'Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid,
To life can bring the silent shade:
Thou canst surpass the painter's art,
And real warmth and flames impart.
But oh! it ne'er can love like me,
I've ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee:
Then, charmer, grant my fond request,
Say thou canst love, and make me blest.
WHILE crown'd with radiant charms divine,
Unnumber'd beauties round thee shine;
When Erskine leads her happy man,
And Johnstone shakes the fluttering fan;
When beauteous Pringle shines confest,
And gently heaves her swelling breast,
Her raptur'd partner still at gaze,
Pursuing through each winding maze;
Say, youth, and canst thou keep secure
Thy heart from conquering beauty's pow'r?
Or, hast thou not, how soon! betray'd
The too-believing country maid?
Whose young and unexperienc'd years
From thee no evil purpose fears;
And yielding to love's gentle sway,
Knows not that lovers can betray.
How shall she curse deceiving men!
How shall she e'er believe again?
For me, my happier lot decrees
The joys of love that constant please;
A warm, benign, and gentle flame,
That clearly burns, and still the same;
Unlike those fires that fools betray,
That fiercely burn, but swift decay;
Which warring passions hourly raise,
A short and momentary blaze.
My Hume, my beauteous Hume! constrains
My heart in voluntary chains:
Well-pleas'd, for her my voice I raise;
For daily joys claim daily praise.
Can I forsake the fair, complete
In all that's soft, and all that's sweet;
When Heav'n has in her form combin'd
The scatter'd graces of her kind?
Has she not all the charms that lie
In Gordon's blush, and Lockhart's eye;
The down of lovely Haya's hair,
Killochia's shape, or Cockburn's air?
Can time to love a period bring
Of charms, for ever in their spring?
'Tis death alone the lover frees,
Who loves so long as she can please.
By various youths admir'd, by all approv'd,
By many sought, by one sincerely lov'd,
Chief of Edina's fair I flourish'd long,
First in the dance, the visit, and the song;
Beauty, good-nature, in my form combin'd,
My body one adorn'd, and one my mind.
1 Henry Home, afterwards Lord Kames. See Life of Hamilton. C.
When youthful years, a foe to lonely nights,
Impel young hearts to Hymen's chaste delights,
I view'd th' admiring train with equal eye,
True to each hope, and faithful to each sigh:
The happy hours of admiration past,
The hand of nuptial love was given at last;
Not to the faithful youth my charms inspir'd,
Nor those who sought my charms, nor who admir'd;
He not prefer'd for merit, wit, or sense,
Not chose, but suffer'd with indifference,
Who neither knew to love, or be belov❜d,
Approv'd me not, and just not disapprov'd,
Nor warmth pretended, nor affection show'd;
Ask'd, not implor'd; I yielded, not bestow'd
Without or hopes or fears I join'd his side,
His mistress never, and but scarce his bride.
No joys at home, abroad was only show;
I neither gain'd a friend, nor lost a foe:
For, lost alike to pleasure, love, and fame,
My person he enjoys, and I his name.
Yet patient still I lead my anxious life,
Pleas'd that I'm call'd my formal husband's wife.
ADDRESSED TO A LADY, WHO HAD JUST FINISHED
HER FIFTEENTH YEAR.
His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere-
Virg. Eneid, 6.
As beauty's queen in her aerial hall
Sublimely seated on a golden throne,
Before her high tribunal summon'd all
Who or on earth, sea, air, her empire own;
First came her sun, her pow'r, her darling boy,
Whose gentlest breath can raise the fiercest flame,
Oft working mischief, though his end be joy,
And though devoid of sight, yet sure of aim. With him, his youthful consort, sad no more, Psyche, infranchis'd from all mortal pain, Who, every trial of obedience o'er,
Enjoys the blessings of the heavenly reign.
Next, as it well beseem'd, the tuneful Nine,
Daughters of memory, and dear to Jove,
Who, as they list, the hearts of men incline
To wit, to music, poetry, or love.
She who with milder breath inspiring fills,
Than ever Zephyr kucw, the heart-born sigh,
Or else from Nature's pregnant source distils
The tender drops that swell the love-sick eye.
Or she who from her copious store affords,
When love decrees, the faithful youth to bless,
The sacred energy of melting words,
In the dear hour and season of success.
Last in the train two sisters fair appear'd, [sweet;
Sorrowing they seem'd, yet seen'd their sorrow
Nor ever from the ground their eyes they rear'd,
Nor tripp'd, as they were wont, on snowy feet.
