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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| MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. |
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 | The poems of Ossian |  |
585
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
587
ON THE DEATH OF MARSHAL KEITH.
Keith then is fallen! What numbers can there flow,
What strains adequate to so great a woe!
Ev'n hostile kingdoms in dark pomp appear,
To strew promiscuous honours o'er his bier.
Hungaria gives the tribute of the eye,
And ruthless Russia melts into a sigh:
They mourn his fate, who felt his sword before;
And all the hero in the foe deplore.
What strains adequate to so great a woe!
Ev'n hostile kingdoms in dark pomp appear,
To strew promiscuous honours o'er his bier.
Hungaria gives the tribute of the eye,
And ruthless Russia melts into a sigh:
They mourn his fate, who felt his sword before;
And all the hero in the foe deplore.
What must they feel for whom the warrior stormed,
Whose fields he fought, whose every counsel formed!
Brave Prussia's sons depend the mournful head,
And with their tears bedew the mighty dead:
Sad round the corse, a stately ring they stand,
Their arms reflecting terror o'er the land;
With silent eyes they run the hero o'er,
And mourn the chief they shall obey no more;
A pearly drop hangs in each warrior's eye,
And through the army runs the gen'ral sigh.
Whose fields he fought, whose every counsel formed!
Brave Prussia's sons depend the mournful head,
And with their tears bedew the mighty dead:
Sad round the corse, a stately ring they stand,
Their arms reflecting terror o'er the land;
With silent eyes they run the hero o'er,
And mourn the chief they shall obey no more;
A pearly drop hangs in each warrior's eye,
And through the army runs the gen'ral sigh.
588
Great Fred'ric comes to join the mighty woe;
Eternal laurels bind his awful brow;
Majestic in his arms he stands, and cries,
Is Keith no more? and as he speaks, he sighs;
In silence falls the sable show'r of woe;
He eyes the corse, and frowns upon the foe:
Then grasping his tried sword, the chief alarms,
And kindles all his warriors into arms.
Revenge, he cries, revenge the blood of Keith;
Let Austria pay a forfeit for his death.
They join, and move the shining columns on;
Germania trembles to Vienna's throne.
Eternal laurels bind his awful brow;
Majestic in his arms he stands, and cries,
Is Keith no more? and as he speaks, he sighs;
In silence falls the sable show'r of woe;
He eyes the corse, and frowns upon the foe:
Then grasping his tried sword, the chief alarms,
And kindles all his warriors into arms.
Revenge, he cries, revenge the blood of Keith;
Let Austria pay a forfeit for his death.
They join, and move the shining columns on;
Germania trembles to Vienna's throne.
But Caledonia o'er the rest appears,
And claims pre-eminence to mother-tears:
In deeper gloom her tow'ring rocks arise,
And from her vallies issue doleful sighs.
Sadly she sits, and mourns her glory gone;
He's fallen, her bravest, and her greatest son!
While at her side her children all deplore
The godlike hero they exiled before.
And claims pre-eminence to mother-tears:
In deeper gloom her tow'ring rocks arise,
And from her vallies issue doleful sighs.
Sadly she sits, and mourns her glory gone;
He's fallen, her bravest, and her greatest son!
While at her side her children all deplore
The godlike hero they exiled before.
Sad from his native home the chief withdrew;
But kindled Scotia's glory as he flew;
On far Iberia built his country's fame,
And distant Russia heard the Scottish name.
Turks stood aghast, as, o'er the fields of war,
He ruled the storm, and urged the martial car.
They asked their chiefs, what state the hero raised;
And Albion on the Hellespont was praised.
But kindled Scotia's glory as he flew;
On far Iberia built his country's fame,
And distant Russia heard the Scottish name.
Turks stood aghast, as, o'er the fields of war,
He ruled the storm, and urged the martial car.
They asked their chiefs, what state the hero raised;
And Albion on the Hellespont was praised.
But chief, as relics of a dying race,
The Keiths command, in woe, the foremost place;
A name for ages through the world revered,
By Scotia loved, by all her en'mies feared;
Now falling, dying, lost to all but fame,
And only living in the hero's name.
The Keiths command, in woe, the foremost place;
589
By Scotia loved, by all her en'mies feared;
Now falling, dying, lost to all but fame,
And only living in the hero's name.
See! the proud halls they once possessed, decayed,
The spiral tow'rs depend the lofty head;
Wild ivy creeps along the mould'ring walls,
And with each gust of wind a fragment falls;
While birds obscene at noon of night deplore,
Where mighty heroes kept the watch before.
The spiral tow'rs depend the lofty head;
Wild ivy creeps along the mould'ring walls,
And with each gust of wind a fragment falls;
While birds obscene at noon of night deplore,
Where mighty heroes kept the watch before.
On Mem'ry's tablet mankind soon decay,
On Time's swift stream their glory slides away;
But, present in the voice of deathless Fame,
Keith lives, eternal, in his glorious name:
While ages far remote his actions show;
And mark with them the way their chiefs should go;
While sires unto their wond'ring offspring tell,
Keith lived in glory, and in glory fell.
On Time's swift stream their glory slides away;
But, present in the voice of deathless Fame,
Keith lives, eternal, in his glorious name:
While ages far remote his actions show;
And mark with them the way their chiefs should go;
While sires unto their wond'ring offspring tell,
Keith lived in glory, and in glory fell.
590
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
Lamented shade! thy fate demands a tear,
An offering due to thy untimely bier;
Accept then, early tenant of the skies,
The genuine drops that flow from friendship's eyes!
Those eyes which raptured hung on thee before,
Those eyes which never shall behold thee more:
So early hast thou to the tomb retired,
And left us mourning what we once admired.
An offering due to thy untimely bier;
Accept then, early tenant of the skies,
The genuine drops that flow from friendship's eyes!
Those eyes which raptured hung on thee before,
Those eyes which never shall behold thee more:
So early hast thou to the tomb retired,
And left us mourning what we once admired.
For this did beauty's fairest hand arise
On all your shape, and kindle in your eyes?
For this did virtue form your infant mind,
And make thee best, as fairest of thy kind?
Did all the powers for this their gifts bestow,
And only charm us to increase our woe?
A moment bless us with celestial day,
Then envious snatch the sacred beam away?
Recall the beauteous prize they lately gave,
And bid our tears descend on Anna's grave?
On all your shape, and kindle in your eyes?
For this did virtue form your infant mind,
And make thee best, as fairest of thy kind?
Did all the powers for this their gifts bestow,
And only charm us to increase our woe?
A moment bless us with celestial day,
Then envious snatch the sacred beam away?
Recall the beauteous prize they lately gave,
And bid our tears descend on Anna's grave?
591
How did the mother see her daughter rise,
A lovely plant to bless her aged eyes!
How oft in thought her future pleasure trace,
Appoint her husband, and enjoy her race!
But now no husband shall enjoy that bloom,
Nor offspring rise from the unfruitful tomb.
A lovely plant to bless her aged eyes!
How oft in thought her future pleasure trace,
Appoint her husband, and enjoy her race!
But now no husband shall enjoy that bloom,
Nor offspring rise from the unfruitful tomb.
An unexpected gift the virgin came,
The last, but fairest, of a falling name;
A ray to light a father's eve she shone,
And healed the loss of many a buried son:
But soon invading darkness chased away
The beauteous setting of a glorious day;
Soon Heaven, which gave, again resumed its own;
And of his family he remains alone.
The last, but fairest, of a falling name;
A ray to light a father's eve she shone,
And healed the loss of many a buried son:
But soon invading darkness chased away
The beauteous setting of a glorious day;
Soon Heaven, which gave, again resumed its own;
And of his family he remains alone.
His thoughts in her refined no more he'll trace,
Or view his features softened in her face;
No more in secret on her beauty gaze,
Or hide his gladness when he hears her praise:
Mute is the tongue which pleased his soul before,
And beauty blushes in that cheek no more.
Or view his features softened in her face;
No more in secret on her beauty gaze,
Or hide his gladness when he hears her praise:
Mute is the tongue which pleased his soul before,
And beauty blushes in that cheek no more.
Peace, gentle shade, attend thy balmy rest,
And earth sit lightly on thy snowy breast;
Let guardian angels gently hover round,
And downy silence haunt the hallowed ground:
There let the Spring its sweetest offspring rear,
And sad Aurora shed her earliest tear.
Some future maid perhaps, as she goes by,
Shall view the place where her cold reliques lie:
Folly for once may sadden into care,
And pride, unconscious, shed one generous tear;
While this big truth is swelling in the breast,
That death nor spares the fairest nor the best;
That virtue feels the unalterable doom,
And beauty's self must moulder in the tomb.
