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In her gay zone, by artful Fancy fram'd,
With milder air the gentle Autumn came,
Wreath'd her grim brows, and roll'd her stormy
"Behold," she cried, with voice that shook the ground,
(The bard, the sisters, trembled at the sound)
One pain or trouble that he knew to save,
Mute lies his lyre in death's uncheerful gloom,
Th' ethereal brilliance of poetic fire, The mighty hand that smites the sounding lyre, Strains that on Fancy's strongest pinion rise, Conceptions vast, and thoughts that grasp the skies,
To the rapt youth that mus'd on Shakespear's
O wake, sweet bard, the Theban lyre again;
Paint her pale matrons weeping on the shore.
The fierce horse falls indignant falls-and dies. O'er the dear urn, where glorious Wallace l sleeps,
True valour bleeds, and patriot virtue weeps. Son of the lyre, what high ennobling strain, What meed from these shall generous Wallace Who greatly scorning an usurper's pride, [gain? Bar'd his brave breast for liberty, and died.
Boast, Scotland, boast thy sons of mighty name, Thine ancient chiefs of high heroic fame, Souls that to death their country's foes oppos'd, And life in freedom, glorious freedom, clos'd.
Where, yet bewail'd, Argyle's warm ashes lie, Let Music breathe her most persuasive sigh. To him, what Heaven to man could give, it gave, Wise, generous, honest, eloquent and brave, Genius and Valour for Argyle shall mourn, And his own laurels flourish round his urn. O, may they bloom beneath a fav'ring sky, And in their shade Reproach and Envy die !
'See Mr. Ogilvie's Ode to the Genius of Shakespear.
3 Ode to Time. Ibid. 9 Ode to Sleep. Ibid.
10 William Wallace, who, after bravely defending his country against the arms of Edward I. was executed as a rebel, though he had taken nu oath of allegiance.
CHILDREN of Fancy, whither are ye fled? Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd hours,
That once with myrtle garlands bound my head, That once bestrew'd my vernal path with flowers?
In yon fair vale, where blooms the beechen grove, Where winds the slow wave thro' the flowery plain,
To these fond arms you led the tyrant, Love, With Fear and Hope and Folly in his train. My lyre, that, left at careless distance, hung Light on some pale branch of the osier shade, To lays of amorous blandishment you strung,
And o'er my sleep the lulling music play'd. "Rest, gentle youth! while on the quivering 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.
"In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile,
And Time unenvious crown each roseate hour; Eternal joy shall every care beguile,
"The genial power that speeds the golden dart, Each charm of tender passion shall inspire; With fond affection fill the mutual heart, And feed the flame of ever-young desire. "Come, gentle Loves! your myrtle garlands bring;
The smiling bower with cluster'd roses spread; Come, gentle airs! with incense-dropping wing The breathing sweets of vernal odour shed. "Hark, as the strains of swelling music rise,
How the notes vibrate on the fav'ring gale! Auspicions glories beam along the skies, And powers unseen the happy moments hail !
"Extatic hours! so every distant day
Like this serene on downy wings shall move; Rise crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay, The faithful joys of Fancy and of Love."
AND were they vain, those soothing lays ye sung?
Children of Fancy! yes, your song was vain; Breathe in each gale, and bloom in every On each soft air though rapt Attention hung,
"This silver stream, that down its crystal way Frequent has led thy musing steps along, Shall, still the same, in sunny mazes play,
And with its murmurs melodise thy song. "Unfading green shall these fair groves adorn; Those living meads immortal flowers unfold; In rosy smiles shall rise each blushing morn,
And every evening close in clouds of gold. "The tender Loves that watch thy slumbering rest, And round thee flowers and balmy myrtles strew, Shall charm, thro' all approaching life, thy breast, With joys for ever pure, for ever new.
And Silence listen'd on the sleeping plain.
Of all that youth and love and fancy frame, When painful Anguish speeds the piercing dart, Or Envy blasts the blooming flowers of fame. Nurse of wild wishes, and of fond desires,
The prophetess of Fortune, false and vain, To scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms expires Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train.
Go, Siren, go-thy charms on others try;
With calm Repose and Silence let me dwell.
Come happier hours of sweet unanxious rest, When all the struggling passions shall subside;
When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast,
And smooth my silent minutes as they glide. But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye, Whom never cares or passions discompose, O, blest Insensibility, be nigh,
And with thy soothing hand my weary eyelids close.
Then shall the cares of love and glory cease,
If these extol, or those debase a name.
Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd before.
