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Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king fhall bite the ground.
Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness fee;
Long her ftrains in forrow steep,
Strains of immortality!
Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the fun.
Sifters, weave the web of death.
Sifters, cease! the work is done.
Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph fing:
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'ft the tale,
Learn the tenour of our fong.
Scotland, through each winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sifters, hence with fpurs of fpeed!
Each her thund'ring faulchion wield;
Each beftride her fable steed.
Hurry, hurry, to the field!

$80. The Defcent of Odin. An Ode. UPROSE the king of men with speed,

GRAY.

And faddled ftraight his coal-black steed:
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Him the dog of darkness spied:
His fhaggy throat he open'd wide;
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore diftill'd.
Hoarse he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;
And long purfues, with fruitlefs yell,
The father of the powerful spell.
Onward ftill his way he takes

(The groaning earth beneath him shakes),
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of hell arife.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the mofs-grown pile he fat,
Where long of yore to fleep was laid
The duft of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread;
The thrilling verfe that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a fullen found.

PROPHETESS.

What call unknown, what charms, presume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on thefe mould'ring bones have beat The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me fleep again. Who is he, with voice unbleft, That calls me from the bed of rett?

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To break my iron fleep again,
Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain;
Never, till fubftantial Night
Has re-affum'd her ancient right;
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.

§ 81. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment.

OWEN's praise demands my fong,

Owen fwift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flow'r of Roderic's ftem
Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hofts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by fide as proudly riding,
On her fhadow long and gay
Locklin ploughs the wat'ry way;
There the Norman fails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war:
Black and huge along they fweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native lands
The dragon-fon of Mona stands
In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft,
High be rears his ruby creft.
There the thund'ring strokes begin,
There the prefs, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thoufand banners round him burn;
Where he points his purple fpear,
Hafty, hafty Rout is there;
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to ftop, and shame to fly:
There Confufion, Terror's child;
Confli& fierce, and ruin wild;
Agony, that pants for breath;
Despair, and honourable Death.

GRAY.

From yonder realms of empyrean day
Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay:
There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to shine
Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.
Rapt in celeftial transport they;
Yet hither oft a glance from high
They fend of tender fympathy,
To blefs the place where on their op'ning foul
First the genuine ardour stole.

'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd shell;
And, as the choral warblings round him fwell,
Meek Newton's felf bends from his ftate fublime,
And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the
rhyme.

"Ye brown o'er-arching groves, "That contemplation loves,

"Where willowy Camus lingers with delight "Oft at the bluth of dawn

"I trod your level lawn,

"Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright "In cloifters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, "With Freedom by my fide, and soft-eyed Melancholy."

But, hark! the portals found, and pacing forth,
With folemn fteps and flow,

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth,
And mitred Fathers, in long order go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn;

And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare;
And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rofe,
The rival of her crown and of her woes;
And either Henry there,

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord
That broke the bonds of Rome

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human paffions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb).
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade thefe awful fanes and turrets rise,
To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come;
And thus they fpeak in foft accord
The liquid language of the skies:

"What is grandeur? what is pow'r?

§ 82. Ode on the Inftallation of the Duke of Heavier toil, fuperior pain.

Grafton. Irregular. GRAY.

HENCE, avaunt (tis holy ground)!

Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, And dreaming Sloth of palid hue, "Mad Sedition's cry profane, "Servitude that hugs her chain; "Nor in thefe confecrated bow'rs

"What the bright reward we gain?
"The grateful memory of the Good.
"Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r,
"The bee's collected treafures (weet,

"Sweet mufic's melting fall, but sweeter yet
"The ftill fmall voice of Gratitude."
Foremost, and leaning from her gold'n cloud,
The venerable Margaret fee!

“Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train in " Welcome my noble fon (the cries, alou),

"flow'rs.

"Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Mufe's walk to ftain,

"While bright-eyed Science watches round: "Hence away, 'tis holy ground!"

"To this thy kindred train, and me: "Pleas'd in thy lineainents we trace "A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. "Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye, "The flow'r unisceded shall defcry.

"And

"And bid it round heaven's altars fhed
"The fragrance of its blushing head:
"Shall raife from earth the latent gem
"To glitter on the diadem.

"Lb, Granta waits to lead her blooming band: "Not obvious, not obtrusive, the

No vulgar praife, no venal incenfe flings; "Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd "Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: "She reveres herself and thee.

[brow "With modeft pride to grace thy youthful "The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, the "And to thy juft, thy gentle hand brings, "Submits the fafces of her fway, "While fpirits bleft above, and men below, "Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay. "Thro' the wild waves, as they roar, "With watchful eye and dauntless mien "Thy steady courfe of honour keep, "Nor fear the rocks, nor feck the fhore: "The ftar of Brunswick fmiles ferene, "And gilds the horrors of the deep.'

