Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! O'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they wave, • Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main ; Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail : I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land: With me in dreadful harmony they join, "Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race. Mark the year, and mark the night, The shrieks of death through Berkeley's roofs that ring; Shrieks of an agonizing king! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, Amazement in his van, with Flight combined; "Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames and statesmen old, In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine ! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; What strings symphonious tremble in the air! Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. "The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice, as of the cherub-choir, And distant warblings lessen on my ear, Fond, impious man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? And warms the nations with redoubled ray. The different doom our fates assign. He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. WILLIAM COLLINS. ODE TO THE DEATH OF MR THOMSON. THE SCENE OF THE FOLLOWING STANZAS IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND. IN yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, To deck its poet's sylvan grave. In yon deep bed of whispering reeds May love through life the soothing shade. Then maids and youths shall linger here; To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore To bid his gentle spirit rest! And oft as Ease and Health retire The friend shall view yon whitening spire, (a) But thou, who own'st that earthly bed, Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide (a) Mr Thomson was buried in Richmond church. Now waft me from the green hill's side And see, the fairy valleys fade; Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! The genial meads (a) assign'd to bless Long, long thy stone and pointed clay ODE TO THE SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS. INSCRIBED TO MR JOHN HOME. HOME thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future day Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song. (a) Mr Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death. |