The Cyprian goddess cast her eyes around,
And gaz'd o'er all, with ever new delight;
So bright au host was no where to be found:
Her heart dilates, and glories in its might.
But when without their lov'd companion dear Two solitary Graces hand in hand Approach'd, the goddess inly 'gan to fear
What might befal the youngest of the band:
"Ah! whither is retir'd my darling joy,
My youngest Grace, the pride of all my reign, First in my care, and ever in my eye,
Why is she now the lag of all my train?
"Ah me! some danger threats my Cyprian state, Which, goddess as I am, I can't foresee; Some dire disaster labours, (ah, my fate!)
To wrest love's sceptre from my son and me."
She wept: not more she wept, when first her eyes
Saw low in dust her Ilion's towery pride;
Nor from her breast more frequent burst the sighs,
When her lov'd youth, her dear Adonis died.
"Yet, yet," she cry'd, "I will a monarch reign!
In my last deed my greatness shall be scen:
Ye Loves, ye Smiles, ye Graces, all my train,
Attend your mother, and obey your queen.
"Wisdom's vain goddess weaves some treacherous wile,
Or haughty Juno, Heaven's relentless dame: Haste! bend each bow; haste! brighten every smile, And lanch from every eye the lightning's flame."
Then had fell Discord broke the golden chain
That does the harmony of all uphold,
And where these orbs in beauteous order reign,
Brought back the anarchy of Chaos old:
When Cupid keen unlocks his feather'd store,
When Venus burns with more than mortal fire,
Mortals, immortals, all had fled before
The Loves, the Graces, and the Smiles in ire:
In vain, t' avert the horrors of that hour,
Anxious for fate, and fearing for his sky, The sire of gods and men had try'd his pow'r, And hung his golden balances on high:
Had not the eldest Grace, serene and mild, Who wish'd this elemental war might cease, Sprung forward with persuasive look, and smil'd The furious mother of desires to peace.
"Ah whence this rage, vain child of empty fear!" With accent mild thus spoke the heav'nly maid, "What words, O sovereign of hearts! severe
Have pass'd the roses of thy lips unweigh'd?
"Think not mankind forsake thy mystic law:
Thy son, thy pride, thy own Cupido reigns;
Heard with respect, and seen with tender awe;
Mighty on thrones, and gentle on the plains.
"Remember'st not how in the biest abodes
Of high Olympus an ethereal guest,
Mix'd with the synod of th' assembled gods,
Thou shar'd'st the honours of th' ambrosial feast?
Celestial pleasures reigning all around, Such as the pow'rs who live at ease enjoy, The smiling bowl with life immortal crown'd, By rosy Hebe, and the Phrygian boy:
Hermes, sly god, resolv'd thy spleen to hit, Thy spleen, but, of itself, too apt to move; Prone to offend with oft-mistaking wit,
That foe perverse to nature and to love.
"Much gloz'd he spiteful, how rebellious youth, Lost to thy fear, and recreant from thy name, False to the interest of the heart, and truth,
On foreign altars kindles impious flame.
"Much gloz'd he tauntful, how to nobler aims
The youth awakening from each female wile, No longer met in love's opprobrious flames, Slaves to an eye, or vassals to a smile.
"Now fifteen years the still-returning spring With flow'rs the bosom of the earth has sow'd, As oft the groves heard Philomela sing,
And trees have paid the fragrant gifts they ow'd, "Since our dear sister left the heavenly bow'rs: So will'd the Fates, and such their high commands, She should be born in high Edina's tow'rs,
To thee far dearer than all other lands.
"There, clad in mortal form, she lies conceal'd,
A veil more bright than mortal form e'er knew;
So fair was ne'er to dreaming bard reveal'd,
Nor sweeter e'er the shadowing pencil drew.
"Where'er the beauteous heart-compeller moves,
She scatters wide perdition all around :
Blest with celestial form, and crown'd with loves,
No single breast is refractory found,
"Vain Pallas now th' unequal conflict shuns
Vain are the terrours of her gorgon shield: Wit bends; but chief Apollo's yielding sons:
To thy fair doves Juno's proud peacocks yield. "No rival pow'rs thy envied empire share; Revolted mortals crowd again thy shrine; Duteous to love, and every pleasing care,
All hearts are hers, and all her heart is thine, "So mild a sway the willing nations own;
By her thou triumph'st o'er this subject ball; Whilst men (the secret of the skies unknown) The beauteous apparition Laura call."