"

§ 83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE.
OFT
FT I've implor'd the gods in vain,
And pray'd till I've been weary;
For once I'll try my wish to gain
Of Oberon the Fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton fprite.

That lurk'ft in woods unfeen,
And oft by Cynthia's filver light
Tripp'st gaily o'er the green;
If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As ancient ftories tell,

And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd
Thou fought'st a wondrous fpell;

Oh deign once more t' exert thy pow'r!
Haply fome herb or tree,
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,
Conceals a balm for me.

I ask no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to please;
Far from the heart thofe gifts remove
That fighs for peace and ease:

Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs the foul can wound,
'Tis pain in each degree:

'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;
Beyond, is agony.

Take then this treacherous fenfe of mine,
Which dooms me ftill to fmart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,
Tpains new pangs impart.

Oh hane to fhed the facred balm!
My fhatter'd nerves new ftring;
And for my guest, ferenely calm,
The nymph Indifference bring.

At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly;
And Difappointment in the rear,
That blaits the promis'd joy.

The tear which pity taught to flow
The eye fhall then disown;

The heart that melts for others' woe
Shall then fcarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then fhall close;
And tranquil days fhall ftill fuceeed

To nights of calm repofe.

O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;
And fo may never-fading blifs
Thy flow'ry paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead

To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread;

And be thy acorn goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrofial dew;
From fweeteft, fresheft, flow'rs diftill'd,
That shed fresh sweets for you!
And what of life remains for me
I'll pass in fober ease;

Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,
Content but half to please.

84. The Fairy's Answer to Mrs. Greville's Prayer for Indifference.

By the Countess of C.

WITHOUT preamble, to my friend

Thefe hafty lines I'm bid to fend, Or give, if I am able:

I dare not hesitate to say,

Tho' I have trembled all the day

It looks fo like a fable.

Laft night's adventure is my theme;
And fhould it fttike you as a dream,
Yet foon its high import
Muft make you own the matter fuch,
So delicate, it were too much

To be compos'd in sport.

The moon did fhine ferenely bright,
And ev'ry flar did deck the night,

While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
No more affail'd my mind's repose,
Save that yon ftream, which murmuring flows,
Did echo to the breeze.

Enrapt in folemn thoughts I fate,
Revolving o'er the turns of fate,

Yet void of hope or fear;
When, lo! behold an airy throng,
With lighteft fteps, and jocund fong,
Surpris'd my eye and ear.

A form fuperior to the rest
His little voice to me addrefs'd,
And gently thus began;

I've

"I've heard ftrange things from one of you, "Pray tell me if you think 'tis true; "Explain it if you can.

"Such incense has perfum'd my throne! Such eloquence my heart has won! "I think I guess the hand: "I know her wit and beauty too, "But why the fends a pray'r so new "I cannot understand.

"To light fome flames, and fome revive, "To keep fome others juft alive,

"Full oft I am implor'd;

"But, with peculiar pow'r to please, "To fupplicate for nought but eafe! "Tis odd, upon my word!

"Tell her, with fruitlefs care I've fought; "And though my realms, with wonders fraught, "In remedies abound,

"No grain of cold indifference "Was ever yet allied to sense

"In all my fairy round. "The regions of the sky I'd trace, "I'd ranfack every earthly place,

"Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r, "To mitigate the pangs of fear, "Difpell the clouds of black despair, "Or lull the restless hour.

"I would be generous as I'm just; "But I obey, as others must,

"Thofe laws which fate has made. "My tiny kingdom how defend, "And what might be the horrid end,

"Should man my state invade? "Twould put your mind into a rage, "And fuch unequal war to wage

"Suits not my regal duty!
"I dare not change a first decree:
"She's doom'd to pleafe, nor can be free:
"Such is the lot of Beauty!"
This faid, he darted o'er the plain,
And after follow'd all his train:

No glimpse of him I find:
But fure I am, the little sprite
These words, before he took his flight,
Imprinted on my mind.

$85. The Beggar's Petition. ANON. PITY the forrows of a poor old man, Whofe trembling limbs have born him to your door,

Whofe days are dwindled to the fhortest fpan;
Oh give relief, and Heaven will bless your ftore!
Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak,
Thele hoary locks proclaim my lengthen 'd years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.
Yon houfe erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road:
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To feek a fhelter in an humbler shed.
Oh take me to your hofpitable dome!
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miferably old.
Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breaft,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be reprefs'd,
Heaven fends misfortunes; why should we re-
pine?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you fee; And your condition may be foon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Mifery.

