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Have quitted every amorous Poet,
And, though some trifling share of pralse,
To me were doubly dear;
To prove a Prophet here.
GRANTA, A MEDLEY.
Αργυρεαις λογχαισι μαχου και παντα Thy soothing lays may still be read,
Oh! could Le Sage's demon's gift
Be realized at my desire, Still, I must yield those worthies merit, This night my trembling form he'd lift, Why chasten, with unsparing spirit, To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Bad rhymes, and those who write them; And though myself may be the next Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls By critic sarcasm to be vext,
Pedantic inmates full display; I really will not fight them;
Fellows who dream on lawn, or stalls,
The price of venal votes to pay. Perhaps they would do quite as well, To break the rudely sounding shell Then would I view each rival wight, Of such a young beginner;
Petty and Palmerston survey; He who offends at pert nineteen,
Who canvass there with all their might, Ere thirty, may become, I ween,
Against the next elective day. A very harden'd sinner.
Lo! candidates and voters lie, Now-I must return to you,
All lull’d in sleep, a goodly number! And sure apologies are due;.
A race renown'd for piety, Accept then my concession ;
Whose conscience won't disturb their In truth, dear ..., in fancy's flight,
slumber. I soar along from left to right, My muse admires digression.
Lord H-, indeed, may not demur,
Fellows are sage, reflecting men ! I think I said 'twould be your fate
They know preferment can occur
But very seldom,- now and then
They know the Chancellor has got
Each hopes that one may be his lot,
And, therefore, smile on his proposal. Yet, since in danger courts abound, Where specious rivals glitter round,
Now, from the soporific scene From snares may Saints preserve you ;
I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, And grant your love or friendship ne'er
To view, unheeded and unseen,
The studious sons of Alma Mater.
There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college-prizes
Sits poring by the midnight-lamp,
Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
He, surely, well deserves to gain them,
With all the honours of his college,
Who, striving hardly to obtain them, Oh! if you wish that happiness
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge; Your coming days and years may bless, And virtues crown your brow:
Who sacrifices hours of rest, Be, still, as you were wont to be,
To scan, precisely, metres Attic; Spotless as you've been known to me,
Or agitates his anxious breast
In solving problems mathematic ;
Be, stili, as you are now.
Who reads false quantities in Sele, But, if I scribble longer now,
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle; The deuce a soul will stay to read; Deprived of many a wholesome meal, My pen is blunt, my ink is low,
In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle; Tis almost time to stop, indeed.
Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires, From authors of historic use;
No more, like Cleofas, I fly; Preferring to the letter'd sage
No more thy theme my Muse inspires, The square of the hypothenuse.
The reader's tired, and so am I. Still, harmless are these occupations,
That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations,
LACHIN Y GAIR. Which bring together the imprudent;
LACHIN Y GAIR, or, as it is pronounced in the Whose daring revels shock the sight,
Erse, Loch NA GABR, towers proudly present
eminent in the Northern Highlands, Bear la When vice and infamy combine;
vercauld. One of our modern Tourists mes When drunkenness and dice unite,
tions it as the highest mountain, perhaps 11 And every sense is steep'd in wine.
GREAT BRITAIN; be this as it may, it is cer
tainly one of the most sublime and picturesque Not so the methodistic crew,
amongst our “Caledonian Alps." Its appear
ance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the Who plans of reformation lay:
seat of eternal snows: near Lachin y Gar! In humble attitude they sue,
spent some of the early part of my life, the And for the sins of others pray;
recollection of which has given birth to the
following Stanzas. Forgetting, that their pride of spirit, Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of Their exultation in their trial,
roses! Detracts most largely from the merit In you let the minions of luxury rore; Of all their boasted self-denial.
Restore me the rocks where the snow-flate
reposes, 'Tis morn,- from these I turn my sight: Though still they are sacred to freedom What scene is this which meets the eye?
and love: A numerous crowd array'd in white, Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains
, Across the green in numbers fly.
Round their white summits though ele
ments war, Loud rings, in air, the chapel-bell; Though cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth
'Tis hush'd: What sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. Rolls deeply on the listening ear.
Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy To this is join'd the sacred song,
wanderd. The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the Though he who hears the music long
plaid; Will never wish to hear again.
On chieftains long perish'd my memory
ponderd, Our choir would scarcely be excused, As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd Even as a band of raw beginners;
glade; All mercy, now, must be refused, I sought not my home till the day's dying To such a set of croaking sinners.
