'Look down with pity, O ye powers above!
Who hear the sad complaint of bleeding love;
Ye, who the secret laws of fate explore,
Alone can tell if he returns no more:
Or if the hour of future joy remain,
Long-wished atonement of long-suffered pain,
Bid every guardian-minister attend,
And from all ill the much-loved youth defend!'
With grief o'erwhelmed we parted twice in vain,
And, urged by strong attraction, met again.
At last, by cruel fortune torn apart,
While tender passion beat in either heart,
Our eyes transfixed with agonizing look,
One sad farewell, one last embrace we took.
Forlorn of hope the lovely maid I left,
Pensive and pale, of every joy bereft:
She to her silent couch retired to weep,
Whilst I embark'd, in sadness, on the deep."
His tale thus closed, from sympathy of grief
Palemon's bosom felt a sweet relief:
To mutual friendship thus sincerely true,
No secret wish or fear their bosoms knew;
In mutual hazards oft severely tried,
Nor hope nor danger could their love divide.1
Ye tender maids! in whose pathetic souls
Compassion's sacred stream impetuous rolls,
Whose warm affections exquisitely feel
The secret wound you tremble to reveal;
Ah! may no wanderer of the stormy main
Pour through your breasts the soft delicious bane;
May never fatal tenderness approve
The fond effusions of their ardent love:
Oh! warned by friendship's counsel, learn to shun
The fatal path where thousands are undone!
Now, as the youths, returning o'er the plain,
Approached the lonely margin of the main,
First, with attention roused, Arion eyed
The graceful lover, formed in nature's pride:
His frame the happiest symmetry displayed,
And locks of waving gold his neck arrayed;
In every look the Paphian graces shine,
Soft breathing o'er his cheek their bloom divine:
With lightened heart he smiled serenely gay,
Like young Adonis, or the son of May.
Not Cytherea from a fairer swain
Received her apple on the Trojan plain.
IV. The sun's bright orb, declining all serene, Now glanced obliquely o'er the woodland scene. Creation smiles around; on every spray
1 This and the three preceding lines were deleted in the third edition, and the following (which seem worthy of preservation) substituted:
"The hapless bird, thus ravished from the skies,
Where all forlorn his loved companion flies,
In secret long bewails his cruel fate,
With fond remembrance of his winged mate;
Till grown familiar with a foreign train,
Composed at length his sadly-warbling strain-
In sweet oblivion charms the sense of pain."
The warbling birds exalt their evening lay:
Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train
Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain;
The golden lime and orange there were seen
On fragrant branches of perpetual green;
The crystal streams, that velvet meadows lave,
To the green ocean roll with chiding wave.
The glassy ocean hushed, forgets to roar,
But trembling murmurs on the sandy shore:
And lo! his surface lovely to behold
Glows in the west, a sea of living gold!
While, all above, a thousand liveries gay
The skies with pomp ineffable array.
Arabian sweets perfume the happy plains;
Above, beneath, around, enchantment reigns!
While glowing Vesper leads the starry train,
And Night slow draws her veil o'er land and main,
Emerging clouds the azure east invade,
And wrap the lucid spheres in gradual shade:
While yet the songsters of the vocal grove
With dying numbers tune the soul to love;
With joyful eyes the attentive master sees
The auspicious omens of an eastern breeze.
Round the charged bowl the sailors form a ring;
By turns recount the wondrous tale, or sing,
As love, or battle, hardships of the main,
Or genial wine, awake their homely strain:
Then some the watch of night alternate keep,
The rest lie buried in oblivious sleep.
Deep midnight now involves the livid skies,
When eastern breezes from the shore arise:
The waning moon, behind a watery shroud,
Pale glimmered o'er the long-protracted cloud;
A mighty halo round her silver throne,
With parting meteors crossed, portentous shone:
This in the troubled sky full oft prevails,
Oft deemed a signal of tempestuous gales.