And earth sit lightly on thy snowy breast;
Let guardian angels gently hover round,
And downy silence haunt the hallowed ground:
There let the Spring its sweetest offspring rear,
And sad Aurora shed her earliest tear.
Some future maid perhaps, as she goes by,
Shall view the place where her cold reliques lie:
Folly for once may sadden into care,
And pride, unconscious, shed one generous tear;
While this big truth is swelling in the breast,
That death nor spares the fairest nor the best;
That virtue feels the unalterable doom,
And beauty's self must moulder in the tomb.
592
TO THE MEMORY OF AN OFFICER KILLED BEFORE QUEBEC.
Ah me! what sorrow are we born to bear!
How many causes claim the falling tear!
In one sad tenor life's dark current flows,
And every moment has its load of woes:
In vain we toil for visionary ease,
Or hope for blessings in the vale of peace:
Coy happiness ne'er blesses human eyes,
Or but appears a moment, and she flies.
How many causes claim the falling tear!
In one sad tenor life's dark current flows,
And every moment has its load of woes:
In vain we toil for visionary ease,
Or hope for blessings in the vale of peace:
Coy happiness ne'er blesses human eyes,
Or but appears a moment, and she flies.
When peace itself can seldom dry the tear,
What floods demand the dreary wastes of war!
Where undistinguished ruin reigns o'er all,
At once the truant and the valiant fall;
Where timeless shrouds inwrap the great and brave,
And Daphnis sinks into a nameless grave.
What floods demand the dreary wastes of war!
Where undistinguished ruin reigns o'er all,
At once the truant and the valiant fall;
Where timeless shrouds inwrap the great and brave,
And Daphnis sinks into a nameless grave.
593
Dear hapless youth, cut off in early bloom,
A fair, but mangled victim to the tomb!
No friendly hand to grace thy fall was near,
No parent's eye to shed one pious tear;
No favoured maid to close thy languid eyes,
And send thee mindful of her to the skies:
On some cold bank thy decent limbs were laid;
Oh! honoured living, but neglected dead!
A fair, but mangled victim to the tomb!
No friendly hand to grace thy fall was near,
No parent's eye to shed one pious tear;
No favoured maid to close thy languid eyes,
And send thee mindful of her to the skies:
On some cold bank thy decent limbs were laid;
Oh! honoured living, but neglected dead!
So soon forsake us, dear lamented shade,
To mix obscurely with the nameless dead!
Thus baulk the rising glory of thy name,
And leave unfinished an increasing fame!
Thus sink for ever from a parent's eyes!
Wert thou not cruel? or ye partial, skies?
To mix obscurely with the nameless dead!
Thus baulk the rising glory of thy name,
And leave unfinished an increasing fame!
Thus sink for ever from a parent's eyes!
Wert thou not cruel? or ye partial, skies?
But what can bound, O thou by all approved!
The sad, sad sorrows of the friend you loved?
A friend who doted on thy worth before!
A friend who never shall behold thee more!
Who saw, combined, thy manly graces rise,
To please the mind and bless the ravished eyes;
A soul replete with all that's great and fair,
A form which cruel savages might spare.
The sad, sad sorrows of the friend you loved?
A friend who doted on thy worth before!
A friend who never shall behold thee more!
Who saw, combined, thy manly graces rise,
To please the mind and bless the ravished eyes;
A soul replete with all that's great and fair,
A form which cruel savages might spare.
If, in the midnight hour, lamented shade,
You view the place where thy remains are laid;
If pale you hover o'er your secret grave,
Or viewless flit o'er Hoshelega's wave;
O! when my troubled soul is sunk in rest,
And peaceful slumbers sooth my anxious breast,
To fancy's eyes in all thy bloom appear,
Once more thy own unsullied image wear;
Unfold the secrets of your world to me,
Tell what thou art, and what I soon shall be.
You view the place where thy remains are laid;
If pale you hover o'er your secret grave,
Or viewless flit o'er Hoshelega's wave;
O! when my troubled soul is sunk in rest,
And peaceful slumbers sooth my anxious breast,
To fancy's eyes in all thy bloom appear,
Once more thy own unsullied image wear;
Unfold the secrets of your world to me,
Tell what thou art, and what I soon shall be.
He comes! he comes! but O how changed of late!
How much deforms the leaden hand of fate!
Why do I see that generous bosom gored?
Why bathed in blood the visionary sword?
What rudeness ruffled that disordered hair?
Why, blameless shade, that mournful aspect wear?
For sure such virtues must rewarded be,
And Heaven itself approve of Wolfe and thee.
Yes, thou art blessed above the rolling sphere;
'Tis for myself, not thee, I shed the tear.
Where shall I now such blameless friendship find,
Thou last best comfort of a drooping mind?
To whom the pressures of my soul impart,
Transfer my sorrows, and divide my heart?
Remote is he who ruled my breast before,
And he shall sooth me into peace no more.
How much deforms the leaden hand of fate!
594
Why bathed in blood the visionary sword?
What rudeness ruffled that disordered hair?
Why, blameless shade, that mournful aspect wear?
For sure such virtues must rewarded be,
And Heaven itself approve of Wolfe and thee.
Yes, thou art blessed above the rolling sphere;
'Tis for myself, not thee, I shed the tear.
Where shall I now such blameless friendship find,
Thou last best comfort of a drooping mind?
To whom the pressures of my soul impart,
Transfer my sorrows, and divide my heart?
Remote is he who ruled my breast before,
And he shall sooth me into peace no more.
Men born to grief, an unrelenting kind,
Of breasts discordant, and of various mind,
Scarce, 'midst of thousands, find a single friend;
If Heaven at length the precious blessing send,
A sudden death recalls him from below;
A moment's bliss is paid with years of woe.
Of breasts discordant, and of various mind,
Scarce, 'midst of thousands, find a single friend;
If Heaven at length the precious blessing send,
A sudden death recalls him from below;
A moment's bliss is paid with years of woe.
What boots the rising sigh? in vain we weep,
We, too, like him, anon must fall asleep;
Life, and its sorrows too, shall soon be o'er,
And the heart heave with bursting sighs no more;
Death shed oblivious rest on every head,
And one dull silence reign o'er all the dead.
We, too, like him, anon must fall asleep;
Life, and its sorrows too, shall soon be o'er,
And the heart heave with bursting sighs no more;
Death shed oblivious rest on every head,
And one dull silence reign o'er all the dead.
595
THE EARL MARISCHAL'S WELCOME TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY.
'Twas when the full-eared harvest bow'd
Beneath the merry reaper's hand;
When here the plenteous sheafs were strew'd,
And there the corns nod o'er the land;
When on each side the loaden'd ground,
Breathing her ripen'd scents, the jovial season crown'd;
The villagers, all on the green,
The arrival of their lord attend:
The blythsome shepherds haste to join,
And whistling from the hills descend;
Nor orphan nor lone widow mourns;
Even hopeless lovers lose their pains;
To-day their banish'd lord returns,
Once more to bless his native plains.
Each hoary sire, with gladden'd face,
Repeats some ancient tale,
How he with Tyrcis, at the chace,
Hied o'er the hill and dale:
Their hoary heads with rapture glow,
While each to each repeats,
How well he knew where to bestow,
Was to oppression still a foe;
Still mixing with their praise his youthful feats.
Beneath the merry reaper's hand;
When here the plenteous sheafs were strew'd,
And there the corns nod o'er the land;
When on each side the loaden'd ground,
Breathing her ripen'd scents, the jovial season crown'd;
The villagers, all on the green,
The arrival of their lord attend:
The blythsome shepherds haste to join,
And whistling from the hills descend;
Nor orphan nor lone widow mourns;
Even hopeless lovers lose their pains;
596
Once more to bless his native plains.
Each hoary sire, with gladden'd face,
Repeats some ancient tale,
How he with Tyrcis, at the chace,
Hied o'er the hill and dale:
Their hoary heads with rapture glow,
While each to each repeats,
How well he knew where to bestow,
Was to oppression still a foe;
Still mixing with their praise his youthful feats.
Then from the grass Melanthus rose,
The arbitrator of the plains,
And silent all stood fixed to hear
The Tityrus of Mernia's swains;
For with the Muse's fire his bosom glow'd,
And easy from his lips the numbers flow'd.
The arbitrator of the plains,
And silent all stood fixed to hear
The Tityrus of Mernia's swains;
For with the Muse's fire his bosom glow'd,
And easy from his lips the numbers flow'd.
