He who offends at pert nineteen, Now, Clare, I must return to you, Accept then my concession. In truth, dear Clare, in fancy's flight I think I said 't would be your fate May regal smiles attend you! Yet since in danger courts abound, 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! Not for a moment may you stray O'er roses may your footsteps move, 70 80 90 100 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW SPOT of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; With this fond dream, methinks, 't were 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; For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, Press'd by the turf where once my childhood play'd; Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Mix'd with the earth o'er which my foot steps moved; 30 Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear, Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here; Deplored by those in early days allied, And unremember'd by the world beside. September 2, 1807. OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN IN CARTHON' 139 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS TRANSLATION FROM ANA CREON Εἰς ῥόδον. — Ode 5. [First printed in Edition of 1898 from a manuscript in possession of Mr. Murray.] MINGLE with the genial bowl The Rose, the flow'ret of the Soul, The Rose and Grape together quaff'd, How doubly sweet will be the draught! With Roses crown our jovial brows, While every cheek with Laughter glows; While Smiles and Songs, with Wine incite, To wing our moments with Delight. Rose by far the fairest birth, Which Spring and Nature cull from Earth- Rose whom the Deities above, 1805. - OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN IN CARTHON' [This essay in turning 'Ossian' into verse is another instance of the influence of that rhapsodist on our poet. It was first printed in Edition of 1898 from a manuscript in possession of Mr. Murray.] OH! thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire, Round as the shield which graced my godlike Sire, Whence are the beams, O Sun! thy endless blaze, To Ossian, Orb of Light! thou look'st in vain, Nor canst thou glad his aged eyes again, Whether thy locks in Orient Beauty stream, Or glimmer through the West with fainter gleam - But thou, perhaps, like me with age must bend; Thy season o'er, thy days will find their end, No more yon azure vault with rays adorn, Lull'd in the clouds, nor hear the voice of Morn. Exult, O Sun, in all thy youthful strength! Age, dark unlovely Age, appears at length, As gleams the moonbeam through the broken cloud 31 While mountain vapours spread their misty shroud The Northern tempest howls along at last, And way worn strangers shrink amid the blast. Thou rolling Sun who gild'st those rising towers, Fair didst thou shine upon my earlier hours! I hail'd with smiles the cheering rays of Morn, Which far eclipse each minor Glory's rays? My breast by no tumultuous Passion torn |