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 POEMS. 
 
♦ 
 
POEMS 
 
 ORIGINAL and TRANSLATED, 
 
 / B* /P/f 
 
 GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON* 
 
 =S 
 
 Hosier. Iliad, 10, 
 
 He whistled as he went for want of thought. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 iSetoarfit 
 
 Printed and sold by S. and J. Ridge? 
 
 s0ld atso by b. crosby and co. stationer's c0urt£ 
 
 xongman, hcrst, rees, and orme, paternoster- 
 
 &ow 5 f. & c. rivington, st. paul's church- 
 
 Yard; and j. mawman, is thb 
 
 POULTRY, LONPONi 
 
 1808. 
 
 59821 
 
TV.R. 
 
 827.76 
 £926 PA 
 
 SO THB RIGHT MONOTJRABLE IjjR 
 
 FREDERICK, 
 
 EARL OPVffifm, 
 
 KNIGHT OF THE GARTER, &C. &C. 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION 
 THESE POEMS IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 HIS OBLIGED WARD, 
 AND 
 
 AFFECTIONATE KINSMAN, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 1 l i Q Q 9 1 
 
 A O tf C & I 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PA6« 
 
 V7N leaving Newstead Abbey * . • 1 
 
 Epitaph on a Friend . s ' . * . 5 
 
 A fragment . . fc . . . T 
 
 The Tear 8 
 
 An occasional Prologue 13 
 
 On the Death of Mr. Fox . ; . . 15 
 
 Sfanza3 to a Lady with the Poems of Camoens . IS 
 
 -\ To M ; . . „ 2ff 
 
 To Woman 22 
 
 ^"To M. S. G. .....;. 24 
 
 Song . 26 
 
 To ~- . . . . , . .30 
 
 To Mary, on recerviog her picture s 3$ 
 
£ tU 3 
 
 .Damsetas . . i • • • 8® 
 
 VTo Marion . . • .38 
 
 Oscar of Alva ..... 41 
 
 \]fi 
 
 To the Duke of D. . i . .62 
 
 TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. 
 
 ADRIAN'S Address to his Soul, when dying 
 
 Translation .... 
 
 Translation from Catullus 
 
 Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibnllus 
 
 Translation from Catullus . . 
 
 Imitated from Catullus . 
 
 Translation from Anacreon. To his Lyre, 
 
 Ode 3. 
 
 Fragments of School Exercises 
 
 Episode of Nisus and Euryalus . * 
 
 Translation from the Medea of Euripides . 
 
 71 
 
 12 
 13 
 75 
 76 
 18 
 TO 
 81 
 84 
 86 
 105 
 
t tffl 1 
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Thoughts suggested by a College Examination 1 1 1 
 
 To the Earl of - . . . IIS 
 
 Granta, a Medley , . s .123 
 
 Lachin y. Gair . 4 . . .131 
 
 To Romance ...... 135 
 
 Elegy on Newstead Abbey . . . HO 
 
 The Death of Calmar and Orla . 151 
 
 To E. N. L. Esq 160 
 
 To . . . . ; 165 
 
 Stanzas . . ; . .169 
 
 Lines written beneath an Elm, in the Churchyard of 
 
 Harrow on the Hill. . , 172 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 16 line 5 far ' plentitude' read" 'plenitude/ 
 42 line 4 for ' scrowl' read ' scowl.' 
 63 line 2 dele ' semicolon' after command, and in- 
 sert a ' comma' after thee, in the third line* 
 98 lice 6 fi» « weil' read « wheel/ 
 
POEMS. 
 
 ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 Why dost thou build the hall ? Son of the winged days! Thou 
 lookest from thy tower to-day ; yet a few years, and the blast 
 of the desart comes; it howls in thy empty court. Ossian. 
 
 T, 
 
 IIRO' thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow 
 winds whistle ; 
 Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay; 
 In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and 
 thistle 
 Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd ia 
 the way. 
 
 B 
 
Of the mail. cover' d Barons, who, proudly, to bat- 
 tle, 
 Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's 
 plain, [rattle, 
 
 The escutcheon and shield, -which with every blast 
 Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. 
 
 No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing 
 numbers, 
 Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell'd 
 wreath ; 
 Near Askalon's Towers, John of Horistan * slum- 
 bers, 
 Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death. 
 
 Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy; 
 For the safety of Edward and England they fell ; 
 My Fathers ! the tears of your country redress ye; 
 How you fought ! how you died ! still her an- 
 nals can tell. 
 
 * Horistan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient scat of the 
 Byron Family. 
 
On Marston, * with Rupert + 'gainst traitors con- 
 tending, [bleak field ; 
 Four brothers enrich'd, with their blood, the 
 For the rights of a monarch, their country defend- 
 ing? 
 Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. 
 
 Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant de- 
 parting 
 
 From the seat of 'his ancestors, bids you adieu! 
 Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting 
 
 New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. 
 
 Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 
 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; 
 
 Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, 
 The fame of his Fathers he ne'er can forget. 
 
 * The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of 
 Charles L -were defeated. 
 
 + Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. 
 He afterwards commanded the fleet, in the reign of Charles II. 
 
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish, 
 Kevows, that he ne'er will disgrace your renown ; 
 
 Like you will he live, or like you will he perish ; 
 When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with 
 your own. 
 
 1803, 
 t 
 
EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 
 
 Laertius. 
 
 vJH ! Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear ! 
 What fruitless tears have bath'd thy honour'd bier ! 
 What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, 
 While, thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! 
 Could tears retard the tyrant in his course ; • ' j 
 Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force; 
 Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, 
 Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; 
 Thou still had'st lived, to bless my aching sight, 
 Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight. 
 If, yet, thy gentle spirit hover nigh 
 The spot, where now thy mould'ring ashes lie, 
 
Here, wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, 
 A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. 
 No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, 
 But living statues, there, are seen to weep ; 
 Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, 
 Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. 
 What though thy sire lament his failing line, 
 A father's sorrows cannot equal mine ! 
 Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, 
 Yet, other offspring soothe his anguish here : 
 But, who with me shall hold thy former place ? 
 Thine image, what new friendship can efface ? 
 Ah ! none ! a father's tears will cease to flow, 
 Time will assuage an infant brother's woe ; 
 To all, save one, is consolation known, 
 While solitary Friendship sighs alone. 
 
 1803. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 W HEN, to their airy hall, mj^ Fathers' Toice 
 Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; 
 When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride, 
 Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side ; 
 Oh ! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, 
 To mark the spot, where earth to earth returns : 
 No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; 
 My epitaph shall be, my name alone : 
 If that with honour fail to crown my clay, 
 Oh 1 may no other fame my deeds repay ; 
 That, only that, shall single out the spot, 
 By that remember'd 5 or with that forgot. 
 
 1803. 
 
THE TEAR. 
 
 O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros 
 Duceatium ortus ex animo ; quater 
 Felix ! in imo qui scatentem 
 Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. 
 
 Gray. 
 — «45^m~— 
 
 WHEN Friendship or Love 
 
 Our sympathies move ; 
 When Truth, in a glance, should appear. 
 
 The lips may beguile, 
 
 With a dimple or smile, 
 But the test of affection's a Tear. 
 
 2. 
 
 Too oft is a smile 
 
 But the hypocrite's wile, 
 To mask detestation, or fear ; 
 
 Give me the soft sigh, 
 
 Whilst the soul-telling eye 
 Is dimm'tlj for a time ? with a Tear. 
 
3. 
 
 Mild Charity's glow, 
 
 To us mortals below, 
 Shews the soul from barbarity clear ; 
 
 Compassion will melt, 
 
 Where this virtue is felt, 
 And its dew is diffus'd in a Tear. 
 
 4. 
 
 The man, doom'd to sail 
 
 With the blast of the gale, 
 Through billows Atlantic to steer, 
 
 As he bends o'er the wave, 
 
 Which may soon be his grave, 
 The green sparkles bright with a Tear. 
 
 5. 
 
 The Soldier braves death, 
 
 For a fanciful wreath, 
 In Glory's romantic career; 
 
 But he raises the foe, 
 
 When in battle laid low, 
 And bathes ev'ry wound with a Tear. 
 
ia 
 
 If, with high-bounding pride. 
 
 He return to his bride, 
 Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear; 
 
 All his toils are repaid, 
 
 When, embracing the maid, 
 From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. 
 
 7. 
 
 Sweet scene of my youth, 
 
 Seat of Friendship and Truth, 
 Where love chac'd each fast-fleeting year ; 
 
 Loth to leave thee, I moUrn'd, 
 
 For a last look I turn'd, 
 But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. 
 
 8. 
 
 Though my vows I can pour. 
 
 To my Mary no more, 
 My Mary, to Love once so dear j 
 
 In the shade of her" bow'r, 
 
 I remember the hour, 
 She rewarded those tows With a Tear. 
 
11 
 
 9. 
 
 By another possest, 
 
 May she live ever blest, 
 Her name still my heart must revere j 
 
 With a sigh I resign, 
 
 What I once thought was mine, 
 And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 
 
 10. 
 
 Ye friends of my heart, 
 
 Ere from you I depart, 
 This hope to my breast is most near ; 
 
 If again we shall meet, 
 
 In this rural retreat, 
 May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. 
 
 U- 
 
 When my soul wings her flight, 
 
 To the regions of night, 
 And my corse shall recline on its bier ; 
 
 As ye pass by the forub, 
 
 Where my ashes consume, 
 Oh ! moisteu their dust wi.h a Tear, 
 
12 
 
 12. 
 
 May no marble bestow 
 
 The splendour of woe, 
 Which the children of vanity rear 
 
 No fiction of fame, 
 
 Shall blazon my name, 
 All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear. 
 
 1806. 
 
1» 
 
 AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, 
 
 DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OP 
 
 " THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE," AT A 
 
 PRIVATE THEATRE. 
 
 OlNCE, the refinement of this polish'd age, 
 Has swept immoral raillery from the stage ; 
 Since, taste has now expung'd licentious wit, 
 Which stamp'cl disgrace on all an Author writ • 
 Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek, 
 Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; 
 Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim, 
 And meet indulgence, though she find not fame. 
 Still, not for her alone, we wish respect. 
 Others appear more conscious of defect ; 
 To night, no Vet'ran Roscii you behold, 
 In all the arts of scenic action old ; 
 
14 
 
 No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here. 
 No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear ; 
 To night, you throng to witness the debut, 
 Of embryo Actors, to the drama new ; 
 Here, then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try, 
 Ciip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly; 
 Failing in this our first attempt to soar, 
 Drooping, alas ! we fall to rise no more. 
 Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays, 
 Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise, 
 But all our Dramatis Persona? wait, 
 In fond suspence, this crisis of their fate. 
 No venal views our progress can retard, 
 Your generous plaudits are our sole reward ; 
 For thase, each Hero all his power displays, 
 Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze: 
 Surely, the last will some protection find, 
 None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind ; 
 Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shield, 
 The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. 
 Yet, should our feeble efforts naught avail, 
 Should, after all, our best endeavours fail ; 
 Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, 
 And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. 
 
15 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF Mr. FOX, 
 
 The following illiberal Impromptu appeared 
 
 IN A 
 
 MORNING PAPER. 
 
 OUR Nation's foes lament, on Fox's death, 
 u But bless the hour, when Pitt resign'd his 
 
 " breath ; 
 " These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue, 
 " We give the palm, where Justice points its due.** 
 
 TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES, SENT 
 THE FOLLOWING REPLY. 
 
 wH! factious viper ! whose envenom'd tooth, 
 Would mangle 3 still, the deadj perverting truth ; 
 
16 
 
 What, tho' our u nation's foes " lament the fate, 
 With generous feeling, of the good and great ; 
 Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name 
 Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame ? 
 When Pitt expir'd, in plentitude of power, 
 Though ill success obscur'd his dying hour, 
 Pity her dewy wings before him spread, 
 For noble spirits " war not with the dead,'* 
 His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, 
 As all his errors slumber' d in the grave ; 
 He sunk, an Atlas, bending 'neath the weight 
 Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state ; 
 When, lo ! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd, 
 Who, for a time, the ruin'd fabric rear'd ; 
 He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, 
 With him, our fast reviving hopes have died: 
 Not one great people, only, raise his urn, 
 All Europe's far extended regions mourn. 
 '* These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue, 
 '■' To give the palm, where Justice points it due; " 
 Yet, let not canker'd calumny assail, 
 Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. 
 Fox ! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep. 
 Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep. 
 
17 
 
 For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, 
 While friends and foes, alike, his talents own. 
 Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine, 
 Nor e'en to Pitt, the patriot's palm resign ; 
 Which Rnvy, wearing Candour's sacred mask. 
 For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dar'd to ask. 
 
 D 
 
18 
 
 STANZAS TO A LADY, 
 WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS. 
 
 JL HIS votive pledge of fond esteem, 
 Perhaps, dear Girl ! for me thou'lt prize ; 
 
 It sings of love's enchanting dream, 
 A theme we never can despise. 
 
 % 
 
 Who blames it, but the envious fool, 
 The old and disappointed maid ? 
 
 Or pupil of the prudish school, 
 In single sorrow, doom'd to fade. 
 
 3. 
 
 Then read, dear Girl, with feeling read, 
 For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; 
 
19 
 
 To thee, in vain, I shall not plead, 
 In pity for the Poet's woes. 
 
 4. 
 
 He was, in sooth, a genuine bard ; 
 
 His was no faint, fictitious flame ; 
 Like his, may love beithy reward ; 
 
 But not thy hapless fate the same. 
 
20 
 
 TO M.... 
 
 i_/H ! did those eyes, instead of fire; 
 
 With bright, but mild affection shine ; 
 Though they might kindle less desire, 
 
 Love, more than mortal, would -be thine. 
 
 2. 
 
 For thou art form'd so heav'nly fair, 
 Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam. 
 
 We must admire, but still despair ; 
 That fatal glance forbids esteem. 
 
 3. 
 
 When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, 
 So much perfection in thee shone, 
 
 She fear'd, that, too !ivine for earth, 
 The skies might claim thee for their owo. 
 
21 
 
 4. 
 
 Therefore, to guard her dearest work, 
 Lest angels might dispute the prize, 
 
 She bade a secret light'ning lurk, 
 Within those once celestial eyes. 
 
 5. 
 
 These might the boldest sylph appal, 
 When gleaming "with meridian blaze ; 
 
 Thy beauty must enrapture all, 
 
 But, who can dare thine ardent gaze ? 
 
 >Tis said, that Berenice's hair, 
 
 In stars adorns the vault of heaven ; 
 
 But, they would ne'er permit thee there, 
 Thou would'st so far outshine the seven. 
 
 7. 
 
 For, did those eyes as planets roll, 
 Thy sister lights would scarce appear : 
 
 E'en suns, which systems now controul, 
 Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 
 
 * 1806*. 
 
21 
 
 TO WOMAN, 
 
 VvOMAN ! experience might have told me, 
 That all must love thee, who behold thee ; 
 Surely, experience might have taught, 
 Thy firmest promises are naught ; 
 But, plac'd in all thy charms before me, 
 All I forget, but to adore thee. 
 Oh ! Memory ! thou choicest blessing, 
 "When join'd with hope, when still possessing } 
 But, how much curst by ev'ry lover, 
 When hope is fled, and passion's over. 
 Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, 
 How prompt are striplings to believe her ; 
 How throbs the pulse, when first we view 
 The eye, that rolls in glossy blue ; 
 Or sparkles black, or mildly throws 
 A beam from under hazel brows ; 
 
23 
 
 How quick we credit ev'ry oath, 
 
 And hear her plight the willing troth ; 
 
 Fondly we hope, 'twill last for aye. 
 
 When, lo ! she changes in a day : 
 
 This Record will for ever stand, 
 
 ** Woman thy vows, are trac'd in sand." * 
 
 * The last line is almost a literal translation from a Span- 
 ish proverb. 
 