“Now the wished-for day is come,
Our lord reviews his native home;
Now clear and strong ideas rise,
And wrap my soul in extasies:
Methinks I see that ruddy morn,
When, waken'd by the hunter's horn,
I rose, and, by yon mountain's side,
Saw Tyrcis and Achates ride;
While, floating by yon craggy brow,
The slowly-scattering mist withdrew;
I saw the roe-buck cross yon plain,
Yon heathy steep I saw him gain;
The hunters still fly o'er the ground,
Their shouts the distant hills resound;
Dunnotyr's towers resound the peal
That echoes o'er the hill and dale.
At length, what time the ploughman leads
Home from the field his weary steeds,
At yon old tree the roe-buck fell:
The huntsmen's jocund mingled shouts his downfall tell.
Our lord reviews his native home;
Now clear and strong ideas rise,
And wrap my soul in extasies:
Methinks I see that ruddy morn,
When, waken'd by the hunter's horn,
I rose, and, by yon mountain's side,
Saw Tyrcis and Achates ride;
While, floating by yon craggy brow,
The slowly-scattering mist withdrew;
I saw the roe-buck cross yon plain,
Yon heathy steep I saw him gain;
The hunters still fly o'er the ground,
Their shouts the distant hills resound;
Dunnotyr's towers resound the peal
That echoes o'er the hill and dale.
At length, what time the ploughman leads
Home from the field his weary steeds,
597
The huntsmen's jocund mingled shouts his downfall tell.
“The mem'ry of these happy days
Still in my breast must transport raise;
Those happy days, when oft were seen
The brothers marching o'er the green,
With dog and gun, while yet the night
Was blended with the dawning light,
When first the sheep begin to bleat,
And the early kine rise from their dewy seat.”
Still in my breast must transport raise;
Those happy days, when oft were seen
The brothers marching o'er the green,
With dog and gun, while yet the night
Was blended with the dawning light,
When first the sheep begin to bleat,
And the early kine rise from their dewy seat.”
Thus as he spoke, each youthful breast
Glows with wild extasies;
In each eye rapture stands confest,
Each thinks he flies along the mead,
And manages the fiery steed,
And hears the beagles' cries.
The sage Melanthus now again
Stretch'd forth his hand, and thus resum'd the strain:
Glows with wild extasies;
In each eye rapture stands confest,
Each thinks he flies along the mead,
And manages the fiery steed,
And hears the beagles' cries.
The sage Melanthus now again
Stretch'd forth his hand, and thus resum'd the strain:
“Now my youthful heat returns,
My breast with youthful vigour burns:
Methinks I see that glorious day,
When, to hunt the fallow-deer,
Three thousand march'd in grand array:
Three thousand march'd with bow and spear,—
All in the light and healthy dress
Our brave forefathers wore,
In Kenneth's wars, and Bruce's days,
And when the Romans fled their dreadful wrath of yore.
My breast with youthful vigour burns:
Methinks I see that glorious day,
When, to hunt the fallow-deer,
Three thousand march'd in grand array:
Three thousand march'd with bow and spear,—
All in the light and healthy dress
Our brave forefathers wore,
In Kenneth's wars, and Bruce's days,
And when the Romans fled their dreadful wrath of yore.
O'er every hill, o'er every dale,
All by the winding banks of Tay,
Resounds the hunter's chearful peal,
Their armour glittering to the day.”
Big with his joys of youth the old man stood;
Dunnotyr's ruin'd towers then caught his eye;
He stopp'd, and hung his head in pensive mood,
And from his bosom burst the unbidden sigh.
Then turning, with a warrior look,
Shaking his hoary curls, the old man spoke:
All by the winding banks of Tay,
Resounds the hunter's chearful peal,
Their armour glittering to the day.”
598
Dunnotyr's ruin'd towers then caught his eye;
He stopp'd, and hung his head in pensive mood,
And from his bosom burst the unbidden sigh.
Then turning, with a warrior look,
Shaking his hoary curls, the old man spoke:
“Virtue, O Fortune! scorns thy power,
Thou can'st not bind her for an hour;
Virtue shall ever shine;
And endless praise, her glorious dower,
Shall bless her sons divine.
The kings of th' earth, with open arms,
The illustrious exiles hail:
See warlike Cyrus, great and wise,
Demand, and follow their advice,
And all his breast unveil.
Thou can'st not bind her for an hour;
Virtue shall ever shine;
And endless praise, her glorious dower,
Shall bless her sons divine.
The kings of th' earth, with open arms,
The illustrious exiles hail:
See warlike Cyrus, great and wise,
Demand, and follow their advice,
And all his breast unveil.
“See, pouring from their hills of snow,
Nations of savages in arms!
A desert lies where'er they go,
Before them march pale Terror and Alarms.
The Princes of the South prepare
Their thousand thousands for the war;
Against thee, Cyrus, they combine;
The North and South their forces join,
To crush thee in the dust:
But thou art safe; Achates draws
His sword with thine, and backs thy cause;
Yes, thou art doubly safe, thy cause is just.
Nations of savages in arms!
A desert lies where'er they go,
Before them march pale Terror and Alarms.
The Princes of the South prepare
Their thousand thousands for the war;
Against thee, Cyrus, they combine;
The North and South their forces join,
To crush thee in the dust:
But thou art safe; Achates draws
His sword with thine, and backs thy cause;
Yes, thou art doubly safe, thy cause is just.
“With dread the Turks have oft beheld
His sword wide waving o'er the field;
As oft these sons of carnage fled
O'er mountains of their kindred dead.
His sword wide waving o'er the field;
As oft these sons of carnage fled
O'er mountains of their kindred dead.
599
“When all the fury of the fight
With wrath redoubled rag'd;
When man to man, with giant-might,
For all that's dear engag'd;
When all was thunder, smoke, and fire;
When from their native rocks the frighted springs retire;
'Twas then, through streams of smoke and blood,
Achates mounts the city-wall:
Though wounded, like a god he stood,
And at his feet the foes submissive fall.
With wrath redoubled rag'd;
When man to man, with giant-might,
For all that's dear engag'd;
When all was thunder, smoke, and fire;
When from their native rocks the frighted springs retire;
'Twas then, through streams of smoke and blood,
Achates mounts the city-wall:
Though wounded, like a god he stood,
And at his feet the foes submissive fall.
“Brave are the Goths, and fierce in fight,
Yet these he gave to rout and flight;
Proud when they were of victory,
He rushed on like a storm; dispersed and weak they fly.
Thus, from the Grampians old,
A torrent, deep and strong,
Down rushes on the fold,
And sweeps the shepherd and the flock along.
Yet these he gave to rout and flight;
Proud when they were of victory,
He rushed on like a storm; dispersed and weak they fly.
Thus, from the Grampians old,
A torrent, deep and strong,
Down rushes on the fold,
And sweeps the shepherd and the flock along.
“When, through an aged wood,
The thunder roars amain,
His paths with oaks are strewed,
And ruin marks the plain:
So many a German field can tell,
How in his path the mighty heroes fell.
The thunder roars amain,
His paths with oaks are strewed,
And ruin marks the plain:
So many a German field can tell,
How in his path the mighty heroes fell.
“When, with their numerous dogs, the swains
Surprise the aged lion's den,
The old warrior rushes to the charge,
And scorns the rage of dogs and men;
His whelps he guards on every side;
Safe they retreat. What though a mortal dart
Stands trembling in his breast, his dauntless heart
Glows with a victor's pride.
Surprise the aged lion's den,
The old warrior rushes to the charge,
And scorns the rage of dogs and men;
His whelps he guards on every side;
Safe they retreat. What though a mortal dart
Stands trembling in his breast, his dauntless heart
Glows with a victor's pride.
600
“So the old lion, brave Achates, fought,
And miracles of prowess wrought;
With a few piquets bore the force
Of eighty thousand, stopped their course,
Till off his friends had marched, and all was well.
Even he himself could ne'er do more,
Fate had no greater deed in store—
When all his host was safe, the godlike hero fell.”
And miracles of prowess wrought;
With a few piquets bore the force
Of eighty thousand, stopped their course,
Till off his friends had marched, and all was well.
Even he himself could ne'er do more,
Fate had no greater deed in store—
When all his host was safe, the godlike hero fell.”
Thus as he spoke, each hoary sire
Fights o'er again his ancient wars;
Each youth burns with a hero's fire,
And triumphs in his future scars;
O'er bloody fields each thinks he rides,
The thunder of the battle guides
(Beneath his lifted arm, struck pale,
The foes for mercy cry);
And hears applauding legions hail
Him with the shouts of victory.
Fights o'er again his ancient wars;
Each youth burns with a hero's fire,
And triumphs in his future scars;
O'er bloody fields each thinks he rides,
The thunder of the battle guides
(Beneath his lifted arm, struck pale,
The foes for mercy cry);
And hears applauding legions hail
Him with the shouts of victory.
