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Nor shall your tuneful visions be forgot,
| Like that strange power by fabling poets feignid, Sage Bellentynes, and fancy-painting Scott From east to west bis mighty arms he strain'd. But, O my country! how shall niemory trace A rooted olive in one hand he bore, Thy bleeding anguish, and thy dire disgrace? In one a globe, inscrib'd with sea and shore. Weep o'er the ruins of thy blasted bays,
From Thames's banks, to Tweed, to Tay he came, Thy glories lost in either Charles's days?
Wealth in his rear, and Commerce was his name. When thro' thy fields destructive rapine spread, 1 Glad Industry the glorious stranger hails, Nor sparing infant's tears, nor heary head. Rears the tall inasts, and spreads the swelling In those dread days the unprotected swain
sails ; Mourn'd on the mountains o'er his wasted plain. | Regions remote with active bope explores, Nor longer vocal with the shepherd's lay
Wild Zembla's hills, and Afric's burning shores. Were Yarrow's banks, or groves of Endermay, But chief, Columbus, of thy various coast,
Child of the Union, Commerce bears his boast. CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS.
To seek thy new-found worlds, the vent'rons Amyntor, cease! the painful scene forbear, His lass forsaking, left the lowland plain; (swain, Nor the fond breast of filial duty tear.
Aside his crook, his idle pipe he threw, Yet in our eyes our father's sorrows flow,
And bade to Music, and to Love adieu. Yet in our bosoms lives their lasting woe.
Hence, Glasgow fair, thy wealth-diffusing At eve returning from their scanty fold,
hand, When the long sufferings of their sires they told, | Thy groves of vessels, and thy crowded strand. Oft we have sigh'd the piteous tale to hear, Hence, round his folds the moorland shepherd And infant wonder dropt the mimic tear.
New social towns, and happy hamlets rise.
But me not splendour, nor the hopes of gain Shepherds, no longer need your sorrows Now, Should ever tempt to quit the peaceful plain. Nor pious duty cherish endless woe.
Shall i, possest of all that life requires, Yet should Remembrance, led by filial love,
With tutor'd hopes, and limited desires, (ease, Through the dark vale of old afflictions rove, Change these sweet fields, these native scenes of The mounful shades of sorrows past explore,
For climes uncertain, and uncertain seas? And think of miseries that are no more;
Nor yet, fair Commerce, do I thee disdain, Let those sad scenes that ask the duteous tear,
Though Guilt and Death and Riot swell tby train. The kind return of happier day's endear.
Cheer'd by the influence of thy gladd’ning ray,. Hail, Anna, hail! O may cach Muse divine
The liberal arts sublimer works essay. With wreaths eternal grace thy holy shrine!
Genius for thee relumes bis sacred fires, Gray'd on thy tomb this sacred verse remain, And Science nearer to her Heaven aspires, This verse more swect than conquest's soundins The sanguine eye of Tyranny long clos'd, strain:
By Commerce fosterd, and in peace repos’d, « She bade the rage of hostile vations cease,
No more her miseries when my country mourn'd, The glorious arbitress of Europe's peace." With brighter fames her glowing genius burnod. She, tbro' whose bosom roll'd the vital tide Soon wandering fearless many a Muse was seen Of Britain's monarchs in one stream allied, O'er the dun mountain, and the wild wood green. Clos'd the long jealousies of different sway, Soon, to the warblings of the pastoral reed, And saw united sister-realms obey.
Started sweet Echo from the shores of Tweed. Auspicious days! when Tyranny no more | O favour'd stream! where thy fair current Rais'd his red arm, nor drench'd his darts in
The child of Nature, gentle Thomson, rose. When, long an exile from bis native plain, Young as he wander'd on thy flowery side, Safe to his fold return'd the weary swain.
With simple joy to see thy bright waves glide, Return'd, and, many a painful summer past, Thither, in all thy native charms array'd, Beheld the green bench by bis door at last. From climes remote the sister Seasons stray'd.
