In vain, yet vig'rous, he renews his race,
In vain dark mazes oft perplex the chase:
With speed inspir'd by grief, he springs again
Through vaulted woods, and devious wilds in

vain.

Th' unrav'lling pack, still onward pouring, trace
The various mazes of his circling race.
Breathless at last with long-repeated toil,
Sick'ning he stands-he yields--he falls the spoil.
From all the various blooms of painted bow'rs,
Fair banky wilds, and vallies fring'd with flow'rs,
Where Nature in profusion smiles delight,
With pleasure sated turns the roving sight.
Come then, bright vision! child of heav'nly
"day!

From this fair summit ampler sceues survey;
One spacious field in circling order eye,
And active round the far horizon fly;
Where dales descend, or ridgy mountains rise,
And lose their aspect in the falling skies.

What pleasing scenes the landscape wide dis-
plays!

Th' enchanting prospect bids for ever gaze.
Hail charming fields, of happy swains the care!
Hail happy swains, possest of fields so fair!
In peace your plenteous labours long enjoy;
No murd'ring wars shall waste, nor foes destroy;
While western gales Earth's teeming womb un-
bind,

The seasons change, and bounteous suns are kind.
To social towns, see! wealthy Commerce brings
Rejoicing affluence on his silver wings.

On verdant hills, see! flocks innum'rous feed,
Or thoughtful listen to the lively reed.
See! golden harvests sweep the bending plains;
"And peace and plenty own & Brunswick reigns."
The wand'ring eye from Nature's wild domain
Attracted, turns to fairer scenes again.
Scenes, which to thee, refining Art! belong,
Invite the poet, and inspire the song.

Sweet, philosophic Muse! that lov'st to stray In woody-curtain'd walks and dim-seen day, Lead me, where lonely Contemplation roves, Through silent shades and solitary groves

Stop, daring foot! the sacred maid is here! These awful glooms confess the goddess near. Low in these woods her fav'rite scene is laid, The fence umbrageous, and the dark'ning shade, Whose bow'ry branches bar the vagrant eye, Assailing storms and parching suns defy. A gentle current calmly steals serene, In silv'ry mazes, o'er the weeping green, Till op'ning bright, its bursting waters spread, And fall fast-flashing down a wide cascade. A spacious lake below expanded lies, And lends a mirror to the quiv'ring skies. Here pendent domes, there dancing forests seem To float and tremble in the waving gleam.

While gaily musing o'er it's verdant side, Pleas'd I behold the glassy riv'let glide: Bright in the verdure of the blooming year, Where circling groves their, full.blown honours

wear;

Ambrosial daughter of the spicy Spring. [wing;
While fragrant woodbine scents each Zephyr's
While nectar-footed Morn, approaching, dyes,
In radiant blush, the rosy:checker'd skies;
The first fair Eden, o'er th' enchanted plain
Reviving, smiles, or seems to smile again.
VOL. XVI.

Hail, blissful scene! divine Elysium hail!
Ye flow'ry blooms eternal sweets exhale:
The biest asylum's here, the sacred shore,
Where toils tumultuous tear the breast no more.
From wild ambition free, from dire despair,
Appalling terrour, and perplexing care,
Happy the man who in these shades can find
That angel-bliss, serenity of mind;
Walk the fair green, or in the grotto lie,
With hope-strung breast, and heav'n-erected eye!
While cheated worlds, by pleasure's lure be-
tray'd,

Through rocks and sands pursue the siren maid;
And, long-bewilder'd, urge the weary chase,
Though still the phantom slips their vain em-
brace:

'Tis his with pitying eye to see-to know
Whence purest joy's perennial fountains flow.
With this exalting charm divinely blest,
The dear reflection of a blameless breast:
Where sweet-ey'd Love still smiles serenely gay,
And heav'nly Virtue beams a brighter ray.
Soft, smoothly-pacing slide his peaceful days,
His own his censure, and his own his praise:
Alike to him, both subjects of the grave,
The scepter'd monarch, and the menial slave.
Thrice happy he who life's poor pains has laid
In the lone tomb of some sequester'd shade!
More amply blest, if gloriously retir'd, [fir'd;
With learning charm'd, and with the Muses
Who nobly dares with philosophic eye,
Through full creation's bounded orbs to fly;"
Pleas'd, in their well-form'd systems still to find
The matchless wisdom of th' immortal mind.
Still charm'd, in Nature's various plan, to trace
His boundless love and all-supporting grace

