He, trusting in his size and unmatched force,
Rails on the puny mob without remorse ;
And, scattering loud his tyrant wit around,
In squalls of joy the wicked droll is drown'd.
Oft too, though serious rites the rest engage,
And some high pageant fills the thoughtful stage,
Reckless he spurns upon the earnest train,
With bursts of bootless cheer and shrill disdain ;
Oft shocks the painted fair in froward mood,
And darts loud kisses on the averted wood.

Meantime, with various games, the common sort
Strain their light limbs, and cope in agile sport.

Sometimes the wooden gentry you behold
In purple issue and the blaze of gold;
As bent on motive of some great appeal,
Or high concernment of the commonweal;
In decent rank the matron troop advance,
The gorgeous chieftain, and the glittering lance.
So, ere the stars just loose their silver wain,
Glide forth the pageant sprites and fairy train,
In festive mazes tread their narrow round,
And touch with noiseless feet the frequent ground;
Aurora dawns, nor any trace is seen

But a sweet herbage, and a fresher

green.

Yet clouds will rise, and mar this fairer light,
For wars are known, fell wars and horrid fight.
The savage band are up in arms; fierce blows
Deform their seat, and break their soft
repose.
So faithless as the smiles of pleasure are!
So close the heel of joy is rubbed by care!
Now swords, now tubes with fetid sulphur prest,
And gleam of iron, and lances in the rest,
And dreadful clash ensue: the bars within
Strain to the pressure and the hideous din ;
While the touched nitre, with distracting sound,
Spatters its fires and erring hisses round.

Heaped is the floor with slain; strewed round the stage
Host lies on host, dire fruit of civil rage.

At length, when war has spent his frantic fires,
And thirst of blood no more the breast inspires,
To former arts they turn, and wonted ways.
And here not seldom such whom happier days
Knew, or renown of sequent ages held,
Shew their small bulks, a venerable eld,
Fathers, dread names, majestic walk revered,
With careful front, and spread of snowy beard.

Thus sad Tithonus changed his mighty trunk,
In deathless waste thus ever dwindling shrunk,
Till all the hero in a cricket slunk.

But now the lineage of this pigmy band,
Their fatent life, and the directing hand,
I shall unfold. The workman shapes his wood
Till, to the human mould, he has subdued
His oak-born progeny; with strappings meet
Arms to the shoulders binds, to the legs, feet;
Limb suits to limb, and joint to joint inserts:
Then fits small blocks, through which his hand exerts
The easy weights. Thus, dexterous he employs
The secret motion, and affords the voice.

And now complete, each little puppet shews

His lines of deep-trenched thought, and chisselled brows.
They leap, they swing, act all their volant airs,
And utter sounds compressed, and words not theirs.

THOU mountain stream, whose early torrent-course
Hath many a drear and distant region seen,
Windest thy downward way with slacken'd force,
As with the journey thou had'st wearied been;
And all enamour'd of these margins green,
Delight'st to wander with a sportive tide,
Seeming with refluent current still to glide

Around the hazel banks that o'er thee lean :-
Like thee, sweet stream, my wearied soul would roam
(Forgetful of life's dark and troublous hour)
Through scenes where Fancy frames her fairy bower,
And Love, enchanted, rears his cottage-home;
But time and tide wait not-and I, like thee,

Must

go where tempests rage, and wrecks bestrew the sea,

2.

ON A MOONLIGHT VIEW OF HIGHLAND SCENERY.

TO

How sweet, my friend, at this lone hour, to scale
These moonlight mountain cliffs, and view below
The dark lake sleeping in the silver glow
With all its shadowy isles;to list alone
The dying winds that sigh around the steep,
And summer rills adown the rocks that creep
With a dull, tinkling, melancholy wail;-
How solemnly, while hush'd the fitful gale,

Falls on the ear that deep and nameless tone,
From the dim bosom of the wilderness ;—

Made of all mingling sounds,-so like the moan
Of child that murmurs through its dream of bliss :-
Thus look'd the infant world ere yet the groan
Of human guilt or grief disturbed its happiness!

3.

TO THE SAME.

THEY call'd us brother bards!-The same blue streams
Witness'd our youthful sports;our tears have sprung
Together, when those ancient tales were sung, d
That tinged our fancy's first and sweetest dreams;
Two simple boys bewitch'd with magic themes !-
And still, as riper years and judgment came,
On mutual couch we plann'd our mutual schemes,
Our tastes, our friendships, and our faith the same:
But not the same our task-Thy loftier lyre,
Which, with the tide of feeling, swells or falls,
Shall charm tumultuous camps and courtly halls,
And rouse the warrior's arm and patriot's ire
While I shall chant my little madrigals
To happy circles round the cottage fire.

ON

THE DEPARTURE OF AUTUMN.

1.

THEY are gone, the bright visions for ever are past,
The forests are drear and the skies overcast ;

The enchantments of autumn are vanished, and now
The snow mists have covered the grey mountain's brow.

2.

There were hours of enchantment, when heavenly light,
Mid the tempests of life shall ne'er fade from my sight;
Whose influence by memory cherished shall bloom,
And the dark hour of midnight with transport illume.

3.

There were forms of enchantment that floated around
Mid the golden-hued groves on the leaf-covered ground-
Those forms will revive in the dark winter day,
And enliven with magical beauty my way.

4.

There was music divine, when the redbreast at morn
His wild notes renewed on his leaf-dropping thorn;
There was fragrance most soothing that filled the calm air,
From the dark wreaths of foliage that lay here and there.

5.

There was joy most enchanting, when morning awoke Through the vapours of frost, that dissolved into smoke When the horn of the hunter re-echoed afar,

And the purple rays rested on Loch Vennachar

6.

But a weight on my breast, and a fire in my brain,
The high-soaring raptures of fancy restrain.
They are gone! But they flourish in memory still,
The joys of the wild-wood and heath-covered hill

BALLAD.

1.

WHEN the sky is black above, and the billows white below,
And between the foaming swells we are lab'ring to and fro;
When waves they roar beneath us, and thunders roll o'er head,
O think ye not, ye landsmen! it is a scene of dread?

But dreadful though it be, yet it cannot us appal,

For we feel Affection pours her prayers, and mercy hears them all.

2.

When the ship is on her beams, and the masts are all a wreck,
And, to 'scape the angry surge, we are lash'd upon the deck,
When night is closing fast, and no sign of succour near,
O think ye not, ye landsmen! it is a scene of fear?

But fearful though it be, yet it cannot us appal,

For we trust Affection pours her prayer, and mercy hears them all.

3.

But see, the morn approaching, a vessel heaves in sight,
The waves are sinking once again, the breezes they are light,
She sees our waving signal, and swiftly beareth down,
The red cross is her flag, and her country is our own;

With pleasure then, ye landsmen! our dangers we recall,

For we know Affection pour'd her prayers, and mercy hear them all!

VERSES

TO THE MEMORY OF DR JOHN LEYDEN.

WHERE sleep the brave on Java's strand,
Thy ardent spirit, Leyden! fled,
And fame with cypress shades the land
Where genius fell and valour bled.

When triumph's tale is westward borne,
On Border hills no joy shall gleam;
And thy loved Tiviot long shall mourn
The youthful Poet of her stream.

W.M. T.