While young Arion sleeps, before his sight Tumultuous swim the visions of the night: Now blooming Anna with her happy swain Approached the sacred hymeneal fane; Anon, tremendous lightnings flash between, And funeral pomp, and weeping loves are seen: Now with Palemon, up a rocky steep, Whose summit trembles o'er the roaring deep, With painful step he climbed, while far above Sweet Anna charmed them with the voice of Love; Then sudden from the slippery height they fell, While dreadful yawned beneath the jaws of hellAmid this fearful trance, a thundering sound He hears, and thrice the hollow decks rebound; Up starting from his couch on deck he sprung, Thrice with shrill note the boatswain's whistle
"All hands unmoor!" proclaims a boisterous cry, "All hands unmoor!" the caverned rocks reply. Roused from repose aloft the sailors swarm, And with their levers soon the windlass arm:
2 The windlass is a large roller used to wind in the cable or heave up the anchor. It is turned about by a
The order given, up-springing with a bound
They fix the bars, and heave the windlass round,
At every turn the clanging pauls resound:
Up-torn reluctant from its oozy cave
The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.
High on the slippery masts the yards ascend,
And far abroad the canvas wings extend.
Along the glassy plain the vessel glides,
While azure radiance trembles on her sides;
The lunar rays in long reflection gleam,
With silver deluging the fluid stream.
Levant and Thracian gales alternate play,
Then in the Egyptian quarter die away.
A calm ensues: adjacent shores they dread,
The boats, with rowers manned, are sent ahead;
With cordage fastened to the lofty prow
Aloof to sea the stately ship they tow;1
The nervous crew their sweeping oars extend,
And pealing shouts the shore of Candia rend:
Success attends their skill! the danger's o'er!
The port is doubled, and beheld no more.
Now Morn with gradual pace advanced on high,
Whitening with orient beam the twilight sky:
She comes not in refulgent pomp arrayed,
But frowning stern, and wrapt in sullen shade.
Above incumbent mists, tall Ida's height,
Tremendous rock! emerges on the sight;
North-east, a league, the isle of Standia bears,
And westward, Freschin's woody cape3 appears.
In distant angles while the transient gales
Alternate blow, they trim the flagging sails;
The drowsy air attentive to retain,
As from unnumbered points it sweeps the main.
Now swelling stud-sails on each side extend,
Then stay-sails sidelong to the breeze ascend;
While all to court the veering winds are placed,
With yards alternate square, and sharply braced.
The dim horizon lowering vapours shroud,
And blot the sun yet struggling in the cloud;
Through the wide atmosphere condensed with
haze,
His glaring orb emits a sanguine blaze,
The pilots now their azimuth attend,
On which all courses, duly formed, depend:
The compass placed to catch the rising ray,
number of long bars or levers, and is furnished with strong iron pauls to prevent it from recoiling.-Paul, a certain short bar of wood or iron fixed close to the capstern or windlass of a ship, to prevent those engines from rolling back or giving way when they are employed to heave in the cable, or otherwise charged with any great effort.-Falconer's Marine Dictionary.
1 Towing is chiefly used, as here, when a ship for want of wind is forced toward the shore by the swell of the
2 A mountain in the midst of Candia, or ancient Crete. 3 Cape Freschin, or Frescia, is the easternmost part of two projecting points of land on the northern coast of Candia.
4 Stud or studding sails are light sails which are
The quadrant's shadows studious they survey
Along the arch the gradual index slides,
While Phoebus down the vertic circle glides;
Now seen on ocean's utmost verge to swim,
He sweeps it vibrant with his nether limb.
Thus height and polar distance are obtained,
Then latitude, and declination, gained;
In chiliads next the analogy is sought,
And on the sinical triangle wrought:
By this magnetic variance is explored,
Just angles known, and polar truth restored.
The natives, while the ship departs their land,
Ashore with admiration gazing stand.
Majestically slow before the breeze
She moved triumphant o'er the yielding seas:
Her bottom through translucent waters shone,
White as the clouds beneath the blaze of noon;
The bending wales their contrast next displayed,
All fore and aft in polished jet arrayed.
BRITANNIA, riding awful on the prow,
Gazed o'er the vassal waves that rolled below:
Where'er she moved the vassal waves were seen
To yield obsequious, and confess their queen.
