In her gay zone, by artful Fancy fram’d, To the rapt youth that musid on Shakespear's
The bright rose blush'd, che full carnation flam'd. To Ogilvie the Muse of Pindar gave. [grave,
Her cheeks the glow of splendid clouds display, Time ®, as he sung, a moment ceas'd to Ay,
And her eyes flash insufferable day.

And lazy Sleep 9 unfolded half his eye.
With milder air the gentle Autumn came, O wake, sweet bard, the Theban lyre again ;
But seem'd to languish at ber sister's flame. With ancient valour swell the sounding strain;
Yet, conscious of her boundless wealth, she bore Hail the high trophies by thy country won,
On high the emblems of her golden store. The wreaths that flourish for each valiant son.
Yet could she boast the plenty-pouring hand, While Hardyknute frowns red with Norway's
The liberal smile, benevolent and bland.

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.

ELEGY 1.

“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."

breeze
Slides to thine ear this softly-breathing strain ;
Sounds that move smoother than the steps of ease,
And pour oblivion in the ear of pain.

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.

Those airs' that, breathing 'o'er the breast o ELEGY IV.

Thames,

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.

chance,

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,

aures.

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.

EPISTLE I.
WHERE is the man, who, prodigal of mind,
In one wide wish embraces human kind ?
All pride of sects, all party zeal above,
Whose priest is Reason, and whose god is Love;
Fair Nature's friend, a foe to fraud and art-
Where is the man so welcome to my heart?

The sightless herd sequacious, who pursue
Dull folly's path, and do as others do,
Who look with purblind prejudice and scorn,
On different sects, in different cations born,
Let us, my Craufurd, with compassion view,
Pity their pride, but shun their errour too.

From Belvidere's fair groves, and mountains
Which Nature rais'd, rejoicing to be seen, (green,
Let us, while raptur'd on her works we gaze,
And the heart riots on luxurious praise,
Th’expanded thought, the boundless wish retain,
And let not Nature moralize in vain.

O sacred guide ! preceptress more sublime
Than sages boasting o'er the wrecks of time!
See on each page her beauteous volume bear
The golden characters of good and fair.
All human knowledge (blush collegiate pride !)
Flows from her works, to none that reads denied.

Shall the dull inmate of pedantic walls,
On whose old walk the sun-beain seldom falls,