24 
 
 TO M. S. G. 
 
 vvHEN I a ream that you love me, you'll surely 
 forgive, 
 Extend not your anger to sleep ; 
 For, in visions alone, your affection can live$ 
 I rise, and it leaves me to weep. ' 
 
 2. 
 
 Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast, 
 Shed o'er me your languor benign ; 
 
 Should the dream of to-night, but resemble thelast. 
 What rapture celestial is mine ! 
 
 They tell us, that slumber, the sister of death, 
 Mortality's emblem is given j 
 
25 
 
 To fate how I long to resign my frail breathy 
 If this be a foretaste of Heaven. 
 
 Ah ! frown not, sweet Lady, Unbend your soft 
 brow, 
 
 Nor deem me too happy in this ; 
 If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, 
 
 Thus doom'd, but to gaze upon bliss. 
 
 Tho' in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps, you may 
 smile, 
 Oil ! think not my penance deficient ; 
 When dreams of your presence my slumbers be- 
 guile, 
 To awakej will be torture sufficient. 
 
 E 
 
20 
 
 SONG. 
 
 W HEN I rov'd, a young Highlander, o'er the 
 dark heath, [Snow,* 
 
 And clirab'd thy steep summit, oh! Morven of 
 To gaze on the torrent, that thunder'd beneath, 
 
 Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below ; + 
 
 * Morven a lofty Mountain in Aberdeenshire: " Gormal of 
 Snow," is an Expression frequently to be feund in Ossian. 
 
 + This will not appear extraordinary to those who have 
 been accustomed to the Mountains ; it is by no means uncom- 
 mon on attaining the top of Ben e vis, Ben y bourd, &c. to per- 
 ceive, between the Summit and the Valley, clouds pouring 
 down rain, and, occasionally, accompanied by lightning, while 
 the Spectator, literally, looks down on the Storm, perfectly 
 secure from its Effects. 
 
27 
 
 Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, 
 
 And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew, 
 No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear, 
 Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in 
 you ? 
 
 2. 
 
 Yet, it could not be Love, for I knew not the name, 
 
 What passion can dwell in the heart of a child ? 
 But, still, I perceive an emotion the same 
 
 As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-co per' d wild: 
 One image, alone, on my bosom imprest, 
 
 I lov'd my bleak regions, nor panted for new, 
 And few were my wants, for my wishes were blest, 
 
 And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was 
 with you, 
 
 3. 
 
 I arose with the dawn, with my dog as my guide, 
 
 From mountain to mountain I bounded along, 
 I breasted* the billows of Dee'si rushing tide, 
 And heard, at a distance, the Highlander's song: 
 
 * " Breasting the lofty surge." Shakespeare. 
 
 + The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, 
 and falls iuto the sea, at New Aberdeen. 
 
28 
 
 At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose, 
 No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my 
 view, 
 
 And warm to the skies my devotions arose. 
 
 For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. 
 
 I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone, 
 The mountains are vauish'd, my youth is no 
 more ; 
 As the last of my race, I must wither alone, 
 
 And delight but in days, I have witness'd before ; 
 Ah ! splendour has rais'd, but embitter'd my lot, 
 More dear were the scenes, which my infancy 
 knew ; 
 Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are 
 not forgot, 
 Tho' cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. 
 
 5. 
 
 When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, 
 I think of the rocks, that o'ershadow Colbleen ;* 
 
 * Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands? 
 not far f mm the mini of Dee Castle. 
 
29 
 
 When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, 
 I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene ; 
 
 When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, 
 That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, 
 
 I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold, 
 The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you. 
 
 6. 
 
 Yet, the day may arrive, when the mountains, once 
 more, 
 
 Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snoAv : 
 But, while these soar above me, unchang'd as before^ 
 
 Will Mary be. there to receive me ? ah no ! 
 Adieu ! then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred, 
 
 Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu ! 
 No home in the forest shall shelter my head, 
 
 Ah * Mary, what home could be mine, but witfe 
 you ? 
 
30 
 
 TO 
 
 (JH ! yes, I will own we were dear to each other, 
 The friendships of childhood, tho' fleeting, are 
 true; 
 
 The love, -which you felt, was the love of a brother j 
 Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you. 
 
 But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion, • 
 The attachment of years, in a moment, expires ; 
 
 Like Love too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, 
 But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable 
 fires. 
 
SI 
 
 3. 
 
 Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together, 
 And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow; 
 
 In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather ! 
 But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. 
 
 4. 
 
 No more with Affection shall Memory blending 
 The wonted delights of our childhood retrace • 
 
 When Pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbend- 
 ing? 
 And what would be Justice, appears a disgrace. 
 
 However, dearS , for I still must esteem you, 
 
 The few, whom Hove, I can never upbraid, 
 
 The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem 
 you, 
 Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. 
 
 6. 
 
 I will not complain, and tho' chill'd is affection, 
 With me no corroding resentment shall live ; 
 
32 
 
 My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection ; 
 That both may be wrong, and that both should 
 forgive. 
 
 7. 
 
 You knew, that my soul, that my heart, my ex- 
 istence, 
 
 If danger demanded, were wholly your own; 
 You knew me unalter'd, by years or by distance, 
 
 Devoted to love and to friendship alone. 
 
 8. 
 
 You knew,— — but away with the vain retrospec- 
 tion, 
 
 The bond of affection no longer endures ; 
 Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, 
 
 And sigh for the friend, who was formerly yours. 
 
 9. 
 
 For the present, we part, — I will hope not forever. 
 For time and regret will restore you at last ; 
 
 To forge our dissention we both should endea- 
 vour, 
 I ask no atonement, but days li ke the past. 
 
33 
 
 TO MARY, ON RECEIVING HER 
 PICTURE. 
 
 lHIS faint resemblance of thy charms, 
 Though strong as mortal art could give. 
 
 My constant heart of fear disarms, 
 Revives my hopes, and bids me live. 
 
 2, 
 
 Here, I can trace the locks of gold, 
 
 Which round thy snowy forehead wave; 
 
 The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould. 
 The lips, which made me Beauty's slave* 
 
 F 
 
34 
 
 3. 
 
 Here, I can trace- ■ ah no ! that eye, 
 Whose azure floats in liquid fire, 
 
 Must all the painter's art defy, 
 And bid him from the task retire. 
 
 4. 
 
 Here, I behold its beautious hue, 
 
 But where's the beam so sweetly straying ? 
 Which gave a lustre to its blue, 
 
 Like Luna o'er the ocean playing. 
 
 5. 
 
 Sweet copy ! far more dear to me, 
 Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, 
 
 Than all the living forms could be, 
 
 Save her, who plac'd thee next my heart. 
 
 6.. 
 
 She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear, 
 JjQit time might shake my wavering soul, 
 
35 
 
 Unconscious, that her image, there, 
 Held every sense in fast contronl. 
 
 7. 
 
 Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheery 
 My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; 
 
 In life's last conflict, 'twill appear, 
 And meet my fond expiring gaze. 
 
36 
 
 DAMjETAS. 
 
 IN law an infant, * and in years a boy, 
 
 In mind a slave to every vicious joy, 
 
 From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd, 
 
 In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend • 
 
 Vers'd in hypocrisy, while yet a child, 
 
 Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ; 
 
 Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool, 
 
 Old in the world, tho' scarcely broke from school ; 
 
 Damaetas ran through all the maze of sin, 
 
 And found the goal, when others just begin; 
 
 * In Law, every person is an infant, who has not attained 
 the age of 21. 
 
37 
 
 Ev'n still conflicting passions shake his soul, 
 And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl ; 
 But, pall'd with rice, he breaks his former chaiij, 
 And, what was once his bliss, appears his bane. 
 
38 
 
 TO MARION. 
 
 MARION ! Why that pensive brow I 
 What disgust to life hast thou ? 
 Change that discontented air ; 
 Frowns become not one so fair. 
 'Tis not love disturbs thy rest, 
 Love's a stranger to thy breast ; 
 He, in dimpling smiles, appears, 
 Or mourns in sweetly timid tears; 
 Or bends the languid eyelid down, 
 But shuns the cold forbidding frown. 
 Then resume thy former fire, ' 
 Some will love, and all admire ; 
 While that icy aspect chills us, 
 Nought but cool indiff'rence thrills us. 
 
39 
 
 Would'st thou wand'ring hearts beguile, 
 
 Smile, at least, or seem to smile ; 
 
 Eyes, like thine, were never meant 
 
 To hide their orbs, in dark restraint ; 
 
 Spite of all, thou fain would'st say, 
 
 Still in truant beams they play. 
 
 Thy lips, — but here my modest Muse 
 
 Her impulse chaste must needs refuse. 
 
 She blushes, curtsies, frowns, — in short she 
 
 Dreads, lest the subject should transport me; 
 
 And flying ©IF, in search of reason, 
 
 Brings prudence back in proper season. 
 
 All I shall, therefore, say, (whate'er 
 
 I think, is neither here nor there,) 
 
 Is that such lips, of looks endearing, 
 
 Were form'd for better things, than sneering j 
 
 Of soothing compliments divested, 
 
 Advice, at least's disinterested; 
 
 Such is my artless song to thee, 
 
 From all the flow of flatt'ry free ; 
 
 Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's. 
 
 My heart is given to some others ; 
 
 That is to say, unskill'd to coeen, 
 
 It shares itself amongst a dozen. 
 
40 
 
 Marion ! adieu ! oh ! prithee slight not 
 This warning, tho' it may delight not ; 
 And, lest my precepts be displeasing, 
 To those, who think remonstrance teazing, 
 At once, I'll tell thee our opinion, 
 Concerning woman's soft dominion : 
 Howe'er we gaze, with admiration, 
 On eyes of blue, or lips carnation ; 
 Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, 
 Howe'er those beauties may distract us;; 
 Still fickle, we are prone to rove, 
 These cannot fix our souls to love; 
 It is not too severe a stricture, 
 To say they form a pretty picture. 
 But would'st thou see the secret chain, 
 Which binds us in your humble train, 
 To hail you queens of all creation, 
 Know, in a word, 'tis Animation* 
 
41 
 
 OSCAR OF ALVA. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 HOW sweetly shines, thro' azure skies* 
 The lamp of Heav'n on Lora's shore y 
 
 Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, 
 And hear the din of arms no more* 
 
 2. 
 
 But, often, has yon rolling moon, 
 On Alva's casques of silver play'd j 
 
 * The Catastrophy of this tale was suggested by the story 
 of " Jeronymo and Lorenzo," in the first volume of " The 
 " Armenian, or Ghost-Seer : " It also bears some resemblane* 
 to a scene in the third Act of " Macbeth.'* 
 G 
 
42 
 
 And view'd, at midnight's silent noon, 
 ' Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd. 
 
 3. 
 
 And, on the crimson'd rocks beneath, 
 Which scrowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, 
 
 Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, 
 She saw the gasping warrior low. 
 
 4. 
 
 While many an eye, which ne'er again 
 Could mark the rising orb of day, 
 
 Turn'd feebly from the gory plain, 
 Beheld in death her fading ray. 
 
 5. 
 
 Qnce, to those eyes the lamp of Lore, 
 They blest her dear propitious light; 
 
 But, now, she glimmer'd from above, 
 A sad funereal torch of night. 
 
43 
 
 0. 
 
 Faded is Alva's noble race, 
 
 And grey her towers are seen afar ; 
 No more her heroes urge the chace, 
 
 Or roll the crimson tide of war. 
 
 7. 
 
 But, who was last of Alva's clan ? 
 
 Why grows the moss on Alva's stone ? 
 Her towers resound no steps of man, 
 
 They echo to the gale alone. 
 
 8. 
 
 And, when that gale is fierce and high, 
 A sound is heard in yonder hall, 
 
 Jt rises hoarsely through the sky, 
 
 And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall. 
 
 9. 
 
 Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, 
 It shakes the shield of Oscar brave ; 
 
 But, there no more his banners rise, 
 No more his plumes of sable ware, 
 
10. 
 
 Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, 
 When Angus hail'd his eldest born • 
 
 The vassals round their chieftain's hearth. 
 Crowd to applaud the happy morn. 
 
 11. 
 
 They feast upon the mountain deer, 
 The Pibroch rais'd its piercing note, 
 
 To gladden more their Highland cheer, 
 The strains in martial numbers float. 
 
 12. 
 
 And they, who heard the war-notes wild A 
 Hop'd that, one day, the Pibroch's strain. 
 
 Should play before the Hero's child, 
 While he should lead the Tartan train. 
 
 .13. 
 
 Another year is quickly past, 
 
 And Angus hails another son, 
 His natal day is like the last, 
 
 Nor soon the jocund feast was done. 
 
4*, 
 
 14. 
 
 Taught by their sire to bend the bow, 
 On Alva's dusky hills of wind ; 
 
 The boys in childhood chas'd the roe, 
 And left their hounds in speed behind. 
 
 15. 
 
 But, ere their years of youth are o'er, 
 They mingle in the ranks of war ; 
 
 They lightly wheel the bright claymore, 
 And send the whistling arrow far. 
 
 16. 
 
 Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, 
 Wildly it stream'd along the gale ; ■ 
 
 But Allan's locks were bright and fair, 
 And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale. 
 
 But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, 
 
 His dark eye shone through beams of truth; 
 Allan had early learn'd controul, 
 
 And smooth his words had been from youth. 
 
46 
 
 18. 
 
 Both, both were brave, the Saxon spear 9 
 Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel ; 
 
 And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, 
 But Oscar's bosom knew to feel. 
 
 ■ 
 
 19. 
 
 While Allan's soul belied his form, 
 Unworthy with such charms to dwell; 
 
 Keen as the lightning of the storm, 
 On foes his deadly vengeance fell. 
 
 20. 
 
 From high Southannon's distant tower 
 Arriv'd a young and noble dame ; 
 
 With Kenneth's lands to form her dower 9 
 Glenalvon's blue-ey'd daughter came ; 
 
 21. 
 
 And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, 
 And Angus on his Oscar sniil'd, 
 
 It sooth'd the father's feudal pride, 
 Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child. 
 
47 
 
 22. 
 
 Hark ! to the Pibroch's pleasing note, 
 Hark ! to the swelling nuptial song ; 
 
 In joyous strains the voices float, 
 And, still, the choral peal prolong. 
 
 23. 
 
 See how the heroe's blood-red plumes, 
 Assembled wave in Alva's hall; 
 
 Each youth his varied plaid assumes, 
 Attending on their chieftain's call. 
 
 24. 
 
 It is not war their aid demands, 
 
 The Pibroch plays the song of peace ; 
 
 To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, 
 Nor jet the sounds of pleasure cease» 
 
 25. 
 
 But where is Oscar ? sure 'tis late : 
 Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? 
 
 While thronging guests and ladies wait, 
 Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 
 
4* 
 
 26. 
 
 At length young Allan jomM the brictt*. 
 
 " Why comes not Oscar?" Angus said ; 
 ii Is he not here ?" the Youth reply'd, 
 
 u With ma he r;jv'd not o'er the glade. 
 
 27. 
 
 " Perchance, forgetful of the day, 
 u 'Tis his to chace the bounding roe; 
 
 " Or Ocean's waves prolong his stay, 
 " Yet, Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 
 
 28. 
 
 (l Oh ! no !" the anguish'd Sire rejoin'dj 
 u Nor chace, nor wave my Boy delay * 
 
 i( Would he to Mora seem unkind ? 
 
 66 Would aught to her impede his way ? 
 
 29. 
 
 <{ Oh! search, ye Chiefs ! oh! search around l 
 " Allan, with these, thro' Alva fly ; 
 
 ic Till Oscar, till my son is found, 
 
 66 Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." 
 
49 
 
 30. 
 
 All is confusion, — through the Tale, 
 The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, 
 
 It rises on the murm'ring gale, 
 
 Till night expands her dusky wings. 
 
 31. 
 
