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E'en yet preserv'd, how often may'st thou hear, These, too, thou 'lt sing! for well thy magic Muse

Where to the Pole the Boreal mountains run, Can to the topmost heaven of grandeur soar ;

Taught by the father, to his listening son ; Or stoop to wail the swain that is no more! Strange lays, whose power had charm'd a Spenser's Ah, homely swains! your homeward steps ne'er

lose; At every pause, before thy mind possest,

Let not dank Wills mislead you to the heath: Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake, With uncouth lyres, in many-color'd vest, He glows, to draw you downward to your death,

Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd: In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! Whether thou bidd'st the well-taught hind repeat What though far off, from some dark dell espied,

The choral dirge that mourns some chieftain brave, His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sight, When every shrieking maid her bosom beat, Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside,

And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave; Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light; Or whether, sitting in the shepherd's shiel, For watchful, lurking, 'mid th' unrustling reed,

Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war’s alarms; At those mirk hours the wily monster lies, When at the bugle's call, with fire and steel, And listens oft to hear the passing steed, The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes,

If chance his savage wrath may some weak wreich And hostile brothers met, to prove each other's arms.

surprise. "Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells,

Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed ! In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer,

Whom late bewilder'd in the dank, dark fen, Lodg'd in the wintry cave with Fate's fell spear,

Far from his flocks, and smoking bamlet, then! Or in the depth of Uist's dark forest dwells :

To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed : How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross, On him, enrag d, the fiend, in angry mood, With their own vision oft astonish'd droop;

Shall never look with pity's kind concern, When, o'er the watery strath, or quaggy moss, But instant, furious, raise the whelming food They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop.

O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all return! Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,

Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, | Their destin'd glance some fated youth descry, To some dim hill that seems uprising near, Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigor seen,

To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape, And rosy health, shall soon lamented die.

In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear. For them the viewless forms of air obey ;

Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair. Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source They know what spirit brews the stormful day,

What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs ? And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare

His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.


And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray,

corse : Oft have I seen Fate give the fatal blow!

The seer, in Sky, shriek'd as the blood did flow, For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay!

Or wander forth to meet him on his way ; As Boreas threw his young Aurora* forth,

For him in vain, at to-fall of the day, In the first year of the first George's reign,

His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate : And battles rag'd in welkin of the North,

Ah, ne'er shall he return! Alone, if night They mourn'd in air, fell, fell Rebellion slain!

Her travellid limbs in broken slumbers steep, And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight,

Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crown'd! With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite They ravid! divining through their second-sight,t Then he, perhaps, with moist and watery hand,

Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep: Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were drown'd!

Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek,

And with his blue-swoln face before her stand, Illustrious William! | Britain's guardian name! One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke;

And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak:

Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils, pursue, He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame,

At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast

Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew, broke, To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's Drown'd by the Kelpie’sll wrath, nor e'er shall aid

While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, yoke!

thee more!"

Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill * By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the

Thy Muse may, like those feathery tribes which tirst appearance of the northern lights, which happened about the year 1715; at least, it is most highly probable,

spring froin this peculiar circumstance, that no ancient writer

From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing whatever has taken any notice of them, nor even any Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, bne inodern, previous to the above period. Second-sight is the term that is used for the divination

& A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will of the Highlanders.

with the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern, &c. It hovers in 1 The late Duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pre- the air over marshy and fenny places. tender at the battle of Culloden.

| The water-fiend.



To that hoar pile* which still its ruin shows : How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind,

In whose small vaults a Pigmy-folk is found, To hear his barp by British Fairfax strung! Whose bories the delver with his spade upthrows, Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung! ground!

Hence, at each sound, imagination glows ! Or thither,t where beneath the show'ry west Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here !

The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid : Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows ! Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest,

Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and No slaves revere them, and no wars invade :

clear, Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour, And fills the impassion'd heart, and wins th' har. The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold,

monious ear! And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power,

In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail! And on their twilight tombs aërial council hold.

Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away,

Are by smooth Anan fill’d, or past'ral Tay, But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race,

Or Don's* romantic springs, at distance, hail! On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread tides,

Your lowly glenst o'erhung with spreading broom; Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. Or o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led; Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace! Or o'er your mountains creep, in awful gloom! Then to my ear transmit some gentle song, Then will I dress once more the faded bower,

Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, Where Jonson sat in Drummond's classic shade it Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along,

Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, And all their prospect but the wintry main.

And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's With sparing temperance at the needful time

laid! They drain the scented spring ; or, hunger-prest, Meantime, ye powers, that on the plains which bore Along th’ Atlantic rock, undreading, climb,

The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains ý attend ! And of its eggs despoil the solan'sť nest. Where'er Home dwells, on hill or lowly moor, Thus blest in primal innocence they live,

To him I lose, your kind protection lend, Suffic'd and happy with that frugal fare And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give.

absent friend! Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare ; Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there! Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage

ODE Thy gentie mind, of fairer stores possest;

For not alone they louch the village breast, But fill'd in elder time th' historic page.

THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON. There, Shakspeare's self, with ev'ry garland crown'd, The scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to lie on the Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen,

Thames, near Richmond. In musing hour; his wayward sisters found,

And with their terrors dress'd the magic scene. IN yonder grave a Druid lies, From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold design,

Where slowly winds the stealing wave: Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast !

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line

To deck its poet's sylvan grave.
Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass'd.
Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply told,

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds
Could once so well my answering bosom pierce;

His airy harp || shall now be laid, Proceed, in forceful sounds, and color bold,

That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, The native legends of thy land rehearse ;

May love through life the soothing shade. To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse. In scenes like these, which, daring to depart

Then maids and youths shall finger here, From sober truth, are still to Nature true,

And, while its sounds at distance swell,
And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear
Th' heroic Muse employ'd her Tasso's art.

