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E'en now,

Thy shrine in some religious wood,

From the supporting myrtles round! O soul-enforcing goddess, stood !

They snatch'd her instruments of sound, There oft the painted native's feet

And, as they oft had heard apart Were wont thy form celestial meet :

Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Though now with hopeless toil we trace

Each, for madness rul'd the hour,
Time's backward rolls, to find its place; Would prove his own expressive power.
Whether the fiery-tressed Dane,
Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,

First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, 'T were hard for modern song to tell.

And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Yet still, if truth those beams infuse,

E'en at the sound himself had made.
Which guide at once, and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided clouds that lie,

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
Paving the light embroider'd sky:

In lightnings own’d his secret stings, Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, The beauteous model still remains,

And swept with hurried hand the strings There happier than in islands blest, Or bowers by Spring or Hebe drest,

With woeful measures wan Despair The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,

Low sullen sounds his grief beguild, In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,

A solemn, strange, and mingled air, Hear their consorted Druids sing

'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild Their triumphs to th' immortal string. How may the poet now unfold,

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What never tongue or numbers told ?

What was thy delighted measure ? How learn delighted, and amaz'd,

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, What hands unknown that fabric rais'd ?

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! before his favour'd eyes,

Still would her touch the strain prolong, In Gothic pride it seems to rise !

- And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,

She call'd on Echo still through all the song; Majestic, through the mix'd design ;

And where her sweetest theme she chose, The secret builder knew to chuse,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, Each sphere-found gem of richest hues : And Hope enchanted smil'd, and war'd her golden Whate'er Heaven's purer mould contains,

hair. When nearer suns emblaze its veins ;

And longer had she sung - but, with a frown, There on the walls the patriot's sight

Revenge impatient rose, May ever hang with fresh delight,

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down, And, 'grav'd with some prophetic rage,

And, with a withering look, Read Albion's fame through every age

The war-denouncing trumpet took, Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,

And blew a blast so loud and dread, That near her inmost altar stand!

Were ne'er prophetic sound so full of woe. Now soothe her, to her blissful train

And ever and anon he beat, Blithe Concord's social form to gain :

The doubling drum with furious heat; [tween, Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep

And though sometimes, each dreary pause beE'en Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep :

Dejected Pity at his side
Before whose breathing bosom's halm,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm ; Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,
Her let our sires and matrons hoar

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting Welcome to Britain's ravag'd shore,

from his head. Our youths, enamour'd of the fair, Play with the tangles of her hair,

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, Till, in one loud applauding sound,

Sad proof of thy distressful state, The nations shout to her around,

Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d, “ O, how supremely art thou blest,

And now it courted Love, now raving callid on

Thou, lady, thou shalt rule the West !"

With eyes up-rais d, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd,
And from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; [stole, WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure While yet in early Greece she sung,

Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

Round an holy calm diffusing, Throng'd around her magic cell,

Love of peace, and lonely musing, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,

In hollow murmurs died away. Possest beyond the Muse's painting;

But, 0, how alter'd was its sprightljer tone! By turns they felt the glowing mind

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Disturbid, delighted, rais'd, retin'd;

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 't is said, when all were fir'd,

Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew,


Till once,




The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known ; The red-breast oft at evening hours The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-ey'd Shall kindly lend his little aid, queen,

With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,

To deck the ground where thou art laid. Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

When howling winds, and beating rain, And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. In tempests shake thy sylvan cell ; Last came Joy's ecstatic trial,

Or 'midst the chase on every plain, He, with viny crown advancing,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell First to the lively pipe his hand addrest, But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol,

Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best

For thee the tear be duly shed;
They would have thought, who heard the strain, Belov'd, till life can charm no more ;
They saw in Tempé's vale her native maids,

And mourn'd, till Pity's self be dead.
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,

While, as his Aying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,

Loose were her tresses seen, hier zone unbound,

And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings

O Music, sphere-descended maid,
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,

Why, goddess, why to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn'd an all-commanding power,

Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd,

long Can well recall what then it heard.

Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, [day Where is thy native simple heart,

Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future Devote to virtue, fancy, art ?

Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song. Arise, as in that elder time,

Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth † (side ; Warm, energic, chaste, sublime !