Ye pompous great! whose dream of glory

springs

From sounding titles or the smiles of kings:
Ye, laurel'd in the bleeding wreathes of war!
And ye, whose hearts are center'd in a star!
Say, all ye sons of power and splendour, say,
E'er could ye boast one unembitter'd day?
Cease the vain hope in dazzling pomp to find
Divine content, to humbler lots assign'd;
The modest fair frequents the lowly cell,
Where smiling Peace and conscious Virtue dwell.
While through the maze of winding bow'rs 1.

stray,

The shade's dim gloom, or vista's op'ning day;
Soft-sighing groves, where silky breezes fill,
Kiss the smooth plain, and glassy-dimpling rill;
in silent vales, by sadly-mourning streams,
Whereswift-ey'd Fancy wings her waving dreams;
What sacred awe the lonely scenes inspire!
What joys transport me, and what raptures fire!
Visions divine, enchanted I behold,
And all the Muses all their charms unfold.

Ye, woods of Pindus, and Ætolian plains,
No more shall listen to immortal strains :
Flow unconcern'd, no Muse celestial sings,
Ye Thracian fountains, and Aonian springs!
No more your shades shall leave their native
shore,

Nor songs arrest your raptur'd currents more.

And thou, Parnassus, wrapt in deep alcoves, Mourn, in sad silence, thy forsaken groves: No more thy warblers rival notes admire, Nor choral zephyrs fill the breathing lyre.

Le

Obscure he fled to sylvan shades alone,
And left mankind to be for ever known.
Such were the scenes where Spenser once re-
tir'd,

When great Eliza's fame the Muse inspir'd ;
When Gloriana led her poet's dreams,
O'er flow'ry meadows, and by murm'ring streams.
Immortal hards! whose death-contemning
lays

Shall shine distinguish'd with eternal praise,
Knew my poor Muse, like these to soar sublime,
And spurn the ruins of insulting Time;

Where'er I stray, where blooming Flora leads, O'er sunny mountains, and through purple meads;

Or careless in the sylvan covert laid,
Where falling rills amuse the mournful shade;
Ye, rural fields, should still resound my lay,
And thou, fair Studley! smile for ever gay,

GENIUS AND VALOUR:

A PASTORAL POEM.

WRITTEN IN HONOUR OF A SISTER KINGDOM. MDCCLXIII.

AMYNTOR, CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS.

WHERE Tweed's fair plains in liberal beauty And Flora laughs beneath a lucid sky; [lie, Long-winding vales where crystal waters lave, Where blythe birds warble, and where green woods wave, [bloom,

A bright hair'd shepherd, in young beauty's
Tun'd his sweet pipe behind the yellow broom.
Free to the gale his waving ringlets lay,
And his blue eyes diffus'd an azure day.
Light o'er his limbs a careless robe he flung;
Health rais'd his heart, and strength his firm
nerves strung;

His native plains poetic charms inspir'd,
Wild scenes, where ancient Fancy oft retir'd!
Oft led her Faeries to the Shepherd's lay,
By Yarrow's banks, or groves of Endermay.

Nor only his those images that rise
Fair to the glance of Fancy's plastic eyes;
His country's love his patriot soul possess'd,
His country's honour fir'd his filial breast.
Her lofty genius, piercing, bright, and bold,
Her valour witness'd by the world of old,
Witness'd once more by recent heaps of slain
On Canada's wild hills, and Minden's plain,
To sound sublimer wak'd his pastoral reed→→→
Peace, Mountain-echoes! while the strains pro-

ceed.

AMYNTOR.

No more of Tiviot, nor the flowery braes, Where the blythe shepherd tunes his lightsome lays;

No more of Leader's faery-haunted-shore,
Of Athol's lawns, and Gledswood banks no more;
Unheeded smile my country's native charms,
Lost in the glory of her arts and arms.
These, shepherds, these demand subiimer strains
Than Clyde's clear fountains, or than Athol's
plains.

CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS.

Shepherd, to thee sublimer lays belong, The force divine of soul-commanding song. These humble reeds have little learnt to play, Save the light airs that cheer the pastoral day. Of the clear fountain, and the fruitful plain We sing, as fancy guides the simple strain. If then thy country's sacred fame demand The high-ton'd music of a happier handShepherd, to thee sublimer lays belong, The force divine of soul-commanding song.

AMYNTOR.

In spite of faction's blind, unmanner'd rage, Of various fortune and destructive age, Fair Scotland's honours yet unchang'd are seen, Her palms still blooming, and her laurels green. Freed from the confines of her Gothic grave, When her first light reviving Science gave, Alike o'er Britain shone the liberal ray, From Enswith's 'mountains to the banks of Tay. For James the Muses tun'd their sportive

lays, [bays. And bound the monarch's brow with Chaucer's Arch Humour smil'd to hear his mimic strain, And plausive Laughter thrill'd thro' every vein. When taste and genius form the royal mind, The favour'd arts a happier era find. By James belov'd the Muses tun'd their lyres But the dark mantle of involving time To nobler strains, and breath'd diviner fires.

