Thy shrine in some religious wood, THE PASSIONS. AN ODE FOR MUSIC. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, From the supporting myrtles round First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, With woful measures wan Despair- And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all the song; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose, He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down. Were ne'er prophetic sound so full of woe. And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, And from her wild sequester'd seat, Through glades and glooms the mingled measurestole Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial, He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, As if he would the charming air repay, O Music, sphere-descended maid, You learn'd an all-commanding power, DIRGE IN CYMBELINE, The red-breast oft at evening hours To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds, and beating rain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore, AN ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE CONSIDERED AS THE SUBJECT OF POETRY. INSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HOME. HOME, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, Whom, long endear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's side; And joy untainted with his destin'd bride. Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill; SUNG BY GUIDERUS and arViRAGUS OVER FIDELE, There, every herd, by sad experience, knows SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring No wailing ghost shall dare appear And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen, How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly, Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain; *How truly did Collins predict Home's tragic powers! A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins. E'en yet preserv'd, how often may'st thou hear, Where to the Pole the Boreal mountains run, Taught by the father, to his listening son; Strange lays, whose power had charm'd a Spenser's ear. At every pause, before thy mind possest, Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, With uncouth lyres, in many-color'd vest, Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd: Whether thou bidd'st the well-taught hind repeat The choral dirge that mourns some chieftain brave, When every shrieking maid her bosom beat, And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave; Or whether, sitting in the shepherd's shiel, Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war's alarms; When at the bugle's call, with fire and steel, The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny swarms, And hostile brothers met, to prove each other's arms. 'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells, Their destin'd glance some fated youth descry, Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigor seen, And rosy health, shall soon lamented die. For them the viewless forms of air obey; Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair. To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray, In the first year of the first George's reign, Illustrious William! Britain's guardian name! But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast broke, To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke! By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first appearance of the northern lights,, which happened about the year 1715; at least, it is most highly probable,| from this peculiar circumstance, that no ancient writer whatever has taken any notice of them, nor even any one modern, previous to the above period. Second-sight is the term that is used for the divination of the Highlanders. Let not dank Will mislead you to the heath: In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! What though far off, from some dark dell espied, His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sight, Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside, Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light; For watchful, lurking, 'mid th' unrustling reed, At those mirk hours the wily monster lies, And listens oft to hear the passing steed, And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes, If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch surprise. Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed! Whom late bewilder'd in the dank, dark fen, Far from his flocks, and smoking hamlet, then! On him, enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood, To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed: Shall never look with pity's kind concern, But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all return! Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, To some dim hill that seems uprising near, To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape, In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear. Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source! What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse! For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, Or wander forth to meet him on his way; Her travell❜d limbs in broken slumbers steep, With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek; And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak : "Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils, pursue, At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; thee more!" Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill Thy Muse may, like those feathery tribes which spring From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, § A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern, &c. It hovers in ! The late Duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pre- the air over marshy and fenny places. tender at the battle of Culloden. The water-fiend. SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. To that hoar pile* which still its ruin shows: In whose small vaults a Pigmy-folk is found, Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd ground! Or thither, where beneath the show'ry west The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid: Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest, No slaves revere them, and no wars invade : Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour, The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power, In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, And on their twilight tombs aërial council hold. But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind, To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung! Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung! Hence, at each sound, imagination glows! 509 Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here! Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows! Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and clear, And fills the impassion'd heart, and wins th' harmonious ear! All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail! On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread tides, Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace! Then to my ear transmit some gentle song, Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, And all their prospect but the wintry main. With sparing temperance at the needful time They drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest, Along th' Atlantic rock, undreading, climb, And of its eggs despoil the solan's nest. Thus blest in primal innocence they live, Suffic'd and happy with that frugal fare Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare; Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there! Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes en gage Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest; For not alone they touch the village breast, But fill'd in elder time th' historic page. Your lowly glenst o'erhung with spreading broom; Or o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led; Or o'er your mountains creep, in awful gloom! Then will I dress once more the faded bower, Where Jonson sat in Drummond's classic shade ;t Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's laid! Meantime, ye powers, that on the plains which bore ODE ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON. There, Shakspeare's self, with ev'ry garland crown'd, The scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to lie on the Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, In musing hour; his wayward sisters found, And with their terrors dress'd the magic scene. From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold design, Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast! The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass'd. Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply told, Could once so well my answering bosom pierce; Proceed, in forceful sounds, and color bold, The native legends of thy land rehearse; To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse. In scenes like these, which, daring to depart From sober truth, are still to Nature true, And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, Th' heroic Muse employ'd her Tasso's art. How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke, Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd! When each live plant with mortal accents spoke, And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd sword! One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pigmies; where it is reported that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in the ruins of a chapel there. + Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are in terred. An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly subsist. Thames, near Richmond. And oft as Ease and Health retire But thou, who own'st that earthly bed, Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide * Mr. Thomson was buried in Richmond church. And see, the fairy valleys fade, Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade, Meek Nature's child, again adieu! The genial meadst assign'd to bless Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom! Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb. Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes, "O! vales, and wild woods," shall he say, "In yonder grave your Druid lies!" ↑ Mr. Thomson resided in the neighborhood of Rich mond some time before his death. |