Whom, long endear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's Thy wonders, in that god-like age,

Together let us wish him lasting truth Fill thy recording sister's page

And joy untainted with his destin'd bride. 'T is said, and I believe the tale,

Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast Thy humblest reed could more prevail,

My short-liv'd bliss, forget my social name; Had more of strength, diviner rage,

But think, far off, how, on the Southern coast, Than all which charms this laggard age,

I met thy friendship with an equal flame! E'en all at once together found

Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale Cæcilia's mingled world of sound

Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand : O, bid our vain endeavours cease,

To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail ; Revive the just designs of Greece,

Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, Return in all thy simple state !

And paint what all believe, who own thy genial land. Confirm the tales her sons relate !

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill; 'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet;

Where still, 't is said, the fairy people meet, Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.

There each trim lass, that skims the milky store DIRGE IN CYMBELINE.

To the swart tribes, their creamy bowls alots;

By night they sip it round the cottage-door, IXG BY GUIDERUS AND AKVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.

There, every herd, by sad experience, knows

How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly, To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

When the sick ewe her summer food forgoes, Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie. Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, Such airy beings awe th' untutor'd swain : (neglect; And rifle all the breathing Spring.

Nor thou, tho' learn'd, his homelier thoughts

Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain; No wailing ghost shall dare


These are the themes of simple, sure effect, To vex with shrieks this quiet grove, That add new conquests to her boundless reign, But shepherd lads assemble here,

And fill with double force her heart-commanding

strain. And inelting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen,

• How truly did Collins predict Home's tragic No goblins lead their nightly crew;

powers ! The female fays shall haunt the green,

+ A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who



E'en yet preserv'd, how often mayst thou hear, These, too, thou 'lt sing ! for well thy magic lex

Where to the Pole the Boreal mountains run, Can to the topmost heaven of grandeur soar; Taught by the father, to his listening son;

Or stoop to wail the swain that is no more! Strange lays, whose power had charm’d a Spenser's Ah, homely swains ! your homeward steps bec

lose; At every pause, before thy mind possest, Let not dank 'Will $ mislead you to the heath: 1

Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake, With uncouth lyres, in many-colour'd vest, He glows, to draw you downward to your death,

Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd: In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! Whether thou bidd'st the well-taught hind repeat What though far off, from some dark dell espied,

The choral dirge that mourns some chieftain brave, His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sigts, When every shrieking maid her bosom beat, Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside,

And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave; Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light; Or, whether sitting in the shepherd's shiel, For watchful, lurking, 'mid th' unrustling reede

Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war's alarms; At those mirk hours the wily monster lies •When at the bugle's call, with fire and steel, And listens oft to hear the passing steed, The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes, swarms,

If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch And hostile brothers met, to prove each other's arms.

surprise. T is thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells, Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed! In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer,

Whom late bewilder'd in the dank, dark fen, Lodg'd in the wintery cave with Fate's fell spear, Far from his flocks, and smoking hamlet, thea! Or in the depth of Vist's dark forest dwells: To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed:How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross, On him, enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood,

With their own vision oft astonish'd droop; Shall never look with pity's kind concern, When, o'er the watery strath, or quaggy moss, But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood

They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop. O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all retura! Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,

Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, Their destin'd glance some fated youth descry, To some dim hill that seems uprising neas, Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen,

To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape, And rosy health, shall soon lamented die.

In all its terrours clad, shall wild appear. For them the viewless forms of air obey ;

Meantime the watery surge shall round him riše, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair. Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source: They know what spirit brews the stormful day, What now remains but tears and hopeless sigbs?

And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare His fear-shook limbs have lost their youth To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.


And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathles To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray,

corse! Oft have I seen Fate give the fatal blow!

The seer, in Sky, shriek'd as the blood did flow, For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait,
When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay! Or wander forth to meet him on his way;
As Boreas threw his young Aurora * forth,

For him in vain, at to-fall of the day,
In the first year of the first George's reign, His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate:
And battles rag'd in welkin of the North,

Ah, ne'er shall he return! Alone, if night
They mourn'd in air, fell, fell Rebellion slain! Her travellid limbs in broken slumbers steep,
And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight, With drooping willows drest his mournful sprite

Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crown'd! Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep: They rav'd! divining thro' their second sight t, Then he, perhaps, with moist and watery hand, Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering chei, drown'd!