Auspicious days! when Scots, no more opprest, Long each in beauty boasted to excel, On their free mountains bar'd the fearless breast; (For jealousies in sister-bosoms dwell) With pleasure saw their flocks unbounded feed, But now, delighted with the liberal boy, And tun'd to strains of ancient joy the rrec. Like Heaven's fair rivals in the groves of Troy, Then, shepherds, did your wondering sires
Yield to an humble swain their high debate, behold
And from bis voice the palm of beauty wait. A form divine, whose vesture flam'd with gold; Her naked charms, like Venus, to disclose, His ralliant eyes a starry lustre shed,
Spring from her bosoin threw the shadowing rose, And solar glories beam'd around his head. Bar'd the pure snow that feeds the lover's fire,
The breast that thrills with exquisite desire; 5 Mr. John Bellentyne, archdean of Murray, Assum'd the tender smile, the melting eye, anthor of a beautiful allegorical poem, entitled, The breath fayonian, and the yielding sigh. Virtue and Vice.
One beauteous hand a wilding's blossom grac'd, 6 Mr. Archibald Scott, in the year 1524, trans- | And one fell careless o'er her zoneless waist. Jated the Vision, a poem, said to have been writ Majestic Summer, in gay pride adorn'd, ten in the year 1360. He was the author of the Her rival sister's simple beauty scom'd. Eagle and the Redbreast also, and several other | With purple wreathes her lofty brows were pieces written with uncommon elegance for their
With glowing Bowers her rising bosom crown'd.
In her gay zone, by artful Fancy fram'd,
To the rapt youth that mus'd on Shakespear's
| And lazy Sleep , unfolded half his eye.
( wake, sweet bard, the Theban lyre again ;
Paint her pale matrons weeping on the shore.
Hark! the string twangs-the whizzing arrow
flies : eye;
The fierce horsc falls ---indignant falls--and dies. “Behold," she cried, with voice that shook the O'er the dear urn, where glorious Wallace o ground,
sleeps, (The bard, the sisters, trembled at the sound) True valour bleeds, and patriot virtue weeps. “Ye weak adunirers of a grape, or rose,
Son of the lyre, what high ennobling strain, Cebold my wild magnificence of snows!
What meed from these shall generous Wallace
Boast, Scotland, hoast thy sons of mighty name,
Let Music breathe her most persuasive sigb.
Mute lies his lyre in death's uncheerful gloom, And his own laurels flourish round his urn.
See Mr. Ogilvie's Ode to the Genius of
3 Ode to Time. Ibid.
10 William Wallace, who, after brarely 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 110 oath of allegiance,
“The genial power that speeds the goldeu dart,
Each charm of tender passion shall inspire; CHILDREN of Fancy, whither are ye fed? With fund affection All the mutual heari, Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd! And feed the fame of ever-young desite. hours,
| “ Come, gentle Loves ! your myrtle garlands That once with myrtle garlands bound my head,
bring ; Chat 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 vernal odour shed. Where winds the slow wave thro' the flowery Hark, a's 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,
s you led the tyrant, Love, Auspicions glories beam along the skies, With Fear and Hope and Polly in his train. And powers yaseen the happy moments My lyre, that, left at careless distance, hung
bail ! Light on some pale branch of the osier shade, « Extatic hours! so every distant day To lays of amorous blandishment you strung, Like this serene on downy wings shall move;
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."
ELEGY IL. " 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 rain ; Breathe in each gale, and bloom in every On each soft air thonghrapt 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 groves 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 rain, Shall charm, thro'all approaching life, thy breast, To scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms espires With joys for cver pure, for ever new.
Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train,
Go, Siren, gothy charms on others try; “O bor to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime
My beaten bark at length has reach'd the shore: Than beings of inferior nature prove!
And feel the charins of fancy and of love!
In orient light this native landscape smiles; There unregarded in the peaceful shade,
For him sweet Hope disarms the hand of Care,
Trills not a songster of the soaring wing,
And smooth my sitent minutes as they glide. 1 o let me still with simple Nature live,
Whom never cares or passions discompose, Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give,
And calmly waste my inoffensive day!
No glittering wealth my tutor'd wishes crave; Then shall the cares of love and glory cease, So Health and Peace be near my humble home, And all the fond anxieties of fame;
A cool stream murmur, and a green tree wave: Alike regardless in the arms of Peace,
“So may the sweet Euterpe not disdain If these extol, or those debase a name.
| At Eve's chaste hour her silver lyre to bring; In Lyttelton though all the Muses praise, The Muse of pity waké her soothing strain,
His generous praise shall then delight no more, And tune to sympathy the trembling string. Nor the sweet magic of his tender lays
“ Thus glide the pensive moments, o'er the vale Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd be While floating shades of dusky night descend : fore.