 It breaks the stillness of the night, 
 
 But echoes through her shades in vain : 
 
 It sounds through morning's misty light, 
 But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. 
 
 32. 
 
 Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief 
 For Oscar search'd each mountain cave ; 
 
 Then hope is lost, in boundless grief, 
 His locks in grey-torn ringlets wave. 
 
 33. 
 
 w Oscar ! my Son !— thou God of Heav'n ! 
 
 li Restore the prop of sinking age ; 
 u Or, if that hope no more is given, 
 
 " Yield his assassin to my rage. 
 H 
 
50 
 
 34. 
 
 6i Yes, on same desert rocky shore, 
 " My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie ; 
 
 li Then grant, thou God ! I ask no more, 
 a With him his frantic Sire may die. 
 
 35. 
 
 6i Yet, he may live, — -away despair ; 
 
 u Be calm, my soul I he yet may live ; 
 6i T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear, 
 
 " God! my impious prayer forgive I 
 
 36. 
 
 (i What, if he live, for me no more, 
 " I sink forgotten in the dust, 
 
 " The hope of Alva's age is o'er, 
 
 66 Alas ! can pangs like these be just?" 
 
 37. 
 
 Thus did the hapless Parent mourn, 
 Till Time, who soothes severest woe ; 
 
 Had bade serenity return, 
 And made the tear-drop cease to flow. 
 
51 
 
 38. 
 
 For, still, some latent hope surviv'd, 
 That Oscar might once more appear ; 
 
 His hope now droop'd, and now reviv'd, 
 Till Time had told a tedious year. 
 
 39. 
 
 Days roll'd along, the orb of light, 
 Again had run his destin'd race ; 
 
 No Oscar bless'd his Father's sight, 
 And sorrow left a fainter trace. 
 
 40. 
 
 For youthful Allan still remain'd, 
 And, now, his father's only joy j 
 
 And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, 
 For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. 
 
 41. 
 
 She thought, that Oscar low was laid, 
 And Allan's face was wond'rous fair ; 
 
 If Oscar liv'd, some other maid 
 
 Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care. 
 
52 
 
 42. 
 
 And Angus said, if one year more, 
 In fruitless hope was pass'd away ; 
 
 His fondest scruples should be o'er, 
 And he would name their nuptial day. 
 
 43. 
 
 Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last, 
 Arriv'd the dearly destin'd morn ; 
 
 The year of anxious trembling past, 
 What smiles the Lover's cheeks adorn ! 
 
 44. 
 
 Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! 
 
 Hark to the swelling nuptial song 1 
 In joyous strains the voices float, 
 
 And, still, the choral peal prolong. 
 
 45. 
 
 Again, the clan, in festive crowd, 
 Throng thro' the gate of Alva's hall ; 
 
 The sounds of mirth re-echo loud j 
 And all their former joy recall. 
 
53 
 
 46. 
 
 But, who is he, whose darken'd brow 
 Glooms in the midst of general mirth ? 
 
 Before his eyes, far fiercer glow. 
 
 The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. 
 
 47. 
 
 Dark is the robe which wraps his form, 
 And tall his plume of gory red ; 
 
 His voice is like the rising storm, 
 But light and trackless is his tread. 
 
 48. 
 
 'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, 
 The bridegroom's health is deeply quaft ; 
 
 With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, 
 And all combine to hail the draught. 
 
 49. 
 
 Sudden the stranger chief arose, 
 
 And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd ; 
 And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, 
 
 And Mora's tender bosom blusk'd. 
 
54 
 
 50. 
 
 " Old man !" he cry'd, " this pledge is done, 
 tc Thou saw'st, 'twas duly drank by me, 
 
 Ci It hail'd the nuptials of thy son, 
 
 u Now will I claim a pledge from thee. 
 
 51. 
 
 cc While all around is mirth and joy, 
 ** To bless thy Allan's happy lot ; 
 
 il Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy ? 
 " Say, why should Oscar be forgot ? 
 
 52. 
 
 u Alas I" the hapless Sire reply'd, 
 The big tear starting as he spoke ; 
 
 " When Oscar left my hall, or died, 
 " This aged heart was almost broke. 
 
 53. 
 
 u Thricfe has the earth revolv'd her course, 
 li Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; 
 
 u And Allan is my last resource, 
 
 u Since martial Oscar's death, or flight." 
 
55 
 
 54. 
 
 « » Tis well," Teply'd the Stranger stern, 
 And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye, 
 
 K Thy Oscar's fate, I fain would learn, 
 " Perhaps the Hero did not die. 
 
 55. 
 
 " Perchance, if those, whom most he lovM, 
 " Would call, thy Oscar might return; 
 
 <c Perchance, the chief has only rov'd, 
 " For him thy Beltane,* yet, may burn. 
 
 56. 
 
 u Fill high the bowl, the table round, 
 " We will not claim the pledge by stealth ; 
 
 K With wine let every cup be crown'd, 
 " Pledge me departed Oscar's health." 
 
 * Beltane-Tree— A Highland festival, on the 1st of Maj, 
 held near fires lighted for toe occasion. 
 
56 
 
 57. 
 
 " With all my soul," old Angus said, 
 And fill'd his goblet to the brim ; 
 
 " Here's to my boy ! alive or dead, 
 " I ne'er shall find a son like him. 
 
 58. 
 
 lc Bravely, old man, this health has sped, 
 " But why does Allan trembling stand ? 
 
 " Come drink remembrance of the dead, 
 " And raise thy cup with firmer hand." 
 
 59. 
 
 The crimson glow of Allan's face, 
 Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue ; 
 
 The drops of death each other chase, 
 Adown in agonizing dew. 
 
 60. 
 
 Thrice did he raise the goblet high, 
 And thrice his lips refused to taste ; 
 
 For thrice he caught the stranger's eye, 
 On his with deadly fury plac'd. 
 
57 
 
 61. 
 
 * 4 And is it thus, a brother hails, 
 
 <# A brother's food remembrance here ? 
 
 u If thus art'ection's strength prevails, 
 
 ii What might we not expect from fear I " 
 
 62. 
 
 Rous'd by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl, 
 
 (i Would! Oscar now could share our mirth;" 
 
 Internal fear appall'd his st>ul, 
 
 He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. 
 
 63. 
 
 6i 'Tis he, I hear my murderer's voice," 
 Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming Form ; 
 
 *' A murderer's voice ! " the roof replies, 
 And deeply swells the bursting storm. 
 
 64. 
 
 The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, 
 The stranger's gone,— amidst the ctew 
 
 A Form was seen, in tartan green. 
 And tall the shade terrific grew. 
 I 
 
58 
 
 65. 
 
 His waist was bound, with a broad belt round, 
 His plume of sable stream'd on high ; 
 
 But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there, 
 And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye. 
 
 66. 
 
 And thrice he smil'd, with his eye so wild, 
 
 On Angus bending low the knee; 
 And thrice he frown'd, on a Chief on the ground, 
 
 Whom shivering crowds with horror see. 
 
 The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole, 
 The thunders through the welkin ring ; 
 
 And the gleaming form, through the mist of the 
 storm, 
 Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing. 
 
 68. 
 
 Cold was the feast, the revel ceas'd ; 
 
 Who lies upon the stony floor ? 
 Oblivion prest old Angus' breast, 
 
 At length his life-pulse throbs once more. 
 
5.9 
 
 u Away, away, let the leech essay, 
 " To pour the light on Allan's eyes; " 
 
 His sand is done, — his race is run, 
 Oh ! never more shall Allan rise ! 
 
 70. 
 
 But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, 
 His locks are lifted by the gale ; 
 
 And Allan's barbed arrow lay, 
 
 With him in dark Glentanar's vale. 
 
 71. 
 
 And whence the dreadful stranger came$ 
 Or who, no mortal wight can tell ; 
 
 But no one doubts the form of flame, 
 For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. 
 
 72. 
 
 Ambition nerv'd young Allan's hand, 
 Exulting demons wing'd his dart, 
 
 While envy wav'd her burning brand, 
 And pour'd her venom round his heart. 
 
CO 
 
 73. 
 
 Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow, 
 
 Whose streaming life-blood stains his »idef 
 
 Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, 
 The dart has drunk his vital tide, 
 
 74. 
 
 And Mora's eye could Allan more, 
 She bade his wounded pride rebel: 
 
 Alas ! that eyes, which beam'd with lore, 
 Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell. 
 
 75. 
 
 Lo ! see'st thou not a lonely tomb, 
 Which rises o'er a warrior dead ? 
 
 Jt glimmers thro' the twilight gloom j 
 Oh 1 that is Allan's nuptial bed. 
 
 76. 
 
 Far, distant far, the noble grave, 
 
 Which held his clan's great ashes, stood; 
 
 And o'er his corse no banners wave, 
 
 For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 
 
77. 
 
 'What minstrel grey, what hoary bard, 
 Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise ? 
 
 The song is glory's chief reward, 
 
 But who can strike a murd'rer's praise? 
 
 78. 
 
 Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, 
 No minstrel dare the theme awake ; 
 
 Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, 
 
 His harp in shuddering chords would brake# 
 
 79. 
 
 Jfo lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse> 
 Shall sound his glories high in air, 
 
 A dying father's bitter curse, 
 
 A brother's death-groan echoes there. 
 
TO THE DUKE OF D. 
 
 In looking over my papers, to select a few additional Poems 
 for this second edition, I found the following lines, which 
 I had totally forgotten, composed in the Summer of 1805, 
 
 a short time previous to my departure from H . They 
 
 were addressed to a young school-fellow of high rank, who 
 had been my frequent companion in some rambles, through 
 the neighbouring country ; however he never saw the lines, 
 and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found 
 them not worse than some other pieces in the collection; I 
 have now published them, for the first time, after a slight 
 revision. 
 
 13— r~t ! whoseearly steps with mine have stray'd, 
 Exploring every path of Ida's glade, 
 Whom, still, affection taught me to defend. 
 And made me less a tyrant than a friend ; 
 
63 
 
 Tho' the harsh custom of our youthful band, 
 Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ;* 
 Thee on whose head a few short years will shower 
 The gift of riches, and the pride of power ; 
 Even now a name illustrious is thine own, 
 Renown'd in rank, nor far beneath the throne. 
 Yet, D— r— t, let not this seduce thy soul, 
 To shun fair science, of evade controul ; 
 Tho' passive tutors,! fearful to dispraise 
 The titled child, whose future breath may raise, 
 View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, 
 And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. 
 
 When youthful parasites, who bend the knee 
 To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee ! 
 
 * At every public School, the junior boys are completely 
 subservient to the upper forms, till they attain a seat in the 
 higher Classes. From this state of probation, very properly, 
 no rank is exempt ; but after a certain period, they command, 
 in turn, those who succeed. 
 
 + Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the 
 most distant; I merely mention generally, what is too often, 
 the weakness of Preceptors. 
 
04 
 
 And, even id simple boyhood's opening daws, 
 Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn ; 
 When these declare, " that pomp alone should wait 
 " On one by birth predestin'd to be great; 
 *' That books were only meant for drudging fools, 
 *' That gallant spirits scam the common rules ;" 
 Believe them not,— they point the path to shame, 
 And seek to blast the honours of thy name : 
 Turn to the few, in Ida's early throng, 
 Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ; 
 Or, if amidst the comrades of thy youth, 
 None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, 
 Ask thine own heart ! 'twill bid thee, boy, forbear, 
 For well I know, that virtue lingers there. 
 
 Yes '. I have mark'd thee many a passing day, 
 But, now new scenes invite me far away ; 
 Yes ! I have mark'd, within that generous mind, 
 A soul, if well matur'd. to bless mankind ; 
 Ah ! tho' myself, by nature haughty, wild, 
 Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child ; 
 Tho' ev'ry Error stamps me for her own 
 And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone ; 
 Tho' my proud heart no precept, now, can tam^ 
 I love the virtues, which I cannot claim. 
 
65 
 
 'Tis not enough, with other Sons of power, 
 To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour, 
 To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, 
 With long-drawn names, that grace no page beside • 
 Then share with titled crowds the common lot, 
 In life just gaz'd at, in the grave forgot ; 
 While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead, 
 Except the dull cold stone, that hides thy head, 
 The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the Herald's roll, 
 That well-emblazon'd, but neglected scroll, 
 Where Lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find. 
 Oue spot to leave a worthless name behind.— 
 There sleep, unnotic'd as the gloomy vaults, 
 That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults ; 
 A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, 
 In records, destin'd never to be read. 
 Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes, 
 Exalted more among the good and wise • 
 A glorious and a long career pursue, 
 As first in Rank, the first in Talent too ; 
 Spurn ev'ry vice, each little meanness shun, 
 Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son. 
 
 Turn to the annals of a former day, 
 
 Bright are the deeds, thine earlier Sires display ; 
 
66 
 
 One, tho' a Courtier, liv'd a man of worth, 
 And call'd, proud boast ! the British Drama forth.* 
 Another view ! not less renown'd for Wit, 
 Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit ; 
 Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine, 
 In ev'ry splendid part ordain'd to shine ; 
 Far, far distinguished from the glitt'ring throng, 
 The pride of Princes, and the boast of Song.+ 
 Sach were thy Fathers, thus preserve their name, 
 Not heir to titles only, but to Fame. 
 
 * " Thomas S— k— lie, Lord B~k— st, created Earl ofi 
 •« D — by James the First, wasone of the earliest andjbright- 
 •' est ornaments to the poetry of his country, and the first 
 " who produced a regular drama." 
 
 Anderson's British Poets. 
 
 t Charles S — k — lie, Earl of D , esteemed the mo9t 
 
 accomplished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the 
 voluptuous court of Charles 11. and the gloomy one of Wil- 
 liam III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight 
 with the Dutch, in 16fi5, on the day previous to which h« 
 composed his celebrated song. His character has been drawn 
 in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior» and Congreve. 
 Vide Anderson's British Poets. 
 
 
67 
 
 The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close, 
 To me, this little scene of joys and woes ; 
 Each knell of Time now warns me »o resign 
 Shades, where Hope, Peace, and Friendship, all 
 
 were mine ; 
 Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, 
 And gild their pinions, as the moments flew ; 
 Peace, that reflection never frown' d away, 
 By dreams of ill, to cloud some future day ; 
 Friendship, whose truth let childhood ori'y tell, 
 Alas ! they love not long, who love so well. 
 To these adieu ! nor let me linger o'er 
 Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, 
 Receding, slowly, thro' the dark-blue dee; , 
 Beheld by eyes, that mourn, yet cannot weep. 
 
 D— r— t ! farewell ! I will not ask one part 
 Of sad remembrance in so young a heart ; 
 The coming 'morrow from thy youthful mind, 
 Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace oehind. 
 Arid, yet, perhaps in some maturer year, 
 Since chance has thrown us in the s^ if-same sphere. 
 Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, 
 May one day claim our suffrage for the state, 
 
6S 
 
 We hence may meet, and pass each other by 
 
 With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. 
 
 For me, in future, neither friend, or foe, 
 
 A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe ; 
 
 With thee no more again I hope to trace 
 
 The recollection of our early race ; 
 
 No more, as once, in social hours, rejoice, 
 
 Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice. 
 
 Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught 
 
 To veil those feelings, which, perchance, it ought, 
 
 If these,— but let me cease the lengthen'd strain, 
 
 Oh ! if these wishes are not breath'd in vain, 
 
 The Guardian Seraph, who directs thy fate, 
 
 Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
 AND 
 
 IMITATIONS. 
 
71 
 
 TRA NSLA TIONS 
 
 AND 
 
 IMITA TIONS. 
 
 ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, 
 WHEN DYING. 
 
 AnIMULA! vagula, blandula, 
 Hospes, comesque, corporis, 
 Quae nunc abibis in loca ? 
 Pallidula, rigida, nudula, 
 Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos. 
 
72 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 AH ! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite, 
 Friend and associate of this clay ! 
 