The imperial trident graced her dexter hand,
Of power to rule the surge, like Moses' wand;
The eternal empire of the main to keep,
And guide her squadrons o'er the trembling deep:
Her left, propitious, bore a mystic shield,
Around whose margin rolls the watery field;
There her bold Genius, in his floating car,
O'er the wild billow hurls the storm of war:
And lo! the beasts that oft with jealous rage
In bloody combat met, from age to age;
Tamed into Union, yoked in friendship's chain,
Draw his proud chariot round the vanquished
main:
From the proud margin to the centre grew
Shelves, rocks, and whirlpools, hideous to the
The immortal shield from Neptune she received,
When first her head above the waters heaved.
Loose floated o'er her limbs an azure vest;
A figured scutcheon glittered on her breast:
There, from one parent-soil, for ever young,
The blooming rose and hardy thistle sprung.
extended in fine weather and fair winds beyond the skirts of the principal sails. Stay-sails are three-cornered sails which are hoisted up on a strong rope called a stay when the wind crosses the ship's course either directly or obliquely.
5 The operation of taking the sun's azimuth, in order to discover the eastern or western variation of the magnetic needle.
Before the art of coppering ships' bottoms was discovered they were painted white. The wales are the strong planks which extend along a ship's side, at different heights, throughout her whole length, and form the curves by which a vessel appears light and graceful on the water: they are usually distinguished into the mainwale and the channel-wale.
Around her head an oaken wreath was seen,
Inwove with laurels of unfading green.
Such was the sculptured prow-from van to rear
The artillery frowned, a black tremendous tier!
Embalmed with orient gum, above the wave,
The swelling sides a yellow radiance gave.
On the broad stern a pencil warm and bold,
That never servile rules of art controlled,
An allegoric tale on high portrayed;
There a young hero; here a royal maid.
Fair England's Genius, in the youth expressed,
Her ancient foe, but now her friend confessed,
The warlike nymph with fond regard surveyed;
No more his hostile frown her heart dismayed.
His look, that once shot terror from afar,
Like young Alcides, or the god of war,
Serene as summer's evening skies she saw;
Serene, yet firm; though mild, impressing awe.
Her nervous arm, inured to toils severe,
Brandished the unconquered Caledonian spear.
The dreadful falchion of the hills she wore,
Sung to the harp in many a tale of yore,
That oft her rivers dyed with hostile gore.
Blue was her rocky shield; her piercing eye
Flashed like the meteors of her native sky.
Her crest, high-plumed, was rough with many a
And o'er her helmet gleamed the northern star.
The warrior youth appeared of noble frame;
The hardy offspring of some Runic dame.
Loose o'er his shoulders hung the slackened bow,
Renowned in song, the terror of the foe!
The sword, that oft the barbarous North defied,
The scourge of tyrants! glittered by his side.
Clad in refulgent arms in battle won,
The George emblazoned on his corselet shone;
Fast by his side was seen a golden lyre
Pregnant with numbers of eternal fire:
Whose strings unlock the witches' midnight spell,
Or waft rapt Fancy through the gulfs of hell:
Struck with contagion, kindling Fancy hears
The songs of Heaven, the music of the spheres!
Borne on Newtonian wing through air she flies,
Where other suns to other systems rise.
Thus the rich vessel moves in trim array,
Like some fair virgin on her bridal day;
Thus like a swan she cleaves the watery plain;
The pride and wonder of the Ægean main!
The scene of death is closed, the mournful strains
Dissolve in dying languor on the car;
Yet pity weeps, yet sympathy complains,
And dumb suspense awaits o'erwhelm'd with
fear.
But the sad Muses, with prophetic eye,
At once the future and the past explore;
Their harps oblivion's influence can defy,
And waft the spirit to the eternal shore.
Then, O Palemon! if thy shade can hear
The voice of friendship still lament thy doom,
Yet to the sad oblations bend thine ear,
That rise in vocal incense o'er thy tomb.
In vain, alas! the gentle maid shall weep,
While secret anguish nips her vital bloom; O'er her soft frame shall stern diseases creep, And give the lovely victim to the tomb.
Relentless frenzy shall the father sting,
Untaught in virtue's school distress to bear; Severe remorse his tortured soul shall wring"Tis his to groan and perish in despair.
Ye lost companions of distress, adieu!