LOVE TURNED TO DESPAIR. "Tis past! the pangs of love are past, I love, I love no more;
Yet who would think I am at last
More wretched than before?
How bless'd, when first my heart was freed
From love's tormenting care,
If cold indifference did succeed,
Instead of fierce despair?
But ah! how ill is he releas'd,
Though love a tyrant reigns, When the successor in his breast Redoubles all his pains:
In vain attempts the woeful wight,
That would despair remove:
Its little finger has more weight
Than all the loins of love:
Thus the poor wretch that left his dom With spirit foul accurst,
Found seven, returning late, at home More dreadful than the first.
Well hop'd I once that constancy
Might soften rigour's frown, Would from the chains of hate set free, And pay my ransom down:
But, ah! the judge is too severe,
I sink beneath his ire;
The sentence is gone forth, to bear Despair's eternal fire.
The hopes of sinners, in the day
Of grace, their fears abate;
But every hope flies far away,
When mercy shuts her gate:
The smallest alms could oft suffice
Love's hunger to assuage;
Despair, the worm that never dies,
Still gnaws with ceaseless rage.
Or doves, sweet gentle birds, the heaven-born Muse
Prepares to sing, their manners, and what law
The blameless race obey, their cares and loves.
O sacred virgin, that, to me unseen
Yet present, whispers nightly in my ear
Love-dited song or tale of martial knight,
As best becomes the time, and aidful grants
Celestial grace impior'd: O! bounteous, say
What favourite maid in her first bloom of youth
Wilt choose to honour? Seem I not to see
The laurel shake, and hear the voice divine
Sound in mine ear: "With Erskine best agrees
The song of doves; herself a dove, well-pleas'd
List gracious to the tale benign, and hear
How the chaste bird with words of fondling love,
Soft billing, wooes his maid; their spousal loves,
Pure and unstain'd with jealous fear of change;
How studious they to build their little nests,
Nature's artificers! and tender, breed
Their unfledg'd children, till they wing their flight,
Each parent's care." Come, as the Muse ordains,
O! thou of every grace, whose looks of love,
Erskine, attractive, draw all wondering eyes,
Constant to gaze; and whose subduing speech
Drops as the honeycomb, and grace is pour'd
Into thy lips: for ever thee attends
Sweetness thy handmaid, and, with beauty, clothes
As with the morning's robe invested round:
O come, again invok'd, and smiling lend
Thy pleas'd attention, whilst in figur'd silk
Thy knowing needle plants th' embroider'd flower
As in its native bed: so may'st thou find
Delight perpetual and th' inclining ear
Of Heav'n propitious to thy maiden vow,
When thou shalt seek from love a youth adorn'd
With all perfection, worthy of thy choice,
To bless thy night of joy and social care.
O happy he, for whom the vow is made!
THE care of gardens, and the garden's pride
To rear the blooming flowers, invites the Muse;
A grateful task! To thee, O Hume, she sings,
Well-pleas'd amid the verdant walks to stray
With thee, her chief delight, when summer smiles.
Come now, my love, nor fear the winter's rage;
For see, the winter's past, the rains are gone:
Behold, the singing of the birds is now,
Season benign: the joyous race prepare
Their native melody, and warbling airs
Are heard in every grove: the flowers appear,
Earth's smiling offspring, and the beauteous meads
Are cloth'd in pleasant green : now fruitful trees
Put forth their tender buds that soon shall swell
With rich nectareous juice, and woo thy hand
To pluck their ripen'd sweets. Forsake awhile
The noise of cities, and with me retire
To rural solitude. Lo! for thy head
I weave a garland, deck'd with vernal flowers,
Violet, and hyacinth, and blushing rose
Of every rich perfume; here in this calm
And undisturb'd retreat content to dwell
Secluded from mankind, with thee and love
Sweet'ner of human cares. But thou perhaps
Delight'st to hear the voice that bids thee come
To festival and dance, thou long'st to meet
The raptur'd youth, that at assembly hour
Awaits thy coming: haste, adorn'd in all
Thy native softness, fresh as breathing flowers
Sweet smelling in the morning dew, and fire
His soul, ill able to resist such charms,
Won with attractive smiles; while I far off
Bemoan thy absence, and thy image form
In every thicket and each secret grove,
To soothe my longing mind by fancy's aid,
Pleasing resemblance! until thou thyself,
O fairest among women, deign to grace
The bower that love prepares, from me to learn
The care and culture of the flowery kind.