 To what unknown region borne, 
 Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight? 
 No more, with wonted humour gay. 
 
 But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. 
 
73 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 
 
 « AD LESBIAM. "' 
 
 XLQUAL to Jore, that youth must be, 
 Greater than Jove, he seems to me, 
 Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, 
 Securely, views thy matchless charms ; 
 That cheek, which ever dimpling glows, 
 That mouth, from whence such music flowsu 
 To him, alike, are always known, 
 Reserv'd for him, and him alone. 
 Ah ! Lesbia ! though 'tis death to me, 
 I cannot choose but look on thee ; 
 But, at the sight, my senses fly, 
 1 needs must gaze, but gazing die ; 
 L 
 
74 
 
 Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, 
 Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres, 
 My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, 
 My limbs deny their slight support; 
 Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, 
 With deadly languor droops my head, 
 My ears with tingling echoes ring, 
 And life itself is on the wing ; 
 My eyes refuse the cheering light, 
 Their orbs are veil'd in starless night ; 
 Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, 
 And feels a temporary death. 
 
7« 
 
 TRANSLATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS, 
 
 BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. 
 
 ITaE, who, r sublime, in epic numbers roll'd, 
 And he, who struck the softer lyre of loYe> 
 
 By Death's * unequal hand alike controul'd 
 Fit comrades in Elysian regions moTe. 
 
 * The hand of Death is said to be unjust, or unequal, as Vir- 
 gil was considerably older than Tibullus, at big decease. 
 
76 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 
 
 (i LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERIS. " 
 
 JL E Cupids, droop each little head, 
 Nor let your wings with joy be spread, 
 My Lesbia's fav'rite bird is dead, 
 
 Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'd; 
 For he was gentle, and so true. 
 Obedient to her call he flew, 
 No fear, no wild alarm he knew, 
 
 But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd : 
 
 And softly fluttering here and there, 
 He never sought to cleave the air ; 
 But chirrup'd oft, and free from care, 
 Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain. 
 
77 
 
 Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn. 
 From whence he never can return, 
 His death, and Lesbia's grief, I mourn, 
 Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain. 
 
 Oh ! curst be thou, devouring grave! 
 Whose jaws eternal victims crave, 
 From whom no earthly power can save. 
 
 For thou hast ta'en the bird away : 
 From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, 
 Her swollen cheeks, with weeping, glow, 
 Thou art the cause of all her woe, 
 
 Receptacle of life's decay. 
 
78 
 
 IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. 
 
 TO ELLEN. 
 
 UH! might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
 A million scarce would quench desire ; 
 Still, would I steep my lips in bliss, 
 Aod dwell an age on every kiss; 
 Nor then my soul should sated be, 
 Still, would I kiss, and cling to thee; 
 Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, 
 Still, would we iiss, and kiss for ever; 
 E'en though the number did exceed 
 The yellow harvest's countless seed; 
 To part would be a vain endeavour, 
 Could I desist I — ah ! never — never. 
 
79 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON, 
 
 TO HIS LYRE. 
 
 X WISH to tune my quivering lyre, 
 To deeds of fame, and notes of lire ; 
 To echo from its rising swell, 
 How heroes fought, and nations fell; 
 When Atreus' sons adranc'd to war ? 
 Or Tyrian Cadmus rov'd afar ; 
 But, still, to martial strains unknown^ 
 My lyre recurs to love alone. 
 Fir'd with the hope of future fame, 
 I seek some nobler hero's name - a 
 
80 
 
 The dying chords are strung anew, 
 To war, to war, my harp is due ; 
 With glowing strings, the epic strain, 
 To Jove's great son I raise again ; 
 Alcides, and his glorious deeds, 
 Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds - 9 
 All, all, in vain, my wayward lyre, 
 Wakes silver notes of soft desire. 
 Adieu ! ye chiefs, reuown'd in arms ! 
 Adieu ! the clang of wars alarms. 
 To other deeds my soul is strung, 
 And sweeter notes shall now be sungj 
 My harp shall all its powers reveal. 
 To tell the tale my heart must feel, 
 Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim^, 
 In songs of bliss, and sighs of iiame. 
 
St 
 
 ODE 3. 
 
 1 WAS now the hour, when Night ha;i driven. 
 Her car half round yon sable heaven; 
 Bootes, only, seem'd to roll 
 His Arctic charge around the Pole; 
 While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, 
 Forgot to smile, or ceas'd to weep ; 
 At this lone hour, the Paphian boy, 
 Descending from the realms of joy ; 
 Quick to my gate, directs his course, 
 And knocks with all his little force ; 
 My visions fled, alarm'd I rose, 
 " What stranger breaks my blest repose ? " 
 Alas ! replies the wily child, 
 In faulteriug accents, sweetly mild,; 
 
 M 
 
82 
 
 " A hapless In taut here I roam, 
 
 (i Far from my dear maternal home ; 
 
 " Oh! shield me from the wint'ry blast, 
 
 u The nightly storm is pouring fast, 
 
 " No prowling robber liugers here ; 
 
 66 A wandering baby, who can fear r " 
 
 I heard his seeming artless tale, 
 
 I heard his sighs upon the gale; 
 
 My breast was never pity's foe, 
 
 But felt for all the baby's woe ; 
 
 I drew the bar, and by the light, 
 
 Young Love, the infant, met my sight ; 
 
 His bow across his shoulders flung, 
 
 And thence his fatal quiver hung, 
 
 (Ah 1 little did I think the dart, 
 
 Would rankle soon within my heart;) 
 
 With care I tend my weary guest, ! 
 
 His little fingers chill my breast, 
 
 His glossy curls, his azure wing, 
 
 Which droop with nightly showers, I wring 
 
 His shivering limbs the embers warm, 
 
 And, now, reviving from the storm, 
 
 Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, 
 
 Than swift he seized his slender bow ; 
 
S3 
 
 (i I fain would know, my gentle hoit, " 
 
 He cried, " if this its strength has lost:; 
 
 *' I fear, relax' d with midnight dews, 
 
 " The strings their former aid refuse: " 
 
 With poison tipt, his arrow flies, 
 
 Deep in my tortur'd heart it lies : 
 
 Then loud the joyous urchin laught, 
 
 Ci My bow can still impel the shaft; 
 
 * £ 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it, 
 
 * fc Say, courteous host> canst thou not feel it ? " 
 
84 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, 
 
 FROM THB 
 PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF OESCHTLUS. 
 
 GREAT Jove! to whose Almighty -throne, 
 
 Both Gods and mortals homage pay, 
 Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, 
 
 Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. 
 Oft shall the sacred victim fall, 
 In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall ; 
 My voice shall raise no impious strain, 
 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. 
 ********************* 
 How different now thy joyless fate, 
 
 Since first Hesione thy bride, 
 When plac'd aloft in godlike state, 
 
 The blushing beauty by thy side. 
 
85 
 
 Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd, 
 And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd ; 
 The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, 
 Kor 9 yet, thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless 
 frown'd. 
 
 Harrow : Dec. 1, 1804. 
 
85 
 
 THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND 
 EURYALUS. 
 
 A PARAPHRASE FROM THE J3NEID, LIB. $. 
 
 1\ ISUS, the guardian of the portal, stood, 
 Eager to gild his arras with hostile blood ; 
 Well skill'd, in fight, the quivering lance to wield, 
 Or pour his arrows, through th' embattl'd field ; 
 From Ida torn he left his sylvan cave, 
 And sought a foreign home, a distant grave, 
 To watch the movements of the Daunian host; 
 With him Euryalus, sustains the post, 
 No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy, 
 And beardless bloom, yet, grac'd the gallant boy 5 
 Though few the seasons of his youthful life, 
 As yet a novice in the martial strife, 
 
87 
 
 >Twas his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share., 
 A soul heroic, as his form was fair, 
 These burn with one pure flame of gen'rous love, 
 In peace, in war, united still they more; 
 Friendship and glory form their joint reward, 
 And, now, combin'd they hold the nightly guard. 
 
 " What God 1" exclaim'd the first, "instils this 
 fire? 
 <4 Or, in itself a God, what great desire ? 
 li My lab'ring soul, with anxious thought opprest, 
 a Abhors this station of inglorious rest ; 
 " The love of fame with this can ill accord, 
 iC Be't mine, to seek for glory with my sword. 
 Ci See'st thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, 
 (i Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb ? 
 " Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, 
 ii And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign ? 
 '* Then hear my thought: — In deep and sullen 
 
 " grief, 
 li Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief; 
 (i Now could the gifts, and promis'd prize be thine, 
 6i (The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine;) 
 '* Were this decreed; — beneath yon rising mound, 
 fi Methinks, an easy path, perchance, were found, 
 
u Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walli, 
 " And lead ./Eneas from Evandcr\s halls. " 
 With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy, 
 His gloAving friend address'd the Dardan boy. 
 " These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone ? 
 a Must ail the fame, the peril be thine own ? 
 (i Am I by thee despis'd, and left afar, 
 " As one unfit to share the toils of war ? 
 '* Not thus, his son, the great Opheltes taught, 
 *' Not thus, my sire, in Argive combats fought; 
 (i - Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, 
 " I track'd iEneas through the walks of fate ; 
 6i Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear, 
 " And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear ; 
 u Here is a soul, with hope immortal burns, 
 " And life, ignoble life, for Glory spurus, 
 fi Fame, fame, is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath, 
 ** The price of honour, is the sleep of death." 
 Then Nisus, — " Calm thy bosom's fond alarms, 
 *' Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms ; 
 *' More dear thy worth, and valour than my own, 
 tl . I swear by him, who fills Olympus' throne! 
 " So may I triumph, as I speak the truth, 
 *' And clasp again the comrade of my youth ? 
 
 
S9 
 
 ** But, should I fall, and he who dares advance, 
 
 ii Through hostile legions, must abide by chance j 
 
 11 If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, 
 
 " Should lay the friend, who ever lov'd thee, low. 
 
 * s Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve^ 
 
 " Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve; 
 
 61 When humbled in the dust, let some one be, 
 
 u Whose gentle eyes, will shed one tear for me; 
 
 *' Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force, 
 
 u Or wealth redeem, from foes, my captive corse: 
 
 11 Or, if my destiny these last deny, 
 
 M If, in the spoiler's power, my ashes lie ; 
 
 " Thy pious care, may raise a simple tomb, 
 
 *' To mark thy love, and signalize my doom. 
 
 4i Why should thy doating, wretched mother weep ? 
 
 •' Her only boy, reclin'd in endless sleep ? 
 
 6i Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dar'd, 
 
 w Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril- shar'd ; 
 
 11 Who brav'd, what woman never brav'd before, 
 *' And left her native, for the Latiata shore. " 
 <c In vain you damp the ardour of my soul, " 
 Reply'd Euryalus, u it scorns controul ; 
 li Hence, let us haste," — their brother guards arose, 
 Rous'd by their call, nor court again repose.; 
 N 
 
9(5 
 
 The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exhultiog whig, 
 Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king. 
 Now, o'er the earth, a solemn stillness ran, 
 And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man ; t 
 Save where the Dardan leaders, nightly, bold, 
 Alternate converse, and their plans unfold ; 
 On one great point the council are agreed, 
 An instant message to their prince decreed; 
 Each lean'd upon the lance, he well could wield, 
 And pois'd, with easy arm, his ancient shield ; 
 When Nisus and his friend their leave request, 
 To offer something to their high behest. 
 With anxious tremors, yet unaw'd by fear, 
 The faithful pair before the throne appear ; 
 lulus greets them; at his kind command, 
 The elder, first, address'd the hoary band. 
 
 " With patience," (thus Hyrtacides began,) 
 (i Attend, nor judge, from youth, our humble plan; 
 " Where yonder beacons half expiring beam, 
 " Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream, 
 " Nor heed, that we a secret path have trac'd, 
 li Between the ocean, and the portal plac'd: 
 ii Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, 
 Whose shade, securely s our design will cloak I 
 
SI 
 
 ** If you, ye Chiefs, and Fortune will allow, 
 16 We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow ; 
 " Where Pallas' walls, at distance, meet the sight, 
 *' Seen o'er the glade, when not obscur'd by night; 
 l( Then shall iEueas, in his pride return, 
 (l While hostile matrons raise their offspring's urn ; 
 <c And Latian spoils, and purpl'd heaps of dead, 
 " Shall mark the havock of our Hero's tread ; 
 " Such is our purpose, not unknown the way, 
 li Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray ; 
 u Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, 
 " The distant spires above the vallies gleam." 
 
 Mature in years, for sober wisdom fam'd 
 Mov'd by the speech, Alethes, here, exclaim'd! 
 " Ye parent Gods ! who rule the fate of Troy, 
 " Still, dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy ; 
 <c When minds, like these, in striplings thus ye raise, 
 (i Yours is the god-like act, be yours the praise; 
 u In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive, 
 u And Ilion's wonted glories still survive: " 
 Then, in his warm embrace, the boys he press'd, 
 And quivering strain'd them to his aged breast ; 
 With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd, 
 Andj sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd : — 
 
*a 
 
 " What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize 
 
 i6 Can we bestow, which you may not despise ? 
 
 " Our deities the first, best boon hare given, 
 
 *' Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven. 
 
 li What poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth, 
 
 " Doubtless, await such young exhalted worth; 
 
 ii vEneas, and Ascanius shall combine, 
 
 " To yield applause far, far, surpassing mine. " 
 
 Iul.us then ; " By all the powers above! 
 
 *' By those * Penates, who my country love ; 
 
 *' By hoary Vesta's sacred Fane, I swear, 
 
 " My hopes, are all in you, ye generous pair ! 
 
 ii Restore my father, to my grateful sight, 
 
 i( And all my sorrows, yield to one delight. 
 
 " Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own, 
 
 a Sav'd from Arisba's stately domes o'erthrown; 
 
 fi My sire secured them on that fatal day ; 
 
 ci Nor left such bowls, an Argive robber's prey. 
 
 " Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine, 
 
 li Two talents polished from the glittering mine; 
 
 " An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave, 
 
 *' While jet our vessels press'd the Punic wave : 
 
 * Household Gods. 
 
93 
 
 " But, when the hostile chiefs at length bow down,, 
 " When great iEneas wears Hesperia's crown, 
 Ci The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed, 
 " Which Turnus guides with more than mortal 
 
 " speed, 
 " Are thine ; no envious lot shall then be cast, 
 " I pledge my word, irrevocably past; 
 " Nay more, twelve slaves and twice six captive 
 
 " dames, 
 * l To sooth thy softer hours, with amorous flames,, 
 " And all the realms, which now the Latins sway, 
 " The labours of to-night, shall well repay. 
 " But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years, 
 ;i Arenear my own, whose worth, my heart reveres, 
 iC Henceforth, affection sweetly thus begun, 
 " Shall join our bosoms, and our souls in one ; 
 " Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine, 
 " Without thy dear advice, no great design ; 
 " Alike, through life, esteem'd, thou godlike boy, 
 Xi In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy." 
 
 To him Euryalus, u no day shall shame 
 " The rising glories, which from this I claim. 
 " Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown, 
 i6 But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown. 
 
94 
 
 a Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart, 
 
 " One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart : 
 
 ci My mother sprung, from Priam's royal line, 
 
 " Like thine ennobl'd, liardly less divine, 
 
 u Nor Troy, nor King Acestes' realms restrain 
 
 " Her feeble age from dangers of the main ; 
 
 6i Alone she came, all selfish fears above, 
 
 " A bright example of maternal love. 
 
 <( Unknown, the secret enterprize I brave, 
 
 " Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave : 
 
 " From this alone no fond adieus I seek, 
 
 " No fainting mother's lips have press'dmy cheek j 
 
 " By gloomy Night, and thy right hand I vow, 
 
 u Her parting tears would shake my purpose now : 
 
 " Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain, 
 
 a In thee her much lov'd child may live again • 
 
 u Her dying hours with pious conduct bless, 
 
 *' Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress : 
 
 ic So dear a hope must all my soul enflame, 
 
 e ' To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." 
 
