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. So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,
Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name !

ODE TO LIBERTY.

strophe, Who shall awake the Spartan fife,

ot And call in solemn sounds to life, The youths, whose locks divinely spreading, Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue, s At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding, o Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view 7 What new Alceus, fancy-blest, Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest, At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing, , (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?) o Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing,

It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound ! 0 goddess, in that feeling hour, When most its sounds would court thy ears, Let not my shell's misguided power o Eer draw thy sad, thy mindful tears. No, Freedom, no, I will not tell, How Rome, before thy face, With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell, Push'd by a wild and artless race, From off its wide ambitious base, When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke, And all the blended work of strength and grace With many a rude repeated stroke, [broke. And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments

Erode.

Yet, e'en where'er the least appear'd * Th admiring world thy hand rever'd; Still, 'midst the scatter'd states around, * Some remnants of her strength were found; They saw, by what escap'd the storm, How wondrous rose her perfect form; How in the great, the labour'd whole, * *ch mighty master pour'd his soul; * For sunny Florence, seat of Art, Beneath her vines preserv'd a part, Till they, whom Science lov'd to name, (0, who could fear it!) quench'd her flame. & And, lo, an humbler relic laid * Injealous Pisa's olive shade! * small Marino joins the theme, Though least, not last in thy esteem; *ike, louder strike th' ennobling strings To those, whose merchants sons were kings; To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride, | Adria weds his green-hair'd bride: Hill, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure, Noerlet me change this Lydian measure: * Not e'er her former pride relate so To sad Liguria's bleeding state. Ah, no! more pleas'd thy haunts I seek, On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak: (Where, when the favour'd of thy choice, The daring archer heard thy voice; Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread, ravening eagle northward fled.)

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Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With those to whom the stork" is dear:
Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd,
Whose crown a British queen refus'd
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains,
One holier name alone remains;
The perfect spell shall then avail,
Hail, nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail!

ANTIsTrophe.

Beyond the measure vast of thought,
The works, the wizard Time has wrought!
The Gaul, "t is held of antique story,
Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand?,
No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary,
He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land.
To the blown Baltic then, they say,
The wild waves found another way,
Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding;
Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise,
A wide wild storm elen Nature's self confounding,
Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth
surprise.
This pillar'd earth so firm and wide,
By winds and inward labours torn,
In thunders dread was push'd aside,
And down the shouldering billows borne.
And see, like gems, her laughing train,
The little isles on every side,
Mona #, once hid from those who search the main,
Where thousand elfin shapes abide,
And Wight, who checks the westering tide,
For thee consenting Heaven has each bestow'd,
A fair attendant on her sovereign pride:
To thee this blest divorce she ow'd,
For thou hastmade her vales thylov'd, thy last abode!

SEcond Erode.

Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile, "Midst the green navel of our isle,

• The Dutch, amongst whom there are very severe penalties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept tame in almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are said to entertain a superstitious sentiment, that if the whole species of them should become extinct, they should lose their liberties.

# This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. Some naturalists, too, have endeavoured to support the probability of the fact, by arguments drawn from the correspondent disposition of the two opposite coasts. I do not remember that any poetical use has been hitherto made of it.

# There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a mermaid, becoming enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, and opened her passion to him, but was received with a coldness, occasioned by his horrour and surprise at her appearance. This, however, was so misconstrued by the sea-lady, that, in revenge for his treatment of her, she punished the whole island, by covering it with a mist, so that all who attempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs.

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Thy shrine in some religious wood,
O soul-enforcing goddess, stood!
There oft the painted native's feet
Were wont thy form celestial meet:
Though now with hopeless toil we trace
Time's backward rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-tressed Dane,
Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
*T were hard for modern song to tell.
Yet still, if truth those beams infuse,
Which guide at once, and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided clouds that lie,
Paving the light embroider'd sky :
Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,
The beauteous model still remains,
There happier than in islands blest,
Or bowers by Spring or Hebe drest,
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,
Hear their consorted Druids sing
Their triumphs to th' immortal string.
How may the poet now unfold,
What never tongue or numbers told?
How learn delighted, and amaz'd,
What hands unknown that fabric rais'd?
E'en now, before his favour'd eyes,
In Gothic pride it seems to rise !
Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,
Majestic, through the mix'd design;
The secret builder knew to chuse,
Each sphere-found gem of richest hues:
Whate'er Heaven's purer mould contains,
When nearer suns emblaze its veins;
There on the walls the patriot's sight
May ever hang with fresh delight,
And, 'grav'd with some prophetic rage,
Read Albion's fame through every age.
Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,
That near her inmost altar stand
Now soothe her, to her blissful train
Blithe Concord's social form to gain:
Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep
E'en Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep:
Before whose breathing bosom's balm,

Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm;

Her let our sires and matrons hoar
Welcome to Britain's ravag'd shore,
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair,
Till, in one loud applauding sound,
The nations shout to her around,
“O, how supremely art thou blest,
Thou, lady, thou shalt rule the West."