THE EPISODE OF THE THISTLE.
NOR to the garden sole where fair resides
As in her court the scarlet queen, amid
Her train of flowery nymphs, does Nature boon
Indulge her gifts; but to each nameless field,
When the warm Sun rejoicing in the year
Stirs up the latent juice, she scatters wide
Her rosy children: then, innumerous births
As from the womb spring up, and wide perfume
Their cradles with ambrosial sweets around.
Far as the eye can reach all Nature smiles,
Hill, dale, or valley, where a lucid stream
Leads through the level-down his silver maze,
Gliding with even pace, direct, as one
On journey bent, and now meandering fair,
Unnumber'd currents to and fro convolv'd,
His pastime, underneath the azure green
The wanton fishes sport; and round his banks,
Sole or in consort, the serial kind
Resound in air with song: the wild thyme here Breathes fragrance, and a thousand glittering flowers
Art never sow'd. Ev'n here the rising weed The landscape paints; the lion's yellow tooth, The enamell'd daisy, with its rose adorn'd The prickly briar, and the Thistle rude, An armed warrior, with his host of spears. Thrice happy plant! fair Scotia's greatest pride, Emblem of modest valour, unprovok'd That harmeth not; provok'd, that will not bear Wrong unreveng’d. What though the humble root Dishonour'd erst, the growth of every field Arose unheeded through the stubborn soil Jejune! though softer flowers, disdainful, fly Thy fellowship, nor in the nosegay join, Ill-match'd compeers; not less the dews of Heav'n Bathe thy rough cheeks, and wash thy warlike mail, Gift of indulgent skies! Though lily pure And rose of fragrant leaf, best represent Maria's snowy breast and ruddy cheek Blushing with bloom; though Ormond's laurel Sublimer branch, indulging loftier shade [rear To heaven-instructed bard, that strings beneath, Melodious, his sounding wire, to tales Of beauty's praise, or from victorious camps Heroes returning fierce: unenvied may The snowy lily flourish round the brow Of Gallia's king; the thistle happier far Exalted into noble fame, shall rise Triumphant o'er each flower, to Scotia's bards Subject of lasting song, their monarch's choice; Who, bounteous to the lowly weed, refus'd Each other plant, and bade the Thistle wave, Embroider'd, in his ensigns, wide display'd Among the mural breach. How oft, beneath Its martial influence, have Scotia's sons Through every age with dauntless valour fought On every hostile ground! while o'er their breast, Companion to the silver star, blest type Of fame unsullied and superior deed, Distinguish'd ornament! their native plant Surrounds the sainted cross, with costly row Of gems, emblaz'd, and flame of radiant gold, A sacred mark, their glory and their pride!
But wouldst thou know how first th' illustrious Rose to renown? hear the recording Muse! [plant While back through ages that have roll'd she leads Th' inquiring eye, and wakens into life
Heroes and mighty kings whose god-like deeds
Are now no more; yet still the fame survives,
Victor o'er time, the triumph of the Muse!
As yet for love of arts and arms renown'd,
For hoary sires with gifts of wisdom grac'd,
Unrival'd maids in beauty's bloom, desire
Of every eye, and youthful gallant chiefs.
For courage fam'd and blest with sacred song,
Flourish'd, sublime, the Pictish throne; and shar'd,
Rival of Scotia's power, fair Caledon.
Equals in sway, while both alike aspir'd
To single rule, disdaining to obey:
Oft led by hate and thirst of dire revenge
For ravish'd beauty, or for kindred slain,
Wide wasting others' realms with inroads fierce
Until the Second Kenneth, great in arms,
Brandish'd th' avenging sword, that low in dust
Humbled the haughty race: yet oft, of war
Weary and havock dire, in mutual blood
Embru'd, the nations join'd in leagues of peace
Short space enjoy'd; when nice suspicious fears,
By jealous love of empire bred, again,
With fatal breath, blew the dire flame of war, Rekindling fierce. Thus, when Achaius reign'd,
By the disposing will of gracious Heav'n
Ordain'd the prince of peace, fair Ethelind,
Grace of the Pictish throne, in rosy youth
Of beauty's bloom, in his young heart inspir'd
Spousal-desires, soft love, and dove-ey'd peace,
Her dowry. Then his hymeneal torch
Concord high brandish'd; and in bonds of love
Link'd the contending race. But, ah! how vain
Hopes mortal man, his joys on Earth to last
Perpetual and sincere: for Athelstane,
Fierce from the conquest of great Alured,
Northumbrian ruler, came. On Tweda's shore
Full twenty thousand brazen spears he fixt,
Shining a deathful view; dismay'd the brave
Erst undismay'd: ev'n he their warlike chief,
Hungus, in arms a great and mighty name,
Felt his fierce heart suspended, if to meet
Th' outrageous Saxon, dreadful in the ranks
Of battle disarray'd. Suppliant of help,
He sues the Scotish race, by friendly ties
Adjur'd, and nuptial rites and equal fears.