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HORACE,
Ode xvi. Book 2. imitated.
The weary sailor calls for ease,
When winds turmoil the angry seas,
And not a moon or star to guide
His dreary course along the tide;
When half the sky in showers descends,
And wind the gilded streamer rends;
Blessed he, within the hut, he cries,
Now bends in rest his peaceful eyes;
Or hears the tempest idly rave;
No av'rice tempts him to the wave.
When winds turmoil the angry seas,
And not a moon or star to guide
His dreary course along the tide;
When half the sky in showers descends,
And wind the gilded streamer rends;
Blessed he, within the hut, he cries,
Now bends in rest his peaceful eyes;
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No av'rice tempts him to the wave.
Turn to the noisy camp your eye,
There care corrodes, and starts the sigh.
Shew me the man among them all,
Who drove o'er Minden's plains the Gaul;
When Broglio's ranks at distance rise,
And cannon murmur through the skies;
But would forego the breath of fame,
And live at ease without a name.
There care corrodes, and starts the sigh.
Shew me the man among them all,
Who drove o'er Minden's plains the Gaul;
When Broglio's ranks at distance rise,
And cannon murmur through the skies;
But would forego the breath of fame,
And live at ease without a name.
'Tis not the sash, the gown, the robe,
These gilded baits that catch the mob;
Or tides of flatt'rers at the door,
Can paint with bliss the passing hour;
Or half the cares within controul,
And calm the tumults of the soul.
These gilded baits that catch the mob;
Or tides of flatt'rers at the door,
Can paint with bliss the passing hour;
Or half the cares within controul,
And calm the tumults of the soul.
Nor can the dome or lofty wall,
Or guards that crowd the tyrant's hall,
With all their instruments of wars,
Exclude the dark, invading cares:
Around the bed of state they fly,
And dash the guilty cup of joy.
Or guards that crowd the tyrant's hall,
With all their instruments of wars,
Exclude the dark, invading cares:
Around the bed of state they fly,
And dash the guilty cup of joy.
More happy he! whose guiltless mind
Is to his native fields confined;
Blessed with his state; and craves no more
Than heaven allowed his sires before:
Who sees his frugal table spread,
Beneath the roof his fathers made;
No care, by day, disturbs his breast,
He sleeps, by night, his brows in rest.
Is to his native fields confined;
Blessed with his state; and craves no more
Than heaven allowed his sires before:
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Beneath the roof his fathers made;
No care, by day, disturbs his breast,
He sleeps, by night, his brows in rest.
Whence all these schemes, this wild uproar,
Since life itself shall soon be o'er?
Why do we, with advent'rous eyes,
See other suns in other skies?
Or pant where Indian billows roll?
Or freeze beneath the arctic pole?
In vain we fly destructive Care,
The monster in our breasts we bear.
Since life itself shall soon be o'er?
Why do we, with advent'rous eyes,
See other suns in other skies?
Or pant where Indian billows roll?
Or freeze beneath the arctic pole?
In vain we fly destructive Care,
The monster in our breasts we bear.
Go, then; forsake your calm retreat,
Cringe at the portals of the great;
Attend the gaudy venal train,
Throw virtue off, to raise your gain;
Or spread your canvas to the gale;
Or court the muses in the vale;
If still in sorrow you repine,
Fly for relief to whores and wine.
Cringe at the portals of the great;
Attend the gaudy venal train,
Throw virtue off, to raise your gain;
Or spread your canvas to the gale;
Or court the muses in the vale;
If still in sorrow you repine,
Fly for relief to whores and wine.
In vain you fly from inbred woe:
Care climbs the vessel's painted prow:
Care haunts the palace of the great,
And hovers round the dark retreat:
Care clouds the fair one's lovely face,
And floats within the sparkling glass.
Even round the sprightly muse it flies,
And taints the numbers as they rise.
Care climbs the vessel's painted prow:
Care haunts the palace of the great,
And hovers round the dark retreat:
Care clouds the fair one's lovely face,
And floats within the sparkling glass.
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And taints the numbers as they rise.
If life you want undashed with woe,
Serene enjoy the instant now;
Nor ills you left behind deplore,
Nor eye the giant grief before;
If Fortune shines, enjoy the ray,
And smile her very gloom away:
Let tempests sweep and billows roar,
The storm of life shall soon be o'er.
Serene enjoy the instant now;
Nor ills you left behind deplore,
Nor eye the giant grief before;
If Fortune shines, enjoy the ray,
And smile her very gloom away:
Let tempests sweep and billows roar,
The storm of life shall soon be o'er.
Some perish in their youthful bloom;
With age some wither to the tomb;
Heaven, as a curse, to some supplies
The years to others it denies;
What can the longest liver do,
But see a greater train of woe?
With age some wither to the tomb;
Heaven, as a curse, to some supplies
The years to others it denies;
What can the longest liver do,
But see a greater train of woe?
Be yours in public life to shine,
With all the glory of your line;
To rule the battle's noisy tide,
Or Britain's great concerns to guide;
Teach virtue to a venal throng,
While senates listen to your tongue,
To me my fortune more severe,
Has only given a mind sincere;
A spark of genius to pass o'er
The tedious dulness of the hour;
A soul that can a knave despise,
And eye the great with careless eyes.
With all the glory of your line;
To rule the battle's noisy tide,
Or Britain's great concerns to guide;
Teach virtue to a venal throng,
While senates listen to your tongue,
To me my fortune more severe,
Has only given a mind sincere;
A spark of genius to pass o'er
The tedious dulness of the hour;
A soul that can a knave despise,
And eye the great with careless eyes.
605
HORACE,
Ode x. Book 2. imitated.
TO A FRIEND.
When tempests sweep and billows roll,
And winds contend along the pole;
When o'er the deck ascends the sea,
And half the sheet is torn away;
Shew me the man among the crew,
Who would not change his place with you;
Prefer the quiet of the plain
To all the riches of the main.
And winds contend along the pole;
When o'er the deck ascends the sea,
And half the sheet is torn away;
Shew me the man among the crew,
Who would not change his place with you;
Prefer the quiet of the plain
To all the riches of the main.
Thrice happy he! and he alone,
Who makes the golden mean his own;
Whose life is neither ebb nor flow,
Nor rises high nor sinks too low:
He prides not in the envied wall,
Nor pines in Want's deserted hall;
His careless eyes with ease behold
The star, the string, and hoarded gold.
Who makes the golden mean his own;
Whose life is neither ebb nor flow,
Nor rises high nor sinks too low:
He prides not in the envied wall,
Nor pines in Want's deserted hall;
His careless eyes with ease behold
The star, the string, and hoarded gold.
Unlike the venal sons of power;
They rise, but rise to fall the more.
When faction rends the public air,
And Pitt shall tumble from his sphere,
In privacy secluded, you
Scarce feel which way the tempest blew.
They rise, but rise to fall the more.
When faction rends the public air,
And Pitt shall tumble from his sphere,
In privacy secluded, you
Scarce feel which way the tempest blew.
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Storms rend the lofty tower in twain,
And bow the poplar to the plain;
The hills are wrapt in clouds on high,
And feel th' artillery of the sky;
When not a breath the valley wakes,
Or curls the surface of the lakes.
And bow the poplar to the plain;
The hills are wrapt in clouds on high,
And feel th' artillery of the sky;
When not a breath the valley wakes,
Or curls the surface of the lakes.
When storms on Fortune's ocean lowr,
And rolling billows lash the shore;
When loved allies return to clay,
And paltry riches wing their way;
The faithless mobs, the perjured whore,
That hovered round thy pelf before,
Fall gradual down the ebbing tide;
Thy dog, the last, forsakes thy side:
Retire within; enjoy thy mind;
There, what they all denied thee, find.
When Fortune threats to fly, be gay,
And puff the fickle thing away.
Nor still it lowrs; the tempest flies,
The golden sun descends the skies;
The gale is living in the grass,
In gentler surges roll the seas.
But wisely thou contract the sail,
And catch but half the breathing gale;
Be cautious still of Fortune's wiles,
Avoid the siren when she smiles;
With prudence laugh her gloom away,
And trust her least when she looks gay.
And rolling billows lash the shore;
When loved allies return to clay,
And paltry riches wing their way;
The faithless mobs, the perjured whore,
That hovered round thy pelf before,
Fall gradual down the ebbing tide;
Thy dog, the last, forsakes thy side:
Retire within; enjoy thy mind;
There, what they all denied thee, find.
When Fortune threats to fly, be gay,
And puff the fickle thing away.
Nor still it lowrs; the tempest flies,
The golden sun descends the skies;
The gale is living in the grass,
In gentler surges roll the seas.
