« EelmineJätka »
“ Ye gales * !” they cried, " ye cruel eastern ODE TO CAPTIVITY.
Adverse to Troy, conspiring with the foe,
That eager stretch the victor's swelling sails, O STERN Captivity! from Albion's land
To what unfriendly regions will ge blow? Far, far, avert the terrours of thy rod !
Saall we serve on Dorie plains ? O wave not o'er her fields thy flaming brand !
Or where in Pitbia Pyrrhus reigns ?
Shall Echo catch our captire tales?
Joyless in the sprightly vales
Say, shall we sit and dream of Simois' fairer
waves ? O spare from sanguine rites the silver foods ! “ Shall Delos, sacred Delos, hcar our woes? Nor haunt with shapes obscene our unpolluted Where when Latona'sotlspring sprung to birth, woods !
The palm spontaneous, and the laurel rose, Is yet too weak, rapacious power, thy throne ?
o Dian, Dian, on thy hallowed earth ; While the chain's continent thy vassal waits,
With Delian inaids, a spotless band, The Rbine, the Danube, and the sounding Rhone,
At virtue's altar shall we stand Proclaim thy triumphs through an hundred
And hail thy name with choral joy
Invok'd in vain for falling Troy?
Thy shafts victorious shall our songs prociaim,
When not an arrow fed to spare thy rotaries
“To Athens, art's fair empire, shall we rove? Thine revenge's dagger gleams :
There for some haughty mistress ply the loom, Thy fury bursts on Rome's devoted head, With daring fancy paint avenging Juve, In vain the Scipios liv'd, the Decii, Cato bled ! His forked lightnings fiaming through the Be these thy bounds-whose laws with monarchs
'To blast the bold Titanian race: Tothis fair isle how impotent thy hate !
Or deaf to vature, must we trace Where Pitt, so righteous Heaven and George
In mournful shades our hapless war? ordain,
What art, dread Pallas, to thy car,
That thunder shook op Afric's shore,? By thine, by Pyrrhus' lance, how lufty Iliun tell?
Ah see, ex ulting o'er her prostrate walls,
The victor's fury, and devouring fire !
Asia's hanghty genius lrohe,
Bows the neck to Europe's yoke,
No festal wreaths shall bind our brow,
Happy fair, who seated far
Of cities storm’d and virgins' wrongs,
LATELY PUBLISHED BY THE TITLE OF FINGAL, &c. Their prostate land ?--how Greece her victims tore
Brown Autumin nods upon the mountain's head, From faming altars ? --captive queens they turn'd The dark mist gathers; howling winds assail From Troy reluctant-on the sea-beat shore The blighted desert; on its mineral bed
Their eyes to Heaven were rollid in vain, Dark rolls the river through the sullen vale,
On the hill's dejected scene
The blasted ash alone is seen, (sleeps ;
Tbat marks the grave where Cunnal Behind them Troy a smoking ruin lies,
Gather'd iuto inould'ring heaps Before lie unknown seas, and black incumbent Troin the whirlwind's giddy round, skies.
Its leaves bestrew the ballowed ground.
Across the musing hunter's lonesome way I The late conspiracy against the Portuguese Flit inelancholy ghosts, that chill the dawn of day, government was planned amid the ruins of that rinfortunate capital.
4 An imitation of the first chorus in the Hecu• Senegal. • Louisbourg ba of Luripides.
Connal, thou slumber'st there, the great, the good!
ODE TO YOUTIT.
Youth, disdaining silver hairs,
Autumn's frowns and Winter's cares,
Dwell'st thou but in dimple sleek,
In vernal smiles and Summer's cheek?
On Spring's ambrosial lap thy hands unfold,
is gold. The mountains inourn their consecrated trec; His country Comal mourns ;-what son shall
Graver years come sailing by : rival thee?
Hark! they call me as they ily;
Quit, they cry, for nobler themes, Here was the din of arms, and here o'erthrown
Statesman, quit thy boyish dreams ! The valiant !--mournful are thy wars, Fingal ; Tune to crowds thy pliant voice, The carerns echo'id to the dying groan,
Or flatter thrones, the nobler choice!
Deserting virtue, yet assuine her state;
Thy smiles, that dwell with love, ah! wed them
now to hate.
Or in victory's purple plain
Triumph thou on hills of slain!
While the virgin rends her hair,
Childless sires demand their heir, foes,
Timid orphans kneel and weep: As sportive infant's staff the bearded thistle mous. Or, where the unsunn'd treasures sleep,
Sit brooding o'er thy cave in grim repose. Onward to meet this hern, like a storm,
There mock at human jovs, there mock at bu.
Years away! too dear I prize
Wake my soul's expanding powers;
Come, by streams embow'r'd in wood,
Celestial forms, the fair, the good!