Led by their gallant prince, the chosen train
Forsake their native walls. The glad acclaim
Of shouting crowds, and the soft virgins' wish
Pursue the parting chiefs to battle sent,
With omens not averse. Darkness arose
O'er Heav'n and Earth, as now but narrow space
Sunder'd each hostile force: sole in his tent
The youthful chief, the hope of Albion, lay
Slumbering secure, when in the hour of sleep
A venerable form, Saint Andrew, seen
Majestic, solemn, grand, before his sight
In vision, stood: his deep and piercing eye
Look'd wisdom, and mature sedateness weigh'd
To doubtful counsels; from his temples flow'd
His hair, white as the snowy fleece that clothes
The Alpine ridge, across his shoulders hung
A baldric, where some heavenly pencil wrought
Th' events of years to come; prophetic drawn,
Seasons and times: in his right hand he held
A cross, far beaming through the night; his left
A pointed thistle rear'd. "Fear not," he cry'd,
"Thy country's early pride; for lo! to thee
Commission'd I, from Heav'n's eternal king,
Ethereal messenger of tidings glad,
Propitious now am sent:-then, be thou bold,
To morrow shall deliver to thy hand
The troops of Athelstane. But oh! attend,
Instructed from the skies, the terms of fate,
Conditional assign'd; for if misled
By sacred lust of arbitrary sway,
Thou, or of thee to come, thy race shall wage
Injurious war, unrighteous to invade
His neighbour's realms; who dares the guilty deed,
Him Heaven shall desert in needful hour
Of sad distress, deliver'd o'er a prey
To all the nations round. This plant I bear,
Expressive emblem of thy equal deed:
This, inoffensive in its native field,
Peaceful inhabitant, and lowly grows;
Yet who with hostile hands its bristly spears
Unpunish'd may provoke? and such be thou
Unprompt t invade, and active to defend;
Wise fortitude! but when the morning flames,
Secure in Heav'n, against yon fated host
Go up, and overcome. When home return'd
With triumph crown'd, grateful to me shalt rear
A rising temple on the destin'd space,
With lofty towers and battlements adorn'd,
A house where God shall dwell." The vision spoke,
And mix'd with night, when starting from his couch
The youth from slumber wak'd. The mingled cries
Of horse, and horsemen furious for the day,
Assail his ears. And now both armies clos'd
Tempestuous fight. Aloud the welkin roars,
Resounding wide, and groans of death are heard
Superior o'er the din. The rival chiefs
Each adverse battle gor'd.
Horrent in mail, rear'd high his moony shield
With Saxon trophies charg'd and deeds of blood,
Horrid achievement! nor less furious there
Hungus, inflam'd with desperate rage and keen
Desire of victory; and near him join'd,
With social valour, by the vision fir'd,
The hopes of Caledon, the Scotish oak
Plies furious, that from the mighty's blood
Return'd not back unstain’d. Thus, when the seeds
Of fire and nitrous spume and grain adust,
Sulphureous, distend Earth's hollow womb,
Sicilian Etna labours to disgorge
Dreadful eruption; from the smoking top
Flows down the molten rock in liquid ore,
A threefold current to the wasted plain,
Each ravaging a separate way: so fought
Desperate the chiefs; nine hours in equal scale
The battle hung, the tenth the angel rear'd
The tutelary cross, then disarray
Fell on the Saxon host. Thus when of old
Th' Amalekite in vale of Rephidim,
Against the chosen race of Judah, set
The battle in array, and various chance
Alternate rul'd, when as the Sun went down,
Aaron and Hur upstaid the failing hands
Of Moses, to sustain the potent rod,
Till Israel overthrew: thus sore that day
The battle went against the numerous hosts
Of Athelstane, impure; the daring chief,
Far from the slaughter borne, a swelling stream
By sudden rains high surging o'er its banks,
Impervious to his flight, for ever sunk,
Number'd amongst the dead. Then rout on rout,
Confusion on confusion, wild dismay,
And slaughter raging wide, o'erturn'd the bands
Erewhile so proud array'd. Amaz'd they fled
Before the Scotish sword; for from the sword,
From the drawn sword, they fled, the bended bow,
The victor's shout, and honour of the war.