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.
How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke,
Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd!

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd sword ! And oft suspend the dashing oar

To bid his gentle spirit rest! * One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pigmies ; where it is reported that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in the ruins of a chapel * Three rivers in Scotland.

| Valleys. there.

| Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to the Scotch | Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the poet, Drummond, at his seat of Hawthornden, within ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are in four miles of Edinburgh. terred.

§ Barrow, it seems, was at the Edinburgh University, 1 An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of which the which is in the county of Lothian. inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly | The barp of Æolus, of which see a description in the


Castle of Indulence.


And see, the fairy valleys fade,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade,

Meek Nature's child, again adieu !

And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep, The friend shall view yon whitening spire,*

And 'mid the varieá landscape weep. But thou, who own'st that earthly bed,

Ah! what will every dirge avail? Or tears which Love and Pity shed,

That mourn beneath the gliding sail! Yet lives there one, whose heedless ego

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering a? With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,

And Joy desert the blooming year. But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide

No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, Now waft me from the green hill's side

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

The genial meadst assign'd to bless

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom! Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress

With simple hands thy rural tomb.

Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay

Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes, “O! vales, and wild woods," shall he say,

** In yonder grave you. Cruid lizsi"

EM TH m.- an sided a thriglabi homi! and some time before his Jeatha

* Mr. Thonison was buried in Richmond church.


JOHN DYER, an agreeable poet, was the son of a His health being now in a delicate state, he was solicitor at Aberglasney, in Carmarthenshire, where advised by his friends to take orders; and he was he was born in 1700. He was brought up at West- accordingly ordained by Dr. Thomas, Bishop of minster-school, and was designed by his father for his Lincoln ; and, entering into the married state, he own profession; but being at liberty, in consequence sat down on a small living in Leicestershire. This of his father's death, to follow his own inclination, he exchanged for one in Lincolnshire ; but the fenny he indulged what he took for a natural taste in country in which he was placed did not agree with painting, and entered as pupil to Mr. Richardson. his health, and he complained of the want of books After wandering for some time about South Wales and company. In 1757, he published his largest and the adjacent counties as an itinerant artist, he work,“ 'The Fleece," a didactic poem, in four books, appeared convinced that he should not attain to of which the first part is pastoral, the second me. eminence in that profession. In 1727, he first made chanical, the third and fourth historical and geohimself known as a poet, by the publication of his graphical. This poem has never been very popu“Grongar Hill,” descriptive of a scene afforded by lar, many of its topics not being well adapted to his native country, which became one of the most poetry; yet the opinions of critics have varied popular pieces of its class, and has been admitted concerning it. It is certain that there are many into numerous collections. Dyer then travelled to pleasing, and some grand and impressive passages Italy, still in pursuit of professional improvement; in the work; but, upon the whole, the general and if he did not acquire this in any considerable feeling is, that the length of the performance degree, he improved his poetical taste, and laid in a necessarily imposed upon it a degree of tediousstore of new images. These he displayed in a poem ness. of some length, published in 1740, which he entitled Dyer did not long survive the completion of his “The Ruins of Rome," that capital having been the book. He died of a gradual decline in 1758, leavprincipal object of his journeyings. Of this work ing behind him, besides the reputation of an ingenj. it may be said, that it contains many passages of ous poet, the character of an honest, humane and real poetry, and that the strain of moral and politi- worthy person. cal reflection denotes a benevolent and enlightened mind.


SILENT nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple evening, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man;
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale;-
Come, with all thy various dues,
Come and aid thy sister Muse;
Now, while Phoebus riding high,
Gives lustre to the land and sky!
Grongar Hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong ;
Grongar, in whose mossy cells
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made,

So oft I have, whe evening still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sate upon a flowery bed,
With my hand beneath my head ;
While stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over mead and over wood,
From house to house, from hill to hill,
Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd sides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind
And groves, and grotloes where I lay,
And vistas shooting beams of day.
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal :
The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise:
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly-risen hill.

Now, I gain the mountain's brow,
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapors intervene;
But the gay, the open scene
Does the face of Nature show,
In all the hues of Heaven's bow!
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight.

Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly towering in the skies !
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires !
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain-heads!
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks!

Below me trees unnumber'd rise,
Beautiful in various dyes :
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beach, the sable yew,
The slender fir that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs.
And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the opening dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye!
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His sides are cloth'd with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps ;
So both a safety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
"Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds ;
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state ;
But transient is the smile of Fate !
A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run,
Through woods and meads, in shade and sun,
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!

The pleasant seat, the ruin's tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;

The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide;
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the Future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass ;
As yon summit soft and fair,
Clad in colors of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way
The present's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For, while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul :
"Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, ev’n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts; be great who will ;
Search for Peace with all your skill :
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor.
In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain you search the domes of Care !
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side;
And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

Aspice murorum moles, præruptaque saxa,

Obrutaque horrenti vesta theatra situ :
Hæc sunt Roma. Viden' velut ipsa cadavera tantæ
Urbis adhuc spirent imperiosa minas?

Janus Vitalis.
Enough of Grongar and the shady dales

Of winding Towy: Merlin's fabled haunt I sing inglorious. Now the love of arts, And what in metal or in stone remains Of proud antiquity, through various realms And various languages and ages fam'd, Bears me remote, o'er Gallia's woody bounds, O'er the cloud-piercing Alps remote; beyond The vale of Arno purpled with the vine, Beyond the Umbrian and Etrusean hills, To Latium's wide champain, forlorn and waste, Where yellow Tiber his neglected wave

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