover'd bosom high,
...

The peace of Heaven attend thy shade,
My early friend, my favourite maid!
When life was new, companions gay,
We hail'd the morning of our day.
...

Led by the jocund train of vernal hours
And vernal airs, uprose the gentle May;
Blushing she rose, and blushing rose the flowers
...

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
   Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
   And woods thy welcome ring.
...

O Thou whose beams the sea-gift earth array,
King of the sky, and father of the day!
O sun! what fountain hid from human eyes,
...

Before the records of renown were kept,
Or theatres for dying heroes wept,
The race of fame by rival chiefs was run,
...

No longer hoary winter reigns,
No longer binds the streams in chains,
Or heaps with snow the meads;
Array'd with robe of rainbow-dye,
...

'Tis past! no more the Summer blooms!
Ascending in the rear,
Behold congenial Autumn comes,
The Sabbath of the year!
...

Messiah! at thy glad approach
The howling winds are still!
Thy praises fill the lonely waste,
And breathe from every hill.
...

When Jesus, by the Virgin brought,
So runs the law of Heaven,
Was offer'd holy to the Lord,
And at the altar given;
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O Happy is the man who hears
Instruction's warning voice,
And who celestial wisdom makes
His early, only choice.
...

Where high the heavenly temple stands,
The house of God not made with hands,
A great High Priest our nature wears,
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Behold! the mountain of the Lord
In latter days shall rise,
Above the mountains and the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes.
...

The day is departed, and round from the cloud
The moon in her beauty appears;
The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud
...

'Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream!
When first on them I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream!
When now thy waves his body cover.
...

In vain I court till dawning light,
The coy divinity of night;
Restless, from side to side I turn,
Arise, ye musings of the morn!
...

O God of Abraham! by whose hand
Thy people still are fed;
Who, through this weary pilgrimage,
Hast all our fathers led!
...