The royal youth, thus victor of his vows, Leads to his native land with conquest crown'd, His warring powers; nor of the heavenly dream Unmindful, bade the promis'd towers aspire With solemn rites made sacred to the name Of him in vision seen. Then to inspire Love of heroic worth, and kindle seeds Of virtuous emulation in the soul Ripening to deed, he crown'd his manly breast With a refulgent star, and in the star Amidst the rubies' blaze, distinguish'd shines The sainted cross, around whose golden verge Th' embroider'd thistle, blst enclosure! winds A warlike foliage of ported spears Defenceful: last, partakers of his fame, He adds a chosen train of gallant youths, Illustrious fellowship! above their peers Exalted eminent: the shining band, Devote to fame, along the crowded streets Are led, exulting, to the lofty fane With holy festival and ritual pomp Install'd, of solemn prayer, and offer'd vows Inviolate, and sacred, to preserve
| The ordinance of Heav'n, and great decree,
Voice of the silent night: O ill foreseen',
O judgments ill forewarn'd and sure denoune'd
Of future woes and covenants broke in blood,
That children's children wept: how didst thou
O virgin daughter, and what tears bedew'd [grieve,
The cheek of hoary age, when, as the Fates,
Transgress'd the high command, severely will'd,
The hapless youth, as the fierce lion's whelp,
Fell in the fatal snare? that sacred head
Where late the Graces dwelt, and wisdom mild
Subdued attention, ghastly, pale, deform'd,
Of royalty despoil'd, by ruthless hands
Fixt on a spear, the scoff of gazing crowds,
Mean triumph, borne: then first the radiant cross
Submitted in the dust, dishonour foul,
Her holy splendours; first, the thistle's spears
Broke by a hostile hand, the silver-star
Felt dim eclipse, and mourn'd in dark sojourn,
A tedious length of years, till he, the fifth
Triumphant James, of Stuart's ancient line,
Restor'd the former grace, and bade it shine,
With added gifts adorn'd. To chosen twelve,
Invested with the ornaments of fame,
Their sovereign's love, he bounteous, gave to wear,
Across their shoulders flung, the radiant brede
Of evening blue, of simple faith unstain'd
Mysterious sign and loyalty sincere.
Approven chiefs! how many sons, enroll'd
In the fair deathless list, has Scotia seen,
Or terrible in war for bold exploit ?
Blest champions! or in the mild arts of peace
Lawgivers wise, and of endanger'd rights
Firm guardians in evil times, to death
Asserting Virtue's cause, and Virtue's train?
Blest patronage! nor these, with envy, view
Th' embroider'd garter to surround the knee
Of military chiefs of Brutus' blood;
With equal honours grac'd, while monarchs bear
The consecrated cross, and happy plant
Bright on the regal robe; nor valued more
Th' anointing oil of Heav'n! In Britain's shield
The northern star mingles with George's beams,
Consorted light, and near Hibernia's harp,
Breathing the spirit of peace and social love,
Harmonious power, the Scotish thistle fills
Distinguish'd place, and guards the English rose.
TO A GENTLEMAN GOING TQ TRAVEL
Trahit sua quenque voluptas.
WELL Sung of old, in everlasting strains,
Horace, sweet lyrist; while the Roman harp
He strung by Tyber's yellow bank, to charm
Tuscan Mæcenas, thy well-judging ear;
How in life's journey, various wishes lead
Through different roads, to diffrent ends, the race
Diverse of human kind. The hero runs
Careless of rest, of sultry Libyan heat
Patient, and Russian cold, to win renown;
Mighty in arms, and wariike enterprise;
Vain efforts! the coquettish nymph still flies
His swift pursuit, and jilts Ambition's hope.
At home, this man with ease and plenty bless'd
This refers to the story of King Alpin slain by the Picts, and his head fixed to a pole. See Bus chanan, book 5.
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