Where'er from time thou court'st relief,

The Muse shall still, with social grief,

Her gentlest promise keep:

E'en humble Harting's cotiag'd vale
ON THE DEATH OF COL. CHARLES ROSS, IN THE Shall learn the sad repeated tale,

And bid her shepherds weep.
Written May, 1745.
WHILE, lost to all his former mirth,
Britannia's genius bends to earth,

And mourns the fatal day :
While stain'd with blood he strives to tear | Ir aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
Unseemly from his sea-green hair

May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, The wreaths of cheerful May:

Like thy own solemn springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales ; The thoughts which musing Pity pays, And fond Remembrance loves to raise, O nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd Sun Your faithful hours attend :

Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, Still Fancy, to herself unkind,

With brede ethereal wove, Awakes to grief the soften'd mind,

O'erhang his wavy bed : And points the bleeding friend.

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat, By rapid Scheld's descending wave

With short shrill shriek Aits by on leathern wing, His country's vows shall bless the grave,

Or where the beetle winds
Where'er the youth is laid:

His small but sullen horn,
That sacred spot the village hind
With every sweetest turf shall bind,

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
And Peace protect the shade.

| Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:

Now teach me, maid compos'd,
O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,

To breathe some soften'd strain,
Aërial forms shall sit at eve,
And bend the pensive head;

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, And, fall'n to save his injur'd land,

May not unseemly with its stillness suit, Imperial Honour's aweful hand

As, musing slow, I hail Shall point his lonely bed!

Thy genial lov'd return !

The warlike dead of every age,
Who fill the fair recording page,

Shall leave their sainted rest :
And, half-reclining on his spear,
Each wondering chief by turns appear

To hail the blooming guest.

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,

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy's laureld field,

And gaze with fix'd delight :
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel,

And wish th' avenging fight.

But, lo! where, sunk in deep despair,
Her garments torn, her bosom bare,

Impatient Freedom lies!
Her matted tresses madly spread,
To every sod which wraps the dead,

She turns her joyless eyes.

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with

sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still,

The pensive pleasures sweet

Prepare thy shadowy car.
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin ʼmidst its dreary delis,

Whose walls more aweful nod

By thy religious gleams.
Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That from the mountain's side

Views wilds and swelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.

Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground,
Till notes of triumph bursting round

Proclaim her reign restor'd:
Till William seek the sad retreat,
And, bleeding at her sacred feet,

Present the sated sword.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light :

If, weak to soothe so soft an heart,
These pictur'd glories nought impart,

To dry thy constant tear :
If yet, in Sorrow's distant eye,
Expos'd and pale thou see'st him lie,

Wild war insulting near :

While sallow fills Autumn 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,

Or dwell in willow'd meads more near, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, With those to whom the stork * is dear : Thy gentlest induence own,

Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd,
And love thy favourite name !

Whose crown a British queen refus'd!
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains,
One holier name alone remains;

The perfect spell shall then avail,

| Hail, nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail !


Beyond the measure vast of thought,
Who shall awake the Spartan fife,

The works, the wizard Time has wrought! And call in solemn sounds to life,

The Gaul, 't is held of antique story, The youths, whose locks divinely spreading, Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand +, Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,

No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary, At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding, | He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land. Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view ?

To the blown Baltic then, they say, What new Alceus, fancy-blest,

The wild waves found another way, Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,

Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing, Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise, (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?) A wide wild storm e'en Nature's self confounding,

Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted

surprise. wound!

This pillar'd earth so firm and wide, O goddess, in that feeling hour,

By winds and inward labours torn, When most its sounds would court thy ears, In thunders dread was push'd aside, Let not my shell's misguided power

And down the shouldering billows borne. E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.

And see, like gems, her laughing train, No, Freedom, no, I will not tell,

The little isles on every side, How Rome, before thy face,

Monat, once hid from those who search the main, With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,

Where thousand elfin shapes abide, Push'd by a wild and artless race,

And Wight, who checks the westering tide, From off its wide ambitious base,

For thee consenting Heaven has each bestow'd, When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke, A fair attendant on her sovereign pride :

And all the blended work of strength and grace To thee this blest divorce she ow'd,
With many a rude repeated stroke, [broke. For thou hast made her vales thy lov'd, thy last abode!
And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments


Then too, 't is said, an hoary pile,
Yet, e'en where'er the least appear'd

'Midst the green navel of our isle, Th' admiring world thy hand rever'd; Still, 'midst the scatter'd states around,

• The Dutch, amongst whom there are very Sorne remnants of her strength were found;

severe penalties for those who are convicted of They saw, by what escap'd the storm,

killing this bird. They are kept tame in almost all How wondrous rose her perfect form;

their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the How in the great, the labour'd whole,

arms of which they make a part. The common Each mighty master pour'd his soul;

people of Holland are said to entertain a superFor sunny Florence, seat of Art,

stitious sentiment, that if the whole species of them Beneath her vines preserv'd a part,

should become extinct, they should lose their Till they, whom Science lov'd to name,

liberties. (0, who could fear it!) quench'd her flame.

+ This tradition is mentioned by several of our And, lo, an humbler relic laid

old historians. Some naturalists, too, have endeaIn jealous Pisa's olive shade!

voured to support the probability of the fact, by arguSee small Marino joins the theme,

ments drawn from the correspondent disposition of Though least, not last in thy esteem ;

the two opposite coasts. I do not remember that Strike, louder strike th' ennobling strings

any poetical use has been hitherto made of it. To those, whose merchants sons were kings;

There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride,

mermaid, becoming enamoured of a young man of In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride :

extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meetHail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,

ing him one day as he walked on the shore, and Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure:

opened her passion to him, but was received with a Nor e'er her former pride relate

coldness, occasioned by his horrour and surprise at To sad Liguria's bleeding state.

her appearance. This, however, was so misconAh, no! more pleas'd thy haunts I seek,

strued by the sea-lady, that, in revenge for his On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak :

treatment of her, she punished the whole island, by (Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,

covering it with a mist, so that all who attempted to The daring archer heard thy voice;

carry on any coinmerce with it, either never arrived Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,

at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were The ravening eagle northward Aled.)

on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs.

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 beains 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 beguilid, 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' iinmortal 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! E'en now, before bis 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 wav'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 bang 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 beat; (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 balm,

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 mir'de “ O, how supremely art thou blest,

And now it courted Love, now raving call'd og Thou, lady, thou shalt rule the West !"

With eyes up-rajs'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, o, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! By turns they felt the glowing mind

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

Her bow across her shoulder fung, Till once, 't is said, when all were fir’d,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,

| Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; i 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 flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,

Loose were her tresses seen, her 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.

HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND; 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,

Hone, 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, SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND AKVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, While airy minstrels warble jocund notes. SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

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 appear

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 And melting virgins own their love.

strain. No wither'd witch shall here be seen,

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

powers! The female fays shall haunt the green,

+ A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who And dress thy grave with pearly dew. introduced Home to Collins.

E'on yet presery'd, how often mayst thou hear, These, too, thou 'lt sing! for well thy magic Muse

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 ne'er ear.

lose; At every pause, before thy mind possest,

Let not dank Will $ mislead you to the heath: 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 sight, 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 reed,

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.


'Tis 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, then! Or in the depth of Uist'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 return! 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 near, 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 rise, 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 sighs ?

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


And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless 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 travell’d 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 cheek, drown'd!

And with his blue-swoln face before her stand, Illustrious William! | Britain's guardian name! I 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 shall aid

thee more !"

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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 the above period.

t Second sight is the term that is used for the Š 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.


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