ODE, TO A LADY, ON THE DEATH OF COL. CHARLES ROSS, IN THE ACTION AT FONTENOY. Written May, 1745. WHILE, lost to all his former mirth, And mourns the fatal day: While stain'd with blood he strives to tear Unseemly from his sea-green hair The wreaths of cheerful May: The thoughts which musing Pity pays, By rapid Scheld's descending wave O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve, And bend the pensive head; Shall point his lonely bed! The warlike dead of every age, Shall leave their sainted rest : Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, And wish th' avenging fight. But, lo! where, sunk in deep despair, Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground, Proclaim her reign restor❜d: Till William seek the sad retreat, And, bleeding at her sacred feet, Present the sated sword. If, weak to soothe so soft an heart, And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene, Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, While sallow fills Autumn thy lap with leaves, Yet, e'en where'er the least appear'd In jealous Pisa's olive shade! See small Marino joins the theme, Or dwell in willow'd meads more near, ANTISTROPHE. Beyond the measure vast of thought, A wide wild storm e'en 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, 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 coinmerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs. Thy shrine in some religious wood, THE PASSIONS. AN ODE FOR MUSIC. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, From the supporting myrtles round First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, And back recoil'd, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings, In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures wan Despair Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd, A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! 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, The war-denouncing trumpet took, 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 beDejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, And from her wild sequester'd seat, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: [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, But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! 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, As if he would the charming air repay, 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, You 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'Tis 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 Cæcilia'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. SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND AKVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb No wailing ghost shall dare appear No wither'd witch shall here be seen, The red-breast oft at evening hours When howling winds, and beating rain, In tempests shake thy sylvan cell; Or 'midst the chase on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore, AN ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND; CONSIDERED AS THE SUBJECT OF POETRY. INSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HOME. HOME, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, [day Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song. Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth + [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; 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. How truly did Collins predict Home's tragic powers! A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins. 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. 'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells, 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 sight†, 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 notice 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 Let not dank Will § mislead you to the heath: 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 wretch 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 return! Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, To some dim hill that seems uprising near, To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape, In all its terrours clad, shall wild appear. Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source! What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse! For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, Or wander forth to meet him on his way; Her travell❜d limbs in broken slumbers steep, And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak: "Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils, pursue, At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew, While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, Drown'd by the Kelpie's || wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee more!" Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill Thy Muse may, like those feathery tribes which spring From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, § A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern, &c. It hovers in the air over marshy and fenny places. The water-fiend. |