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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 | The poems of Ossian |  |
443
DEATH:
A POEM.
445
Come melancholy, soul-o'erwhelming power!
Woe's sable child! sweet meditation come;
Come, pensive gaited, from thy hermit cell,
Brood wide o'er life, and all its transient joys,
The noisy follies, and corroding strifes:
Shut the pleas'd ear from harmony and song;
And from the heart ensnaring voice of fame.
Woe's sable child! sweet meditation come;
Come, pensive gaited, from thy hermit cell,
Brood wide o'er life, and all its transient joys,
The noisy follies, and corroding strifes:
Shut the pleas'd ear from harmony and song;
And from the heart ensnaring voice of fame.
446
They come, they come! I seem through fields to rove,
Sacred to woe, where Sorrow, sable shade!
Looks pensive to the uncomfortable ground.
On the soft breezes die the doleful notes,
And swell the soul with doleful harmony.
O life! how many are thy sons? how few
Pursue the paths of happiness, though here
The goddess reigns acceptable to all?
Enraptured in the solemn maze of thought,
My soul is all attention; Fancy reigns,
And spreads before my view the flower-like race
Of mortals; folly, pride, and luxury,
Enwrap them round, till Death, impartial, shall
Deal the sure stroke, and seize the gasping prey.
Sacred to woe, where Sorrow, sable shade!
Looks pensive to the uncomfortable ground.
On the soft breezes die the doleful notes,
And swell the soul with doleful harmony.
O life! how many are thy sons? how few
Pursue the paths of happiness, though here
The goddess reigns acceptable to all?
Enraptured in the solemn maze of thought,
My soul is all attention; Fancy reigns,
And spreads before my view the flower-like race
Of mortals; folly, pride, and luxury,
Enwrap them round, till Death, impartial, shall
Deal the sure stroke, and seize the gasping prey.
High from an iron car, the gloomy king
Outstretches o'er the world his hagard eye.
His jaws, wide parting, open to the fill
Of sad oblivion—sable mantled shade!
At the dark chink the undistinguish'd throng
Enter, of maids, gay youths, and tottering age.
In gloomy pomp, array'd before their king,
Fear, grisly Terror, shivering Dismay,
And cloud-envelop'd Horror, gloomy stand.
When far before, by sable Fate empowered,
With wanton glee, and fool-insnaring grace,
A soft deluding fair disarms the strong,
And throws the brave into the jaws of death.
The sons of pride, her Happiness, but men
Call her Intemp'rance, daughter of this age,
Got on Prosperity, born on the banks
Of ill-used Liberty, and nursed up
By Plenty, Indolence, and Gallantry,
By Looks lascivious, by luxurious Ease.
Behind her comes Consumption—meagre ghost!
With slow, weak, languid pace, and self-devour'd;
Born drooping on a tedious flux of time,
With pain deep loaden, sluggish flowing down:
Then ulcers, swellings, apoplectic fits,
Convulsive trances, fever scorching hot,
The sage Physician—all a gloomy train!
Their general parent follow; while grim Death,
Wide-wasting Terror! shuts the dismal scene.
Outstretches o'er the world his hagard eye.
His jaws, wide parting, open to the fill
Of sad oblivion—sable mantled shade!
At the dark chink the undistinguish'd throng
Enter, of maids, gay youths, and tottering age.
In gloomy pomp, array'd before their king,
Fear, grisly Terror, shivering Dismay,
And cloud-envelop'd Horror, gloomy stand.
When far before, by sable Fate empowered,
With wanton glee, and fool-insnaring grace,
A soft deluding fair disarms the strong,
And throws the brave into the jaws of death.
447
Call her Intemp'rance, daughter of this age,
Got on Prosperity, born on the banks
Of ill-used Liberty, and nursed up
By Plenty, Indolence, and Gallantry,
By Looks lascivious, by luxurious Ease.
Behind her comes Consumption—meagre ghost!
With slow, weak, languid pace, and self-devour'd;
Born drooping on a tedious flux of time,
With pain deep loaden, sluggish flowing down:
Then ulcers, swellings, apoplectic fits,
Convulsive trances, fever scorching hot,
The sage Physician—all a gloomy train!
Their general parent follow; while grim Death,
Wide-wasting Terror! shuts the dismal scene.
Already from the noise of life remov'd,
Does Damon seek the solitary shade,
Woe's gloomy haunts? does Contemplation please
The youthful soul, and love imbibing heart?
Ah, no! far other cares the soul invade,
Whelm the sad breast, and melt the tearful eyes.
Still sighing youth! how languid, pale, and wan,
Unsanguine, meagre, lifeless, loveless, sad?
Does Damon seek the solitary shade,
Woe's gloomy haunts? does Contemplation please
The youthful soul, and love imbibing heart?
Ah, no! far other cares the soul invade,
Whelm the sad breast, and melt the tearful eyes.
Still sighing youth! how languid, pale, and wan,
Unsanguine, meagre, lifeless, loveless, sad?
Here, through the desolated streets, the crowds,
Half-naked, fly from home; and born in streams
The young Doricles left his joy behind,
The blooming Daphne! memory starts up
Of former love, and now defenceless charms.
He starts, he views, he flies; no dangers fright
But those of Daphne: her he shivering found,
Rock'd in the tottering hall; her azure eyes,
Like two fair fountains, watered the plain
Of roses on her cheek. He clasp'd her round,
And bore, through death, the lovely prize away.
Death, death might pity, could but death relent:
The field appears, and joy begins to dawn;
When from a tottering roof a fragment falls,
And crush'd the lovely Daphne in his arms!
