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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.
1 . Beltane Tree, a Highland festival on the first of May, held nour for "lighted for the occasion.
With wine let every cup be crown'd;
But Oscar's breast is cold as clay,
His locks are lifted by the gale;
And Allan's barbed arrow lay “With all my soul,” old Angus said,
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, “ Bravely, old man, this health has sped;
Eor 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.
Swift is the shaft of Allan's bow:
Whose streaming life-blood stains his side ?
Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,
The dart has drunk his vital tide.
And Mora's eye could Allan move,
She bade his wounded pride rebel:
Alas! that eyes which beamed with love, “ And is it thus a brother hails
Should urge the soul to deeds of hell!
Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb,
Which rises o'er a warrior dead?
It glimmers through the twilight gloom; Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl,
Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.
Far, distant far, the noble grave
Which held his clan's great ashes stood;
And o'er his corse no banners wave, “ 'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!”
For they were stain'd with kindred blood. Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form ; " A murderer's voice!” the roof replies,
What minstrel gray, what hoary bard,
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise ?
The song is glory's chief reward, The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,
But who can strike a murderer's praise ? The stranger's gone,-amidst the crew A form was seen in tartan green,
Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, And tall the shade terrific grew.
No minstrel dare the theme awake;
Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, His waist was bound with a broad belt round,
His harp in shuddering chords would break. His plume of sable stream'd on high; But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there, No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.
Shall sound his glories high in air ;
A dying father's bitter curse,
A brother's death groan echoes there.
Whom shivering crowds with horror see.
The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole,
The thurders through the welkin ring,
Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.
TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.
Cold was the feast, the revel ceased :
Who lies upon the stony floor? Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast, *
At length his life-pulse throbs once more.
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 Hazron. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighboring 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, have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision.
" 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 !
DORSET! whose early steps with mine have stray'd,
• Old Angus press'd the earth with his breast. First Edition,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Turn to the annals of a former day,
And call’d, proud boast! the British drama forth. * E'en now a name illustrious is thine own,
Another view, not less renown'd for wit; Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne. Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Yet Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul
Bold in the field, and favor'd by the Nine; To shun fair science, or evade control;
In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; Though passive tutors, f fearful to dispraise Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, The titled child, whose future breath may raise, The pride of princes, and the boast of song.t View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
Such were thy fathers; thus preserve their name: And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. Not heir to titles only, but to fame.
The hours draw nigh, a few brief days will close, When youthful parasites, who bend the knee To me, this little scene of joys and woes; To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee,
Each knell of Time now warns me to resign And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn Shades where Hope, Peace and Friendship all were Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn,
mine: When these declare, “ that pomp alone should wait Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, On one by birth predestined to be great;
And gild their pinions as the moments flew; That books were only meant for drudging fools, Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, That gallant spirits scorn the common rules," By dreams of ill to cloud some future day; Believe them not, they point the path to shame, Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell; And seek to blast the honors of thy name.
Alas! they love not long who love so well.
To these adieu ! nor let me linger o’er
Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep,
Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart; Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day,
The coming morrow from thy youthful mind But now new scenes invite me far away ;
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. Yes I have mark'd within that generous mind And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind.
Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphero Ah! though myself by nature haughty, wild,
Since the same senate, nay the same debate Whom indescretion hail'd her favorite child; May one day claim our suffrage for the state, Though every error stamps me for her own,
We hence may meet, and pass each other by And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone;
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. Though my proud heart no precept now can tame,
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, I love the virtues which I cannot claim.
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or wo,
With thee no more again I hope to trace 'Tis not enough, with other sons of power,
The recollection of our early race: To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour:
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, To swell some peerage page in feeble pride,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice. With long-drawn names that grace no page beside ; Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught Then share with titled crowds the common lot To veil those feelings which perchance it ought, In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot;
If these—but let me cease the lengthen'd strain-
ANIMULA! vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comesque, corporis, Exalted more among the good and wise,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca ? A glorious and a long career pursue,
Pallidula, rigida, nudula, As first in rank, the first in talent too:
Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos, Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun;
• Thomas Sackville, Lord Backhurst, created Earl of Dorset, by James Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.
the First, was one of the earliest and brightest ornaments to the poetry of his
country, and the first who produced a regular drama.--Anderson's British * At every public school the junior boys are completely subservient to the Poets. upper forms till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of † Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, esteemed the most accomplised man probation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but after a certain period they of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II, and command in turn those who succeed.
the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea † Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant; I fight with the Dutch in 1665, on the day previous to which he composed file merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors. celebrated song. His character has been drawn in the highest colors by | See the same line in Lara, stanza 11.
Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve.--Anderson's British Poels.
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. Au! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,
"LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERIS" Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne,
YE Cupids, droop each little head, Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
Nor let your wings with joy be spread; No more with wonted humor gay,
My Lesbia's favorite bird is dead,
Whom dearer than her eyes she loved
But lightly o'er her bosom moved:
And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to clear the air,
But chirupp'd oft, and, free from care, EQUAL to Jove that youth must be
Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. Greater than Jove he seems to me
Now having passed the gloomy bourne Who, free from jealousy's alarms,
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; Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Thou art the cause of all her wo,
Receptacle of life's decay.
JMITATED FROM CATULLUS.
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
Nor then my soul should sated be;
Naught should my kiss from thine dissever,
Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever;
E'en though the numbers did exceed
The yellow harvest's countless seed.
To part would be a vain endeavor:
Could I desist ?-ah! never-never.
Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!
TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.
ODE 3, LIB. 3 “ Sulpicia ad Cerinthum."-Lib. Quart,
The man of firm and noble soul CRUEL Cerinthus! does the fell disease
No factious clamors can control; Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? No threat’ning tyrant's darkling brow Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
Can swerve him from his just intent; That I might live for love and you again;
Gales the warring waves which plough, But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate:
| By Auster on the billows spent, By death alone I can avoid your hate.
To curb the Adriatic main, • The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil was con
Would awe his fix'd determined mind in vain. riderably older than Tibullus at his decease. • From the private volure,
• Only printed in the private rolame.
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,
He would unmoved, unawed behold.
Again in crashing chaos rollid, In vast promiscuous ruin hurled, Might light his glorious funeral pile: Still dauntless, midst the wreck of earth he'd smile
TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON.*
No prowling robber lingers here,
TO HIS LYRE.
I WISH to tune my quivering lyre
FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES.
FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ÆSCHYLUS.
GREAT Jove, to whose almighty throne
Both gods and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behest 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,
The blushing beauty by thy side,
The Nymphs and Tritons danced around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd.
Harrow, Dec. 1, 1904.
'Twas now the hour when Night had driven
THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND EURYALUS
A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB. II.
Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood,
• First published in Houn of Idlenen. + First pnnted in Houn of Idlenou.