Your toils and pains and dangers are no more! The tempest now shall howl, unheard by you, While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore. On you the blast, surcharged with rain and snow, In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat; Unfelt by you the vertic sun may glow,
And scorch the panting earth with baneful heat.
These front the scene conspicuous; overhead
Albion's proud oak his filial branches spread:
While on the sea-beat shore obsequious stood
Beneath their feet, the father of the flood:
Here, the bold native of her cliffs above,
Perched by the martial maid the bird of Jove;
There, on the watch, sagacious of his prey,
With eyes of fire, an English mastiff lay.
Yonder fair Commerce stretched her winged sail;
Here frowned the god that wakes the living gale: No more you feel Contagion's mortal breath,
High o'er the poop, the flattering winds unfurled
The imperial flag that rules the watery world.
Deep-blushing armours all the tops invest,
And warlike trophies either quarter dressed:
Then towered the masts; the canvas swelled on
high;
No more the joyful maid, with sprightly strain,
Shall wake the dance to give you welcome home;
Nor hopeless love impart undying pain,
When far from scenes of social joy you roam.
No more on yon wide watery waste you stray,
While hunger and disease your life consume;
While parching thirst, that burns without allay,
Forbids the blasted rose of health to bloom.
And waving streamers floated in the sky.
That taints the realms with misery severe; No more behold pale Famine, scattering death With cruel ravage desolate the year.
The thundering drum, the trumpet's swelling strain,
Unheard, shall form the long embattled line:
Unheard, the deep foundations of the main
Shall tremble when the hostile squadrons join.
Since grief, fatigue, and hazards still molest
The wandering vassals of the faithless deep;
O! happier now, escaped to endless rest,
Than we who still survive to wake and weep.
What though no funeral pomp, no borrow'd tear, Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell; Nor weeping friends attend your sable bier, Who sadly listen to the passing-bell;
The tutor'd sigh, the vain parade of woe,
No real anguish to the soul impart;
But oft, alas! the tear that friends bestow,
Belies the latent feelings of the heart.
What though no sculptured pile your name displays,
Like those who perish in their country's cause; What though no epic muse in living lays
Records your dreadful daring with applause:
Full oft the flattering marble bids renown
With blazon'd trophies deck the spotted name;
And oft, too oft, the venal Muses crown
The slaves of vice with never-dying fame.
Yet shall remembrance from Oblivion's veil
Relieve your scene, and sigh with grief sincere,
And soft Compassion at your tragic tale
In silent tribute pay her kindred tear.
The smiling plains, profusely gay,
Are drest in all the pride of May;
The birds on every spray above
To rapture wake the vocal grove;
But ah! Miranda, without thee,
Nor spring nor summer smiles on me;
All lonely in the secret shade
I mourn thy absence, charming maid!
O soft as love! as honour fair!
Serenely sweet as vernal air!
Come to my arms; for you alone
Can all my absence past atone.
O come! and to my bleeding heart
Thy sovereign balm of love impart;
Thy presence lasting joy shall bring,
And give the year eternal spring!
JOHN OGILVIE, D.D., a poet of some renown in his day, was the son of one of the ministers of Aberdeen, where he was born in 1733. He was educated at Marischal College, from which afterwards he received the degree of Doctor of Divinity. Having qualified himself as a preacher he was in 1759 appointed minister of the parish of Midmar, in Aberdeenshire, where he continued in the faithful discharge of his pastoral duties for more than half a century. His personal history was only varied by the publication of his numerous and now forgotten poems (the first of which, "The Day of Judgment," appeared in 1759), and an occasional visit to London, where he became acquainted, through his friend and admirer James Boswell, with Dr. Johnson, Churchill, and other literary magnates of the metropolis. Scarcely any of Ogilvie's poems are known
even by name to readers of the present day, and he is only remembered by several hymns which are to be found in collections in use in the United States and Great Britain. biographer remarks that "Ogilvie, with powers far above the common order, did not know how to use them with effect. He was an able man lost. His intellectual wealth and industry were wasted in huge and unhappy speculations. Of all his books, there is not one which, as a whole, can be expected to please the general reader. Noble sentiments, brilliant conceptions, and poetic graces may be culled in profusion from the mass; but there is no one production in which they so predominate, if we except some of his minor pieces, as to induce it to be selected for a happier fate than the rest. Had the same talent which Ogilvie threw away on a number of ob
jects been concentrated on one, and that one chosen with judgment and taste, he might have rivalled in popularity the most renowned of his contemporaries." The venerable divine
continued his useful parish labours till his death in 1814. In addition to his poems Dr. Ogilvie was the author of several works on philosophy and Christian ethics.
