When ev'ry shrieking maid her bosom beat, And strewed 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, 50 The sturdy clans poured forth their bony swarms, And hostile brothers met to prove each other's arms. IV 'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells, In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard seer, 55 Or in the depth of Uist's dark forests, dwells; When o'er the wat'ry strath or quaggy moss They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop, 60 Or if in sports, or on the festive green, Their [ ] glance some fated youth descry, Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen And rosy health, shall soon lamented die: For them the viewless forms of air obey, 65 Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; They know what spirit brews the stormful day, V [This stanza, comprising 11. 70-86, was missing in the MS.) VI [The first eight lines of this stanza, 11. 87-94 of the ode, were missing in the MS.] What though, far off, from some dark dell espied, 95 His glimm'ring mazes cheer th' excursive sight, Yet turn, ye wand'rers, turn your steps aside, 100 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. VII Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest indeed! Whom, late bewildered in the dank, dark fen, Far from his flocks and smoking hamlet then, To that sad spot [ On him, enraged, the fiend, in angry mood, Shall never look with Pity's kind concern, To some dim hill that seems uprising near, 105 IIC 115 His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse. 120 VIII For him, in vain, his anxious wife shall wait, Her travelled limbs in broken slumbers steep, 125 Shall fondly seem to press her shudd'ring cheek, And with his blue-swoln face before her stand, And, shiv'ring cold, these piteous accents speak: 130 "Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; Nor e'er of me one hapless thought renew, 135 While I lie welt'ring on the oziered shore, Drowned by the kelpie's wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee more!" IX Unbounded is thy range. With varied style Thy Muse may, like those feath'ry tribes which spring In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found, 140 And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallowed ground: 145 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's solemn hour, 150 The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sov'reign pow'r, In pageant robes and wreathed with sheeny gold, And on their twilight tombs aërial council hold. X But O, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, 155 On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides, 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, 160 Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, And all their prospect but the wintry main. With sparing temp'rance, at the needful time, They drain the sainted spring; or, hunger-prest, Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare; Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there! 17C ΧΙ Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest; For not alone they touch the village breast, But filled in elder time th' historic page. There Shakespear's self, with ev'ry garland crowned, In musing hour, his wayward Sisters found, And with their terrors drest the magic scene; Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant passed. The native legends of thy land rehearse; To such adapt thy lyre and suit thy pow'rful verse. XII In scenes like these, which, daring to depart 175 180 185 190 195 And the wild blast upheaved the vanished sword! How have I sat, when piped the pensive wind, Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders which he sung! Hence at each sound imagination glows; 200 Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows; And fills th' impassioned heart, and wins th' harmonious ear. XIII All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail, 205 The time shall come when I, perhaps, may tread Then will I dress once more the faded bow'r, And mourn on Yarrow's banks [ 210 ] shade, 215 Meantime, ye Pow'rs that on the plains which bore The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains, attend, Where'er he dwell, on hill or lowly muir, To him I lose your kind protection lend, 220 And, touched with love like mine, preserve my absent friend! A broader, browner shade, Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How indigent the great! 15 20 |