Gave place to the rays of the bright polarIf David, when his toils were ended,
star; Had heard these blockheads sing before For Fancy was cheer'd by traditional stor
Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch To us his psalms had ne'er descended, In furious mood he would have tore 'em.
“Shades of the dead! have I not heard your The luckless Israelites, when taken,
voices By some inhuman tyrant's order, Rise on the night-rolling breath of the Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken, On Babylonian river's border:
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
And rides on the wind o'er his own HighOh! had they sung in notes like these, Inspired by stratagem or fear,
Round Loch na Garr, while the storm! They might have set their hearts at ease,
mist gathers, The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. Winter presides in his cold icy car;
Clouds there encircle the forms of my With shame, I own, I've felt thy sway,
Repentant, now thy reign is o'er; They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch No more thy precepts 1 obey,
No more on fancied pinions soar :
Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye, "Ill-starr'd, though brave, did no visions And think that eye to Truth was dear,
foreboding To trust a passing wanton's sigh, Tell you that Fate had forsaken your
And melt beneath a wanton's tear.
cause ?” Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, Romance! disgusted with deceit, Victory crown'd not your fall with Far from thy motley court I fly,
applause; Where Affectation holds her seat, Still were you happy, in death's early And sickly Sensibility;
Whose silly tears can never flow You rest with your clan, in the caves of For any pangs excepting thine;
Who turns aside froin real woe,
With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds;
Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Ycars have rollid on, Loch na Garr, since Whose breast for every bosom bleeds;
And call thy sylvan female quire, Years must elapse ere I tread you again ;
To mourn a swain for ever gene, Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Who once could glow with equal fire, ¿ Yet, still, are you dearer than Albion's But bends not now before thy throne.
plain : England! thy beauties are tame and do nestic, Ye genial Nymphs, whose ready tears, To one who has roved on the mountains On all occasions, swiftly flow;
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic, With fancied flames and phrenzy glow; 4 The steep frowning glories of dark Loch Say, will you mourn my absent name,
na Garr !
Apostate from your gentle train ?
From you a sympathetic strain.
I left you ;
Adieu ! fond race, a long adieu !
The hour of fate is hovering nigh ;
Auspicious Queen of childish joys! Where unlamented you must lie :
Thy votive train of girls and boys; Convulsed by gales you cannot weather,
Alas! must perish altogether.
ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY
It is the voice of years that are gone! they Where every nymph a goddess seems, roll before me with all their deeds. Ossian.
Whose eyes through rays immortal roll;
Religion's shrine! repentant HENRY'S And even Woman's siniles are true.
Of Warriors, Monks, and Dames the cloisAnd must we own thee but a name,
ter'd tomb, And from thy hall of clonds descend ? Whose pensive shades around thy ruins Nor find a Sylph in every dame,
glide: A Pylades in every friend ? Bat leave, at once, thy realms of air, Hail! to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall,
To mingling bands of fairy elves : Than modern mansions in their pillard Confess that woman 's false as fair,
state ; And Friends have feelings for-them- Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall selves ?
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.
No mail-clad Serfs, obedient to their Lord, of changing sentinels the distant ham,
In grim array, the crimson cross demand; The mirth of feasts, the clang of burgOr gay assemble round the festive board,
ish'd arms, Their chief's retainers, an immortal band. The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum,
Unite in concert with increased alarms Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye Retrace their progress, through the lapse An abbey once, a regal fortress now,
Encircled by insulting rebel powers; Marking each ardent youth, ordaind to die, War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatA votive pilgrim, in Judea's clime.
And dart destruction in sulphureous But not from thee, dark pile! departs the
showers. Chief, His feudal realm in other regions lay; Ah! vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, In thee the wounded conscience courts relief, Tho' oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the Retiring from the garish blaze of day.
His thronging foes oppress the faithful Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound,
Liege, The Monk abjured a world he ne'er Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him could view;
wave. Or blood - staind Guilt repenting solace
Not unavenged, the raging Baron yields. Or Innocence from stern Oppression flew. The blood of traitors smears the purple
plain; A Monarch bade thee from that wild arise, Unconquer'd still his faulchion there he Where Sherwood's outlaws once were
wields, wont to prowl : And days of glory yet for him remain. And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes, Sought shelter in the Priests protecting Still, in that hour the warrior wish'd to stres cowl. Self-gather'd laurels on a self-sought
grave; Where now the grass exhales a murky dew, But Charles' protecting genius hither fles,
The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay, The monarch's friend, the monarch: In sainted fame the sacred Father's grew,
hope, to save Nor raised their pious voices, but to pray.