 Struck with a filial care, so deeply felt, 
 
 In tears, at once the Trojan warriors melt ; 
 
 Faster than all, lulus' eyes o'erflow, 
 
 Such love was his, and «uch had been his woe. 
 
V All thou hast ask'd, receive," the Prince reply'd, 
 *' Nor this alone, but many a gift beside ; 
 *' To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, 
 " Creusa's * style, but wanting to the dame ; 
 * l Fortune an adverse wayward course may run, 
 " But blest thy mother, in so dear a son. 
 "-Now, by my life, my Sire's most sacred oath, 
 " To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth, 
 u All the rewards, which once to thee were vow'd, 
 " If thou should'st fall, on her shall be bestow'd, ". 
 Thus spoke, the weeping Prince, then forth to view, 
 A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew ; 
 Lycaon's utmost skill had grac'd the steel, 
 For friends to envy and for foes to feel. 
 A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil, 
 Slain midst th»-forest, in the hunter's toil, 
 Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows r 
 And old Alethes' casque defends his brows ; 
 Arm'd, thence they go, while all the assembl'd 
 
 train, 
 .To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain ; 
 
 The mother of lulu?, lost on the night when Troy wa« taken, 
 
96 
 
 More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace, 
 lulus holds amidst the chiefs his place, 
 His prayers he sends, -but what can prayers avail ! 
 Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale ! 
 
 The trench is past, and favour'd by the night, 
 Tho' sleeping foes, they weil their wary flight ; 
 When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er ? 
 Alas ! some slumber, who shall wake no more ! 
 Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms are seen, 
 And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between ; 
 Bacchns and Mars, to rule the camp, combine, 
 A mingl'd chaos, this, of war and wine. 
 Now, cries the first, " for deeds of blood prepare, 
 fi With me the conquest, and the labour share; 
 " Here lies our path, lest any hand arise, 
 t( Watch thou, while many a dreaming chief taia 
 
 u dies ; 
 €i I'll carve our passage, through the heedless foe, 
 ■** And clear thy road, with many a deadly blow. M 
 His whispering accents then the youth represt, 
 And pierc'd proud Rhamnes thro' his panting breast^ 
 Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king repos'd 5 
 Debauch ? and not fatigue, his eyes had clos'd 5 
 
«7 
 
 To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince, 
 His omens more than augur's skill evince : 
 But he, who thus foretold the fate of all, 
 Could not avert his own untimely fall. 
 Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell, 
 And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell; 
 The charioteer, along his courser's sides, 
 Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides ; 
 And, last, his Lord is number'd with the dead, 
 Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head; 
 From the swol'n veins, the blackening torrents pour, 
 Stain'd is the couch and eafth, with clotting gore. 
 Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire, 
 And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire; 
 Half the long night in childish games was past, 
 Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last ; 
 Ah ! happier far, had he the morn survey'd, 
 And, 'till Aurora's dawn, his skill display 'd. 
 
 In slaughter'd folds, the keepers lost in sleep. 
 His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep ; 
 'Mid the sad flock, at dead of night, he prowls. 
 With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls ; 
 
 O 
 
98 
 
 Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams, 
 la seas of gore, the lordly tyrant foams. 
 
 Nor less the others deadly vengeance came, 
 But falls on feeble crowds without a name ; 
 His wound, unconscious Fadus, scarce can feel, 
 Yet, wakeful Rhsesus sees the threat'ning steel j 
 His coward breast behind ajar he hides, 
 And, vainly, in the weak defence confides ; 
 Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins, 
 The reeking weapon bears alternate strains ; 
 Thro' wine and blood, commingling as they flow, 
 The feeble spirit seeks the shades below. 
 Now, where Messapus dwelt, they bend their way, 
 Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray ; 
 There, unconfin'd, behold each grazing steed, 
 Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed ; 
 Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm., 
 Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm : 
 (i Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is past, 
 " Full foes enough, to-night, have breath'd .their 
 
 " last; 
 " Soon will the Day those Eastern clouds adorn, 
 " Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn." 
 
99 
 
 What silver arms, with various art emboss'd ; 
 What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss'd, 
 They leave regardless ! yet, one glittering prize, 
 Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes ; 
 The gilded harness lihamnes' coursers felt, 
 The gems which stud, the monarch's golden belt ; 
 This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, 
 Once by a line of former chieftains worn. 
 Th' exulting boy, the studded girdle wears, 
 Messapus' helm his head, in triumph, bears ; 
 Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend, 
 To seek the vale, where safer paths extend. 
 
 Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse, 
 To Turnus' camp, pursue their destin'd course; 
 While the slow foot, their 'tardy march delay, 
 The knights, impatient, spur along the way : 
 Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, 
 To Turnus, with their master's promise sped; 
 Now, they approach the trench, and view the walls, 
 When, on the left, a light reflection falls, 
 The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, 
 Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright; 
 Volscens, with question loud, the pair alarms, 
 " Stand, Stragglers ! stand ! why early thus in arms ? 
 
100 
 
 u From -whence, to whom ? " he meets with n© 
 
 reply, 
 Trusting the covert of the night, they fiy ; 
 The thicket's depth, with hurried pace, they tread, 
 While round the wood the hostile squadron spread. 
 
 With brakes entangled, scarce a path between. 
 Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene; 
 Euryalus, his heavy spoils impede, 
 The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead $ 
 But Nisus scours along the forest's maze, 
 To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze, 
 Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend, 
 On ev'ry side, they seek his absent friend. 
 " O God, my boy," he cries, " of roe bereft, 
 u In what impending perils art thou left! " 
 Listening he runs — above the waving trees, 
 Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze; 
 The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around, 
 Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground. 
 Again he turns — of footsteps hears the noise, 
 The sound elates — the sight his hope destroys, 
 The hapless boy, a ruffian train surround, 
 While lengthening shades^ his weary way confound; 
 
101 
 
 Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights pursue. 
 
 Struggling in Tain, a captive to the crew. 
 
 What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare? 
 
 Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share! 
 
 What force, what aid, what stratagem essay. 
 
 Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey ! 
 
 His life a votive ransom nobly give, 
 
 Or die with him, for whom he wish'd to live! 
 
 Poising with strength his lifted lance on high, 
 
 On Luna's orb, he cast his phrenzied eye : 
 
 u Goddess serene, transcending every star ! 
 
 " Queen of the sky ! whose beams are seen afar ; 
 
 " By night, Heaven owns thy sway, by day, the 
 " grove; 
 
 *' When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove; 
 
 U If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace 
 
 ii Thine altars, with the produce of the chace; 
 
 11 Speed, speed, my dart, to pierce yon vaunting" 
 " crowd, 
 
 i( To free my friend, and scatter far the proud. ¥ 
 
 Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung; 
 
 Through parted shades, the hurtling weapon sung; 
 
 The thirsty point iu Sulmo's entrails lay, 
 
 T'ransfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay: 
 
102 
 
 He sobs, he dies, — the troop j in wild amaze, 
 Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze ; 
 While pale they stare, thro' Tagus' temples riven, 
 A second shaft, with equal force is driven ; 
 Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes, 
 Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies. 
 Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall, 
 " Thou youth accurst ; thy life shall pay for all. " 
 Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew, 
 And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew. 
 Nisus, no more the blackening shade conceals, 
 Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals ; 
 Aghast, confus'd, his fears to madness rise, 
 And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies : 
 ii Me, me, your vengeance hurl, on me alone, 
 " Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own ; 
 " Ye starry Spheres! thou conscious Heaven attest! 
 " He could not, — durst not — lo ! the guile con- 
 
 " fest! 
 a All, all was mine, — his early fate suspend, 
 a He only lov'd, too well, his hapless friend ; 
 " Spare, spare ye Chiefs ! from him your rage re- 
 
 c< move, 
 " His fault was friendship, all his crime was love." 
 
103 
 
 Ha pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword 
 Pierc'd the fair side, the snowy bosom gor'd ; 
 Lowly to earth, inclines his plume-clad crest, 
 And sanguine torrents, mantle o'er his breast : 
 As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air, 
 Languid in death, expires beneath the share ; 
 Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower, 
 Decliniug gently, falls a fading flower ; 
 Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head, 
 And lingering Beauty hovers round the dead. 
 
 But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, 
 Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide ; 
 Volscens he seeks, amidst the gathering host, 
 Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost • 
 Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe, 
 Rage nerves his arm, Fate gleams in every blow ; 
 In vain, beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, 
 iNor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds ; 
 In viewless circles wheel'd his falchion flies, 
 Nor quits the Hero's grasp, till Volscens dies, 
 Deep in his throat, its end the weapon found, 
 The tyrant's soul fled groaning thro' the wound. 
 Thus Nisus all his fond affection prov'd, 
 Dying, revcng'd the fate of him he lov'd ; 
 
roi 
 
 Then on his bosom, sought his wouted place, 
 And death was heavenly, in his friend's embrace! 
 
 Celestial pair ! if aught my verse can claim, 
 Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame ! 
 Ages on ages, shall your fate admire, 
 No future day shall see your names expire; 
 While stands the Capitol, immortal dome ! 
 And vanquish'd millions hail their Empress, Rome ! 
 
loa 
 
 TRANSLATION 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. 
 
 W HEN fierce conflicting passions urge 
 
 The breast, where love is wont to glow. 
 What mind can stem the stormy surge, 
 
 Which rolls the tide of human woe ? 
 The hope of praise, the dread of shame, 
 
 Can rouse the tortur'd breast no more; 
 The wild desire, the guilty flame, 
 
 Absorbs each wish it felt before* 
 
 2. 
 
 But, if affection gently thrills 
 The soul, by purer dreams possest, 
 
 The pleasing balm of mortal ills, 
 
 In-leve can soothe the aching breast; 
 P 
 
*06 
 
 If thus, thou com'st in gentle guise, 
 Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven, 
 
 What heart, unfeeling, would despise 
 The sweetest boon the Gods have given ? 
 
 But, never from thy golden bow, 
 
 May I beneath the shaft expire, 
 Whose creeping venom, sure and slow, 
 
 Awakes an all-consuming fire ; 
 Ye racking doubts ! ye jealous fears ! 
 
 With others wage internal war ; 
 Repentance ! source of future tears, 
 
 From me be ever distant far. 
 
 May no districting- thoughts destroy 
 
 The holy calm of sacred love ! 
 May all the hours be wing'd with joy, 
 
 Which hover faithful hearts above I 
 Fair Venus ! oh thy my ?tle shrine, 
 
 May I with some fond lover sigh ! 
 Whose heart may mingle pui$e with mine, 
 
 With me to lire, with me to die. 
 
107 
 
 5. 
 
 My native soil ! belov'd before^ 
 
 Now dearer, as my peaceful home, 
 Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, 
 
 A hapless, banish'd wretch to roam ; 
 This very day, this very hour, 
 
 May I resign this fleeting breath, 
 Nor quit my silent, humble bower ; 
 
 A doom, to me, far worse than death, 
 
 6. 
 
 Have t not heard the exile's sigh ? 
 
 And seen the exile's silent tear ? 
 Through distant climes coudemn'd to fly, 
 
 A pensive, weary wand'rer here; 
 Ah ! hapless dame ! * no sire bewails, 
 
 No friend thy wretched fate deplores. 
 
 * Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted 
 by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The Cho- 
 rus, from which this is taken, here address Medea ; though a 
 considerable liberty is taken with the original, by expanding 
 the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation. 
 
108 
 
 No kindred voice with rapture hails 
 Thy steps, within a stranger's doors. 
 
 Perish the fiend ! whose iron heart, 
 
 To fair affection's truth unknown, 
 Bids her, he fondly lov'd, depart, 
 
 Unpitied, helpless, and alone ; 
 Who ne'er unlocks, with silver key, * 
 
 The milder treasures of his soul ; 
 May such a friend be far from me, 
 
 And Ocean's storms between us roll ! 
 
 * The original is ii KaOapaiv oivoi^xvrt K\yii§ol (ppiwy ;" 
 literally " disclosing the bright Key of the mind." 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
Ill 
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES, 
 
 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE 
 EXAMINATION.* 
 
 JHLlGH in the midst, surrounded by his peers 2 
 Magnus his ample front sublime uprears ; 
 
 * No reflection is here intended against the person mention- 
 ed under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented, as 
 performing an unavoidable function of his office : indeed, such 
 an attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is 
 now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified 
 propriety, with which he fills his situation, as he was, in hie 
 younger days, for wit and conviviality. 
 
112 
 
 Plac'd on hts chair of state, he seems a Godj 
 While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod 4 t 
 As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, 
 His roice, in thunder, shakes the sounding domej 
 Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, 
 Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules. 
 
 Happy the youth ! in Euclid's axioms tried, 
 Though little vers'd in any art beside ; 
 Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen, 
 Scans attic metres^ with a critic's ken. 
 What ! though he knows not how his fathers bled, 
 When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead ; 
 When Edward bade his conquering bands advance, 
 Or Henry trampled on the crest of France; 
 Though, marv'lling at the name of Magna Charta, 
 Yet, well he recollects the laws of Sparta ; 
 Can tell, what edicts sage Lycurgus made, 
 Whilst Blackstone's on the shelf, neglected laid ; 
 Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, 
 Of Avon's bard, rememb'ring scarce the name. 
 
 Such is the youth, whose scientific pate, 
 Class honours, medals, fellowships, await ; 
 
113 
 
 Or, even, perhaps, the declamation prize, 
 
 If, to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes. 
 
 But, lo ! no common orator can hope, 
 
 The envied silver cup within his scope : 
 
 Not that our Heads much eloquence require, 
 
 Th' Athenian's glowing style, or Tully's fire. 
 
 A manner clear or warm is useless, since 
 
 We do not try, by speaking, to convince ; 
 
 Ba other orators of pleasing proud, 
 
 We speak, to please ourselves, not move the 
 
 crowd : 
 Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, 
 A proper mixture of the squeak and groan ; 
 No borrow'd grace of action must be seen, 
 The slightest motion would displease the Dean j 
 Whilst ev'ry staring Graduate would prate, 
 Against what he could never imitate. 
 
 The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup, 
 Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up ; 
 Nor stop, but rattle over every word, 
 No matter what, so it can not be heard : 
 Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest; 
 Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak the best : 
 
 Q 
 
114 
 
 Who utters most within the shortest space, 
 May, safely 3 hope to win the wordy nice. 
 
 The Sons : of science, these, who, thus repaid, 
 Linger in ease, in Granta's sluggish shade ; 
 Where on Cam's sedgy banks, supine, they lie, 
 Unknown^ unhonour'i live, — unwept for, die; 
 Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls, 
 They think all learning fix'd within their walls; 
 In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, 
 All modern arts, aifecting to despise; 
 Yet prizing Bentley's*, Brunck's*, or PoRSON'sf 
 
 note, 
 More than the verse, on which the critic wrote; 
 Vain as their honours, heavy as their Ale, 
 Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale, 
 To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel, 
 When Self and Church demand a Bigot zeal. 
 
 * * Celebrated Critics. 
 
 + The present Greek Professor at Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge; a man, whose powers of micd and writings, rear, 
 perhaps, justify their preference. 
 
11* 
 
 With eager haste, they court the lord of power, 
 Whether 'tis Pitt or P-txy rules the Iwur : * 
 To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, 
 While distant mitres, to their eyes are spread ; ■ 
 But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, 
 They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place, 
 Such are the men, who learning's treasures guard, 
 Such is their practice, such is their reward; 
 This much, at least, we may presume to say ; 
 The premium can't exceed the price they pay. 
 
 1806. 
 