THE PASSIONS.

an one fort Music.

WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possest beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd;
Till once, ’t is said, when all were fir’d,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,

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But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong,
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,
And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sound so full of woe.
And ever and anon he beat,
The doubling drum with furious heat; [tween,
And though sometimes, each dreary pause be-
Dejected Pity at his side
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,
While each strain’d ball of sight seem'd bursting
from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix’d,
Šad proof of thy distressful state,
of differing themes the veering song was mix'd,
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd to
Hate.

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir’d,
And from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; [stole,
Through glades and glooms the mingled, measure
Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket runs-

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-ey'd 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, But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempé's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round, Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Music, sphere-descended maid, Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid, Why, goddess, why to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that lov'd Athenian bower, sou learn'd an all-commanding power, Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd, Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to virtue, fancy, art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! Thy wonders, in that god-like age, Fill thy recording sister's page— 'T is said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age, E’en all at once together found Caecilia's mingled world of sound— O, bid our vain endeavours cease, Revive the just designs of Greece, Return in all thy simple state Confirm the tales her sons relate!

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE.

sursa EY GUIDER Us AND ARVIRAGUs over FIDELE, supposed to be DEAD. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove,

But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew;

The female says shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,

With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake thy sylvan ceil;

Or 'midst the chase on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell

Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thea the tear be duly shed;

Belov'd, till life can charm no more ;
And mourn'd, till Pity's self be dead.

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POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDs of scot LAND;

CONSIDERED As THE SUBJECT OF POETRY.

INSCRIBED To M.R. John Homi E.

Hoxie, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads
long
Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, sday
Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future
Shall melt, perhaps, to hearthy tragic song. "
Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth f [side;
Whom, long endear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's
Together let us wish him lasting truth
And joy untainted with his destin'd bride.
Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast
My short-liv'd bliss, forget my social name;
But think, far off, how, on the Southern coast,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame !
Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale
Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand:
To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail;
Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand,
And paint what all believe, who own thy genial land.

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill;
'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet;
Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet,
Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.
There each trim lass, that skims the milky store
To the swart tribes, their creamy bowls alots;
By night they sip it round the cottage-door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.
There, every herd, by sad experience, knows
How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly,
When the sick ewe her summer food forgoes,
Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie.
Such airy beings awe th' untutor'd swain: [neglect;
Nor thou, tho' learn'd, his homelier thoughts
Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain;
These are the themes of simple, sure effect,
That add new conquests to her boundless reign,
And fill with double force her heart-commanding
strain.

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E’en yet preserv'd, how often mayst 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-colour'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.

'T is thine te sing, how, framing hideous spells,
In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer,
'd in the wintery cave with Fate's fell spear,
Or in the depth of Uist's dark forest dwells:
How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross,
With their own vision oft astonish'd droop;
When, o'er the watery strath, or quaggy moss,
They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop.
Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,
Their destin'd 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;
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair.
They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.

To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray,
Oft have I seen Fate give the fatal blow !
The seer, in Sky, shriek'd as the blood did flow,
When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay !
As Boreas threw his young Aurora" forth,
In the first year of the first George's reign,
And battles rag'd in welkin of the North,
They mourn'd in air, fell, fell Rebellion slain!
And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight,
Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crown'd?
They rav'd divining thro' their second sightt,
Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were
drown'd /
Illustrious William! # Britain's guardian name !
One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke;
He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame,
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 no. tice of them, nor even any one modern, previous to the above period.

t Second sight is the term that is used for the divination of the Highlanders.

# The late Duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the battle of Culloden.

These, too, thou'lt sing' for well thy magic Muse Can to the topmost heaven of grandeur soar; Or stoop to wail the swain that is no more!

Ah, homely swains! your homeward steps ne'er

ose; Let not dank Will $ mislead you to the heath: Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake, He glows, to draw you downward to your death, In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! What though far off, from some dark dellespied, 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 wield 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
To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed:
On him, enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood,
Shall never look with pity's kind concern,
But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood
O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all retum!
Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape,
To some dim hill that seems uprising neas,
To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape,
In all its terrours clad, shall wild appear. .
Meantime the watery surge shall round him no t
Pour'd sudden forth from every swellingo
What now remains but tears and hopeless so
His fear-shook limbs have lost their of
force,
And down the waves he floats, a pale and bro
corse !

For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, Or wander forth to meet him on his way; For him in vain, at to-fall of the day,

His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate:

Ah, ne'er shall he return Alone, if night

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From their rude rocks, extend her skirting #.

Round the moist marge of each cold isle, s A fiery meteor, called by various name. ** as will with the wisp, Jack with the Lantern." It hovers in the air over marshy and fenny Pl" | The water-fiend.

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