How did Doricles stand aghast! How beat,
With broken sighs, his sorrow-wounded breast!
Still, still he grasps the dying innocent;
Yet sweet in death, and lovely in decay.
Death once felt pity, stretched his sable hand,
Shook the high tow'r, and sunk him with the blow.
Half-naked, fly from home; and born in streams
The young Doricles left his joy behind,
The blooming Daphne! memory starts up
Of former love, and now defenceless charms.
He starts, he views, he flies; no dangers fright
But those of Daphne: her he shivering found,
Rock'd in the tottering hall; her azure eyes,
Like two fair fountains, watered the plain
Of roses on her cheek. He clasp'd her round,
And bore, through death, the lovely prize away.
448
The field appears, and joy begins to dawn;
When from a tottering roof a fragment falls,
And crush'd the lovely Daphne in his arms!
How did Doricles stand aghast! How beat,
With broken sighs, his sorrow-wounded breast!
Still, still he grasps the dying innocent;
Yet sweet in death, and lovely in decay.
Death once felt pity, stretched his sable hand,
Shook the high tow'r, and sunk him with the blow.
Thus, when the younger bears the parent stork,
On wearied pinions through the fluid air,
Some greedy fowler wings the deathful shaft,
And brings them lifeless, fluttering to the ground.
On wearied pinions through the fluid air,
Some greedy fowler wings the deathful shaft,
And brings them lifeless, fluttering to the ground.
A horrid form, in hell's deep track enchained
By the Almighty hand, till wickedness
Broke the firm cords, and loos'd the grisly fiend,
With sounding pinions, riding on the air,
Death's sable sister, withering Pestilence,
Clang'd her black wings o'er earth. The nations die:
The rich, the poor, the feeble, and the great,
Promiscuous throng: here, in the hall of state,
The wither'd monarch drops the wand of power:
There drops the easy-blasted plume of pride;
And wit, half-uttered, dies upon the tongue.
The uplifted tool drops from the tradesman's hand:
Himself out-stretched in death: his youthful spouse
Cries, save us Heaven! It was the last she said,
And drop'd, disfigured, in the jaws of death.
Breathless the mother lies, while on her breast
The child hangs weeping: there the blooming youth
Stumbles to death; the father spreads his hands
To save his son, and is enwrapt in fate.
By the Almighty hand, till wickedness
Broke the firm cords, and loos'd the grisly fiend,
With sounding pinions, riding on the air,
Death's sable sister, withering Pestilence,
Clang'd her black wings o'er earth. The nations die:
The rich, the poor, the feeble, and the great,
Promiscuous throng: here, in the hall of state,
The wither'd monarch drops the wand of power:
There drops the easy-blasted plume of pride;
And wit, half-uttered, dies upon the tongue.
The uplifted tool drops from the tradesman's hand:
Himself out-stretched in death: his youthful spouse
Cries, save us Heaven! It was the last she said,
And drop'd, disfigured, in the jaws of death.
Breathless the mother lies, while on her breast
The child hangs weeping: there the blooming youth
Stumbles to death; the father spreads his hands
To save his son, and is enwrapt in fate.
Hence desolation spreads the awful wing
O'er kingdoms; thence shall rough brow'd Ruin reign
O'er the dispeopled earth, and Wealth and Power,
Pomp, Pleasure, Pageantry, the sister train
Of Vanity, become the slaves of Death.
O'er kingdoms; thence shall rough brow'd Ruin reign
449
Pomp, Pleasure, Pageantry, the sister train
Of Vanity, become the slaves of Death.
Drear solitude he loves; while Memory,
Officious recorder! brings to view
The pleasing phantom of preterite joy:
But Pain and Sorrow, sister twins, start up,
And shew how weak, how feeble now! how chang'd
From what he was: Death takes the hint, and comes;
Ah! now he nods; eternal sleep o'erwhelms
His eyes; his breath, short-panting, scarcely heaves
His breast. But, hark! that sigh! the soul is fled;
The mournful form sinks pale into the grave.
Ah! what avail these sable flowing locks,
The air of pride; the folly-moving tongue,
That gaudy shell, and these deluding eyes,
The graceful form, and fair ensnaring port?
In vain sweet Delia rends her flowing locks,
Or heaves her breast, or melts her azure eyes;
In vain! relentless Death is never mov'd.
No more that youthful blood shall circling rise,
And, love-creative, warm that pallid corse;
No more that wit will cheer the unthinking heart;
And that shut eye will roll its airs no more.
Now sad remembrance calls to Delia's view,
These plays, these concerts, nightly masquerades;
That love, that wit, these dear deluding smiles,
Where Damon was, that cheer'd the raptur'd soul:
But now no more! these fleeting joys are fled.
Fond memory mourns, crush'd by a load of woe.
Is Damon gone, and Delia left behind?
Is Damon dead, and Delia feed on air?
Dear hapless youth, thy Delia seems unkind,
And hugs her life and you enwrapt in fate.
Come, sable Death! thou ever gentle shade,
Come, woe's kind soother, still the sting of grief,
Enwrap the mournful mind, and triumph o'er,
Or what is sweet on earth, or what can love,
She said; grew pale, the blooming roses dy'd
On her wan cheek; and now her shivering limbs
Felt Death's chill hand. Involved in a cloud
Or spicy breath, the soul, complaining, fled.