But wisely thou contract the sail,
And catch but half the breathing gale;
Be cautious still of Fortune's wiles,
Avoid the siren when she smiles;
With prudence laugh her gloom away,
And trust her least when she looks gay.
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THE CHOICE.
Did Fortune, what to few she'll give,
Allow me make my choice to live;
I would not seek an envied seat,
Or daily visits of the great;
Nor yet would my ambition fall
To meagre Want's deserted hall;
To each extreme alike a foe,
Too low for high, too high for low.
Allow me make my choice to live;
I would not seek an envied seat,
Or daily visits of the great;
Nor yet would my ambition fall
To meagre Want's deserted hall;
To each extreme alike a foe,
Too low for high, too high for low.
For use, not shew, my house would stand
Amid a spot of fertile land;
A lake below; around a wood;
Here bend a rock; there rush a flood.
A mountain would in prospect rise,
And bear the grey mist to the skies.
When in some dark retreat I sit,
Be near a friend, a man of wit,
Of heart sincere, and converse free,
The lover of mankind and me;
Who, should the world tumultuous roar,
Could calmly see the storm ashore,
Nor e'er admit a longing sigh
To vex my privacy and I.
Amid a spot of fertile land;
A lake below; around a wood;
Here bend a rock; there rush a flood.
A mountain would in prospect rise,
And bear the grey mist to the skies.
When in some dark retreat I sit,
Be near a friend, a man of wit,
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The lover of mankind and me;
Who, should the world tumultuous roar,
Could calmly see the storm ashore,
Nor e'er admit a longing sigh
To vex my privacy and I.
Here would I pass my blameless days,
Beloved of virtue, and of ease;
Here die in peace, and lie unknown
Without a monument or stone.
My friend might shed one pious tear;
My image in his bosom bear;
Might breathe, in verse, his tender moan,
But breathe unto himself alone;
I envy to the world my name,
And puff away the strumpet Fame.
Beloved of virtue, and of ease;
Here die in peace, and lie unknown
Without a monument or stone.
My friend might shed one pious tear;
My image in his bosom bear;
Might breathe, in verse, his tender moan,
But breathe unto himself alone;
I envy to the world my name,
And puff away the strumpet Fame.
609
WRITTEN ON A BIRTH DAY.
Alas the years! how swift they roll,How swift they fly to Death's dark goal!
And let them roll, and let them fly,
I die but once—and let me die.
Arrived at last at twenty-two,
What honours rise upon my brow?
What have I done to raise my name,
And send to future times my fame?
No matter what—for this consoles,
That fame is but the breath of fools.
And what, alas! a name can do,
When I am cold, when I am low?
Shall I come back to hear my lays
Excite the critic's after-praise?
Behold me quoted in reviews,
Or posted up to fame in news?
Let Fame deny or grant the bays,
No censure I shall feel, nor praise.
610
Or purchase fame with loss of ease?
But still the soft Aönian maid
Invites me, smiling, to the shade:
“One song ere you lay by the lyre,
“Myself my poet will inspire.”
Away!—I own your power no more,
Away!—thou prostituted whore.
Your charming simpers, artful smiles,
Persuasive voice, and little wiles,
No more shall cause me hunt for fame,
Or seek that empty shade—a name.
THE MONUMENT.
In vain we toil for lasting fame,Or give to other times our name;
The bust itself shall soon be gone,
The figure moulder from the stone;
The plaintive strain, the moving lay,
Like those they mourn, at last decay:
My name a surer way shall live,
A surer way, my fair can give:
In her dear mem'ry let me live alone;
When Nisa dies, I wish not to be known.
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;
612
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.
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THE CAVE.
WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS.
The wind is up, the field is bare;
Some hermit lead me to his cell,
Where Contemplation, lonely fair,
With blessed Content has chose to dwell.
Some hermit lead me to his cell,
Where Contemplation, lonely fair,
With blessed Content has chose to dwell.
Behold! it opens to my sight,
Dark in the rock; beside the flood;
Dry fern around obstructs the light;
The winds above it move the wood.
Dark in the rock; beside the flood;
Dry fern around obstructs the light;
The winds above it move the wood.
Reflected in the lake I see
The downward mountains and the skies,
The flying bird, the waving tree,
The goats that on the hills arise.
The downward mountains and the skies,
The flying bird, the waving tree,
The goats that on the hills arise.
The grey-cloaked herd drives on the cow;
The slow-paced fowler walks the heath;
A freckled pointer scours the brow;
A musing shepherd stands beneath.
The slow-paced fowler walks the heath;
A freckled pointer scours the brow;
A musing shepherd stands beneath.
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Curve o'er the ruin of an oak,
The woodman lifts his axe on high,
The hills re-echo to the stroke;
I see, I see the shivers fly.
The woodman lifts his axe on high,
The hills re-echo to the stroke;
I see, I see the shivers fly.
Some rural maid, with apron full,
Brings fuel to the homely flame;
I see the smoky columns roll,
And through the chinky hut the beam.
Brings fuel to the homely flame;
I see the smoky columns roll,
And through the chinky hut the beam.
Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss,
Two well-met hunters talk at ease;
Three panting dogs beside repose;
One bleeding deer is stretched on grass.
Two well-met hunters talk at ease;
Three panting dogs beside repose;
One bleeding deer is stretched on grass.
A lake, at distance, spreads to sight,
Skirted with shady forests round,
In midst an island's rocky height
Sustains a ruin once renowned.
Skirted with shady forests round,
In midst an island's rocky height
Sustains a ruin once renowned.
One tree bends o'er the naked walls,
Two broad-winged eagles hover nigh,
By intervals a fragment falls,
As blows the blast along the sky.
Two broad-winged eagles hover nigh,
By intervals a fragment falls,
As blows the blast along the sky.
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Two rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide,
With lab'ring oars, along the flood;
An angler, bending o'er the tide,
Hangs from the boat th' insidious wood.
With lab'ring oars, along the flood;
An angler, bending o'er the tide,
Hangs from the boat th' insidious wood.
Beside the flood, beneath the rocks,
On grassy bank two lovers lean;
Bend on each other amorous looks,
And seem to laugh and kiss between.
On grassy bank two lovers lean;
Bend on each other amorous looks,
And seem to laugh and kiss between.
The wind is rustling in the oak;
They seem to hear the tread of feet;
They start, they rise, look round the rock;
Again they smile, again they meet.
They seem to hear the tread of feet;
They start, they rise, look round the rock;
Again they smile, again they meet.
But see! the grey mist from the lake
Ascends upon the shady hills;
Dark storms the murmuring forests shake,
Rain beats,—resound a hundred rills.
Ascends upon the shady hills;
Dark storms the murmuring forests shake,
Rain beats,—resound a hundred rills.
To Damon's homely hut I fly;
I see it smoking o'er the plain:
When storms are past,—and fair the sky,
I'll often seek my cave again.
I see it smoking o'er the plain:
When storms are past,—and fair the sky,
I'll often seek my cave again.
616
FRAGMENTS FROM TYRTÆUS.
FRAGMENT I.
I call the man unworthy of my praise,
Who wins the palm in wrestling or the race;
Should he excel in bulk and strength mankind,
Or in the course outstrip the Thracian wind;
Though Nature gave him Tithon's form divine,
And Asia poured him wealth from every mine;
Though Pelops' wide domains to him belong,
And more, Adrastus' eloquence of tongue;
Though fortune every other virtue gave,
And yet deny the greatest—to be brave.
And brave alone is he, who can sustain
The wild confusion of the bloody plain;
Can death and wounds behold with dire delight,
And shady legions moving to the fight.
For he alone a lasting name can raise,
And crown his early years with martial praise,
Who in the front of battle stands unmoved,
The bulwark of the country which he loved;
And loving, prodigal of life, to die,
Avoids no evil more than basely fly.
His great example shall the host inspire,
And thousands follow actions they admire.
Who wins the palm in wrestling or the race;
Should he excel in bulk and strength mankind,
Or in the course outstrip the Thracian wind;
Though Nature gave him Tithon's form divine,
And Asia poured him wealth from every mine;
Though Pelops' wide domains to him belong,
And more, Adrastus' eloquence of tongue;
Though fortune every other virtue gave,
And yet deny the greatest—to be brave.
And brave alone is he, who can sustain
The wild confusion of the bloody plain;
Can death and wounds behold with dire delight,
And shady legions moving to the fight.
For he alone a lasting name can raise,
And crown his early years with martial praise,
617
The bulwark of the country which he loved;
And loving, prodigal of life, to die,
Avoids no evil more than basely fly.
His great example shall the host inspire,
And thousands follow actions they admire.