 . Since this was written Lord H. P— y, has lost h.s 
 plac*,and,subsequentl y ,(Ihadalmost a aid,co.,B QU KN T - 
 
 **,) the honour of representing the University; a facts. 
 
 glaring requires no comment 
 
116 
 
 TO THE EARL OF 
 
 " Tu semper amoris 
 " Sismemor, et cari comitis neabscedat Iniago." 
 
 Valerius Flaccus. 
 
 X* RIEND of my youth! when young we rov'd, 
 Like striplings mutually belov'd, 
 
 With Friendship's purest glow ; 
 The bligs, which wing'd those rosy hours. 
 Was such as Pleasure seldom showers 
 
 On mortals here below. 
 
 2. 
 
 The recollection seems, alone, 
 Dearer than all the joys I've known, 
 When distant far from you j 
 
117 
 
 Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain, 
 To trace those days and hours again, 
 And sigh again, adieu ! 
 
 My pensive mem'ry lingers o'er, 
 Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more, 
 
 Those scenes regretted ever ; 
 The measure of our youth is full, 
 Life's evening dream is dark and dull, 
 
 And we may meet — ah ! never I 
 
 4. 
 
 As when one parent spring supplies 
 
 Two streams, which from one fountain rises. 
 
 Together join'd in vain ; 
 How soon, diverging from their source, 
 Each, murmuring, seeks another course. 
 
 Till mingl'd in the Main. 
 
 5. 
 
 Our vital streams of weal or woe, 
 Though near, alas ! distinctly flow. 
 Nor mingle as before \ 
 
US 
 
 Now swift or slow, now black or clear, 
 Till Death's unfathom'd gulph appear. 
 And both shall quit the shore. 
 
 6. 
 
 Our souls, my Friend ! which once supplied 
 One wish, nor breath'd a thought beside, 
 
 Now flow in different channels ; 
 Disdaining humbler rural sports, 
 'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts, 
 
 And shine in Fashion's aunals. 
 
 7. 
 
 'Tis mine to waste on love my time, 
 Or vent my reveries in rhyme, 
 
 Without the aid of Reason ; 
 For Sense and Reason, (Critics know it,) 
 Hare quitted every amorous Poet, 
 
 Nor left a thought to seize on. 
 
 8. 
 
 Poor Little ! sweet, melodious bard ! 
 Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard, 
 That he, who sang before all j 
 
Ill 
 
 He who the lore of love expanded, 
 By dire Reviewers should be branded, 
 As yoid of wit and moral. * 
 
 And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, 
 Harmonious favourite of the nine ! 
 
 Repine not at thy lot ; 
 Thy soothing lays may still be read, 
 When Persecution's arm is dead, 
 
 And Critics are forgot. 
 
 10. 
 
 Still, I must yield those worthies merit, 
 Who chasten, with unsparing spirit, 
 
 Bad rhymes, and those who write them 3 
 
 * These Stanzas were written soon after the appearance 
 •fa severe critique in a Northern review, on a new publica- 
 tion of the British Auacreon. 
 
120 
 
 And though myself may be the next, 
 By critic sarcasm to be vext, 
 
 I really will not fight them j *• 
 
 11. 
 
 Perhaps, they would do quite as well, 
 To break the rudely sounding shell, 
 
 Of such a young beginner ; 
 He, who otfends at pert nineteen, 
 Ere thirty may become, I ween, 
 
 A very harden'd sinner. 
 
 12. 
 
 Now I must return to you, 
 
 And sure apologies are due, 
 
 Accept then my concession j 
 
 * A Bard, (Horresco referens,) defied his Reviewer to 
 mortal combat, if this exam pie becomes prevalent, our pe- 
 riodical Censors must be dipt in the River Styx, for what 
 else can secure them from the numerous Host of their 
 enraged assailants. 
 
121 
 
 In truth, dear , in fancy's flight, 
 
 I soar along from left to right, 
 My Muse admires digression. 
 
 13. 
 
 I think, I said, 'twould be your fat* 
 To add one star to royal state, 
 
 May regal smiles attend youj 
 And should a noble Monarch reign, 
 You will not seek his smiles in vain } 
 
 If worth can recommend you. 
 
 14. 
 
 Yet, since in danger, courts abound, 
 Where specious rivals glitter round, 
 
 From snares may Saints preserve you ; 
 And grant, your love or friendship ne'er 
 From any claim a kindred care, 
 
 But those, who best deserve you. 
 
 15. 
 
 Not for a moment may you stray 
 From Truth's secure unerring wayj 
 May no delights decoy ; 
 R 
 
122 
 
 O'er roses may your footsteps morey 
 Your smiles be ever smiles of love, 
 Your tears be tears of joy. 
 
 16. 
 
 Oh ! if you wish, that happiness 
 
 Your coaling days and years may bless ' 3 
 
 And virtues crown your brow : 
 Be, still, as you were wont to be, 
 Spotless as you've been known to me, 
 
 Be, still, as you are now. 
 
 17. 
 
 And though some trifling share of praise,- 
 To cheer my last declining days, 
 
 To me were doubly dear ; 
 Whilst blessing your beloved name y 
 I'd wave at once, a Poet's fame, 
 
 To prove a Prophet here. 
 
123 
 
 GRANTA, A MEDLEY. 
 
 Apyvptxis Xoy^xitTi f^x^n v.xi irxvrx KfXTrxrxtS' 
 
 OH! could Le Sage's * demon's gift, 
 
 Be realiz'd, at my desire ; 
 This night my trembling form he'd lift, 
 
 To place it on St. Mary's spire. 
 
 2. 
 
 Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's hall* 
 Pedantic inmates full display; 
 
 * The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the 
 Demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and ua- 
 roofs the houses for his inspection. 
 
124 
 
 Fellows, who dream on lawn, or stalls., 
 The price of yenal votes to pay. 
 
 3. 
 
 Then would I view each rival wight, 
 
 P— tty and P— 1m— s— n survey ; 
 Who canyass there, with all their might, 
 
 Against the next elective day. 
 
 4. 
 
 Lo ! candidates and voters lie, 
 
 All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number ! 
 
 A race renown'd for piety, 
 
 Whose conscience wont disturb their slumber. 
 
 5, 
 
 Lord H , indeed, may not demur, 
 
 Fellows are sage, reflecting, men ; 
 
 They know preferment can occur, 
 But very seldom, now and then. 
 
 6. 
 
 They know, the Chancellor has got 
 Some pretty livings, in disposal ; 
 
125 
 
 Each hopes, that one may be his lot, 
 And, therefore, smiles on his proposal. 
 
 1 7, 
 
 Now, from the soporific scene, 
 
 I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, 
 To riew, unheeded, and unseen, 
 
 The studious sons of Alma Mater. 
 
 8. 
 
 There, in apartments small and damrj^ 
 The candidate for college prizes, 
 
 Sits poring by the midnight lamp, 
 Goes late to bed, yet early rises, 
 
 9. 
 
 He, surely, well deserves to gain them, 
 With all the honours of his college, 
 
 Who, striving hardly to obtain them, 
 Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge. 
 
 10. 
 
 Who sacrifices hours of rest, 
 
 To scan, precisely, metres Attic ; 
 
12B 
 
 Or agitates his anxious breast, 
 la solviug problems mathematic. 
 
 11. 
 
 Who reads false quantities in Sele, * 
 Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle ; 
 
 Depriv'd of many a wholesome meal, 
 
 In barbarous latin, + doom'd to wrangle. 
 
 12. 
 
 Renouncing every pleasing page, 
 
 From authors of historic, use J 
 Preferring to the letter'd sage, 
 
 The square of the hypothenuse. + 
 
 * Sele's publication on Greek metres, displays considerable 
 talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in se difficult 
 a work, is not remarkable for accuracy. 
 
 + The Latin of the schools is of the canine species and 
 not very intelligible. 
 
 $ The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the Hy- 
 pothenuse, is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a 
 right angled triangle. 
 
127 
 
 13. 
 
 Still, harmless are these occupations, 
 That hurt none but the hapless student*, 
 
 Corapar'd with other recreations, 
 Which bring together the imprudent* 
 
 14. 
 
 Whose daring revels shock the sight. 
 When vice and infamy combine ; 
 
 When drunkenness and dice unite, 
 As every sense is steep'd in wine. 
 
 15. 
 
 Not so, the methodistic crew, 
 Who plans of reformation lay : 
 
 In humble attitude they sue, 
 And for the sins of others pray. 
 
 16. 
 
 Forgetting, that their pride of spirit, 
 Their exultation in their trial ; 
 
 Detracts, most largely, from the merit^ 
 Of all their boasted self-denial. 
 
12S 
 
 17. 
 
 *Tis mom, — -from these I turn my sight ; 
 
 What scene is this, which meets the eye ? 
 A numerous crowd array'd in white, * 
 
 Across the green in numbers fly. 
 
 18. 
 
 Loud rings, in air, the chapel bell ; 
 
 'Tis hush'd ; What sounds are these I hear ? 
 The organ's soft celestial swell, 
 
 Rolls deeply on the listening ear. 
 
 19. 
 
 To this is join'd the sacred song, 
 
 The royal minstrel's hallowed strain ; 
 
 Though he, who hears the music long. 
 Will never wish" to hear again. 
 
 20. 
 
 Our choir would scarcely be excus'd 
 Even as a band of raw beginners ; 
 
 * On a Saiut Day, the Students wear Surplices, ia Chapel. 
 
129 
 
 All mercy, now, must be refus'd, 
 To such a set of croaking sinners. 
 
 1. 
 
 If David, Trhen his toils were ended, 
 
 Had heard these blockheads sing before hinij 
 
 To us, his psalms had ne'er descended, 
 In furious mood, he would haTe tore 'em. 
 
 22. 
 
 The luckless Israelites, when taken, 
 By some inhuman tyrant's order, 
 
 Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken^ 
 On Babylonian river's border. 
 
 23. 
 
 Oh ! had they sung in notes like these, 
 
 Inspir'd by stratagem, or fear ; 
 They might have set their hearts at easq ? 
 
 The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. 
 
 24. 
 
 But, if I scribble longer now, 
 The deuce a soul will stay to read$ 
 S 
 
130 
 
 My pen is blunt, my ink is low, 
 'Tis almost time to stop, indeed. 
 
 25. 
 
 Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires. 
 No more, like Cleofas, I fly, 
 
 No more thy theme my Muse inspires, 
 The reader's tir'd and so am I. 
 
 ISOfc 
 
131 
 
 LACHIN Y. GAIR. 
 
 Lachiw y. gair, or as it is pronounced in the Erse, Lock 
 ka Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern 
 Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern Tourists 
 mentions itas the highest mountain, perhaps, in GreatBri- 
 tain ; he this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sub- 
 lime, and picturesque, amongst our " Caledonian Alps. " 
 Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat 
 of eternal snows ; near Lachin y. Gair, I spent some of the 
 early part of my life, the recollection of which, has given 
 birth to the following Stanzas. — 
 
 AW AY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses I 
 In you let the minions of luxury rove ; 
 
 Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes, 
 Tho', still, they are sacred to freedom and lore: 
 
 Yet, Caledonia, belov'd are thy mountains, 
 Round their white summits tho' elements war, 
 
132 
 
 Tho' cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flowing foun- 
 tains, 
 I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. 
 
 2. 
 
 Ah ! there my young footsteps, in infancy, wander'd, 
 
 My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;* 
 On chieftains, long perish'd, my memory ponder'd, 
 
 As daily I strode thro' the pine-cover'd glade; 
 I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory 
 
 Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; 
 For Fancy was cheer'd, by traditional story, 
 
 Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. 
 
 (i Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices 
 *' Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ? " 
 
 Surely, the soul of the hero rejoices, 
 
 And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland 
 vale : 
 
 * This word is erroneously pronounced tlad, the proper 
 pronounciatioa (according to the Scotch) is shewn by the Or? 
 thography. 
 
133 
 
 Hound Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers. 
 Winter presides in his cold icy car j 
 
 Clouds, there, encircle the forms of my Fathers, 
 They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch naGarr : 
 
 4. 
 
 '* 111 starred,* tho' brave, did no visions foreboding, 
 " Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ? " 
 
 Ah ! were you destin'd to die at Culloden, + 
 Victory crown'd not your fall with applause; 
 
 * I allude here to my maternal ancestors, " the Goa- 
 *' dons, " many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince 
 Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This 
 branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to 
 the Stewarts. George, the 2d, Earl of Huntley, married 
 the Princess Annabella Stewart, daughter of James the !st of 
 Scotland, by her he left four sons; the 3d, Sir William Gor- 
 dou, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors. 
 
 t Whether any perished in the Battle of Culloden, I am 
 not certain ; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used 
 the name of the principal action, " pars pro tot©. " 
 
134 
 
 Still, were you happy, in death's earthy slumber, 
 You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar, * 
 
 The Pibroch + resounds, to the piper's loud number, 
 Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. 
 
 - '-', $K 
 
 Years have roll'd on, 'Lock na Garr, since I left 
 you,. 
 
 Years must elapse, ere I tread you again ; 
 Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, 
 
 Yet, still, are you dearer than Albion's plain: 
 England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic, * 
 
 To one, who has rov'd on the mountains afar; 
 Oh! for the crags that are wild and majes.tic, i 
 
 The steep, frowning glories of dark Loch na'Garr 
 
 * A Tract of the Highlands so called ; there is also a €astle 
 of Braemar. 
 
 t The Bagpipe. 
 
US 
 
 TO ROMANCE. 
 
 Jl ARENT of golden dreams, Romance ! 
 
 Auspicious Queen ! of childish jays, 
 Who.lead'st along in airy dance, 
 
 Thy votive train of girls and boys ; 
 At length, in spells no longer bound, 
 
 I break the fetters of my youth, 
 No more I tread thy mystic round, 
 
 But leave thy realms for those of Truth. 
 
 2. 
 
 And, yet, 'tis hard to quit the dreams, 
 Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, 
 
 Where every nymph a goddess seems, 
 Whose eyes through rays immortal roll % 
 
 
"While Fancy holds her boundless reign, 
 And all assume a varied hue, 
 
 When Virgins seem no longer vain, 
 And even Woman's smiles are true. 
 
 And must we own thee, but a name, 
 
 And from thy hall of clouds descend ? 
 Nor find a Sylph in every dame, 
 
 A Pylades * in every friend ; 
 But leave, at once, thy realms of air, 
 
 To mingling bands of fairy elves ; 
 Confess that Woman's false as fair, 
 
 And Friends have feeling for — —themselves. 
 
 * It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the 
 companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friend- 
 ships, which with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus 
 and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down 
 to posterity, as remarkable instances of attachments, which 
 in all probability never existed, beyond the imagination of 
 fills Poet, the page of an historian, or modem novelist. 
 
m 
 
 4. • 
 
 With shame, I own, I've felt thy sway, 
 
 Repentant, now thy reign is o'er, 
 No more thy precepts I obey, 
 
 No more on fancied pinions soar ; 
 Fond fool ! to love a sparkling eye, 
 
 And think, that ey« to Truth was dear ? 
 To trust a passing Wanton's sigh, 
 
 And melt beneath a Wanton's tear. 
 
 5. 
 
 Romance ! disgusted with deceit, 
 
 Far from thy motley court I fly, 
 Where Affectation holds her seat, 
 
 And sickly Sensibility; 
 Whose silly tears can never flow, 
 
 For any pangs excepting thine ; 
 Who turns aside from real woe, 
 
 To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. 
 
 6. 
 
 Now join with sable Sympathy, 
 With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, 
 T 
 
138 
 
 Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, 
 Whose breast for every bosom bleeds ; 
 
 And call thy sylvan female quire, 
 To mourn a Swain for ever gone, 
 
 Who once could glow with equal lire, 
 But bends not now before thy throne. 
 
 7. 
 
 Ye genial Nymphs, whose ready tears, 
 
 On all occasions, swiftly flow ; 
 Whose bosdms heave with fancied fears, 
 
 With fancied flames and phrenzy glow ; 
 Say, will you mourn my absent name. 
 