Officious recorder! brings to view
The pleasing phantom of preterite joy:
But Pain and Sorrow, sister twins, start up,
And shew how weak, how feeble now! how chang'd
From what he was: Death takes the hint, and comes;
Ah! now he nods; eternal sleep o'erwhelms
His eyes; his breath, short-panting, scarcely heaves
His breast. But, hark! that sigh! the soul is fled;
The mournful form sinks pale into the grave.
Ah! what avail these sable flowing locks,
The air of pride; the folly-moving tongue,
That gaudy shell, and these deluding eyes,
The graceful form, and fair ensnaring port?
In vain sweet Delia rends her flowing locks,
Or heaves her breast, or melts her azure eyes;
In vain! relentless Death is never mov'd.
No more that youthful blood shall circling rise,
And, love-creative, warm that pallid corse;
No more that wit will cheer the unthinking heart;
And that shut eye will roll its airs no more.
Now sad remembrance calls to Delia's view,
These plays, these concerts, nightly masquerades;
That love, that wit, these dear deluding smiles,
Where Damon was, that cheer'd the raptur'd soul:
But now no more! these fleeting joys are fled.
Fond memory mourns, crush'd by a load of woe.
Is Damon gone, and Delia left behind?
Is Damon dead, and Delia feed on air?
450
And hugs her life and you enwrapt in fate.
Come, sable Death! thou ever gentle shade,
Come, woe's kind soother, still the sting of grief,
Enwrap the mournful mind, and triumph o'er,
Or what is sweet on earth, or what can love,
She said; grew pale, the blooming roses dy'd
On her wan cheek; and now her shivering limbs
Felt Death's chill hand. Involved in a cloud
Or spicy breath, the soul, complaining, fled.
Thus, in the valley, a sweet-smelling flower
Exults, the blooming daughter of the spring,
Till, blasted with the breath of the north, it bows,
Droops, withers, dies, press'd in the jaws of death.
Exults, the blooming daughter of the spring,
Till, blasted with the breath of the north, it bows,
Droops, withers, dies, press'd in the jaws of death.
O life-destroying, cannot beauty please,
Imprint compassion on the rigid brow,
And blunt the edge of fate? Ah! no; in vain
Rolls the soft eye, forth-darting all its love;
In vain shall tears bedew the rosy cheek,
Or the world-firing snowy bosom heave:
Pity, soft pity! dreads thy awful reign,
And far from thee melts on the field of life.
O Temperance divine, neglected fair!
O ever-loving mate of happiness,
Sweet nurse of virtue, mother of long days,
Why fled? O mildness, from these iron times,
Return, return, and save a sinking age;
Sinew the arm effeminate, repulse
Death in thy absence, until Nature, tir'd,
Shall stoop the hoary head, and wish for sleep.
Imprint compassion on the rigid brow,
And blunt the edge of fate? Ah! no; in vain
Rolls the soft eye, forth-darting all its love;
In vain shall tears bedew the rosy cheek,
Or the world-firing snowy bosom heave:
Pity, soft pity! dreads thy awful reign,
And far from thee melts on the field of life.
O Temperance divine, neglected fair!
O ever-loving mate of happiness,
Sweet nurse of virtue, mother of long days,
Why fled? O mildness, from these iron times,
Return, return, and save a sinking age;
Sinew the arm effeminate, repulse
Death in thy absence, until Nature, tir'd,
Shall stoop the hoary head, and wish for sleep.
Scarce from this doleful scene I turn my eye,
When o'er the wounded mind new horrors rise.
Disease and pain, these sable scouts of death,
For ever sting the unhappy race of men.
Hark! hear that cry dolorous, tun'd by Woe,
That grates the ear! 'Tis sure the voice of Pain.
How doleful! that desponding wretch, outstretch'd
On torment's bed! He raves, he grins insane,
He grasps and tears in madness! Reason flies;
How fierce his looks! how loud he howls! But see
How life low ebbs, and strength itself gives way!
The silent shade prevails: How faint, how weak,
How low that voice that once battalions shook
With iron tone! how feeble is that arm
Robust, that often foil'd his country's foe!
But hear that groan! it seems the last farewell.
Of life departing—All is calm, and he
Inhiant, slumbers in eternal rest.
When o'er the wounded mind new horrors rise.
Disease and pain, these sable scouts of death,
For ever sting the unhappy race of men.
451
That grates the ear! 'Tis sure the voice of Pain.
How doleful! that desponding wretch, outstretch'd
On torment's bed! He raves, he grins insane,
He grasps and tears in madness! Reason flies;
How fierce his looks! how loud he howls! But see
How life low ebbs, and strength itself gives way!
The silent shade prevails: How faint, how weak,
How low that voice that once battalions shook
With iron tone! how feeble is that arm
Robust, that often foil'd his country's foe!
But hear that groan! it seems the last farewell.
Of life departing—All is calm, and he
Inhiant, slumbers in eternal rest.
So, should a shepherd find the lordly pride
Of beasts asleep, he latent gives the wound.
He starts, roars loud, and waves his angry mane;
Falls, wallows, roars, and in a groan expires.
Of beasts asleep, he latent gives the wound.
He starts, roars loud, and waves his angry mane;
Falls, wallows, roars, and in a groan expires.
O man! what is thy boast? A beauteous face?
That soon is blasted. Strength itself decays.
Strong is the foe, and all his allies strong.
Ev'n Nature's self and elements combine
With death, with force confederate. Hapless man!
