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In her gay zone, by artful Fancy fram’d, To the rapt youth that musid on Shakespear's
And lazy Sleep 9 unfolded half his eye.
gore, Nor might she fear in beauty to excel,
Paint her pale matrons weeping on the shore. From whose fair head such golden tresses fell; Hark! the green clarion pouring floods of breath Nor might she envy Summer's flowery zone, Voluminously loud; high scorn of death In whose sweet eye the star of evening shone. Each gallant spirit elates; see Rothsay's thane Next, the pale power that blots the golden With arm of mountain oak his firm bow strain ! sky,
Hark! the string twangs—the whizzing arrow Wreath'd her grim brows, and rollid her stormy
flies : eye;
The fierce horse falls indignant falls--and dies. “ Behold," she cried, with voice that shook the O'er the dear urn, where glorious Wallace ground,
sleeps, (The bard, the sisters, trembled at the sound) True valour bleeds, and patriot virtue weeps. ** Ye weak admirers of a grape, or rose,
Son of the lyre, what high ennobling strain, Behold my wild magnificence of snows!
What meed from these shall generous Wallace See my keen frost her glassy bosom bare! Who greatly scorning an usurper's pride, [gain? Mock the faint Sun, and bind the fluid air! Bar'd his brave breast for liberty, and died. Nature to you may lend a painted hour,
Boast, Scotland, boast thy sons of mighty name, With you may sport, when I suspend my power. Thine ancient chiefs of high heroic fame, But you and Nature, who that power obey, Souls that to death their country's foes oppos'd, Shall own my beauty, or shall dread my sway." And life in freedom, glorious freedom, clos'd. She spoke: the bard, whose gentle heart ne'er Where, yet bewail'd, Argyle's warm ashes lie, gave
Let Music breathe her most persuasive sigh. One pain or trouble that he knew to save, To him, what Heaven to man could give, it gave, No favour'd nymph extols with partial lays, Wise, generous, honest, eloquent and brave, But gives to each her picture for her praise. Genius and Valour for Argyle shall mourn,
Mute lies his lyre in death's uncheerful gloom, | And his own laurels flourish round bis urn. And Truth and Genius weep at Thomson's tomb. O, may they bloom beneath a fav’ring sky, Yet still the Muse's living sounds pervade And iu their shade Reproach and Envy die ! Her ancient scenes of Caledonian shade. Still Nature listens to the tuneful lay,
* See Mr. Ogilvie's Ode to the Genius of On Kilda's mountains and in Endermay.
Shakespear. 'Th' ethereal brilliance of poetic fire,
8 Ode to Time. Ibid. The mighty band that smites the sounding lyre, 9 Ode to Sleep. Ibid. Strains that on Fancy's strongest pinion rise, 10 William Wallace, who, after bravely defendConceptions vast, and thoughts that grasp the ing his country against the arms of Edward' I. skies,
was executed as a rebel, though he had taken ng oath of allegiance.
“The genial power that speeds the golden dart,
Each charm of tender passion shall inspire ; CHILDREN of Fancy, whither are ye fled? With fond affection fill the mutual heart, Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd And feed the fame of ever-young desire. hours,
“ Come, gentle Loves ! your myrtle garlands That once with myrtle garlands bound my head,
bring ; That once bestrew'd my vernal path with
The smiling bower with cluster'd roses spread; flowers?
Come, gentle airs ! with incense-dropping wing In yon fair vale, where blooms the beechen grove, The breathing sweets of verval odour shed. Where winds the slow wave thro' the Rowery
“ Hark, as the strains of swelling music rise, plain,
How the notes vibrate on the far'ring gale! To these fond arms you led the tyrant, Love,
Auspicious glories beam along the skies, With Fear and Hope and Folly in his traiu.
And powers uoseen the happy moments My lyre, that, left at careless distance, hung
hail ! Light on some pale branch of the osier shade, • Extatic bours ! so every distant day To lays of amorous blandishinent you strung, Like this serene on downy wings shall more; And o'er my sleep the lulling music play'd.
Rise crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay, “ Rest, gentle youth! while on the quivering The faithful joys of Fancy and of Love."
ELEGY II. “ In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile, And were they vain, those soothing lays ye And Time unenvious crown each roseate hour;
sung ? Eternal joy shall every care beguile,
Children of Fancy! yes, your song was vain; Breathie in each gale, and bloom in every On each soft air though rapt Attention hung, flower,
And Silence listen'd on the sleeping plain. " This silver stream, that down its crystal way The strains yet vibrate on my ravish'd ear,
Frequent has led thy musing steps along, And still to smile the mimic beauties seem, Shall, still the same, in sunny mazes play, Though now the visionary scenes appear And with its murmurs melodise thy song.