He turns the phalanx of the foe to flight,
And rules, with martial art, the tide of fight:
And when he falls amid the field of fame,
He leaves behind a great and lasting name;
His sire, his country, shall with joy surround
His corse, and read their glory in his wound.
Both young and old shall sing his dirge of woe;
And his long fun'ral all the town pursue:
His tomb shall be revered: his children shine
Through every age, a long-extended line.
Ne'er shall his glory fade, or cease his fame;
Though laid in dust, immortal is his name,
Who never from the field of battle flies,
But for his children and his country dies.
But if the sable hand of death he shun,
Returning victor, with his glory won;
By young and old revered, his life he'll lead,
And full of honour sink among the dead:
Or with his growing years his fame shall grow,
And all shall reverence his head of snow.
The higher place from every youth he bears,
And age shall quit him all the claim of years.
Who then desires to rise to such a height,
Desires in vain, if he forget the fight.
And rules, with martial art, the tide of fight:
And when he falls amid the field of fame,
He leaves behind a great and lasting name;
His sire, his country, shall with joy surround
His corse, and read their glory in his wound.
Both young and old shall sing his dirge of woe;
And his long fun'ral all the town pursue:
His tomb shall be revered: his children shine
Through every age, a long-extended line.
Ne'er shall his glory fade, or cease his fame;
Though laid in dust, immortal is his name,
Who never from the field of battle flies,
But for his children and his country dies.
But if the sable hand of death he shun,
Returning victor, with his glory won;
By young and old revered, his life he'll lead,
And full of honour sink among the dead:
Or with his growing years his fame shall grow,
And all shall reverence his head of snow.
The higher place from every youth he bears,
And age shall quit him all the claim of years.
Who then desires to rise to such a height,
Desires in vain, if he forget the fight.
618
FRAGMENT II.
Ye, then, who boast Alcides' race divine,
Be strong; great Jove shall ne'er forsake his line.
Aided by Heav'n, no human prowess fear;
Exalt the shady buckler to the war.
But, bent on fate, what danger need you fly,
Or shun a death so grateful to the sky?
Ye knew the horrid work of arms before,
The dismal shock of battle oft ye bore;
Or when you fled, or when the field you won,
In each reverse to you is fortune known.
Be strong; great Jove shall ne'er forsake his line.
Aided by Heav'n, no human prowess fear;
Exalt the shady buckler to the war.
But, bent on fate, what danger need you fly,
Or shun a death so grateful to the sky?
Ye knew the horrid work of arms before,
The dismal shock of battle oft ye bore;
Or when you fled, or when the field you won,
In each reverse to you is fortune known.
For those who, in the front of battle, dare
Fight hand to hand, and bear the brunt of war,
But rarely fall.—Though dastards skulk behind,
The fate they shun still haunts the cow'rdly kind.
What mind can well conceive, or tongue relate,
The ills unnamed that on the truant wait?
To shun his fate when from the field he flies,
Pierced from behind, th' inglorious coward dies.
When prone he lies and gasping on the ground,
What shame, to see behind the gaping wound!
Fight hand to hand, and bear the brunt of war,
But rarely fall.—Though dastards skulk behind,
The fate they shun still haunts the cow'rdly kind.
What mind can well conceive, or tongue relate,
The ills unnamed that on the truant wait?
To shun his fate when from the field he flies,
Pierced from behind, th' inglorious coward dies.
When prone he lies and gasping on the ground,
What shame, to see behind the gaping wound!
But, firm to earth, let every warrior grow,
Strain his large limbs, and low'ring eye the foe;
Let every shield, a mighty round, displayed,
From head to foot the gathered warrior shade;
Each vig'rous hand the spear portended hold,
When dreadful nods above the casque of gold.
To mighty deeds let each his arm extend,
Nor dread the darts his buckler may defend.
To distance let him not project the spear,
But manage hand to hand the work of war;
Shield closed to shield, advance th' imbattled line,
Crest reach to crest, and casque to helmet join;
When, breast to breast, are stretched the ranks of war,
Hew them with swords, or break them with the spear.
Ye, whom no heavy panoplies inclose,
Discharge, at distance, stones against the foes,
And hurl with martial force the missive spear;
But near the phalanx, shun the closer war.
Strain his large limbs, and low'ring eye the foe;
Let every shield, a mighty round, displayed,
From head to foot the gathered warrior shade;
Each vig'rous hand the spear portended hold,
When dreadful nods above the casque of gold.
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Nor dread the darts his buckler may defend.
To distance let him not project the spear,
But manage hand to hand the work of war;
Shield closed to shield, advance th' imbattled line,
Crest reach to crest, and casque to helmet join;
When, breast to breast, are stretched the ranks of war,
Hew them with swords, or break them with the spear.
Ye, whom no heavy panoplies inclose,
Discharge, at distance, stones against the foes,
And hurl with martial force the missive spear;
But near the phalanx, shun the closer war.
FRAGMENT III.
How graceful lies the brave man on the plain,
Covered with wounds, and for his country slain!
But ah! expelled from home, how mean! how low!
Through foreign realms to lead a life of woe!
Strolling with parents sunk in wieldless years,
A helpless wife, and infants drowned in tears!
Condemned to want and shame, him all shall hate,
And drive the wand'rer from the closing gate.
His form he shall disgrace, his race, his blood,
By ills unnamed and infamy pursued.
Nor only is the dastard lost to fame,
But, what is worse, to all the sense of shame.
Covered with wounds, and for his country slain!
But ah! expelled from home, how mean! how low!
Through foreign realms to lead a life of woe!
Strolling with parents sunk in wieldless years,
A helpless wife, and infants drowned in tears!
Condemned to want and shame, him all shall hate,
And drive the wand'rer from the closing gate.
His form he shall disgrace, his race, his blood,
By ills unnamed and infamy pursued.
Nor only is the dastard lost to fame,
But, what is worse, to all the sense of shame.
But let us fight for Sparta while we may,
Nor spare a life which soon must pass away.
Collect your bands, ye warriors, closely fight;
Forget your fear; forget inglorious flight.
Let glory every martial bosom fill,
Nor value life when foes remain to kill.
Leave not the hoary vet'rans numbed with age,
Where burns the combat, and the thickest rage:
What shame! an aged warrior prone should lie,
Transfixed with wounds, when younger men are by;
His beard transformed, his wrinkled temples gray,
And breathe, in dust, his dauntless soul away?
Who can his hands behold, with shameless eyes,
Cov'ring his naked carcase as he lies,
Decent in death?—But all things youth become,
Whom nature covers with her fairest bloom;
Graceful, in life, to men and women's eyes;
Graceful, in death, when on the field he lies.
Then, once engaged, let every warrior grow
Firm to the earth, and low'r upon the foe.
Nor spare a life which soon must pass away.
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Forget your fear; forget inglorious flight.
Let glory every martial bosom fill,
Nor value life when foes remain to kill.
Leave not the hoary vet'rans numbed with age,
Where burns the combat, and the thickest rage:
What shame! an aged warrior prone should lie,
Transfixed with wounds, when younger men are by;
His beard transformed, his wrinkled temples gray,
And breathe, in dust, his dauntless soul away?
Who can his hands behold, with shameless eyes,
Cov'ring his naked carcase as he lies,
Decent in death?—But all things youth become,
Whom nature covers with her fairest bloom;
Graceful, in life, to men and women's eyes;
Graceful, in death, when on the field he lies.
Then, once engaged, let every warrior grow
Firm to the earth, and low'r upon the foe.
621
ANACREON, ODE IV. TRANSLATED.
On beds of tender myrtles laid,Or melelot, supinely spread,
I'll quaff the bowl; and, neatly dressed,
Young Cupid shall direct the feast.
Come! fill the bumper to the brim,
And heave away this load of time.
This little wheel of vital day
Shall shortly roll itself away;
And when we to the dust return,
How small our portion in the urn!
Why should you then anoint my stone?
Or earth with rich libations drown?
No: rather let my sleeky hair
The fragrant oil and chaplet wear,
While yet I live; with all her charms
Call too my fair-one to my arms;
And Love, before from hence I go,
To mingle with the shades below;
Here let me dissipate my care,
And leave my grief in upper air.
622
ANACREON, ODE VIII.
By night, on purple carpets spread,When Bacchus hovered in my head;
In dreams I seemed to stretch the race
With virgins of the fairest face;
While taunting youths at distance stood,
As fair as of immortal blood;
And ridiculed me for the fair,
But seemed to wish themselves were there.
Unheeding I pursue my bliss,
And try to snatch one balmy kiss,
When, all at once, the vision fled,
And left me hapless on the bed:
The promised bliss hung in my brain;
I turned, and wished to sleep again.
623
IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM DELIA.