How fallen, fallen from that high estate
Of innocence and love, thy prior boon:
When Pleasure stretched the untainted wing
O'er fields of bliss; where fair Content and Joy,
With Meditation and Serenity,
Led the eternal choir, and Virtue smil'd
To see her children sport; when, far removed,
Death pin'd in hell's deep bounds: But, oh the pow'r
Of vile ambition, virtue-hated fiend!
Heaven's changed to hell, and death to life preferr'd;
Hatred to love, and vice to innocence;
Content, and virtue, and serenity,
Are chang'd to folly, woe, and gloomy thought.
That soon is blasted. Strength itself decays.
Strong is the foe, and all his allies strong.
Ev'n Nature's self and elements combine
With death, with force confederate. Hapless man!
How fallen, fallen from that high estate
Of innocence and love, thy prior boon:
When Pleasure stretched the untainted wing
O'er fields of bliss; where fair Content and Joy,
With Meditation and Serenity,
Led the eternal choir, and Virtue smil'd
To see her children sport; when, far removed,
Death pin'd in hell's deep bounds: But, oh the pow'r
Of vile ambition, virtue-hated fiend!
Heaven's changed to hell, and death to life preferr'd;
Hatred to love, and vice to innocence;
Content, and virtue, and serenity,
452
Escap'd from hell once, Discord gnashed her teeth,
And roll'd her glaring eyes: the nations quake,
Affrighted peace the sinful earth foregoes,
And truth is gone: Death recognised the sign,
Smiles grimly, and begins to whet his shafts;
Then o'er Hiberian floods, with mighty noise,
Self-balanced, through midheaven wings his way,
Eager for war. The affrighted waves subside,
And with retreating hosts invade the earth:
Earth dreads, and shivers from her inmost womb;
Her mountains tremble, and her rough rocks fall
Thundering along the ground; while through the chink
Flames subterraneous flash, smoke wraps the sky,
Domes throw their stately towers to earth; men groan,
Torn in the jaws of death; half-stiffl'd cries
Of suffocated infants, from the embrace
Of cold maternal arms, invade the ear.
And roll'd her glaring eyes: the nations quake,
Affrighted peace the sinful earth foregoes,
And truth is gone: Death recognised the sign,
Smiles grimly, and begins to whet his shafts;
Then o'er Hiberian floods, with mighty noise,
Self-balanced, through midheaven wings his way,
Eager for war. The affrighted waves subside,
And with retreating hosts invade the earth:
Earth dreads, and shivers from her inmost womb;
Her mountains tremble, and her rough rocks fall
Thundering along the ground; while through the chink
Flames subterraneous flash, smoke wraps the sky,
Domes throw their stately towers to earth; men groan,
Torn in the jaws of death; half-stiffl'd cries
Of suffocated infants, from the embrace
Of cold maternal arms, invade the ear.
Nor are these only foes to hapless man:
Man, man himself is still his greatest foe!
Man first brought death; and man pursues the trade,
And by themselves unhappy mortals die.
War, man destroying, on an iron car,
Death's eldest brother, scours along the world:
Before, Contention brandishes her stings;
Fear, pallid shade! and feet-compelling flight,
Sit on his brow, and cloud-envelop'd Woe,
With heavy steps, pursues the bloody king.
Upborne on Death, and on the pride of kings,
The frightful monster shakes the solid tow'rs
Of state, and nations at one morsel churns.
Man, man himself is still his greatest foe!
Man first brought death; and man pursues the trade,
And by themselves unhappy mortals die.
War, man destroying, on an iron car,
Death's eldest brother, scours along the world:
Before, Contention brandishes her stings;
Fear, pallid shade! and feet-compelling flight,
Sit on his brow, and cloud-envelop'd Woe,
With heavy steps, pursues the bloody king.
Upborne on Death, and on the pride of kings,
The frightful monster shakes the solid tow'rs
Of state, and nations at one morsel churns.
See, on that field two gloomy hostile bands
Frown terribly, in awful silence mute;
While breathing winds sigh through the upright arms,
And in each sigh a whispering sp'rit foretells
The coward's fate. But, hark! the clarion sounds.
Ah! see each phalanx gloomily incedes;
They rush together! Gleaming arms afar
Reflect the light; and dying groans, confus'd
With iron clangour, wound the patient heart.
See how they fall! This in his manly breast
Receives the spear, and, groaning, falls in death:
Through Damon's body glides the deathful shaft,
And sinks him lifeless to the spreading arms
Of sighing friends; here, through the parting skull,
The shining blade descends; he, roaring, falls,
Shakes the firm earth, and spreads his trembling limbs.
Blood forms a lake around him; gasping life
Heaves up the corse, and spurts the foaming blood.
Frown terribly, in awful silence mute;
While breathing winds sigh through the upright arms,
And in each sigh a whispering sp'rit foretells
453
Ah! see each phalanx gloomily incedes;
They rush together! Gleaming arms afar
Reflect the light; and dying groans, confus'd
With iron clangour, wound the patient heart.
See how they fall! This in his manly breast
Receives the spear, and, groaning, falls in death:
Through Damon's body glides the deathful shaft,
And sinks him lifeless to the spreading arms
Of sighing friends; here, through the parting skull,
The shining blade descends; he, roaring, falls,
Shakes the firm earth, and spreads his trembling limbs.
Blood forms a lake around him; gasping life
Heaves up the corse, and spurts the foaming blood.
Thus, when the fisher hauls the finny prize
To land, and throws it gasping on the shore,
The dying fish his quivering body heaves,
Dashing the watry relicks of the tide.
To land, and throws it gasping on the shore,
The dying fish his quivering body heaves,
Dashing the watry relicks of the tide.