Like the faint traces of a vanish'd dream. “Unfading green shall these fair grores adorn; Mirror of life ! the glories thus depart
Those living meads immortal flowers unfold; Of all that youth and love and fancy frame, In rosy smiles shall rise each blushing morn, When painful Anguish speeds the piercing dart, And every evening close in clouds of gold.
Or Envy blasts the blooming flowers of fame. “The tender Loves that watch thy slumbering rest, Nurse of wild wishes, and of fond desires,
And round thee flowers and balmy myrtles strew, The prophetess of Fortune, false and vain, Shall charm, thro'all approaching life, thy breast, To scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms expires With joys for ever pure, for ever new.
Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train.
Go, Siren, go-lhy charms on others try;
My beaten bark at length has reach'd the shore: Tet on the rock my dropping garments lie;
And let me perish if I trust thee more. Come, gentle Quiet! long-neglected maid !
O come, and lead me to thy mossy cell; There unregarded in the peaceful shade,
With calm Repose and Silence let me dwell. Come happier hours of sweet unanxious rest, When all the struggling passions shall sub
side ; When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast,
And sinooth my silent minutes as they glide. But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye,
Whom never cares or passions discompose, 0, blest Insensibility, be nigh, And with thy soothing hand my weary eyelids
close. Then shall the cares of love and glory cease,
And all the fond anxieties of fame; Alike regardless in the arms of Peace,
If these extol, or those debase a name. In Lyttelton though all the Muses praise,
His generous praise shall then delight no more, Vor the sweet magic of his tender lays Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd be
fore. Yor then, though Malice, with insidious guise
Of Friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; Northen, tho' Envy broach her blackening lies,
Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest. Ostate to be desir'd! when hostile rage
Prevails in human inore than savage haunts; When man with man eternal war will wage,
And never yield that mercy which he wants. When dark Design invades the cheerful hour,
And draws the heart with social freedom warm, Its cares, its wishes, and its thoughts to pour,
Smiling insidious with the hopes of harm. Vain man, to otñer's failings still severe,
Yet not one foible in himself can find;
But to her own e'en Wisdorn's self is blind.
This sordid malice, and inglorious strife,
And teach my heart to comment on my life. With thee, Philosophy; still let mc dwell,
My tutor'd mind from vulgar meanness save; Bring Peace, bring Quiet to my humble cell,
And bid them lay the green turf on my grave.
“O born to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime
Than beings of inferior nature prove ! To triumph in the golden hours of time,
And feel the charins of fancy and of love! “ High-favour'd man! for him unfolding fair
In orient light this native landscape smiles; For him sweet Hope disarms the hand of Care,
Exalts his pleasures, and his grief beguiles. “ Blows not a blossom on the breast of Spring,
Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, Trills not a songster of the soaring wing, · But fragrance, health, and melody succeed. “O let me still with simple Nature live,
My lowly field-flowers on her altar lay, Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give,
And calmly waste my inoffensive day! “ No titled name, no envy.teasing dome,
No glittering wealth my tutor's wishes crave; So Health and Peace be near my humble home,
A cool stream murmur, and a green tree wave: “So may the sweet Euterpe not disdain
· At Eve's chaste hour her silver lyre to bring ; The Muse of pity wake her soothing strain,
And tune to sympathy the trembling string. “ Thus glide the pensive moments, o'er the vale
While floating shades of dusky night descend : Not left untold the lover's tender tale,
Nor unenjoyed the heart-enlarging friend. "To love and friendship flow the social bowl!
To attic vit and elegance of mind ; To all the natire beauties of the soul,
The simple charms of truth, and sense refin'd. “ Then to explore whatever ancient sage
Studious from Nature's early volume drew,
Hesperian fancy, or Aonian ease;
please. " When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's head,
(ray; Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous Carelessly wander froin my sylvan shed,
And catch the sweet breath of the rising day. “ Nor seldom, loitering as I muse along, [bore;
Mark from what lower the breeze its sweetness Or listen to the labour-soothing song
Of bees that range the thymy uplands o'er. v Slow let me climb the mountain's airy brow,
The green height gain'd, in museful rapture Sleep to the murmur of the woods below, [lie,
Or look on Nature with a lover's eye. “ Delightful hours! O, thus for ever low;
Led by fair Fancy round the varied year: So sball my breast with nativeraptures glow,
Nor feel one pang from folly, pride, or fear. “Firm be my heart to Nature and to Truth,
Nor vainiy wander from their dictates sage : So Joy shall triunph on the brows of youth,
So Hope shall smooth the dreary paths of age.''