Trembling she snatch'd bim from the EWhere now the bats their wavering wings
equal strife, extend,
In other fields the torrent to repel, Soon as the gloaming spreads her waning For nobler combats here reserved his life,
To lead the band where god-like FalkThe choir did oft their mingling vespers
LAND fell. blend, Or matin-orisons to Mary paid. From thee, poor pile! to lawless plander
given, Years roll on years – to ages, ages yield- While dying groans their painful requiem Abbots to Abbots in a line succeed,
sound, Religion's charter their protecting shield, Far different incense now ascends to heaven
Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed. Such victims wallow on the gory ground. One holy HENRY rear'd the Gothic walls, There, many a pale and ruthless robber' And bade the pious inmates rest in peace:
corse, Another Henry the kind gift recals,
Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod; And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease. O'er mingling man, and horse commixd
with borse, Vain is each threat, or supplicating prayer,
Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers He drives them exiles from their blest
trod. abode, To roain a dreary world, in deep despair, Graves, long with rank and sighing weedi No friend,no home,no refuge but their God.
Ransack’d, resign perforce their mortal Hark! how the hall, resounding to the strain,
mould ; Shakes with the martial music's novel din! From ruffian fangs escape not e'en the The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,
dead, High crested banners, wave thy walls Raked from repose, in search of buried
ish'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike | Ah! happy days! too happy to endure ! lyre,
Such simple sports our plain forefathers The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in
No splendid vices glitter'd to allure, 1 more he strikes the quivering chords Their joys were many, as their cares with fire,
were few. Or sings the glories of the martial wreath.
From these descending, sons to sires succeed, length, the sated murderers, gorged Time steals along, and Death uprears
his dart : Retire-the clamour of the fight is o'er; Another chief impels the foaming steed, lence again resumes her awful sway, Another crowd pursue the panting hart. And sable Horror guards the massy door.
Newstead! what saddening change of sceno re Desolation holds her dreary court;
is thine! What satellites declare her dismal reign! Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay; rieking their dirge, ill omen'd birds resort The last and youngest of a noble line To flit their vigils in the hoary fane. Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his
sway. on a new morn's restoring beams dispel The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies; Deserted now, he scans thy gray - worn ne fierce usurper seeks his native hell,
towers And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies. Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages
sleepith storms she welcomes his expiring Thy cloisters , pervivus to the wintry groans,
showersWhirlwinds responsive greet his labour- These, these he views, and views them ing breath;
but to weep. urth shudders as her cave receives his bones, Loathing the offering of so dark a death. Yet are his tears no emblem of regret,
Cherish'd affection only bids them flow; he legal Ruler now resumes the helm, Pride, Hope, and Love forbid him to forget, He guides thro' gentle seas the prow of But warm his bosom with impassion'd state:
glow. ope cheers with wonted smiles the peace
ful realm, Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes, And heals the bleeding wounds of wea- Or gew-gaw grottos of the vainly great; ried Hate. Yet lingers 'mid
thy damp and mossy tombs,
Nor breathes & murmur 'gainst the will he gloomy tenants, Newstead, of thy cells,
of fate. Howling resign their violated nest; gain the master on his tenure dwells, Haply thy sun emerging yet may shine, Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured Thee to eradiate with meridian ray;
Hours splendid as the past may still be thine,
And bless thy future as thy foriner day. assale within thy hospitable pale, Loudly carousing, bless their Lord's
return; alture again adorns the gladdening vale, THE DEATH OF CALMAR AND ORLA. And matrons, once lamenting, cease to
AN IMITATION OF
MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN. thousand songs on tuneful echo float, Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees; Dear are the days of youth! Age dwells 7d, hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note, on their remembrance through the mist of The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on time. In the twilight he recals the sunny
hours of morn. He lifts his spear with
trembling hand. "Not thus feebly did I eneath their courser's hoofs the valleys raise the steel before my fathers!” Past is
the race of heroes! but their fame rises on What fears, what anxious hopes, attend the harp; their souls ride on the wings of
the chase! the wind! they hear the sound through the he dying stag seeks refuge in the lake, sighs of the storm, and rejoice in their hall Exulting shouts announce the finish'd of clouds! Such is Calmar. The gray stone
marks his narrow house. He looks down