See! bright in arms, along the iron field
The stately young Philanthes drives the foe;
No thirst of fame, no lion-hearted thought
Prompts on the youth—nought but his country's love.
Hear how they groan! what deaths his conquering arm
Pours down, impetuous, on the fright'ned foe!
But, ah! surrounded in the fierce embrace
Of men, in vain he whirls the shining blade.
Ah, mangled! mangled! See! see how he falls!
How his great soul, her loved associate rears
Reluctant, window'd; feeble for the weight
Of foul mortality, the spirit flies.
Yet wing'd to life, she cries, Save, Heavens save!
Save! save my country, was the last he said.
The stately young Philanthes drives the foe;
No thirst of fame, no lion-hearted thought
Prompts on the youth—nought but his country's love.
Hear how they groan! what deaths his conquering arm
Pours down, impetuous, on the fright'ned foe!
But, ah! surrounded in the fierce embrace
Of men, in vain he whirls the shining blade.
Ah, mangled! mangled! See! see how he falls!
How his great soul, her loved associate rears
Reluctant, window'd; feeble for the weight
Of foul mortality, the spirit flies.
454
Save! save my country, was the last he said.
The young Lysander saw his brother fall,
And sorrow spread a cloud around his eyes.
Save, save Philanthes! save, my brother save!
Relent, O foe! relent, and spare the youth!
But, if soft pity melts not in your breasts,
Turn, turn your shafts; pierce, pierce Lysander! pierce
The unhappy brother! this the boon I crave.
He said; he leap'd, he rushed, he sweeps along
Amidst the embattled throng; there, there he raves
O'er hills of slain, till, overpower'd by fate,
He breathless falls, and grasps Philanthes' corse.
Not death itself could quench fraternal love.
And sorrow spread a cloud around his eyes.
Save, save Philanthes! save, my brother save!
Relent, O foe! relent, and spare the youth!
But, if soft pity melts not in your breasts,
Turn, turn your shafts; pierce, pierce Lysander! pierce
The unhappy brother! this the boon I crave.
He said; he leap'd, he rushed, he sweeps along
Amidst the embattled throng; there, there he raves
O'er hills of slain, till, overpower'd by fate,
He breathless falls, and grasps Philanthes' corse.
Not death itself could quench fraternal love.
So, when her whelps the furious lioness
Views dying, roaring, 'midst the hunter throng,
She furious rolls her angry eyes; then leaps
Undaunted, tearing; but at length she falls
By strokes redoubl'd, 'midst her gasping young.
Views dying, roaring, 'midst the hunter throng,
She furious rolls her angry eyes; then leaps
Undaunted, tearing; but at length she falls
By strokes redoubl'd, 'midst her gasping young.
What tuneful woe invades my raptured ear,
Borne on the sighing breeze? but when a blast
Hoarse whistling howls, the moving accents die.
'Tis fair Miranda for her Anthes sighs.
Anthes! the pride of all Britannia's sons,
T'assert his monarch's sinking rights, is borne
On floating forts, the terror of his foes.
Ye blustering winds and hoarse resounding main,
Ye storms, ye tempests, and death-winged bolts,
Save, save the lovely youth, and pity me!
Ye zephyrs bland, waft Anthes to the shore;
Restore him blooming to my longing arms!
Ah, no! Britannia, with superior charms,
Detains the youth. Ah! Glory, Fame, and War,
And hell-descended Discord, perish all,
Sink in Oblivion's womb! and let sweet Love
Triumph, soft tyrant! o'er the pleased world.
Now rosy Shame, call'd up by modesty
And thoughts of worth, supports her tuneful voice,
And paints the cheek with beauty's fairest bloom.
Borne on the sighing breeze? but when a blast
Hoarse whistling howls, the moving accents die.
'Tis fair Miranda for her Anthes sighs.
Anthes! the pride of all Britannia's sons,
T'assert his monarch's sinking rights, is borne
On floating forts, the terror of his foes.
Ye blustering winds and hoarse resounding main,
Ye storms, ye tempests, and death-winged bolts,
Save, save the lovely youth, and pity me!
Ye zephyrs bland, waft Anthes to the shore;
Restore him blooming to my longing arms!
Ah, no! Britannia, with superior charms,
455
And hell-descended Discord, perish all,
Sink in Oblivion's womb! and let sweet Love
Triumph, soft tyrant! o'er the pleased world.
Now rosy Shame, call'd up by modesty
And thoughts of worth, supports her tuneful voice,
And paints the cheek with beauty's fairest bloom.
Now on the bosom of the sounding main
Two fleets, with brazen prows, white billows plough;
The bending mast low struggles with the wind,
And quivering billows lash the oaken sides.
They come; the sternly-looking chiefs command:
The battle joins, and cannon from each side
From their wide entrails breath the burning bolts.
Loud thunders roar; men groan; the cordage crack;
The wounded vessels reel from shore to shore;
Old ocean trembles; and fraternal shades
To frighten'd Neptune seem a kind recess.
Jove calls his thunder, thinking that the sons
Of earth, again rebellious, strove to rise
With rival bolts; again he hears the noise;
Again he calls: again Olympus shook;
Heaven quakes; seas belch; the trembling earth concuss'd
By circumambient ocean, cries of men,
Torn in Death's jaws, incessant wound the air.
Two fleets, with brazen prows, white billows plough;
The bending mast low struggles with the wind,
And quivering billows lash the oaken sides.
They come; the sternly-looking chiefs command:
The battle joins, and cannon from each side
From their wide entrails breath the burning bolts.
