The poems of Ossian &c. containing the Poetical Works of James Macpherson, Esq. in prose and rhyme: with notes and illustrations by Malcolm Laing. In two volumes |
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VERSES SENT TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH SOME TRANSLATIONS FROM THE ERSE. |
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 | The poems of Ossian |  |
611
VERSES SENT TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH SOME TRANSLATIONS FROM THE ERSE.
Behold, fair maid, what Nature could inspire,
When Albion's lovely dames confessed their fire;
When love was stranger to the guise of art,
And virgins spoke the language of the heart;
When sweet simplicity, with charms displayed,
Confirmed the bands which beauty first had made.
When Albion's lovely dames confessed their fire;
When love was stranger to the guise of art,
And virgins spoke the language of the heart;
When sweet simplicity, with charms displayed,
Confirmed the bands which beauty first had made.
On rocks they lived among the savage kind,
But little of the rock was in their mind;
They felt the call of nature in their heart,
And Pity wept when Beauty shot the dart:
Each maid, with sorrow, saw her conquests rise,
And drowned with tears the lightning of her eyes.
But little of the rock was in their mind;
They felt the call of nature in their heart,
And Pity wept when Beauty shot the dart:
Each maid, with sorrow, saw her conquests rise,
And drowned with tears the lightning of her eyes.
When the loved youth appeared with manly charms,
And called the blooming beauty to his arms;
To meet his generous flame the maid would fly,
Nor did the tongue, what eyes confessed, deny.
No toils could her from his dear side remove;
She shared his dangers, as she shared his love.
With him against the chace she bent the bow;
In fields of death with him she met the foe;
If pierced with wounds, a mournful sight he lay,
With tears she washed the gory tide away;
And decent in the tomb her hero laid,
And as she blessed him living, mourned him dead.
And called the blooming beauty to his arms;
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Nor did the tongue, what eyes confessed, deny.
No toils could her from his dear side remove;
She shared his dangers, as she shared his love.
With him against the chace she bent the bow;
In fields of death with him she met the foe;
If pierced with wounds, a mournful sight he lay,
With tears she washed the gory tide away;
And decent in the tomb her hero laid,
And as she blessed him living, mourned him dead.
In thee, blest nymph, indulgent Nature joined
The face of beauty with the tender mind;
In thee the present virtues we behold,
With all the charms of Albion's dames of old:
But be their sorrow to themselves alone,
As thine their beauty, be their woes their own.
The face of beauty with the tender mind;
In thee the present virtues we behold,
With all the charms of Albion's dames of old:
But be their sorrow to themselves alone,
As thine their beauty, be their woes their own.
Too oft, in times of old, did war's alarms
Tear lovely Youth from Beauty's folding arms!
Too oft the early tears of spouses flow,
And blooming widows beat their breasts of snow.
But when the happy youth of form divine,
At once the fav'rite of the world and thine,
Enjoys unrivalled all that heaven of charms,
Death, late descend!—Avoid him, hostile arms!
Let growing pleasures crown each rising year,
Still be that cheek unsullied with a tear;
That heart no pang but of affection know;
That ear be stranger to the voice of woe.
Tear lovely Youth from Beauty's folding arms!
Too oft the early tears of spouses flow,
And blooming widows beat their breasts of snow.
But when the happy youth of form divine,
At once the fav'rite of the world and thine,
Enjoys unrivalled all that heaven of charms,
Death, late descend!—Avoid him, hostile arms!
Let growing pleasures crown each rising year,
Still be that cheek unsullied with a tear;
That heart no pang but of affection know;
That ear be stranger to the voice of woe.
When Time itself shall bid that beauty fly,
And lightning arm no more that lovely eye;
May the bright legacy successive fall,
And thy loved sons and daughters share it all;
Thy sons be every virgin's secret care,
Thy lovely daughters like the mother fair;
The first in prudence emulate their sire;
The last, like thee, set all the world on fire.
And lightning arm no more that lovely eye;
May the bright legacy successive fall,
And thy loved sons and daughters share it all;
Thy sons be every virgin's secret care,
Thy lovely daughters like the mother fair;
The first in prudence emulate their sire;
The last, like thee, set all the world on fire.
| The poems of Ossian | |