 Apostate from your gentle train ? 
 An infant Bard, at least, may claim, 
 
 From you a sympathetic strain. 
 
 8. 
 
 Adieu ! fond race, a long adieu ! 
 
 The hour of fate is hov'ring nigh, 
 Even now the gulph appears in view, 
 
 Where unlamented you must lie, 
 
139 
 
 Oblmon's blackening lake is seen, 
 
 Conyuls'd by gales you cannot weather^ 
 
 -Where you, and eke your gentle queen, 
 Alas ! must perish altogether* 
 
ELEGY ON NEWS^EAD ABBEY.* 
 
 It is the voice of years, that are gone ! they roll before me, 
 with all their deeds. Ossian. 
 
 Ne WSTE AD ! fast falling, once resplendent dome J 
 Religion's shrioe ! repentant Henry's pride ! 
 
 Of Warriors, Monks, and Dames the cloister'd 
 tomb ; 
 Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide. 
 
 * As one poem, on this subject, is printed in the beginning, 
 the author had, originally, no intention of inserting the fol- 
 lowing; it is now added, at the particular request of some 
 friends. 
 
 + Henry II. founded Newstead, soon after the murder 
 ef Thomas a Bucket, 
 
HI 
 
 Hail ! to thy pile J more hononr'd in thy fall, 
 Than modern mansions, in their pillar'd state ; 
 
 Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, 
 Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. 
 
 No mail-clad Serfs, * obedient to their Lord, 
 In grim array, the crimson cross + demand ; 
 
 Or gay assemble round the festive board, 
 Their chief 's retainers, an immortal band. 
 
 Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye, 
 
 Retrace their progress, thro' the lapse of time,; 
 
 Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die, 
 A votive pilgrim, in Judea's clime. 
 
 But not from thee, dark pile ! departs the Chief, 
 His feudal realm in other regions lay ; 
 
 In thee, the wounded conscience courts relief, 
 Retiring from the garish blaze of day. 
 
 * This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, " The 
 "Wild Huntsman : " sjnonimous with Vassal. 
 
 * The Red Cross was the badge of the Crusader*. 
 
142 
 
 Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound, 
 Tha Monk abjur'd a world, he ne'er could view ; 
 
 0> iood-stam'd Goilt, repenting solace found, 
 Or Innocence, from stern Oppression, flew. 
 
 A Monarch bade thee, from that wild arise, 
 Where Sherwood's outlaws, once, were wonf 
 to prowl ; 
 
 And Superstition's crimes of various dyes, 
 Sought shelter in the Priest's protecting cowl. 
 
 Where, now, the grass exhales a murky dew. 
 The humid pall of life-extinguis'd clay ; 
 
 In sainted fame, the sacred Fathers grew, 
 Nor raised their pious voices, but to pray. 
 
 Where, now, the bats their wavering wings extend, 
 Soon as the gloaming* spreads her waning shade; 
 
 * As " Gloamiug," the Scottish word for Twilight, is far 
 more poetical, and has been recommended by many emirfent 
 literary men, particularly Dr. Moore, in his Letters to Burns, 
 I have ventured to -use it, on account of its harmony. 
 
143 
 
 The choir did, oft, their mingling vespers blend, 
 Or matin orisons to Mary *' paid. 
 
 Years roll on years ; to ages, ages yield ; 
 
 Abbots to Abbots, in a line succeed ; 
 Religion's charter, their protecting shield, 
 
 Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed. 
 
 One holy Henry, -f rear'd the gothick walls. 
 And bade the pious inmates rest in peace; 
 
 Another Henry the kind gift recalls, 
 
 And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease. 
 
 Vain is each threat, or supplicating prayer, 
 He drives them, exiles, from their blest abode; 
 
 To roam a dreary world, in deep despair, 
 
 No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God. 
 
 Hark! how the hall, resounding to the strain, 
 Shakes with the martial music's novel din ! 
 
 * The Priory was dedicated to the Virgin. 
 
 + At the dissolution of the Monasteries, FIenjit VIII, 
 bestowed iSewstead Ai)licy on Sir John Byroo, 
 
141 
 
 The heralds of a warrior's haugnty reign, 
 High crested banners, wave thy waits within* 
 
 Of changing sentinels, the distant hum, 
 
 The mirth of feasts, the clan<j of burfiish'd arms, 
 
 The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum, 
 Unite in concert with incrcas'd alarms. 
 
 An abbey once, a regal^fortress* now, 
 Encircled by insulting rebel powers ; 
 
 War's dread machines o'erhang thy threat'ning 
 brow, 
 And dart destruction, in sulphureous showers. 
 
 Ah ! vain defence ! the hostile traitor's siege, 
 Tho' oft repuls'd, by guile, o'ercomes the brave; 
 
 His thronging foes oppress the faithful Liege, 
 Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave. 
 
 Not unaveng'd, the raging Baron yields, 
 
 The blood of traitors smears the purple plains 
 
 * Newstead sustained a considerable siege, in the war b*« 
 tween Charles I. and his Parliament. 
 
145 
 
 Unconquer'd, still, his faulchion there he wields, 
 And days of glory, yet, for him remain. 
 
 Still, in that hour, the warrior wish'd to strew, 
 Self-gather'd laurels, on a self-sought grave j 
 
 But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, 
 
 The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save. 
 
 Trembling she snatch'd him* from the unequal strife. 
 In other fields, the torrent to repel ; 
 
 For nobler combats, here, reserv'd his life, 
 
 To lead the band, where god-like Falkland! fell. 
 
 * Lord Byron, and his brother, Sir William, held high 
 Commands in the Royal Army ; the former was General in 
 Chief, in Ireland, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Governor to 
 James, Duke of York; afterwards, the unhappy James II. 
 The latter had a principal share in many Actions. Vide, Cla- 
 rendon, Hume, &c. 
 
 + Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accom- 
 plished man of his age, was killed, at the Battle of Newberry, 
 charging iu the ranks of Lord Byron's Regiment of Cavalry. 
 
 u 
 
146 
 
 From thee, poor pile! to lawlessplunder given, 
 
 While dying groans, their painful requiem sound, 
 Far different incense, now, ascends to heaven, 
 
 
 Such victims wallow on the gory ground. 
 
 There, many a pale and ruthless Robber's corse, 
 Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod ; 
 
 O'er mingling man, and horse commix' d with horse, 
 Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod. 
 
 Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'er- 
 spread f 
 
 Ransack'd, resign, perforce, their mortal mould; 
 From ruffian fangs, escape not e'en the dead, 
 
 Rak'd from repose, in search for buried gold. 
 
 Hush'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre, 
 •'the minstrels palsied hand reclines in death ; 
 
 No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire, 
 Or sings the glories of the martial wreath. 
 
 At length, the sated murderers, gorged with prey, 
 Retire, the clamour of the fight is o'er; 
 
 Silence, again, resumes her awful sway. 
 And sable Horror guards the massy door. 
 
147 
 
 Here, Desolation holds her dreary court, 
 What satellites declare her dismal reign ! 
 
 Shrieking their dirge, ill omen'd birds resort. 
 To flit their vigils, in the hoary fane. 
 
 Soon a new Morn's restoring beams dispel 
 The clouds of Anarchy from Britain's skies ; 
 
 The fierce Usurper seeks his native hell, 
 And Nature triumphs, as the Tyrant dies. 
 
 With storms she welcomes his expiring groans. 
 Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring 
 breath ; 
 
 Earth shudders, as her cave receives his bones, 
 Loathing* the offering of so dark a death. 
 
 * This is an historical fact ; a violent tempest occurred im- 
 mediately subsequent to the death, or interment of Cromwell, 
 which occasioned many disputes between his Partizans, and 
 the Cavaliers ; both interpreted the circumstance into divine 
 interposition, but whether as approbation or condemnation, we 
 leave to the Casuists of that age to decide ^ I have made such 
 use of the occurrence as suited the subject of my poem. 
 
148 
 
 The legal Ruler, * now, resumes the helm, 
 He guides thro' gentle seas, the prow of state ; 
 
 Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful realm. 
 And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied Hate. 
 
 The gloomy tenants, Newstead ! of thy cells, 
 Howling, resign their violated nest; 
 
 Again, the Master on his tenure dwells, 
 
 Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptur'd zest. 
 
 Vassals, within thy hospitable pale, 
 
 Loudly carousing, bless their Lord's return; 
 
 Culture, again, adorns the gladdening vale, 
 And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn. 
 
 A thousand songs, on tuneful echo, float, 
 Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees; 
 
 Ant), hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note, 
 The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on the breeze 
 
 Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake, 
 What fears I what anxious hopes ! attend the chacel 
 
 * Charles II. 
 
149 
 
 The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake, 
 Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race. 
 
 Ah ! happy days ! too happy to endure ! 
 
 Such simple sports, our plain forefathers knew; 
 No splendid vices glitter'd to allure, 
 
 Their joys were many, as their cares were few. 
 
 From these descending, Sons to Sires succeed, 
 Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart; 
 
 Another Chief impels the foaming steed, 
 Another Crowd pursue the panting hart. 
 
 Newstead ! what saddening change of scene is thine ! 
 
 Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay ; 
 The last and youngest of a noble line, 
 
 Now holds thy mouldering turrets in its sway. 
 
 Deserted now, he scans thy grey worn towers ; 
 
 Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep ; 
 Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers ; 
 
 These, these he views, and views them but to weep. 
 
 Yet are his tears, no emblem of regret, 
 Cherish' d affection only bids them flowj 
 
150 
 
 Pride, Hope, and Love, forbid him to forget, 
 But warm his bosom, with empassion'd glow* 
 
 Yet, he prefers thee, to the gilded domes, 
 Or gewgaw grottos, of the vainly great ; 
 
 Yet, lingers mid thy damp and mossy tombs-, 
 Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate. 
 
 Haply thy sun, emerging, yet, may shine, 
 Thee to irradiate, with meridian ray ; 
 
 Hours, splendid as the past, may still be thine, 
 And bless thy future, as thy former day. 
 
 
Hi 
 
 fTHE DEATH OF CALMAR AND ORLA, 
 
 AN IMITATION OF 
 
 MACPHERSON's OSSIAN.* 
 
 JL/EA.R are the days of youth! Age dwells on 
 their remembrance through the mist of time. In 
 the twilight he recalls the sunny hours of morn. 
 He lifts his spear with trembling hand. " Not 
 thus feebly did I raise the steel before my fathers !" 
 Past is the race of heroes ! but their fame rises on 
 the harp; their souls ride on the wings of the 
 
 * It. may be necessary to observe, (hat the story, though 
 considerably varied in the Catastrophe, is taken from Nisus 
 and Euryalus," of which Episode, a Translation i& already 
 given in the present volume. 
 
152 
 
 wind ! they hear the sound through the sighs of the 
 storm ; and rejoice in their hall of clouds ! Such 
 is Calmar. The grey stone marks his narrow- 
 house. He looks down from eddying tempests ; 
 he rolls his form in the whirlwind ; and hovers on 
 the blast of the mountain. 
 
 In Morven dwelt the Chief; a beam of war to 
 Fingal. His steps in the field were, marked in 
 blood ; Lochlin's Sons had lied before his angry 
 spear ; but mild was the eye of Calmar; soft was 
 the flow of his yellow locks ; they stream'd like 
 the meteor of the night. No maid was t'^e sigh of 
 his soul ; his thoughts were given to friendship ; 
 to dark.hair'd Orla ; destroyer of heroes ! Equal 
 were t::eir swords in battle; but fierce was the 
 pride of Orla ; gentle alone to Calmar. Together 
 they dwelt in the cave of Oithona. 
 
 From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue 
 waves. Erin's sons fell beneath his might. Fingal 
 roused his chiefs to combat. Their ships cover 
 the ocean ! Their hosts throng on the green hills. 
 They come to the aid of Erin. 
 
liJ 
 
 Night rose in clouds. Darkness veils the ar- 
 mies. But the blazing oaks gleam through the val- 
 ley. The Sons of Lochlin slept : their dreams were 
 of blood. They lift the spear, in thought, and 
 Fingal flies. Not so the Host of Morven. To 
 watch was the post of Orla. Calraar stood by his 
 side. Their spears were in their hands. Fingal 
 called his chiefs: they stood around. The king 
 was in the midst. Grey were his locks, but strong 
 was the arm of the king. Age withered not his 
 powers. "Sons of Morven," said the hero, "to-' 
 morrow we meet the foe ; but where is Cuthullin, 
 the shield of Erin ? He rests in the halls of Tura; 
 he knows not of our coming. Who will speed 
 through Lochlin to the hero, and call the chief to 
 arms. The path is by the swords of foes, but 
 many are my heroes. They are thunderbolts of 
 war. Speak, ye chiefs ! Who will arise ? 
 
 u Son of Trenmor! mine be the deed," said 
 dark-haired Orla, u and mine alone. What is 
 death to me ? I love the sleep of the mighty, but 
 little is the danger. The sons of Lochlin dream. 
 I will seek car-borne Cuthullin. If I fall, raise 
 
13'4 
 
 the song of bards ; and lay me by the stream of 
 Lubar." — " And shalt thon fall alone?" said fair- 
 haired Calmar. u Wilt thou leave thy friend afar ? 
 Chief of Oithona ! not feeble is my arm in fight. 
 Could I see thee die, and not lift the spear ? 
 No, Orla! ours has been the chase of the roebuck, 
 and the feast of shells ; ours be the path of dan- 
 ger ; ours has been the cave of Oithona : ours be 
 tlie narrow dwelling on the banks of Lubar." 
 " Calmar !" said the Chief of Oithona, " Why 
 should thy yellow locks be darkened in the dust 
 of Erin ? Let me fall alone. My father dwells in 
 his hall of air: he will rejoice in his boy : but 
 the biue-ey'd Mora spreads the feast for her Son in 
 Morven. She listens to the steps of the hunter on 
 the heath, and thinks it is the tread of Calmar. 
 Let him not say, " Calmar has fallen by the steel 
 of Lochlin ; he died with gloomy Orla; the chief 
 of the dark brow." Why should tears dim the 
 azure eye of Mora ? Why should her voice curse 
 Orla, the destroyer of Calmar ? Live Calmar. 
 Live to raise my stone of moss ; live to revenge 
 me in the blood of Lochlin. Join the song of 
 bards above my grave. Sweet will be the song of 
 
1£5 
 
 Death to Orla, from the voice of Calmar. My 
 ghost shall smile on the notes of Praise." " Orla !" 
 said the son of Mora, " could I raise the song of 
 death, to my friend ? Could I give his fame to the 
 winds ? No, my heart would speak in sighs ; 
 faint and broken are the sounds of sorroAv. Orla ! 
 our souls shall hear the song together. One 
 cloud shall be ours on high ; the bards will mingle 
 the names of Orla and Calmar. 
 