Yet let the muse extend her towering wing,
To roam the vast of Nature! Lo! what scenes,
By man yet unexplored, unfold to rouse
Her search! to tremble in her ardent eye!
To tempt her flight sublime, as o'er the world
She soars, and from her airy height surveys
The fate of empire; and the shifting scenes
Of human thought, successive as they swim,
Buoying, or lost in time's o'erwhelming wave.
Not idly curious her light glance pervades
The plans of wisdom; with no stranger's eye
She comes to wonder on the solemn scenes:
Or prying search for labyrinths, where the field
Is open, rich, accessible.-But free,
Impartial, just, she scans the mighty themes;
And paints them genuine as they rose to view.
"Twas where a plain far from the haunt of man, Spread its green bosom to the evening ray, All soft and sweetly silent; my slow step Had led me wandering wide: the stream of thought
In that calm hour to meditation due,
Flow'd on the soul spontaneous; as the breeze
On the smooth current of some limpid rill
Steals o'er the ruffled wave. A dusky wood
O'erlook'd the field, and full in sight opposed
A range of hills frown'd o'er the chequer'd
Crown'd with gay verdure; whence the list'ning
Thrill'd to the music of the tuneful choirs
That stream'd sweet-warbling o'er the vale; or
heard
Remote the deep's low murmur, like the voice
Of torrents from afar. Here all retired,
Musing I sat, and in thy mirror view'd
Fair History, beheld the towering piles
Of grandeur fallen, or call'd the forms august
Of heroes from the tomb. The mighty chiefs,
I saw them bustling o'er the human scene,
"Til Fate had digg'd the sepulchres, and toll'd
The bell that summon'd them to rest. What
boon,
1 This extract is taken from the beginning of the second book of Ogilvie's principal poetical work, entitled "Providence, an Allegorical Poem, in Three Books," first issued in a handsome illustrated quarto, London,
The prize of virtue paid them! did thy worth,
Intrepid Decius, from the Samnite steel
Screen the devoted heart? Did Scipio quell
The tide of passion, and release the fair,
Blooming and spotless, to her lover's arms;
Or snatch from Hannibal's proud crest the wreath
Of victory; to find the sons of Rome
Just to his deeds? Ah no!-Amid the gloom
Of solitude he pined; scarce from the grasp
Of fury rescued, indignation swell'd
His manly heart, and grief slow-mining loosed
The props of life, and gave him to the tomb.
Such, Tully, was thy fate, and, Brutus, thine! The ghastly head low-rolling in the dust; The tongue, to satiate female frenzy, torn; The bleeding heart, yet reeking, spoke the end Of eloquence and virtue. Scarce a tear Embalm'd their urns, triumphant vice beheld With smiles their exit; and oppression raised Her scourge to punish where the feeling heart Swell'd in soft moisture to the pitying eye.
O! wreck'd, and dubious of a life to come! What trophies graced the present! Heav'n withheld
From these superior light, left in the maze
Of doubt to wander, by the twilight ray
Of glimmering nature led: while toil and pain Mark'd their long course with woe; and death's pale eye
Terrific frown'd them into nought. Did these,
Than we more guilty, by superior crimes
Insult th' Omnipotent, that Truth's fair form,
Unveil'd to us, was from the dark research
Of cool philosophy in shades immured?
Whence, then, the palm by every voice conferr'd?
Whence the sweet lay that wantons in their
praise?
Why o'er soft pity's pallid cheek descends
The tear that weeps their doom, that says they lived
A virtuous few! that mourns them as they fell,
The victims of ingratitude, or zeal
For public honour? yet the beam of heav'n
Illumed not Reason's path, nor led the mind
To see the Maker in his work portray'd
One, perfect, infinite, nor show'd the climes
Of pure ethereal pleasure, for the blest
Prepar'd, nor to th' enlighten'd view display'd
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