As, musing slow, I hail Thy genial, loved return! For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, [sedge, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, That from the mountain's side, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, While sallow autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes: So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND; CONSIDERED AS THE SUBJECT OF POETRY. Inscribed to Mr. John Home. HOME, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads Whom, long endear'd, thou leavest by Lavant's Together let us wish him lasting truth, [side; And joy untainted with his destined bride. Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast My short lived bliss, forget my social name; But think, far off, how, on the southern coast, I met thy friendship with an equal flame ! Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand: To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, And paint what all believe, who own thy genial land. There, must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill; 'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet; Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet, Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill. There, each trim lass, that skims the milky store, To the swart tribes their creamy bowls allots; By night they sip it round the cottage door, While airy minstrels warble jocund notes. There, every herd, by sad experience, knows How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly, When the sick ewe her summer food foregoes, Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie. [* It has not been observed that to the three last verses of this beautiful Ode, Burns was indebted for the idea of his Address to the Shade of Thomson. He had been reading Collins at the time.] [† How truly did Collins predict Home's tragic powers!] A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins. [Barrow had been out in the forty-five with Home.] Such airy beings awe th' untutor'd swain: Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain ; Even yet preserved, how often may'st thou hear, Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, With uncouth lyres, in many-colour'd vest, [ear. Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd: Whether thou bid'st the well-taught hind repeat The choral dirge, that mourns some chieftain brave, When every shrieking maid her bosom beat, And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave; Or whether, sitting in the shepherd's shiel*, Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war'salarms; When at the bugle's call, with fire and steel, The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny swarms, And hostile brothers met to prove each other's arms. 'Tis thine to sing how, framing hideous spells, In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer, Lodged in the wintery cave with Fate's fell spear, Or in the depth of Uist's dark forest dwells: How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross, With their own visions oft astonish'd droop, When, o'er the wat'ry strath, or quaggy moss, They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop. Or, if in sports, or on the festive green, Their destined glance some fated youth descry, Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen, And rosy health, shall soon lamented die. For them the viewless forms of air obey; Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair. They know what spirit brews the stormful day, And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare To see the phantom train their secret work prepare. To monarchs deart, some hundred miles astray, Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal blow! The seer, in Sky, shriek'd as the blood did flow, When headless Charles warm on the Scaffold lay! * A summer hut, built in the high part of the mountains, to tend their flocks in the warm season, when the pasture is fine. † SUPPLEMENTAL LINES BY MR. MACKENZIE. Or on some bellying rock that shades the deep, They view the lurid signs that cross the sky, Where in the west, the brooding tempests lie; And hear the first faint rustling pennons sweep. Or in the arched cave, where, deep and dark, The broad unbroken billows heave and swell, In horrid musings rapt, they sit to mark The lab'ring moon, or list the nightly yell 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, [broke, But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast To reigna private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke! 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 the 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 mirk hours the wily monster lies, And listens oft to hear the passing steed, And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes, If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch surprise. Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed! Whom late bewilder'd in the dank, dark fen, Far from his flocks, and smoking hamlet, then! To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed: Of that dread spirit, whose gigantic form The seer's entranced eye can well survey, Through the dim air who guides the driving storm, And points the wretched bark, its destined prey. Or him who hovers on his flagging wing, O'er the dire whirlpool, that, in ocean's waste, Draws instant down whate'er devoted thing The falling breeze within its reach hath placed- Far from the sheltering roof and haunts of men, [Other verses were written by the late Lord Kinnedder, which Sir Walter Scott, in all the partiality of friendship, thought equal to the original. To add to an unfinished poem one must write with the same genius which the author wrote: and Collins, as Pope said of Akenside, was no every day-writer.] [The Northern Lights.] § Second sight is the term that is used for the divination of the Highlanders. The Duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the battle of Culloden. A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lanthorn, &c. It hovers in the air over marshy and fenny places. On him, enraged, the fiend, in angry mood, Shall never look with pity's kind concern, But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all return! Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, To some dim hill that seems uprising near, To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape, In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear. Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source ! What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fierce-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, And down the waves he floats a pale and breathless corse! For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate! Her travel'd limbs in broken slumbers steep! With drooping willows dress'd, his mournful sprite Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep : Then he, perhaps, with moist and watery hand, Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek, And with his blue-swoln face before her stand, And shivering cold, these piteous accents speak: "Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue, At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew, While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, Drown'd by the Kelpie's* wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee more!" Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill [spring Thy Muse may, like those feathery 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 ruins shows: 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! Or thither, where beneath the show'ry west No slaves revere them, and no wars invade : Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour, The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power, In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold. But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, [tides, On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace! *The water fiend. One 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 a chapel there. Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are interred. 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 wintery main. With sparing temperance 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's § 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! Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, In musing hour; his wayward sisters found, And with their terrors drest the magic scene. 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 answering bosom pierce ; Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colours bold, The native legends of thy land rehearse; To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse. In scenes like these, which, daring to depart From sober truth, are still to nature true, And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, Th' heroic Muse employ'd her Tasso's art! 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, murmuring, strong and clear, And fills th' impassion'd heart, and wins th' harmonious ear! All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail ! Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away, Are by smooth Annan || fill'd, or past'ral Tay, Or Don's romantic springs, at distance hail! § An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly subsist. Three rivers in Scotland. EDWARD MOORE was the son of a dissenting clergyman at Abingdon, in Berkshire, and was bred to the business of a linen-draper, which he pursued, however, both in London and Ireland, with so little success, that he embraced the literary life (according to his own account) more from necessity than inclination. His Fables (in 1744) first brought him into notice. The Right Honourable Mr. Pelham was one of his earliest friends; and his Trial of Selim gained him the friendship of Lord Lyttelton. Of three works which he produced for the stage, his two comedies, the Foundling" and "Gil Blas," were unsuccessful; but he was fully indemnified by the profits and reputation of the "Gamester." Moore himself acknowledges that he owed to Garrick many popular passages of his drama; and Davies, the biographer of Garrick, ascribes to the great actor the whole scene between Lewson and Stukely, in the fourth act; but Davies's authority is not oracular. About the year 1751 Lord Lyttelton, in concert with Dodsley, projected the paper of the "World," of which it was agreed that Moore should enjoy the profits, whether the numbers were written by himself or by volunteer contributors. Lyttelton's interest soon enlisted many accomplished coadjutors, such as Cambridge, Jenyns, Lord Chesterfield, and H. Walpole. Moore himself wrote sixty-one of the papers. In the last number of the "World" the conclusion is made to depend on a fictitious incident which had occasioned the death of the author. When the papers were collected into volumes, Moore, who superintended the publication, realised this jocular fiction by his own death, whilst the last number was in the press §. [§ Mr. Moore was a poet who never had justice done him while living. There are few of the moderns who have a more correct taste, or a more pleasing manner of expressing their thoughts. It was upon his Fables he chiefly founded his reputation; yet they are by no means his best production.-GOLDSMITH.] FF |