Has veil'd their beauties, and obscur'd their rhyme.

Yet still some pleasing monuments remain, Some marks of genius in each later reign. In nervous strains Dunbar's bold music flows, And Time yet spares the Thistle and the Rose 3,

O, while bis course the hoary warrior steers Thro' the long range of life-dissolving years, Thro' all the evils of each changeful age, Hate, envy, faction, jealousy, and rage, Ne'er may his scythe these sacred plants divide, These plants by Heaven in native union tied ! Still may the flower its social sweets disclose, The hardy Thistle still defend the Rose!

Hail, happy days! appeas'd by Margaret's
charms,

When rival Valour sheath'd his fatal arms;
When kindred realms unnatural war supprest,
Nor aim'd their arrows at a sister's breast.

Kind to the Muse is quiet's genial day;
Her olive loves the foliage of the bay.

With bold Dunbar arose a numerous choir Of rival bards that strung the Dorian lyre. Sweet Arethusa's shepherd breath'd again. In gentle Henryson's unlabour'd strain

A chain of mountains near Folkstone in Kent.

2 James the First, king of Scotland, author of the famous old song, entitled Christ's Kirk on the

Nor shall your tuneful visions be forgot,
Sage Bellentyne, and fancy-painting Scott".
But, O my country! how shall memory trace
Thy bleeding anguish, and thy dire disgrace?
Weep o'er the ruins of thy blasted bays,
Thy glories lost in either Charles's days?
When thro' thy fields destructive rapine spread,
Nor sparing infant's tears, nor hoary head.
In those dread days the unprotected swain
Mourn'd on the mountains o'er his wasted plain.
Nor longer vocal with the shepherd's lay
Were Yarrow's banks, or groves of Endermay.

CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS.

Amyntor, cease! the painful scene forbear, Nor the fond breast of filial duty tear. Yet in our eyes our father's sorrows flow, Yet in our bosoms lives their lasting woe. At eve returning from their scanty fold, When the long sufferings of their sires they told, Oft we have sigh'd the piteous tale to hear, And infant wonder dropt the mimic tear.

AMYNTOR.

Like that strange power by fabling poets feign'd,
From east to west his mighty arms he strain'd.
A rooted olive in one hand he bore,

In one a globe, inscrib'd with sea and shore.
From Thames's banks, to Tweed, to Tay he came,
Wealth in his rear, and Commerce was his name.
Glad Industry the glorious stranger hails,
Rears the tall masts, and spreads the swelling
sails;

Regions remote with active hope explores,
Wild Zembla's hills, and Afric's burning shores.
But chief, Columbus, of thy various coast,
Child of the Union, Commerce bears his boast.
To seek thy new-found worlds, the vent'rons
His lass forsaking, left the lowland plain; [swain,
Aside his crook, his idle pipe he threw,
And bade to Music, and to Love adieu.

Hence, Glasgow fair, thy wealth-diffusing hand,

Thy groves of vessels, and thy crowded strand. Hence, round his folds the moorland shepherd spies

New social towns, and happy hamlets rise.

But me not splendour, nor the hopes of gain

Nor pious duty cherish endless woe.
Yet should Remembrance, led by filial love,
Through the dark vale of old afflictions rove,
The mounful shades of sorrows past explore,
And think of miseries that are no more;
Let those sad scenes that ask the duteous tear,
The kind return of happier days endear.

Hail, Anna, hail! O may each Muse divine With wreaths eternal grace thy holy shrine ! Grav'd on thy tomb this sacred verse remain, This verse more sweet than conquest's sounding strain:

"She bade the rage of hostile nations cease,
The glorious arbitress of Europe's peace."
She, thro' whose bosom roll'd the vital tide
Of Britain's monarchs in one stream allied,
Clos'd the long jealousies of different sway,
And saw united sister-realms obey.

Auspicious days! when Tyranny no more Rais'd his red arm, nor drench'd his darts in gore;

When, long an exile from bis native plain,
Safe to his fold return'd the weary swain.
Return'd, and, many a painful summer past,
Beheld the green bench by his door at last.

Auspicious days! when Scots, no more opprest,
On their free mountains bar'd the fearless breast;
With pleasure saw their flocks unbounded feed,
And tun'd to strains of ancient joy the reed.
Then, shepherds, did your wondering sires

behold

A form divine, whose vesture flam'd with gold;
His radiant eyes a starry lustre shed,
And solar glories beam'd around his head.