Twice has the winter vexed the main,
And twice the summer parched the plain,
Since, absent from his Delia's eyes,
Remote the hapless poet sighs,
And sees the joyless seasons roll,
Far from the charmer of his soul.
And twice the summer parched the plain,
Since, absent from his Delia's eyes,
Remote the hapless poet sighs,
And sees the joyless seasons roll,
Far from the charmer of his soul.
In vain, to shroud thee from my eyes,
Or billows roll, or mountains rise,
When diving in the secret shade,
I see, in thought, my charming maid
In all the light of beauty move,
As when she warmed my heart to love:
Again her charms my soul surprise,
I feel the lightning of her eyes;
Her marble neck, her hair behold
Like winding tides of melted gold;
Still on her cheek the roses glow,
Still swells her breast of heaving snow.
The vision flies, delusive all!
From what a height poor mortals fall!
I wake to care—My fair no more
I see;—The winds around me roar;
Cold showers from sullen skies descend,
And storms the lofty forest rend;
I fly the tempest—leave the plain,
But oh! from love I fly in vain.
Or billows roll, or mountains rise,
When diving in the secret shade,
I see, in thought, my charming maid
In all the light of beauty move,
As when she warmed my heart to love:
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I feel the lightning of her eyes;
Her marble neck, her hair behold
Like winding tides of melted gold;
Still on her cheek the roses glow,
Still swells her breast of heaving snow.
The vision flies, delusive all!
From what a height poor mortals fall!
I wake to care—My fair no more
I see;—The winds around me roar;
Cold showers from sullen skies descend,
And storms the lofty forest rend;
I fly the tempest—leave the plain,
But oh! from love I fly in vain.
In crowds would I dissolve my care,
The peace I seek, I find not there.
My absent fair one prompts my sighs,
And calls the tears from both my eyes;
My heart beats thick against my side,
More swiftly rolls the crimson tide;
I sweat, I pant, my ears resound,
And vision dimly swims around.
I pine, I languish in my pain,
And scarce does half the man remain.
The peace I seek, I find not there.
My absent fair one prompts my sighs,
And calls the tears from both my eyes;
My heart beats thick against my side,
More swiftly rolls the crimson tide;
I sweat, I pant, my ears resound,
And vision dimly swims around.
I pine, I languish in my pain,
And scarce does half the man remain.
I eye the maids, the soft and gay,
And wish to look my soul away;
With other objects to supply
The fair, the adverse fates deny;
Ill were my fair by them supplied,—
Their form disgusts, but more their pride.
With haughty sneer they seem to say,
Away, dull impudence! away!
You look, you sigh, and weep in vain;
Go; woo some trull upon the plain.
With conscious shame I blush, I glow;
My Delia would not use me so—
And wish to look my soul away;
With other objects to supply
The fair, the adverse fates deny;
Ill were my fair by them supplied,—
Their form disgusts, but more their pride.
With haughty sneer they seem to say,
Away, dull impudence! away!
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Go; woo some trull upon the plain.
With conscious shame I blush, I glow;
My Delia would not use me so—
A packet!—'tis my Delia's hand—
What would my lovely maid command?
Am I my fair-one's tender care?
Love me!—What would you love, my dear?
No fair domains of mine are spread,
No lofty villa rears its head;
No lowing herds are heard afar,
Nor neighs the courser at my car;
No pageantry of state is mine,
I boast no nobles in my line;
My numbers are admired by none,
Or by the partial maid alone;
No beauties on my limbs arise,
Nor armed with lightning are my eyes:
Love me! what would you love, my dear?
A gen'rous heart—a mind sincere;
A soul that fortune's frowns defies,
Nor flatters fools I must despise,
Is all I boast, my charming fair!
Love me!—what would you love, my dear!
What would my lovely maid command?
Am I my fair-one's tender care?
Love me!—What would you love, my dear?
No fair domains of mine are spread,
No lofty villa rears its head;
No lowing herds are heard afar,
Nor neighs the courser at my car;
No pageantry of state is mine,
I boast no nobles in my line;
My numbers are admired by none,
Or by the partial maid alone;
No beauties on my limbs arise,
Nor armed with lightning are my eyes:
Love me! what would you love, my dear?
A gen'rous heart—a mind sincere;
A soul that fortune's frowns defies,
Nor flatters fools I must despise,
Is all I boast, my charming fair!
Love me!—what would you love, my dear!
626
A NIGHT-PIECE.
'Tis night: and storms the forest shake;
Dark roll the billows on the lake;
The whirlwind sweeps; descends the rain,
The torrents echo to the plain:
Through desert paths forlorn I stray,
And not a moon to light my way;
No friendly star with golden eye
Looks from the cieling of the sky.
Dark roll the billows on the lake;
The whirlwind sweeps; descends the rain,
The torrents echo to the plain:
Through desert paths forlorn I stray,
And not a moon to light my way;
No friendly star with golden eye
Looks from the cieling of the sky.
Here sounds an oak;—there spreads a plane;
Above, the rock defends the rain;
The murm'ring rill o'er pebbles flies,
The wind along the bramble sighs:
A fox is howling on the rock,
A screech-owl on a blasted oak:
The passing meteor lights the vale;
A spirit whispers on the gale,
Or beck'ning longs to breathe its care;
And ghastly horror rides the air.
Above, the rock defends the rain;
The murm'ring rill o'er pebbles flies,
The wind along the bramble sighs:
A fox is howling on the rock,
A screech-owl on a blasted oak:
The passing meteor lights the vale;
A spirit whispers on the gale,
Or beck'ning longs to breathe its care;
And ghastly horror rides the air.
A ruin! 'Twas of old the seat
Of heroes now resigned to fate;
Where often mirth relaxed the soul,
And midnight crowned the rosy bowl;
Where sprightly music swelled the sound,
While blooming beauty tript around.
They vanished, as they ne'er had been,
No lyre is heard, no maid is seen,
No more the tuneful lyrist warms,
Death long since rifled beauty's charms;
No warrior's martial size is shown,
Time moulders down the very stone;
With every blast the fragments fall,
And winds are blust'ring in the hall.
Of heroes now resigned to fate;
Where often mirth relaxed the soul,
And midnight crowned the rosy bowl;
627
While blooming beauty tript around.
They vanished, as they ne'er had been,
No lyre is heard, no maid is seen,
No more the tuneful lyrist warms,
Death long since rifled beauty's charms;
No warrior's martial size is shown,
Time moulders down the very stone;
With every blast the fragments fall,
And winds are blust'ring in the hall.
Unhappy man! how short his date,
He springs to light, and sinks in fate;
Ev'n from the womb, the tomb is seen;
And sorrow fills the space between.
Bid paltry riches glut his eye,
Or empty glory raise him high;
Bid him in wrangling senates glow,
Or turn the batt'ry on the foe;
Yet, high or low, 'tis mankind's lot,
To live in grief, and die forgot.
He springs to light, and sinks in fate;
Ev'n from the womb, the tomb is seen;
And sorrow fills the space between.
Bid paltry riches glut his eye,
Or empty glory raise him high;
Bid him in wrangling senates glow,
Or turn the batt'ry on the foe;
Yet, high or low, 'tis mankind's lot,
To live in grief, and die forgot.
Go, on the stone inscribe thy name,
And to the marble trust thy fame;
Bid half the mountain form thy tomb,
The wonder of the times to come;
The mound shall sink, the stone decay,
The sculptured figure wear away;
The bust that proudly speaks thy praise,
Some shepherd's future cot may raise;
While, smiling round, his infant son
Admires the figures on the stone.
And to the marble trust thy fame;
Bid half the mountain form thy tomb,
The wonder of the times to come;
The mound shall sink, the stone decay,
The sculptured figure wear away;
The bust that proudly speaks thy praise,
Some shepherd's future cot may raise;
While, smiling round, his infant son
Admires the figures on the stone.
A tomb its dreary honour shows!
Three stones exalt their heads of moss;
A bust, half-sunk in earth, appears,
The rude remains of former years;
Dry tufts of grass around it rise,
The wind along the brushwood sighs,
Now peeping from the cloudy pole,
The moon has silvered o'er the whole.
Three stones exalt their heads of moss;
A bust, half-sunk in earth, appears,
The rude remains of former years;
Dry tufts of grass around it rise,
The wind along the brushwood sighs,
628
The moon has silvered o'er the whole.
Here, hoar tradition tells, repose
Two youths the dread of Albion's foes,
Of other times the grace and pride,
Who saved their country when they died;
But rolling time has lost their name,
So faithless is the breath of fame.
That light! it issues from the cot,
Be grief suspended,—care forgot:
There Nisa for her lover sighs,
And rolls on night her wishful eyes:
Why has my ling'ring rover stayed?