Not left untold the lover's tender tale,
Of Friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; " 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.
And never yield that mercy which he wants. To chase sweet Fiction through her golden age,
Smiling insidious with the hopes of harme Hesperian fancy, or Anian ease;
Some melting note from Sappho's tender lyre,
Some strain that Love and Phæbus taught to Another's faults to Folly's eye are clear,
please, But to her own e'en Wisdom's self is blind. " When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's O let me still, from these low follies free,
head, This sordid malice, and inglorious strife,
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 ; My tutor'd mind from vulgar meanness save;
Mark from what flower the breeze its sweetness Bring Peace, bring Quiet to my humble cell,
| Or listen to the labour-soothing song And bid them lay the green turf op my grave.
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 ELEGY III.
Sleep to the murmur of the woods below, (lie,
Or look on Nature with a lover's eye.
The wood-lark's song resounded on the plain ; Led by fair Fancy round the varied year:
So shall my breast with nativeraptures glow,
Nor feel one pang from folly, pride, or fear.
His head on tufted wild thyme half-reclin'd, Nor vainly wander from their dictates sage:
So Joy shall triumph on the brows of youth,
So Hope shall smooth the dreary paths of age.”
Those airs' that, breathing 'o'er the breast o ELEGY IV.
Led amorous Echo down the long, long vale, 01! 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 ums,
Parting their green locks streaming in the suns, Ah! do: the sunshine o'er each object spread
The Naiads rose and smild: nor since the day, By Aattering Hope, the flowers that blew so When first by music, and by freedom led Like the gay gardens of Armida, fled, (fair, 1 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 Ham !
That heard the fine strain vibrate through your Ambrosial blossoms, such of old as blew
groves, By those fresh founts on Eden's happy plain, Lah! where were then your long-lor'd Muses filed And Sharon's roses all his passage strew:
When Handel breath'd no more?-aud thou, So Fancy 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 lyre: 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 Life's morming-landscape gilt with orient light,
breast+? Where Hope and Joy and Fancy hold their
Cold-hearted Death! his wanly-glaring eye n
Nor Virtue's smile attracts, nor Fame's loud reign,
(bright, The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling
trump The blythe Hours dancing round Hyperion's
Can pierce his iron ear, for erer barr'd wain,
To gentle sounds : the golden voice of song,
That charins the gloomy partner of his birth, In radiant colours youth's free band pourtrays, That soothes despair and pain, he hears no more,
Then holds the fattering 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 conquer'd by the dart of Pain,
To toil with slow steps up the star-crown'd hill, And wandering far from her Platouic shade,
Where Science, leaning on her 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, Their parent banish'd, hence her children fly,
To soar above the beaten walks of life,
Is, like the paintings of an evening cloud, The fairy race that fill'd her festive train ;
Th'amusement of an bour. Night, gloomy Night, Joy tears bis 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 his cankering rust. 'Thy strain perMR. HANDEL.
Thy sacred strain, shall the hoar warrior spare ; WRITTEN IN 1760.
For sounds like thine, at Nature's early birth,
Arous'd him slumbering on the dead profound Spirits of music, and ye powers of song, Of dusky chaos; by the golden harps That wak'd to painful melody the lyre
Of choral angels summon'd to his race : Of young Jessides, when, in Sion's vale
And sounds like thine, when Nature is no more, He wept oʻer bleeding friendship; ye that Shall call him weary from the lengthen'd toils moarn'd,
Of twice ten thousand years. O would bis 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
find ? What accents pure to greet thy tuneful shade, The water-music. Sweet barmonist? 'twas thine, the tender fall • Rorantesque comas a fronte removit ad Of piiy's plaintive lay; for thee the stream
aures. Ovid. Met. Of silver-winding music sweeter play'd,
3 L'Allegro and Il Pepseroso, set to music by . And purer flow'd for thec-all silent now
4 See Milton's Lycidas.