With moral charms associate vernal joys!
Pure nature's pleasures these-the rest are She follow'd to the war, and fought by Connal's
fashion's toys. side.
Come, while ycars reprove in vain, In wild despair, at Connal's foe she drew
Yonth, with me, and rapture reign! The fatal string, impatient flew the dart;
Sculpture, painting, meet my eyes,
Glowing still with young surprise!
This ear be deaf, this voice be mute!
Still my soul, for ever young,
Speak thyself divinely sprung!
Brute or man, in social chain
Still link'd to all, who suffer pain. Her fairest offspring; mournful in the vale
Pursue the eternal law !-one power above I sit, while, issuing from the moss-grown tomb,
Connects, pervades the whole that power din Your once-lov'd voices seem to swell the gale.-
vine is love,
TO THE THAMES.
Nearer to my grove, O Thames !
Lead along thy sultry streams,
Come and cool thy bosom there!
Trees shall shelter, Zephyrs play,
There the lily lifts her head,
I quit thy lyre-but still the traini
Of sweet sensations warms my brain.
Forget to haunt my sullen grove:
Nor flows its own, or others good,
Emblem of yon faded flower,
That, chill'd by frost, expands no more:
The dreary scene yet sometimes closes
When sleep inspires, op beds of roses,
Such dear delusions, fairy charms
As fancy dreams in virtue's arms.
For see, a gracious form is near!
She comes to dry my falling tear.
One pious hand in pity spread
Supports my else unshelter'd head;
The other waves to chase away
The spectres haunting all my day:
She calls-above, below, around
Sweet fragrance breathes, sweet roices sound
Gentle Kitty, slumber finds;
Such a change is misery's due-
- Who wakes to grief should dream of you.
TO MISS K- PL
Ah! bow to music, bow my lays
To beauty's noblest art!
To reach the bosoin mine the praise,
But thine to melt the heart.
"Tis mine to close affliction's wounds,
To brighten pleasure's eye:
But thine, by sweet dissolving sounds,
To make it bliss to die.
My notes but kindle cold desire,
feel for me!
Ah! what I feel for thee!
Associate then thy voice, thy touch,
Owed to mine thy powers !
Connubial union our's !
Wuy, Kitty, with that tender air,
Those eyes to earth inclin'd,
Those timid blushes, why despair
Of empire o'er mankind ?
Ah! know, that beauty's surest arms
Are candour, softness, ease,
Your sweet distrust of pleasing charms
Is half the charm to please. -
Respect your own harmonious art!
For love sécurest wounds,
Securest takes th' imprison'd heart
Entranc'd by magic sounds !
If flowers of fiction's growth you call
This wreath that truth bestows;
Survey around your attick wall
Each pencill'd form that glows.
Drawings from antique statues,
And ask the youths! why heavenly fair
Of isles, concentering Nature's charms, Their tenderest vows inspires ?
Lapt in peaceful Ocean's arms; If Juno's more than regal air,
Of that Hesperian world, which lies Or fierce Minerva's fires ?
Beneath the smile of southern skies,
Where Zephyr waves unflagging wings, 'Tis bashful Venus they prefer
Where Albion's summers, Latian springs Retiring from the view,
Join thy autumns, smiling France, And, what their lips address to her,
And lead along th' eternal dance !
These enchanting scenes, and all
Are feeble types of living graces.
Of moral charms, that mental throne
Unclouded beauty calls her own. Your bosom's sweet treasures thus ever disclose!
Where all the Sun's meridian blaze For believe my ingenuous confession,
Is twilight gloom to virtue's rays. The veil meant to bide them but only bestows
There with richer blended sweets A softness transcending expression.
Wedded Spring her Autumn meets; “ Good Heaven!” cries Kitty,“ what language There Fernandes' brighter shore, I hear!
There a purer Chili's ore, Have I trespass'd on chastity's laws?
Fruits and flowers are there combin'd
Is it no sattin apron, but gauze?”
Thro' the tucker, too bashfully decent; THE COMPLAINT OF CAMBRIA. And your apron hides all that short aprons can hide,
TO MISS K- P- SETTING TO From the fashion of Eve to the present.
MUSIC, AND SINGING ENGLISH
VERSES. The reil, too transparent to hinder the sight,
Is what modesty throws on your mind : DONE INTO ENGLISH FROM THE WELCU ORIGINAL
DEGENERATE maid, no longer ours !
To melt the soul, or kindle martial fire ?
It ill becomes thee to combine
Such hostile airs with notes divine, voir celui qui le cultive se reposer sous son
In Cambrian shades, the Druids' hallow'd bounds, ombrage, respirer le parfum de ses fleurs, Whose infant voice has lisp'd the liquid Celtic
sounds. gouter la douceur de ses fruits : Je suis cet arbre, cultivé par vous, & la Nature m' a Revere thy Cambria's flowing tongue ! donné une ame.
