Roused by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl; "Would Oscar now could share our mirth!" Internal fear appall'd his soul, He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. ** 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. The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger's gone,-amidst the crew A Form was seen, in tartan green, And tall the shade terrific grew. 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. And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild, 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. Cold was the feast, the revel ceased; At length his life-pulse throbs once more. “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! But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, With him in dark Glentanar's vale. 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. Ambition nerved young Allan's hand, Exulting demons wing'd his dart, While Envy waved her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart. And Mora's eye could Allan move, Which rises o'er a warrior dead! 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. What minstrel gray, what hoary bard, Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise? The song is glory's chief reward, But who can strike a murderer's praise? Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. In looking over my papers, to select a few additional Poems for the 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 Harrow. 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 reperusal, 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. DORSET! whose early 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; Though 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,not far beneath the throne. Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul, To shun fair science, or evade control; Though passive tutors, fearful to dispraise Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow: side? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, raise, The dart has drunk his vital tide. View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, And wink at faults they tremble to chastiso. To wealth, their golden idol,--not to thee! And,even in simple boyhood's opening dawn, Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn: When these declare, "that pomp alone should wait On one by birth predestined to be great; That books were only meant for drudging fools, That gallant spirits scorn 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 matured, to bless mankind; Ah! though myself by nature haughty,wild, Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child; Spurn every 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; One, though a Courtier,lived 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 every splendid part ordain'd to shine; Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, The pride of Princes, and the boast of Song. Such were thy Fathers, thus preserve their name, Not heir to titles only, but to Fame. 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 to 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 only 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, Though every error stamps me for her own, Receding slowly through the dark blue deep, And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone; | Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. Though my proud heart no precept now can tame, I love the virtues which I cannot claim. '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 gazed 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 One spot to leave a worthless name behind; - A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, DORSET! farewell! I will not ask one part Of sad remenbrance in so young a heart; The coming morrow from thy youthful mind, Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, Since chance has thrown us in the selfsame sphere, Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd strain, Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, The Guardian Seraph, who directs thy fate. Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. WHEN DYING. ANIMULA! vagula, blandula, Hospes comesque corporis,. Quæ nunc abibis in loca? Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos. AH! gentle, fleeting, wavering 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. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. AD LESBIAM. EQUAL to Jove that youth must be, My limbs deny their slight support; LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERIS. YE Cupids, droop each little head, Whom dearer than her eyes she loved; But lightly o'er her bosom moved: And softly fluttering here and there, He never sought to cleave the air; But chirrup'd oft, and free from care, Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. 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 thon, 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. IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. TO ELLEN. On! might I kiss those eyes of fire, Or Tyrlan Cadmus roved afar; ODE III. 'Twas now the hour, when Night had driven Her car half round yon sable heaven; Bootes, only, seem'd to roll His Arctic charge around the Pole; A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ENEID, LIB. 9. Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood, Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood; Well skill'd in fight, the quivering lance to wield, Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field; From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave, With him, Euryalus sustains the post: Though few the seasons of his youthful life. In peace, in war, united still they move; Friendship and glory form their joint reward. And now combined they hold the nightly guard. “What God!” exclaim'd the first, "instils this fire? Or, in itself a God, what great desire? Abhors this station of inglorious rest: Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign? Then hear my thought :-In deep and sullen grief, Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief; Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine The deed,the danger,and the fame be mine); Were this decreed;- beneath yon rising mound, Methinks,an easy path perchance were found, Must all the fame, the peril be thine own? Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse: Her only boy, reclined in endless sleep? And left her native for the Latian shore." “In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," Replied Euryalus, "it scorns control; Hence, let us haste," their brotherguards arose, Roused by their call, nor court again repose; The pair,buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing, 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; Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold 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 poised, 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 unawed by fear, The faithful pair before the throne appear; Iulus greets them; at his kind command, The elder first address'd the hoary band. "With patience," thus Hyrtacides began, "Attend, nor judge from youth, our humble plan; And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear; breath, dream, The price of honour is the sleep of death." | Nor heed that we a secret path have traced, chance; If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, Should lay the friend who ever loved thee low; Live thou, such beauties I would fain pre serve, Thy budding years a lengthened term deserve; When humbled in the dust, let some one be, Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me; Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force, Whose shade securely our design will cloak. If you, ye Chiefs, and Fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow; sight, Seen o'er the glade, when not obscured by night; Then shall Æneas in his pride return, While hostile matrons raise their offsprings' urn, And Latian spoils, and purpled heaps of dead, Shall mark the havoc of our hero's tread ; Such is our purpose, not unknown the way, Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray: Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, The distant spires above the valleys gleam." |