Nor then, though Malice, with insidious guise
Of Friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; Nor then, tho' Envy broach her blackening lies, Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest. O state to be desir'd! when hostile rage Prevails in human more than savage haunts; When man with man eternal war will wage,
And never yield that mercy which he wants.
Yet not one foible in himself can find;
And teach my heart to comment on my life. With thee, Philosophy; still let me 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.
BRIGHT o'er the green hills rose the morning ray,
And thence of life this picture vain design'd.
"O born to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime
And feel the charins of fancy and of love!
But fragrance, health, and melody succeed.
No glittering wealth my tutor'd 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 wit and elegance of mind ;
To all the native 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,
Haply to catch some spark of eastern fire,
Some melting note from Sappho's tender lyre,
"When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's head, [ray;
Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous Carelessly wander from my sylvan shed,
And catch the sweet breath of the rising day. "Nor seldom, loitering as I muse along, [bore; Mark from what flower the breeze its sweetness Or listen to the labour-soothing song
Of bees that range the thymy uplands o'er. "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.
OH! yet, ye dear, deluding visions stay!
And vanish'd from the powerful rod of Care. So the poor pilgrim, who in rapturous thought Plans his dear journey to Loretto's shrine, Seems on his way by guardian seraphs brought, Sees aiding angels favour his design. Ambrosial blossoms, such of old as blew
By those fresh founts on Eden's happy plain, And Sharon's roses all his passage strew:
So Faney dreams; but Fancy's dreams are vain.
Wasted and weary on the mountain's side,
His way unknown, the hapless pilgrim lies, Or takes some ruthless robber for his guide, And prone beneath his cruel sabre dies. Life's morning-landscape gilt with orient light, Where Hope and Joy and Fancy hold their reign, [bright, The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling The blythe Hours dancing round Hyperion's
In radiant colours youth's free hand pourtrays, Then holds the flattering tablet to his eye; Nor thinks how soon the vernal grove decays, Nor sees the dark cloud gathering o'er the sky. Hence Fancy conquer'd by the dart of Pain,
And wandering far from her Platonic shade, Mourns o'er the ruins of her transient reign, Nor unrepining sees her visions fade. Their parent banish'd, hence her children fly, The fairy race that fill'd her festive train; Joy tears his wreath, and Hope inverts her eye, And Folly wonders that her dream was vaín.
A POEM TO THE MEMORY OF MR. HANDEL.
WRITTEN IN 1760.
SPIRITS of music, and ye powers of song,
While Freedom, drooping o'er Euphrates' stream,
Ah! where shall now the Muse fit numbers find?
What accents pure to greet thy tuneful shade,
Those airs' that, breathing o'er the breast o
Led amorous Echo down the long, long vale,
That nightly wrapt thy Milton's hallow'd ear In the soft ecstacies of Lydian airs;
That since attun'd to Handel's high-wound lyre The lay by thee suggested; could'st not thou Soothe with thy sweet song the grim fury's breast4?
Nor Virtue's smile attracts, nor Fame's loud Cold-hearted Death! his wanly-glaring eye trump
Can pierce his iron ear, for ever barr'd
The traveller's feeble lay. To court fair Fame,
Ere long, the heart, that heaves this sigh to
Subline, above the mortal bounds of Earth,
Whose spirit breathes through all his smiling works
Music and love—yet, Handel, raise the strain.
The harmony of Heaven. Hail sacred choir !
Yet, hark! what pleasing sounds invite mine
Through Bethoron proclaims the approaching fight,
I see the brave youth lead his little band,
The blazing Sun, from many a golden shield
The hero comes-'Tis boundless mirth and song,
O master of the passions and the soul, Seraphic Handel! how shall words describe Thy music's countless graces, nameless powers! When he of Gaza7, blind and sunk in chains, On female treachery looks greatly down, How the breast burns indignant! in thy strain, When sweet-voic'd piety resigns to Heaven, Glows not each bosom with the flame of virtue ?
O'er Jeptha's votive maid when the soft lute Sounds the slow symphony of funeral grief, What youthful breast but melts with tender pity? What parent bleeds not with a parent's woe?
O, longer than this worthless lay can live! While fame and music soothe the human ear; Be this thy praise: to lead the polish'd mind To virtue's noblest heights; to light the flame Of British freedom, rouse the generous thought, Refine the passions, and exalt the soul To love, to Heaven, to harmony and thee.
6 Chorus of youths, in Judas Maccabeus. 7 See the Oratorio of Samson.
THE ENLARGEMENT OF THE MIND.
TO GENERAL CRAUFURD.
WRITTEN AT BELVIDERE. 1763.
WHERE is the man, who, prodigal of mind,
The sightless herd sequacious, who pursue
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-beam seldom falls,