Bright o'er the green hills rose the morning ray,
The wood-lark's song resounded on the plain ; Fair Nature felt the warm embrace of day,
And smild thro' all her animated reign. When young Delight, of Hope and Fancy-born,
His head on tufted wild thyme half-reclin'd, Caught the gay colours of the orient morn,
And thence of life this picture vajn design'd.
Those airs' that, breathing 'o'er the breast o ELEGY IV.
Led amorous Echo down the long, long rale, OH! yet, ye dear, deluding visions stay!
Delighted; studious from thy sweeter strain Fond hopes, of Innocence and Fancy born!
To melodise her own; when fancy-lorn, For you I'll cast these waking thoughts away,
She mourns in anguish o'er the drooping breast For one wild dream of life's romantic morn.
Of young Narcissus. From their amber urns,
Parting their green locks streaming in the sun, Ab! no: the sunshine o'er each object spread
The Naiads rose and smild: nor since the day, By flattering Hope, the Aowers that blew so
When first by music, and by freedom led Like the gay gardens of Armida, fled, [fair, From Grecian Acidale; nor since the day,
And vanish'd from the powerful rod of Care. When last from Arno's weeping fount they came, So the poor pilgrim, who in rapturous thought
To smooth the ringlets of Sabrina's hair, Plans his dear journey to Loretto's shrine,
Heard they like minstrelsy-fountains and shades Seems on his way by guardian seraphs brought,
Of Twit'nam, and of Windsor fam'd in song ! Sees aiding angels favour his design.
Ye heights of Clermont, and ye bowers of Hain !
That heard the fine strain vibrate through your Ambrosial blossoms, such of old as blew
groves, By those fresh founts on Eden's happy plaiu, Ah ! where were then your long-lov'd Muses filed And Sharon's roses all his passage strew: When Handel breath'd no more i-aud thou, So Fanay dreams; but Fancy's dreams are
sweet queen, vain.
That nightly wrapt thy Milton's hallow'd ear Wasted and weary on the mountain's side,
In the soft ecstacies of Lydian airs; His way unknown, the hapless pilgrim lies,
That since attun'd to Handel's high-wound lyres Or takes some ruthless robber for his guide, The lay by thee suggested; could'st not thou And prone beneath his cruel sabre dies. Soothe with thy sweet song the grim fury's
breast? Life's morning-landscape gilt with orient light, Where Hope and joy and Fancy bold their | Nor Virtue's smile attracts, nor Fame's loud
Cold-hearted Death ! bis wanly-glaring eye reign,
(bright, The grove's green wave, the blue stream
sparkling Can pierce his iron ear, for ever barr'd
trump The blythe Hours dancing round Hyperion's To gentle sounds : the golden roice of song, wain,
That charms the gloomy partner of his birth, In radiant colours youth's free hand pourtrays, That soothes despair and pain, he hears no more,
Then holds the flattering tablet to his eye ; Than rude winds, blust'ring from the Cambrian Nor thinks how soon the vernal grove decays,
cliffs, Nor sees the dark cloud gathering o'er the sky. The traveller's feeble lay. To court fair Fame, Hence Fancy conqner'd by the dart of Pain, To toil with slow steps up the star-crown'd hill, And wandering far from her Platonic shade,
Where Science, leading on ker sculptur'd urn, Mourns o'er the ruins of her transient reign,
Looks conscious on the secret-working hand Nor unrepining sees her visions fade.
Of Nature ; on the wings of Genius borne,
To soar above the beaten walks of life, Their parent banish'd, hence her children fiy,
Is, like the paintings of an evening cloud, The fairy race that fill'd her festive train; Th'amusement of an hour. Night, gloomy Night, Joy tears his wreath, and Hope inverts her eye, Spreads her black wings, and all the vision dies. And Folly wonders that her dream was vain.
Ere long, the heart, that heaves this sigh to
thee, Shall beat no more ! ere long, on this fond lay
Which mourns at Handel's tomb, insulting Time A POEM TO THE MEMORY OF Shall strew bis cankering rust. Thy strain perMR. HANDEL.
Thy sacred strain, shall the hoar warrior spare ; WRITTEN IN 1760.