MARMONTEL. | Though high-born Hoel's lips are dumb,
Cadwallo's harp no more is strung,
And silence sits on soft Lluellyn's tomb :
Yet songs of British bards remain
That, wedded to thy vocal strain, In vernal suns, in vernal shades and showers, Would swell melodious on the mountain breeze, By thee reviving : did the favoured tree
And roll on Milford's wave to distant echoing Exist, and blossom and mature by thee:
seas.To that selected plant did Heaven dispense, With vegetable life, a nobler sense:
O sing thy sires in genuine strains ! Would it not bless thy virtues, gentle maid?
When Rome's resistless arm prevail'd, Would it not woo thy beauties to its shade?
When Edward delug'd all my plains', Bid all its buds in rich luxuriance shoot,
And all the music of my mountains fail'd; To crown thy summer with autumnal fruit,
When all her flames rebellion spread, Spread all its leaves, a pillow to thy rest,
Firmly they stood–sing the dead ! Give all its flowers to languish on thy breast,
The theme majestic to the lyre belongs, Reject the tendrils of th' uxorious vine,
To Picton's lofty walls, and Cambrian virgins And stretch its longing arms to circle thine?
songs. Yes; in creation's intellectual reign, Where life, sense, reason, with progressive chain, Edward I. put to death all the Welch bards, Dividing, blending, for:n th' harmonious whole: -That plant am I, distinguish'd by a soul.
TO MISS K-P
WITH ANSON'S VOYAGE. Raptur'd traveller, cease the tales Of Tinian's lawns, Fernandes' vales;
OF TWO IMPRESSIONS FROM A FINE ANTIQUE SEAL
THE ONE BY LADY P THE OTHER BY M13S J
ON THE SUBJECT OF THE
ON A PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR,
Yet fame reports, that monkish shades
At midnight never fail
And tread its cloisters pale.
One night, more prying than the rest,
It chanc'd a friar came, -> IN
And enter'd where on beds of down
Repos'd each gentle dame.
Here, softening midnight's raren gloom,
Lay R- -?, blushing maid; Which Stolla stamps lively in wax?
There, wrapt in fulds of cypress lawn,
Her virtuous aunt was laid.
That, cold to emotions once feit;
His roring fancy run,
He took the aunt for prioress,
And R e for a nun,
Across the couch display'd,
To deem her sister of the veil,
The holy sire betray'd.
Accosting then the youthful fair, Arcadian youths, Arcadian maids,
His raptur'd accents broke; To pastoral pipe who slanc'd the plain,
Amazement chill'd the waking nymphı; Why pensive now beneath the shades?
She trein bled as he spoke. “ Approach her virgin tomb),” they cry,
“ Hail halcyon days! Hail holy nun! « Behold the verse inscrib'd above,
This wondrous change explain : "Once too in Arcady was I,
Again religion lights her lamp,
Reviews these walls again.
Reformists' wild disorders,
Restor'd again the church's lands.
Reviv'd our sacred orders.
“To monks indeed, from Edward's days, With pastoral dance still cheer the plain,
Belong'd this chaste foundation; Their pastoral pipe still charms the shades :
Yet sister nuns may answer too This only song still meets our ear,
The founder's good donation. It swells the breeze, it fills the grove;
"Ah! well thy virgin vows are heard : What joys so sweet as Nature's here?
For man were never given What joy of Nature sweet as love?
Those charms, reserv'd to nobler ends,
'Thou spotless spouse of Heaven!
“Yet speak what cause from morning mass HITCHIN CONVEXT,
Thy ling’ring steps delays:
Haste to the deep-mouth'd organ's peal
To join thy vocal praise.
“Awake thy abbess sisters all; An ancient convent stands,
At Mary's holy shrine,
With bended knees and suppliant eyes
Approach, thou nun divine!"-
“No Non am I,” recov'ring cried Their nightly vigils kept,
The nymph; “ No nun, I say,
Nor nun will be, un'ess this fright
Should turn my locks to grey.
" 'Tis true, at church I seldom fail That sacred order wounded;
When aunt or uncle leads; He spoke-from forth their hallow'd walls Yet never rise by four o'clock The friars fied confounded.
To tell my morning beads. Then wicked laymen entring in,
“ No mortal lover yet, I row, Those cloisters fair prophan'd;
My virgin heart has fixt,
But yet I bear the creatures talk
Without a grate betwixt.
“To Heav'n my eyes are often cast Its echoing vanlts along,
(From Heav'n their light began) Resounds the flute, and sprightly dance,
Yet deign sometimes to view on Earth
It's image stampt on man,