5 Mr. John Bellentyne, archdean of Murray, author of a beautiful allegorical poem, entitled, Virtue and Vice.

6 Mr. Archibald Scott, in the year 1524, transJated the Vision, a poem, said to have been written in the year 1360. He was the author of the Eagle and the Redbreast also, and several other pieces written with uncommon elegance for their day.

Shall I, possest of all that life requires,
With tutor'd hopes, and limited desires, [ease,
Change these sweet fields, these native scenes of
For climes uncertain, and uncertain seas?

Nor yet, fair Commerce, do I thee disdain,
Though Guilt and Death and Riot swell thy train.
Cheer'd by the influence of thy gladd'ning ray, -
The liberal arts sublimer works essay.
Genius for thee relumes his sacred fires,
And Science nearer to her Heaven aspires.

The sanguine eye of Tyranny long clos'd,
By Commerce foster'd, and in peace repos'd,
No more her miseries when my country mourn'd,
With brighter flames her glowing genius burn'd.
Soon wandering fearless many a Muse was seen
O'er the dun mountain, and the wild wood green.
Soon, to the warblings of the pastoral reed,
Started sweet Echo from the shores of Tweed.
O favour'd stream! where thy fair current
flows,

The child of Nature, gentle Thomson, rose.
Young as he wander'd on thy flowery side,
With simple joy to see thy bright waves glide,
Thither, in all thy native charms array'd,
From climes remote the sister Seasons stray'd.
Long each in beauty boasted to excel,
(For jealousies in sister-bosoms dwell)
But now,
delighted with the liberal boy,
Like Heaven's fair rivals in the groves of Troy,
Yield to an humble swain their high debate,
And from his voice the palm of beauty wait.

Her naked charms, like Venus, to disclose,
Spring from her bosom threw the shadowing rose,
Bar'd the pure snow that feeds the lover's fire,
The breast that thrills with exquisite desire;
Assum'd the tender smile, the melting eye,
The breath favonian, and the yielding sigh.
One beauteous hand a wilding's blossom grac'd,
And one fell careless o'er her zoneless waist.

Majestic Summer, in gay pride adorn'd, Her rival sister's simple beauty scorn'd. With purple wreathes her lofty brows were bound,

With glowing flowers her rising bosom crown'd.

In her gay zone, by artful Fancy fram'd,
The bright rose blush'd, the full carnation flam'd.
Her cheeks the glow of splendid clouds display,
And her eyes flash insufferable day.

With milder air the gentle Autumn came,
But seem'd to languish at her sister's flame.
Yet, conscious of her boundless wealth, she bore
On high the emblems of her golden store.
Yet could she boast the plenty-pouring hand,
The liberal smile, benevolent and bland.
Nor might she fear in beauty to excel,
From whose fair head such golden tresses fell;
Nor might she envy Summer's flowery zone,
In whose sweet eye the star of evening shone.
Next, the pale power that blots the golden
sky,

Wreath'd her grim brows, and roll'd her stormy

eye;

"Behold," she cried, with voice that shook the ground,

(The bard, the sisters, trembled at the sound)
Ye weak admirers of a grape, or rose,
Behold my wild magnificence of snows!
See my keen frost her glassy bosom bare!
Mock the faint Sun, and bind the fluid air!
Nature to you may lend a painted hour,
With you may sport, when I suspend my power.
But you and Nature, who that power obey,
Shall own my beauty, or shall dread my sway."
She spoke the bard, whose gentle heart ne'er
gave

One pain or trouble that he knew to save,
No favour'd nymph extols with partial lays,
But gives to each her picture for her praise.

Mute lies his lyre in death's uncheerful gloom,
And Truth and Genius weep at Thomson's tomb.
Yet still the Muse's living sounds pervade
Her ancient scenes of Caledonian shade.
Still Nature listens to the tuneful lay,
On Kilda's mountains and in Endermay.

'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 akies,

To the rapt youth that mus'd on Shakespear's
To Ogilvie the Muse of Pindar gave. [grave?,
Time, as he sung, a moment ceas'd to fly,
And lazy Sleep 9 unfolded half his eye.

O wake, sweet bard, the Theban lyre again ; With ancient valour swell the sounding strain; Hail the high trophies by thy country won, 'The wreaths that flourish for each valiant son. While Hardyknute frowns red with Norway's gore,

Paint her pale matrons weeping on the shore.
Hark! the green clarion pouring floods of breath
Voluminously loud; high scorn of death
Each gallant spirit elates; see Rothsay's thane
With arm of mountain oak his firm bow strain!
Hark! the string twangs-the whizzing arrow
flies:

The fierce horse falls indignant falls-and dies.
O'er the dear urn, where glorious Wallace

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 no oath of allegiance,