Loud thunders roar; men groan; the cordage crack;
The wounded vessels reel from shore to shore;
Old ocean trembles; and fraternal shades
To frighten'd Neptune seem a kind recess.
Jove calls his thunder, thinking that the sons
Of earth, again rebellious, strove to rise
With rival bolts; again he hears the noise;
Again he calls: again Olympus shook;
Heaven quakes; seas belch; the trembling earth concuss'd
By circumambient ocean, cries of men,
Torn in Death's jaws, incessant wound the air.
Now through the breaches pours the briny tide,
And weighs to death the vessels and the men;
Some rear the head above the watery plain,
And cry for help; but, ah! no help is near;
Then sink in night: another stems the tide
With brawny arms, he seeks the distant shore;
Then wearied, breathless, droops the tardy limbs,
And seeks for rest, e'en in the arms of death!
And weighs to death the vessels and the men;
Some rear the head above the watery plain,
And cry for help; but, ah! no help is near;
Then sink in night: another stems the tide
With brawny arms, he seeks the distant shore;
Then wearied, breathless, droops the tardy limbs,
456
The young Alethes grasps a broken mast,
And steers, half hoping, to the friendly sand:
All night he steered, and with the dawning morn
The land emerges from a sea of clouds.
While sage Iphthima press'd the higher strand,
And looks attentive o'er the rolling flood;
This way and that she cast her longing eyes,
If or a boat, or sea-dividing ship,
Brought news of her Alethes; him she saw,
Half-naked, leaning on a foaming jaw.
Ah me! my son, my Alethes, my dear,
Joy of my youth, dear object of my woe!
Come, come, my dear! press, press my son to land!
What fate, what cruel fate, what more than death
Has laid my son incumbent on a wave?
Here, here my hand! Stretch, stretch, my son, thy arm!
Thus she, outstretching o'er the foaming tide,
When a rough whirlwind sweeps along the main,
And plunged him headlong in the gulphy deeps:
Thrice he upraised his head; and thrice he sunk
In death, and thrice the circling eddies bell'd:
The fourth up-springing, Mother, mother! dear
Author of life, farewell! A wave supprest
His voice, and sunk him to the mighty dead.
And steers, half hoping, to the friendly sand:
All night he steered, and with the dawning morn
The land emerges from a sea of clouds.
While sage Iphthima press'd the higher strand,
And looks attentive o'er the rolling flood;
This way and that she cast her longing eyes,
If or a boat, or sea-dividing ship,
Brought news of her Alethes; him she saw,
Half-naked, leaning on a foaming jaw.
Ah me! my son, my Alethes, my dear,
Joy of my youth, dear object of my woe!
Come, come, my dear! press, press my son to land!
What fate, what cruel fate, what more than death
Has laid my son incumbent on a wave?
Here, here my hand! Stretch, stretch, my son, thy arm!
Thus she, outstretching o'er the foaming tide,
When a rough whirlwind sweeps along the main,
And plunged him headlong in the gulphy deeps:
Thrice he upraised his head; and thrice he sunk
In death, and thrice the circling eddies bell'd:
The fourth up-springing, Mother, mother! dear
Author of life, farewell! A wave supprest
His voice, and sunk him to the mighty dead.
Thus water-fowl upon the sable flood,
Now here, now there, their floating bodies shew,
But then are lost amidst the sounding foam,
And empty billows dash the yellow sand.
Now here, now there, their floating bodies shew,
But then are lost amidst the sounding foam,
And empty billows dash the yellow sand.
O Discord! gnashing fury, rav'nous fiend,
Hell's sharpest torment, nauseous qualm of life!
You bathe the poinard oft in Friendship's breast!
Peace, Virtue, Friendship, Harmony, and Love,
Delightful train of graces! shrink from thee;
Vice, Envy, Villany, deceitful thoughts,
Blood-thirsty Cruelty, insatiate Pride,
War, woe of mothers and new-married maids!
Attend thy shrine; and thence long plighted leagues
And unity are broke; thence streams of blood
Flow from the patriot's honest-thinking heart;
And rapine, bloodshed, carnage, train of Death!
Resistless, restless, tear the unhappy world.
Fly, fly foul fiend! and leave the mangled world,
Too long thy prey. Ah me! shall hapless men
For ever, ever feel thy iron rod?
Come Peace, come life-befriending, lovely fair!
A thousand graces 'tend thy placid reign:
Stretch the soft pinions o'er a happy world;
Snatch the sharp weapon from the warrior's hand,
And chace the jarring monster down to hell.
Let Science raise on high her drooping head,
And Muses tune the soul-delightful lay.
In vain the poet glides in melting strains,
In vain attunes his soul to tuneful woe;
Deaf is the jar of Discord, dim the eye
Of War, and Happiness far flies the earth.
Come Contemplation, then, my lovely fair!
Solemnly walking, unaffected grace!
Absorpt from life, I join thy sable train,
And turn my aching eye from dismal war.
Hell's sharpest torment, nauseous qualm of life!
You bathe the poinard oft in Friendship's breast!
Peace, Virtue, Friendship, Harmony, and Love,
457
Vice, Envy, Villany, deceitful thoughts,
Blood-thirsty Cruelty, insatiate Pride,
War, woe of mothers and new-married maids!
Attend thy shrine; and thence long plighted leagues
And unity are broke; thence streams of blood
Flow from the patriot's honest-thinking heart;
And rapine, bloodshed, carnage, train of Death!
Resistless, restless, tear the unhappy world.