A little farm was my paternal lot;
Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn:
But, ah! oppreflion forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was iny corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, sweet soother of my care!
Struck with fad anguish at the ftern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair!
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man, [door,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the thortest fpan;
Oh give relief and Heaven will bless your store!

$86. Pollio. An Elegiac Ode; written in the Wood near R― Cafle, 1762. MICKLE.

Hæc Jovem sentire, deosque cunctos,
Spem bonam certamque domum reporto. Her.

THE peaceful evening breathes her balmy

store,

The playful fchool-boyswanton o'er thegreen, Where fpreading poplars thade the cottage-door, The villagers in ruftic joy convene.

Amid the fecret windings of the wood,

With folemn Meditation let me stray; This is the hour when to the wise and good The heavenly maid repays the toils of day, The river murmurs, and the breathing gale

The ftar of evening glimmers o'er the dale, Whispers the gently waving boughs among:

And leads the filent hoft of heaven along. How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,

The filver emprefs of the night appears! Yon limpid pool reflects a ftream of light, And faintly in its breaft the woodland bears. The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed, Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound; The

I i

The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant glade; | The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,

The bat, low-wheeling, fkims the dulky]
ground,

Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,
TheGothic abbey rears its fculptur'd tow'rs;

Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours; But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines, And fainted well have lost their chearing pow'rs;

where,

Dull thro' the roofs refounds the whistling gale, For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh
Dark folitude among the pillars low'rs.
Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves,
And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains,
Where yon fcath'd poplar through the win-

dows waves,

And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftains. There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind, Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd, Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray`r, High o'erthepines,that withtheirdark'ningfhade Surround yon craggy bank, the caftle rears Its crumbling turrets; till its tow'ry head

A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears. So, 'midft the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Tho'tremblingo'er the feeble crutch he bends. Wildround thegatesthe duskywall-flow'rs creep, Where oft the knights the beauteous danes have led,

Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap, Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments ipread. 'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight, Great in their bloody arms,march'do'erthelea, Eyeing their rescued fields with proud delight! Now loft to them! and, ah! how chang'd

to me!

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
The dear idea of my Pollio bring;
So fhone the moon thro' these foft-nodding trees,
When here we wander'd in the eves of ipring.
When April's fmiles the flow'ry lawn adorn,
And modeft cowflips deck the ftreamlet's fide;
When fragrant orchards to the roseat morn
Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours
dyed:

So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore,

These were the emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page difplay'd its lore,

To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him with her purest flames the Mufe endow'd, Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied: The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms; he faw, he felt, and died. O partner of my infant griefs and joys!

Bigwith thefcenesnow paft, my heart o'erflows; Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rife,

And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rising fun, when life was new,

Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; Oft by the moon have brush'd the evening dew, When all was fearless innocence and glee.

Where hatt thou fled, and left me here behind? My tend'rest wish, my heart to thee was bare; Oh now cut off each paflage to my mind! How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void, The tracklefs thores that never were repals'd! Dread feparation! on the depth untried,

Hope falters, and the foul recoils aghaft! Wide round the spacious heavens I caft my eyes: And thall thefe itars glow with immortal fire? Still fhine the lifelefs glories of the skies? And could thy bright, thy living foul expire? Far be the thought! The pleafures moft fublime, The glow of friendthip, and the virtuous tear, The tow'ring wish that icorns the bounds of time,

Chill'd in this vale of death,but languish here. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,

The languid ftranger feebly buds, and dies: Yet there's a clime where Virtue shall expand With godlike ftrength beneath her native

fkies!

The lonely thepherd on the mountain's fide

With patience waits the rofy-opening day; The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide With cheerful hope expects the morning ray; Thus I, on life's ftorm-beaten ocean tofs'd, In mental vition view the happy fhore, Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coaft, Where fate and death divide the friends no

more!

Oh that fome kind, fome pitying kindred shade, Who now perhaps frequents this folemngrove, Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead,

And from my eyes the mortal film remove! Vain is the wifh-yet furely not in vain

Man's bofom glows with that celeftial fire Which fcorns earth's luxuries, which imiles at pain,

And wings his fpirit with fublime defire! To fan this fpark of heaven, this ray divine,

Still, O my foul! ftill be thy dear employs Still thus to wander thro' the shades be thine, And fwell thy brealt with vifionary joy! So to the dark-brow'd wood, or facred mount, In ancient days, the holy feers retir'd; And, led in vifion, drank at Siloe's fount, While rifing ecftafies their bofoms fir'd.

Reftor'd creation bright before them rofe,

The burning deferts fmil'd as Eden's plains: One friendly fhade the wolf and lambkin chofe The flow'ry mountain fung, Melliah reigns!"

Tho'

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