And with his blue-swoln face before her stand, Illustrious William! | Britain's guardian name ! And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak:

One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke; “ Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils, pursue, He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame,

At dawn or dusk, industrious as before ; But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast | Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew, broke,

While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's Drown'd by the Kelpie’s | wrath, nor e'er shal yoke!

thee more !” • By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill the first appearance of the northern lights, which Thy Muse may, like those feathery tribes which happened about the year 1715; at least, it is most

spring highly probable, from this peculiar circumstance,

From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing that no ancient writer whatever has taken any no

Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid tice of them, nor even any one modern, previous to

isle, the above period.

+ Second sight is the term that is used for the § A fiery meteor, called by various names, such divination of the Highlanders.

as Will with the Wisp, Jack 'with the Lantern, &c. The late Duke of Cumberland, who defeated It hovers in the air over marshy and fenny places the Pretender at the battle of Culloden.

|| The water-fiend.

SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 509 To that hoar pile • which still its ruin shows : How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind,

In whose small vaults a Pigmy-folk is found, To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung! Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung! ground !

Hence, at each sound, imagination glows ! Or thithert, where beneath the show'ry west

Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here ! The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid : Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows ! Once foes, perhaps together now they rest,

Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and No slaves revere them, and no wars invade :

clear, Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour, And fills th' empassion'd heart, and wins th' barThe rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold,

monious ear! And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power,

In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail ! And on their twilight tombs aërial council hold. Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away,

Are by smooth Anan fill'd, or past'ral Tay, But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, [tides, LOr Don's * romantic springs, at distance, hail!

On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread

Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. - Your lowly glens f o'erhung with spreading Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace! Then to my ear transmit some gentle song, Or o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led;

Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, Or o'er your mountains creep, in aweful gloom ! Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, Then will I dress once more the faded bower,

And all their prospect but the wintery main. Where Jonson sat in Drummond's classic shade $; With sparing temperance at the needful time Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, [laid !

They drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest, And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's Along th’ Atlantic rock, undreading, climb, Meantime, ye powers, that on the plains which borc

And of its eggs despoil the solan's nest. The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains & attend ! Thus blest in primal innocence they live,

Where'er Home dwells, on hill or lowly moor, Suffic'd and happy with that frugal fare

To himn I lose, your kind protection lend, Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my abHard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare;

sent friend! Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!





Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage

ODE 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, THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON.

Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, In musing hour; his wayward sisters found,

And with their terrours dress’d the magic scene. From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold design, Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast !

In yonder grave a Druid lies The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line

Where slowly winds the stealing wave : Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass’d. The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply told,

To deck its poet's sylvan grave.
Could once so well my answering bosom pierce;
Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colour bold,

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds
The native legends of thy land rehearse;

His airy harp || shall now be laid, To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse. That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,

May love through life the soothing shade. In scenes like these, which, daring to depart From sober truth, are still to Nature true,

Then maids and youths shall linger here, And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view,

And, while its sounds at distance swell, Th’ heroic Muse employ'd her Tasso's art.

Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke,

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd! When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd sword ! When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,

And oft suspend the dashing oar One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pig To bid his gentle spirit rest ! ties; where it is reported that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in

Three rivers in Scotland. + Valleys. the ruins of a chapel there.

Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to + Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near the Scotch poet, Drummond, at his seat of Hawsixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian thornden, within four miles of Edinburgh. kings are interred.

Barrow, it seems, was at the Edinburgh Uni.. # An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of versity, which is in the county of Lothian. which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the || The harp of Æolus, of which see a description

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And oft as Ease and Health retire

And see, the fairy valleys fade, To breezy lawn, or forest deep,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! The friend shall view yon whitening spire *, Yet once again, dear parted shade, And 'mid the varied landscape weep.

Meek Nature's child, again adieu ! But thou, who own'st that earthly bed,

The genial meads † assign'd to bless Ah! what will every dirge avail ?

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doon! Or tears which Love and Pity shed,

Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress That mourn beneath the gliding sail !

With simple hands thy rural tomb Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near? Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes, With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,

“ O! vales, and wild woods," shall he say, And Joy desert the blooming year.

“ In yonder grave your Druid lies!" But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide + Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhonda

No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, Richmond some time before his death. Now waft me from the green hill's side

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

• Mr. Thomson was buried in Richmond church.

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