As Boreas threw his young Aurora forth, They mourn'd in air, fell, fell rebellion slain ! And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight, Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crown'd! They raved! divining, through their second sight, Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were drown'd! Illustrious William! Britain's guardian name! One William saved us from a tyrant's stroke; He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame, But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast broke, To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke! VIII. These, too, thou'lt sing! for well thy magic muse He glows, to draw you downward to your death, In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! What though far off, from some dark dell espied, His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sight, Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside, Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light; For watchful, lurking, mid th' unrustling reed, At those murk hours the wily monster lies, And listens oft to hear the passing steed, And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes, [prise. If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch sur IX. Ah, luckless swain! o'er all unblest, indeed! But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, Meantime the wat'ry surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from ev'ry swelling source ! What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthful force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse! X. For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, Her travell'd limbs in broken slumbers steep! While I lie welt'ring on the osier'd shore, [more !' Drown'd by the Kelpie's wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee XI. Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill [spring Thy Muse may, like those feath'ry tribes which From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, To that hoar pilet which still its ruin shews: In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found, Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd ground! The water-fiend. + Oue of the Hebrides is called The Isle of Pigmies, where, it is reported, that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in the ruins of the chapel there. Or thither, where beneath the show'ry west, No slaves revere them, and no wars invade : XII. But, oh! o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides, Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. Go! just as they, their blameless manners trace! Then to my ear transmit some gentle song, Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, And all their prospect but the wintry main. With sparing temp'rance at the needful time, They drain the scented spring: or, hunger-prest, Along th' Atlantic rock, undreading, climb, And of its eggs despoil the solan'st nest. Thus, blest in primal innocence they live, Sufficed, and happy with that frugal fare Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give: Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare; Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there! XIII. Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest; For not alone they touch the village breast, But fill'd, in elder time, th' historic page. There, Shakspeare's self, with ev'ry garland crown'd, Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, In musing hour; his wayward sisters found, And with their terrors drest the magic scene. Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are interred. An aquatic bird, on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly subsist. From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold design, Before the Scot, afflicted and aghast! The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant past. Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply told, Could once so well my answ'ring bosom pierce; Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colour bold, The native legends of thy land rehearse : To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse. XIV. In scenes like these, which, daring to depart How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke, Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd! When each live plant with mortal accents spoke, And the wild blast upheaved the vanish'd sword! How have I sat, when piped the pensive wind, To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung! Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders which he sung! Hence, at each sound, imagination glows! Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here! Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows! Melting it flows, pure, murm'ring, strong and clear, And fills th' impassion'd heart, and wins th' harmonious ear! XV. All hail! ye scenes, that o'er my soul prevail ! * Three rivers in Scotland. Then will I dress once more the faded bower, Where Jonson* sat in Drummond's classic shade; crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, От And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's laid! Meantime, ye pow'rs that on the plains which bore The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains, attend!— Where'er Home dwells, on hill, or lowly moor, To him I love your kind protection lend, And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my ab. sent friend! * Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to the Scotch poet Drummond, at his seat of Hawthornden, within four miles of Edinburgh. |