I come, I come, my lovely maid,
To feast my eyes on all your charms,
And lose my sorrow in your arms.
Two youths the dread of Albion's foes,
Of other times the grace and pride,
Who saved their country when they died;
But rolling time has lost their name,
So faithless is the breath of fame.
That light! it issues from the cot,
Be grief suspended,—care forgot:
There Nisa for her lover sighs,
And rolls on night her wishful eyes:
Why has my ling'ring rover stayed?
I come, I come, my lovely maid,
To feast my eyes on all your charms,
And lose my sorrow in your arms.
629
VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY.
When half the nation round Almira sighs,
And sense secures the conquest of her eyes,
Why bids the nymph a muse unknown to fame
To grace her numbers with so fair a name?
Or would the maid add lustre to my lays?
Or shew the world how weakly I can praise?
And sense secures the conquest of her eyes,
Why bids the nymph a muse unknown to fame
To grace her numbers with so fair a name?
Or would the maid add lustre to my lays?
Or shew the world how weakly I can praise?
The muse disclaimed, and all the powers of song,
The rapture vanished, and the lyre unstrung;
I left to other bards their groves of bays,
And sacrificed my hopes of fame to ease.
Nor Delia's charms could bid my numbers rise,
Nor caught my soul the fire of Chloe's eyes;
On Mira's cheek in vain did roses glow,
And Chloris heaved, unsung, her breast of snow;
Almira only could my breast inflame,
Were but my strength proportioned to my theme.
The rapture vanished, and the lyre unstrung;
I left to other bards their groves of bays,
And sacrificed my hopes of fame to ease.
Nor Delia's charms could bid my numbers rise,
Nor caught my soul the fire of Chloe's eyes;
On Mira's cheek in vain did roses glow,
And Chloris heaved, unsung, her breast of snow;
Almira only could my breast inflame,
Were but my strength proportioned to my theme.
Grant then I sung, what honour could I pay,
Where every grace displayed prevents the lay?
Thee first in beauty, sighing thousands own;
And thou art stranger to thy worth alone:
Charms after charms in fair succession rise,
Thy wit pursues the progress of thine eyes;
Each love-sick youth, without the poet's art,
Beholds enough to rob him of his heart;
The muse despairs to make thee brighter shine,
Or give one beauty not already thine.
Where every grace displayed prevents the lay?
Thee first in beauty, sighing thousands own;
And thou art stranger to thy worth alone:
630
Thy wit pursues the progress of thine eyes;
Each love-sick youth, without the poet's art,
Beholds enough to rob him of his heart;
The muse despairs to make thee brighter shine,
Or give one beauty not already thine.
Permit me then, since useless are my lays,
To give my adoration for my praise;
With other youths, the pleasing pain to prove;
Though hope, alas! can never lodge with love:
Let me admire the charms I'll ne'er possess;
And eye, in rapture, what I can't express.
To give my adoration for my praise;
With other youths, the pleasing pain to prove;
Though hope, alas! can never lodge with love:
Let me admire the charms I'll ne'er possess;
And eye, in rapture, what I can't express.
631
FRAGMENT OF A NORTHERN TALE.
Where Harold, with golden hair, spread o'er LochlinWhere Harold, with golden hair, spread o'er Lochlin his high commands; where, with justice, he ruled the tribes, who sunk, subdued, beneath his sword; abrupt rises Gormal in snow! The tempests roll dark on his sides, but calm, above, his vast forehead appears. White-issuing from the skirt of his storms, the troubled torrents pour down his sides. Joining, as they roar along, they bear the Torno, in foam, to the main.
Grey on the bank and far from men, half-covered by ancient pines from the wind, a lonely pile exalts its head, long-shaken by the storms of the north. To this fled Sigurd, fierce in fight, from Harold the leader of armies, when fate had brightened his spear with renown: When he conquered in that rude field, where Lulan's warriors fell in blood, or rose, in terror, on the waves of the main. Darkly sat the grey-haired chief; yet sorrow dwelt not in his soul. But
632
One daughter, and only one, but bright in form and mild of soul, the last beam of the setting line, remained to Sigurd of all his race. His son, in Lulan's battle slain, beheld not his father's flight from his foes. Nor finished seemed the ancient line! The splendid beauty of bright-eyed Fithon covered still the fallen king with renown. Her arm was white like Gormal's snow; her bosom whiter than the foam of the main, when roll the waves beneath the wrath of the winds. Like two stars were her radiant eyes, like two stars that rise on the deep, when dark tumult embroils the night. Pleasant are their beams aloft, as stately they ascend the skies.
Nor Odin forgot, in aught, the maid. Her form scarce equalled her lofty mind. Awe moved around her stately steps. Heroes loved—but shrunk away in their fears. Yet midst the pride of all her charms, her heart was soft, and her soul was kind. She saw the mournful with tearful eyes. Transient darkness arose in her breast. Her joy was in the chace. Each morning, when doubtful light wandered dimly on Lulan's waves, she rouzed the resounding woods, to Gormal's head of snow. Nor moved the maid alone, &c.
THE SAME VERSIFIED.
Where fair-haired Harold o'er Scandinia reigned,
And held, with justice, what his valour gained,
Sevo, in snow, his rugged forehead rears,
And, o'er the warfare of his storms, appears
Abrupt and vast. White-wandering down his side
A thousand torrents, gleaming as they glide,
Unite below; and pouring through the plain
Hurry the troubled Torno to the main.
And held, with justice, what his valour gained,
Sevo, in snow, his rugged forehead rears,
And, o'er the warfare of his storms, appears
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A thousand torrents, gleaming as they glide,
Unite below; and pouring through the plain
Hurry the troubled Torno to the main.
Grey, on the bank, remote from human kind,
By aged pines half sheltered from the wind,
A homely mansion rose, of antique form,
For ages battered by the polar storm.
To this fierce Sigurd fled from Norway's lord,
When fortune settled on the warrior's sword,
In that rude field where Suecia's chiefs were slain;
Or forced to wander o'er the Bothnic main.
Dark was his life, yet undisturbed with woes;
But when the memory of defeat arose,
His proud heart struck his side; he graspt the spear,
And wounded Harold in the vacant air.
By aged pines half sheltered from the wind,
A homely mansion rose, of antique form,
For ages battered by the polar storm.
To this fierce Sigurd fled from Norway's lord,
When fortune settled on the warrior's sword,
In that rude field where Suecia's chiefs were slain;
Or forced to wander o'er the Bothnic main.
Dark was his life, yet undisturbed with woes;
But when the memory of defeat arose,
His proud heart struck his side; he graspt the spear,
And wounded Harold in the vacant air.
One daughter only, but of form divine,
The last fair beam of the departing line,
Remained of Sigurd's race. His warlike son
Fell in the shock which overturned the throne.
Nor desolate the house! Fionia's charms
Sustained the glory, which they lost in arms.
White was her arm, as Sevo's lofty snow,
Her bosom fairer than the waves below,
When heaving to the winds. Her radiant eyes
Like two bright stars, exulting as they rise,
O'er the dark tumult of a stormy night,
And gladdening heaven, with their majestic light.
The last fair beam of the departing line,
Remained of Sigurd's race. His warlike son
Fell in the shock which overturned the throne.
Nor desolate the house! Fionia's charms
Sustained the glory, which they lost in arms.
White was her arm, as Sevo's lofty snow,
Her bosom fairer than the waves below,
When heaving to the winds. Her radiant eyes
Like two bright stars, exulting as they rise,
O'er the dark tumult of a stormy night,
And gladdening heaven, with their majestic light.
In nought is Odin to the maid unkind,
Her form scarce equals her exalted mind;
Awe leads her sacred steps where'er they move,
And mankind worship where they dare not love.
But, mixed with softness, was the virgin's pride,
Her heart had feelings which her eyes denied.
Her bright tears started at another's woes,
While transient darkness on her soul arose.
Her form scarce equals her exalted mind;
Awe leads her sacred steps where'er they move,
And mankind worship where they dare not love.
But, mixed with softness, was the virgin's pride,
Her heart had feelings which her eyes denied.
Her bright tears started at another's woes,
While transient darkness on her soul arose.
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The chace she loved; when morn, with doubtful beam,
Came dimly wandering o'er the Bothnic stream,
On Sevo's sounding sides she bent the bow,
And rouzed his forests to his head of snow.
Nor moved the maid alone, &c.
Came dimly wandering o'er the Bothnic stream,
On Sevo's sounding sides she bent the bow,
And rouzed his forests to his head of snow.
Nor moved the maid alone, &c.
FINIS.
| The poems of Ossian | |