Fly, fly foul fiend! and leave the mangled world,
Too long thy prey. Ah me! shall hapless men
For ever, ever feel thy iron rod?
Come Peace, come life-befriending, lovely fair!
A thousand graces 'tend thy placid reign:
Stretch the soft pinions o'er a happy world;
Snatch the sharp weapon from the warrior's hand,
And chace the jarring monster down to hell.
Let Science raise on high her drooping head,
And Muses tune the soul-delightful lay.
In vain the poet glides in melting strains,
In vain attunes his soul to tuneful woe;
Deaf is the jar of Discord, dim the eye
Of War, and Happiness far flies the earth.
Come Contemplation, then, my lovely fair!
Solemnly walking, unaffected grace!
Absorpt from life, I join thy sable train,
And turn my aching eye from dismal war.
Hear how Palæmon, from his humble bed,
Palæmon! whom twice fifty winters bend,
Pale, to the tomb; Vice, with her iron hand,
Ne'er gloomed his days, that innocently flow'd,
With mind serene, and aspect all composed,
Breathes virtue in each word, and paves the way
To sweet felicity in heaven and earth:
While mournful, near, the consort of his love.
Droops the sad eye, and fair Lavinia's cheeks
Lie, rosy, drown'd in tears; paternal love
Melts the young heart, and pours the briny tears.
With mournful look, and with attentive ear,
Near to his father's bed, Acasto stands,
And drinks large draughts of virtue. Now the soul
Flutters, to meet the untainted minds above.
Death, sable shade! with silent awful step
Approaches gentle, and o'erwhelms his eyes;
He nods, and falls asleep, when on his tongue
The word, half-uttered, dies. So, in the noon
Of night, the crying babe the officious nurse
Sooths with half-sleeping sounds; when to repose
The innocent is lull'd, the song shall die,
Imperfect, on her sleep suspended tongue.
Palæmon! whom twice fifty winters bend,
Pale, to the tomb; Vice, with her iron hand,
Ne'er gloomed his days, that innocently flow'd,
With mind serene, and aspect all composed,
Breathes virtue in each word, and paves the way
To sweet felicity in heaven and earth:
While mournful, near, the consort of his love.
458
Lie, rosy, drown'd in tears; paternal love
Melts the young heart, and pours the briny tears.
With mournful look, and with attentive ear,
Near to his father's bed, Acasto stands,
And drinks large draughts of virtue. Now the soul
Flutters, to meet the untainted minds above.
Death, sable shade! with silent awful step
Approaches gentle, and o'erwhelms his eyes;
He nods, and falls asleep, when on his tongue
The word, half-uttered, dies. So, in the noon
Of night, the crying babe the officious nurse
Sooths with half-sleeping sounds; when to repose
The innocent is lull'd, the song shall die,
Imperfect, on her sleep suspended tongue.
Solemnly slow, along the mournful plain,
The melancholy croud support the corse
Of young Philætes, snatched, in early bloom
Of youth, from life, and all its fading joys.
Outstretched, in the sable-mantled dome,
Sleep reason, virtue, beauty, sweetness, youth,
All, all that man can boast, now withered lie.
Behind, with trembling steps, the hoary age
Of old Philanthes mourns; a staff supports
His tottering feet: he droops his silvered head;
And tears run trickling down his pallid cheeks.
He now and then looks to the sable hearse,
And all his soul's oppress'd with mighty woes,
And from his faultering tongue these accents break.
The melancholy croud support the corse
Of young Philætes, snatched, in early bloom
Of youth, from life, and all its fading joys.
Outstretched, in the sable-mantled dome,
Sleep reason, virtue, beauty, sweetness, youth,
All, all that man can boast, now withered lie.
Behind, with trembling steps, the hoary age
Of old Philanthes mourns; a staff supports
His tottering feet: he droops his silvered head;
And tears run trickling down his pallid cheeks.
He now and then looks to the sable hearse,
And all his soul's oppress'd with mighty woes,
And from his faultering tongue these accents break.
Ah me! my son, ah, comfort of my age!
My only son, supporter of our house!
Ah! why, Philætes, have you left your sire,
Struggling with age, and soul-corroding woe!
Why sunk in death the sun that brightly shone
On th' evening of my days! Almighty power,
Thine is the world—whate'er Thou wilt is done:
Thine is the young, and he that bows with age;
And whom Thou wilt thou call'st! Why then repine?
Death ne'er too soon enwraps the good: short life
Well spent is age, and not the hoary head.
Thus he. The sad attendance sigh'd; but chief
The young Acanthes gave to mighty woe
His manly mind. Not blood, with all its streams,
Could form such ties as bound him to his friend;
Their age, their thoughts, their words, their deeds, the same;
To virtue form'd alike their youthful souls.
My only son, supporter of our house!
Ah! why, Philætes, have you left your sire,
Struggling with age, and soul-corroding woe!
Why sunk in death the sun that brightly shone
On th' evening of my days! Almighty power,
459
Thine is the young, and he that bows with age;
And whom Thou wilt thou call'st! Why then repine?
Death ne'er too soon enwraps the good: short life
Well spent is age, and not the hoary head.
Thus he. The sad attendance sigh'd; but chief
The young Acanthes gave to mighty woe
His manly mind. Not blood, with all its streams,
Could form such ties as bound him to his friend;
Their age, their thoughts, their words, their deeds, the same;
To virtue form'd alike their youthful souls.
The sun descending to the western waves,
Shot parallel to earth his evening ray,
And lines the virid hills with fusile gold.