 They quit the circle of the chiefs. Their steps 
 are to the Host of Lochlin. The dying blaze of 
 oak dim-twinkles through the night. The north- 
 ern star points t'ie path to Tura. Swaran, the 
 Kin^, rests on his lonely hill. Here the troops 
 are mixed : they frown in sleep. Their shields be- 
 neath their heads. Their swords gleam, at dis- 
 tance in heaps. The fires are faint; their embers 
 fail in smoke. All is hushed; but the gale sighs 
 on the rocks above. Lightly wheel the Heroes 
 through the slumbering band. Half the journey 
 is past, when Mathon, resting on his shield, meets 
 the eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glistens 
 through the shade: his spear is raised on high. 
 
m 
 
 i( Why dost thou bend tliy brow, Chief of Oitho- 
 na?" said fair-hair'd Calmar, M we are in trie 
 midst of foes. Is this a time for delay?" " It is 
 a time for vengeance," said Orla, of the gloomy 
 brow. (i Mathon of Lbrfiliu sleeps : seest thou 
 his spear ? Its point is dim with the gore of my 
 father. The blood of Mathon shall reek on mine; 
 but shall I slay him sleeping, Son of Mora ? No! 
 he shall feel his wound ; my fame shall not soar 
 on the blood of slumber: rise! Mathon! rise! 
 The Son of Connal calls, thy life is his ; rise to 
 combat." Mathon starts from sleep, but did he • 
 rise alone ? No : the gathering chiefs bound on 
 the plain. Fly! Calmar! fly!" said dark-hair' d 
 Orla, " Mathon is mine ; I shall die in joy', but 
 Lochlin crowds around ; fly through the shade of 
 night." Orla turns, the helm of Mathon is ckft; 
 his shield falls from his arm : he shudders in his 
 blood. He rolls by the side of the blazing oak. 
 Strumon sees him fall : his wrath rises ; his wea- 
 pon glitters on the head of Orla ; but a spear 
 pierced his eye. His brain gushes through the 
 wound, and foams on the spear of Calmar. A3 
 roll the waves of Ocean, on two mighty barks of 
 
157 
 
 the North, so pour the men of Lochlin on the 
 chiefs. As, breaking the surge in foam, proudly 
 steer the barks of the North; so rise the Chiefs of 
 Morven, on the scattered crests of Lochlin. The 
 din of arms came to the ear of Fingal. He strike* 
 his shield: his sous throng around; the people 
 pour along the heath. Ryno, bounds in joy. 
 Ossian, stalks in his arms. Oscar, shakes the 
 spear. The eagle wing of Fillan floats on the 
 wind. Dreadful is the clang of death ! many are 
 the Widows of Lochlin. Morven prevails in its 
 strength. 
 
 Morn glimmers on the hills : no living foe is 
 seen ; but the sleepers are many ; grim they lie on 
 Erin. The breeze of ocean lifts their locks ; yet 
 they do not awake. The hawks scream above 
 their prey. 
 
 Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of a, 
 
 chief ? bright as the gold of the stranger, they 
 
 mingle with the dark hair of his friend. " 'Tia 
 
 Calmar, he lies on the bosom of Orla. Theirs is 
 
 X 
 
158 
 
 oris stream of blood. Fierce is the look of the 
 gloomy Orla. He breathes not; but his eye is 
 still a flame. It glares in death unclosed. His 
 hand is grasped in Calmar's; but Calmar lives! 
 be lives, though low. "Rise,'' said the king, 
 " rise, Son of Mora ; 'tis mine to heal the wounds 
 of Heroes. Calmar may yet bound on the hills of 
 Morven." 
 
 "Never more shall Calmar chase the deer of 
 Morven with Orla:" said the Hero, "what were 
 the chase ip me, alone? Who would share the 
 spoils of battle with Calmar? Orla is at rest! 
 Rough was. thy soul, Orla ! yet soft to me as the 
 dew of morn. It glared on others, in lightning : 
 to me a silver beam of night. Bear my sword to 
 blue-ey'd Mora ; let it hang in my empty hall. 
 It is not pure from blood : but it could not save 
 Orla- Lay me with my friend : raise the song 
 when I am dark." 
 
 They are laid by th.3 stream of Lubar. Four 
 grey stones mark the dwelling of Orla and Calmar. 
 
 Whoa Swaraa was bound, our sails rose on ths 
 
159 
 
 blue wares. The winds gave our barks to Mor- 
 ven. The Bards raised the song. 
 
 u What Form rises on the roar of clouds ? whose 
 dark Ghost gleams on the red streams of tempests 1 
 his voice rolls on the thunder ; 'tis Orla : the 
 brown Chief of Oithona. He was unmatched in 
 war. Peace to thy soul, Orla! thy fame will not 
 perish. Nor thine, Calmar ! Lovely wast thou, 
 Son of blue-ey'd Mora ; but not harmless was thy 
 sword. It hangs in thy cave. The Ghosts of 
 Lochlin shriek around its steel. Hear thy praise, 
 Calmar ! It dwells on the voice of .the mighty. 
 Thy name shakes on the echoes of Morven. Then 
 raise thy fair locks, Son of Mora. Spread them 
 on the arch of the rainbow j and smile through 
 the tears of the storm.* 
 
 * I fear, Laing's late Edition has completely overthrown 
 every hope that Macphersou's Ossian, might prove the Trans- 
 lation of a series of Poems, complete in" themselves; hut, while 
 the Imposture is discovered, the merit of the work remains 
 undisputed, though not withbnt faults, particularly, In some 
 parte, turgid and homUastic-diction. — The present humble 
 imitation, will be pardoned by the admirers of the original, ait 
 an attempt, however inferior, which evinces an a'itachjfteat (o 
 their favourite Author. 
 
160 
 
 .TO E ? N. L. Esq. 
 
 Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus atnico. 
 
 Hor. K. 
 
 UEAR L , in this sequester'd scene, 
 
 While all around in slumber lie, 
 The joyous days, which ours have been, 
 
 Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye : 
 Thus, if, amidst the gathering storm, 
 While clouds the darken'd noon deformJ 
 Yon heaven assumes a varied glow, 
 I hail the sky's celestial bow ; 
 Which spreads the sign of future peace, 
 And bids the war of tempests cease. 
 jVh ! though the present brings but pain, 
 I think those days may come again ; 
 
161 
 
 Or if, in melancholy mood, 
 
 Some lurking envious fear intrude; 
 
 To check my bosom's fondest thought. 
 
 And interrupt the gulden dream ; 
 I crush the fiend with malice fraught, 
 
 And, still, indulge my wonted theme ; 
 Although we ne'er again can trace, 
 
 In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore ; 
 Nor through the groves of Ida chase 
 
 Our raptur'd visions, as before; 
 Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion, 
 And Manhood claims- his stern dominion, 
 Age will not every hope destroy, 
 But yield some hours of sober joy. 
 
 Yes, I will hope that time's broad wing, 
 Will shed around some dews of spring ; 
 But, if his scythe must sweep the flowers, 
 Which bloom among the fairy bowers. 
 Where smiling youth delights to dwell, 
 And hearts with early rapture swell ; 
 If frowning Age, with cold coutroul, 
 Confines the current of the soul, 
 Congeals the tear of Pity's eye, 
 Or checks the sympathetic sigh, 
 
162 
 
 Or hears, nnmov'd, Misfortune's groan, 
 And bids me feel for s»jlf alone ; 
 Oil ! may my bosom never learn, 
 
 To sooth its wonted heedless flow, 
 Still, still, despise the censor stern, 
 
 But ne'er forget anotaer's woe. 
 Yes,"' as you knew me in the days, 
 O'er which Remembrance yet delays. 
 Still may I rove untutor'd, wild, 
 And ev*n in age, at heart a child. 
 
 Though, now, on airy visions borne, 
 
 To you my soul is still the same, 
 Oft has it been my fate to mourn, 
 
 Andfr all my former joys are tame; 
 But, hence! ye hours of sable hue, 
 
 Your frowns are gone, my sorrows o'er, 
 By every bliss my childhood knew, 
 
 I'll think upon your shade no more : 
 Thus, wheu the wRirhvind's rage is past, 
 
 And caves their sullen roar enclose ; 
 We heed no more the wint'ry blast, 
 
 When lull'd by zephyr to repose. 
 "Full often has my infant Muse, 
 
 Atiun'd to love^ her languid lyre, 
 
163 
 
 But, now, without a theme to chuse, 
 
 The strains in stolen sighs expire : 
 My youthful nymphs, alas ! are flown, 
 
 E- is a wife, and C — — a mother, 
 
 And Carolina sighs alone, 
 
 And Mary's given to another; 
 And Cora's eye, which roll'd on me, 
 
 Can now no more my love recal, 
 In truth, dear L , 'twas time to flee, 
 
 For Cora's eye will shine on all. . * 
 And though the Sun, with genial rays, 
 His beams alike to all displays. 
 And every lady's eye's a mn f 
 These last should be confin'd to one. 
 The soul's meridian don't become her, 
 Whose Sun displays a general summer. 
 Thus faint is every fqrmer flame, 
 And Passion's self is now a name j 
 As when the ebbing flames are low, 
 
 The aid which once improv'd their light. 
 And bade them burn with fiercer glow, 
 
 Now quenches all their sparks in night ; 
 Thus has it been with Passion's fires, 
 
 As many a boy and girl remembers, 
 
164 
 
 While all the force of love expires, 
 Extinguish'd with the dying embers. 
 
 But, now, dear L , 'tis midnight's noon., 
 
 And clouds obscure the watery moon, 
 Whose beauties I shall not reiiearse, 
 Described in every stripling's verse ; 
 For why should I the path go o'er, 
 Which every bard has trod before ? 
 Yet, ere yon silver lamp of night, 
 
 Has thrice perform'd her stated round, 
 . Has thrice retrae'd her path of light, 
 
 And chas'd away the gloom profound, 
 I trust, that we, my gentle Friend, 
 Shall see her rolling orbit wend, 
 Above the dear lov'd peaceful seat, 
 Which once contain'd our youths' retreat; 
 And, then, with those our childhood knew, 
 We'll mingle with the festive crew ; 
 While many a tale of former day 
 Shall wing the laughing hours away j 
 And all the flow of soul shall pour, 
 The sacred intellectual shower, 
 Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn 
 Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morp. 
 
16$ 
 
 TO 
 
 C_/H ! had my fate been join'd with thine, 
 As once this pledge appear'd a token ; 
 
 These follies had not, then, been mine, 
 
 For, then, my peace had not been broken, 
 
 2. 
 
 To thee, these early faults I owe,. 
 
 To thee, the wise and old reproving ; 
 They know my sins, but do not know 
 
 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loring. 
 
 3. 
 
 For, once, my soul like thine was pure, 
 And all its rising fires could smother j 
 
 But, now, thy tows no more endure, 
 Bestow'd by thee upon another. 
 Y 
 
166* 
 
 4. 
 
 Perhaps, his peace I could destroy, 
 And spoil the blisses that await him • 
 
 Yet, let my Rival smile in joy, 
 
 For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him. 
 
 5. 
 
 Ah ! since thy angel form is gpne, 
 My heart no more can rest with any ; 
 
 But what it sought in thee alone, 
 Attempts, alas ! to find in many. 
 
 6. 
 
 Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid, 
 'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee ; 
 
 Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid, 
 But Pride may teach me to forget thee. 
 
 7. 
 
 Yet all this giddy waste of years, 
 
 This tiresome round of palling pleasures.; 
 
 These varied loves, these matron's, Fears, 
 
 These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures 
 
167 
 
 If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd, 
 This cheek novr pale from early riot ; 
 
 With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, 
 But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. 
 
 9. 
 
 Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet, 
 For Nature seem'd to smile before thee ; 
 
 And once my Breast abhorr'd deceit, 
 For then it beat but to adore thee, 
 
 10. 
 
 But, now, I seek for other joys, 
 
 To think, would drive my soul to madness 
 In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise, 
 
 I conquer half my Bosom's sadness. 
 
 11. 
 
 Yet, even in these, a thought will steal} 
 In spite of every vain endeavour ; 
 
 And fiends might pity what I feci, 
 To know, that thou art lost forever. 
 
168 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 1. 
 
 JL WOULD I were a careless child, 
 
 Still dwelling in my Highland care, 
 Or roaming through the dusky wild, 
 
 Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave ; 
 The cumbrous pomp of Saxon*- pride, 
 
 Accords not with the freeborn soul, 
 Which loves the mountain's craggy side, 
 
 And seeks the rocks where billows roll. 
 
 * Sassenagh, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifying either 
 LoTvIaad or English. 
 
169 
 
 2. 
 
 Fortune ! take back these cultur'd lands, 
 
 Take back this name of splendid sound! 
 I hate the touch of servile hands, 
 
 I hate the slaves that cringe around : 
 Place me along the rocks I love, 
 
 Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar, 
 I ask but this — again to rove 
 
 Through scenes my youth hath known before. 
 
 3. 
 
 Few are my years, and, yet, I feel 
 
 The World was ne'er design'd for me, 
 Ah ! why do dark'ning shades conceal 
 
 The hour when man must cease to be '? 
 Once I beheld a splendid dream, 
 
 A visionary scene of bliss ; 
 Truth ! — wherefore did thy hated beam 
 
 Awake me to a world like this ? 
 
 4. 
 
 I lov'd — but those I lov'd, are gone, 
 Had friends — my early friends are fictl, 
 
170 
 
 How cheerless feels the heart alone, 
 When all its former hopes are dead ! 
 
 Though gay companions, o'er the bowl, 
 Dispel awhile the sense of ill, 
 
 Though Pleasure stirs the maddening soul, 
 The heart — the heart is lonely still. 
 
 5. 
 
 How dull ! to hear the voice of those 
 
 Whom Rank, or Chance, whom Wealth, or 
 Power, 
 Have made ; though neither Friends or Foes, 
 
 Associates of the festive hour ; 
 Give me again, a faithful few, 
 
 Iu years and feelings still the same, 
 And I will fly the midnight crew, 
 
 Where boist'rous Joy is but a name. 
 
 6. 
 
 And Woman ! lovely Woman, thou I 
 My hope, my comforter, my all 1 
 
 How cold must be my bosom now, 
 When e'en thy smiles begin to pall. 
 
171 
 
 Without a sigh would I resign 
 This busy scene of splendid Woe ; 
 
 To make that calm Contentment mine, 
 Which Virtue knows, or seems to know. 
 
 7. 
 
 Fain would I fly the haunts of men, 
 
 I seek to shun, not hate mankind, 
 My breast requires the sullen glen, 
 
 Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind ; 
 Oh ! that to me the wings were given, 
 
 Which bear the Turtle to her nest I 
 Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven, 
 
 To flee away, and be at rest. * 
 
 • PsAtwr 55, Verse 8. — " And I «aid, Oh ! that I had 
 " wings like a dove, then would I fly away and be at reit.° 
 This verse also constitutes a part of the most beautiful an- 
 them in our language. 
 
172 
 
 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM, 
 
 IN THE 
 
 CHURCHYARD OF HARROW ON THE HILL 
 September Id, 1807. 
 
 OPOT of my youth ! whose hoary branches sigh, 
 Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky, 
 Where now alone, I muse, who oft have trod, 
 With those I lov'd, thy soft and rerdant sod ; 
 With those, who scatter'd far, perchance, deplore^, 
 Like me the happy scenes they knew before; 
 Oh ! as I trace again thy winding hill, 
 Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, 
 
173 
 
 Thou drooping Elm ! beneath whose boughs I lay, 
 And frequent mus'd the twilight hours away ; 
 Where, as they once were wout, my limbs recline, 
 But, ah ! without the thoughts, which, then, were 
 
 mine; 
 How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, 
 Invite the bosom to recall the past, 
 And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, 
 " Take, while thou canst, a ling'ring, last farewell I" 
 
 When Fate shall chill at length this fever'd breast, 
 And calm its cares and passions into rest ; 
 Oft, have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying hour, 
 If aught may soothe, when Life resigns her power ; 
 To know, some humbler grave, some narrow cell, 
 Would hide my bosom, where it lov'd to dwell ; 
 With this fond dream, methinks 'twere sweet to die, 
 And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie. 
 Here might I sleep, where all my hopes arose, 
 Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose; 
 Forever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, 
 Prest by the turf, where once my childhood play'd ; 
 Wrapt by the soil, that veils the spot I lov'd, 
 Mix'd with the earth, o'er which my footsteps 
 mov'd ; 
 
174 
 
 Blest by the tongues, that charm'd my youthful ear, 
 Moarn*d by the few, my soul acknowledged here ; 
 Deplor'd by those, in early days allied, 
 And unremember'd by the world beside. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by S. and J. Ridge, Newark-upoa-Trent. 
 
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