For sounds like thine, at Nature's early birth, Spirits of music, and ye porers of song,
Arous'd him slumbering on the dead profound
Of dusky chaos; by the golden harps That wak'd to painful melody the lyre
Of choral angels summond to his race : Of young Jessides, when, in Sion's vale
And sounds like thine, when Nature is no more, He wept o'er bleeding friendship; ye that Shall call him weary from the lengthen'd toils moum',
Of twice ten thousand years. O would his hand While Freedom, drooping, o'er Euphrates' stream, Yet spare some portion of this vital flame, Her pensive harp on the pale osier hung, The trembling Muse that now faint effort makes Begin once more the sorrow soothing-lay. On young and artless wing, should bear thy Ah! where shall now the Muse fit numbers
praise find ? What accents pure to greet thy tuneful shade, · The water-music. Sweet harmonist? 'twas thine, the tender fall • Rorantesque comas a fronte removit ad Of pity's plaintive lay; for thee the stream
Ovid. Met, Of silver-winding music sweeter play'd,
· L'Allegro and Il Penseroso, set to music buy And purer Row'd for thee--all silent now Mr. Handel.
4 See Milton's Lycidas,
Subliire, above the mortal bounds of Earth, | Through Bethoron proclaims the approaching With heavenly fire relame her feeble ray,
fight, And, taught by seraphs, frame her song for thee. I see the brave youth lead his little band,
I feel, I feel the sacred impulse-hark ! With toil and hunger faint ; yet from his arm Wak'd from according lyres the sweet strains flow The rapid Syrian Aies. Thus Henry once, In symphony divine: from air to air
The British Henry, with his way-worn troop, The trembling numbers fly: swift bursts away Subdu'd the pride of France~Now louder blows The flow of joy—now swells tbe flight of praise The martial clangor: lo Nicanor's host ! Springs the shrill trump aloft ; the toiling chords with threat'ning turrets crown'd, slowly advance Melodious labour through the flying maze; The ponderous elephantsAnd the deep base bis strong sound rolls away, The blazing Sun, from many a golden shield Majestically sweet-Yet, Handel, raise, Reflected gleams afar. Judean chief! Yet wake to higher strains thy sacred lyre : How shall thy force, thy little force, sustain The Name of ages, the Supreme of things, The dreadful shock! The great Messiah asks it: He whose hand The hero comes_'Tis boundless mirth and song, Led into form yon everlasting orbs,
And dance and triumph; every labouring string, The harmony of Nature-He whose hand And voice, and breathing shell in concert strain Stretch'd o'er the wilds of space this beauteous To swell the raptures of tumultuous joy, ball,
O master of the passions and the soul, Whose spirit breathes through all his smiling Seraphic Handel! how shall words describe works
Thy music's countless graces, nameless powers ! Music and love-yet, Handel, raise the strain. When he of Gaza7, blind and sunk in chains,
Hark! what angelic sounds, what voice divine On female treachery looks greatly down, Breathes through the ravisht air ! my rapt car How the breast burns indignant ! in thy strain, feels
When sweet-voic'd piety resigns to Heaven, The harmony of Heaven. Hail sacred choir ! Glows not each bosom with the flame of virtue? Immortal spirits, hail! If haply those
O'er Jeptha's votive maid when the soft lute That erst in favourd Palestine proclaim'd Sounds the slow symphony of funeral grief, Glory and peace: her angel-haunted groves, What youthful breast but melts with tender pity? Her piny mountains, and her golden vales What parent bleeds not with a parent's woe? Re-echo'd peace-But, Oh, suspend the strain- 0, longer than this worthless lay can live! The swelling joy's too much for mortal bounds!! While fame and music soothe the human ear; 'Tis transport even to pain.
Be this thy praise : to lead the polish'd mind Yet, hark! what pleasi sounds invite mine To virtue's noblest heights; to light the flame So venerably sweet? 'Tis Sion's lute. [ear Of British freedom, rouse the generous thought, Behold her hero !! from his valiant brow Refine the passions, and exalt the soul Looks Judah's lion, on his thigh the sword To love, to Heaven, to harmony and thee. Of vanquish'd Apollonius-The shrill trump
6 Chorus of youths, in Judas Maccabeus. $ Judas Maccabeus.
7 See the Oratorio of Samson.
The sightless herd sequacious, who pursue
From Belvidere's fair groves, and mountains
O sacred guide ! preceptress more sublime
Shall the dull inmate of pedantic walls,