To sigh for lost Philætes, through the field
Acanthes strays, and views the pleasing scene,
Where oft he with his dear Philætes roam'd.
Deep sorrow veils, with pearly drops, his eye,
And from his heaving breast these accents break:
Sleep'st thou for ever, O, my darling friend,
My other self! Has death for ever seal'd
The friendly eye, and bound the tuneful tongue?
Ah me! no parting word has blest thy friend;
No token of our spotless friendship left!
But I, alone, unfriended, sad, forlorn,
Shall mourn thy absence in this vale of tears.
Shot parallel to earth his evening ray,
And lines the virid hills with fusile gold.
To sigh for lost Philætes, through the field
Acanthes strays, and views the pleasing scene,
Where oft he with his dear Philætes roam'd.
Deep sorrow veils, with pearly drops, his eye,
And from his heaving breast these accents break:
Sleep'st thou for ever, O, my darling friend,
My other self! Has death for ever seal'd
The friendly eye, and bound the tuneful tongue?
Ah me! no parting word has blest thy friend;
No token of our spotless friendship left!
But I, alone, unfriended, sad, forlorn,
Shall mourn thy absence in this vale of tears.
He said, when through the field Philætes step'd:
A heavenly beauty, and unfading youth,
Flush'd in his cheeks, and sparkled from his eyes;
A snowy robe, in wreathy volumes, flowed
Down from his shoulders, and his golden hair
Play'd in the murmuring breeze. Ambrosia sheds
Its pleasing vapours on the ambient air.
He came, he spoke, and smiled upon his friend,
And melody drops from his youthful tongue.
A heavenly beauty, and unfading youth,
Flush'd in his cheeks, and sparkled from his eyes;
A snowy robe, in wreathy volumes, flowed
Down from his shoulders, and his golden hair
Play'd in the murmuring breeze. Ambrosia sheds
Its pleasing vapours on the ambient air.
He came, he spoke, and smiled upon his friend,
And melody drops from his youthful tongue.
460
Thine is the youth, and he that bows with age;
And whom Thou wilt, Thou call'st. Why then repine?
Death ne'er too soon enwraps the good; short life
Well spent is age, and not the hoary head.
But, ah! fond nature for Philætes mourns.
Why name Philætes, now my greatest woe,
Though once the comfort of my drooping mind!
Dear hapless youth! for thee my bosom sighs.
And shall till Death enwrap me to his reign.
Thus he. The sad attendance sigh'd; but chief
The young Andræmon gave to silent woe
His manly mind: not blood, with all its streams,
Could so attach Andræmon to his friend;
Their age, their thoughts, their actions, words the same,
To virtue formed alike their youthful souls.
And whom Thou wilt, Thou call'st. Why then repine?
Death ne'er too soon enwraps the good; short life
Well spent is age, and not the hoary head.
But, ah! fond nature for Philætes mourns.
Why name Philætes, now my greatest woe,
Though once the comfort of my drooping mind!
Dear hapless youth! for thee my bosom sighs.
And shall till Death enwrap me to his reign.
Thus he. The sad attendance sigh'd; but chief
The young Andræmon gave to silent woe
His manly mind: not blood, with all its streams,
Could so attach Andræmon to his friend;
Their age, their thoughts, their actions, words the same,
To virtue formed alike their youthful souls.
Whether the sun sports in the fields of light,
Or gloomy night her sable mantle throws
O'er sleeping earth, still imaged to the mind
Of young Andræmon is his darling friend.
Still sighs the breast, still melts the tearful eye,
Still flows the soul in elegies of woe.
The rocks, the plains, the woods, the pleasing scenes
Where he and young Philætes raptured, pray'd,
And talked of virtue, echo to his moan.
Sleep'st thou for ever, O my darling friend!
My other self! has death for ever seal'd
The friendly eye, and bound Philætes' tongue?
Ah me! no parting look has blest thy friend,
No token of our spotless friendship left;
From me removed, you breathed the spotless soul.
Now I, alone, unfriended, sad, forlorn,
Must mourn your absence in this vale of tears,
Till death, with sable hand, shall quench this pain,
And still the dire commotions of the breast.
Or gloomy night her sable mantle throws
O'er sleeping earth, still imaged to the mind
Of young Andræmon is his darling friend.
Still sighs the breast, still melts the tearful eye,
Still flows the soul in elegies of woe.
461
Where he and young Philætes raptured, pray'd,
And talked of virtue, echo to his moan.
Sleep'st thou for ever, O my darling friend!
My other self! has death for ever seal'd
The friendly eye, and bound Philætes' tongue?
Ah me! no parting look has blest thy friend,
No token of our spotless friendship left;
From me removed, you breathed the spotless soul.
Now I, alone, unfriended, sad, forlorn,
Must mourn your absence in this vale of tears,
Till death, with sable hand, shall quench this pain,
And still the dire commotions of the breast.
He said—'twas night, and solemn silence reign'd
Throughout the plain; no voice, no sound is heard,
But now and then the breathing breezes sigh
Through the half-quivering leaves, and, far removed,
The sea rolls feeble murmurs to the shore;
The birds hang, sleeping, on the bending sprigs,
And setting Luna gave a silver gleam.
Throughout the plain; no voice, no sound is heard,
But now and then the breathing breezes sigh
Through the half-quivering leaves, and, far removed,
The sea rolls feeble murmurs to the shore;
The birds hang, sleeping, on the bending sprigs,
And setting Luna gave a silver gleam.
| The poems of Ossian | |