The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill

Containing his Pastorals, Occasional Poems, and Elegies on Illustrious persons. Vol. I & II

[dedication]

[Volume 1]

PASTORALS.

[Occasional Poems]

ELEGIAC POEMS ON ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONS.

[Volume 2]

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1. [Volume 1]

PASTORALS.

PASTORAL FIRST.

Inscribed to the Albion Fair.

------ Nunc scio quid sit amor.
Virg.

By flow'ry banks of Tweed, whose waters glide
Thro' famous valleys, crown'd with rural pride,
Young Colin led his flock, as summer gay,
And healthful as the bounteous gift of May.
Yet mourn'd the swain; for, pierc'd by sad despair,
The slave of love, and its consuming care,
Along the willow-fringed banks he stray'd,
While sighs the anguish of his heart betray'd:
Hung o'er the flood a shady poplar grew,
This as he lean'd, the falling tears bedew;
On this he gaz'd, and while his sorrows flow'd,
Warm kisses on the letter'd rind bestow'd.

Fair Albion Dames! to whose love-darting eyes
The vanquish'd world resigns bright Beauty's prize;
By Love inspir'd, I sing his tender strains;
My tale of love the cruel fair disdains:

Tho' the cold maid my numbers fail'd to move,
In vain I sing not while your smiles approve;
Accept my verse, the fav'rite page shall shine,
And sacred myrtle round my temples twine.

Ye woodland scenes! where vainly I retire,
Defence from Phœbus', not from Cupid's fire;
Ye shady beeches! listen to my strain,
Inspir'd by Delia, and her proud disdain;
Sad Colin, doom'd her cruel scorn to prove,
To you, ye rocks! declares his hopeless love.
Cold hearted maid! for thee, in early bloom,
I waste, neglected, and in tears consume;
In peace retir'd, my happier days were spent
In harmless pleasure, and in calm content.
On balmy wings each smiling summer came,
And found me careless by the cooling stream:
When gloomy winter vex'd the troubl'd air,
Safe from his storms I watch'd my fleecy care:
At village feasts, amid the rural throng,
I rul'd the dance, and rais'd the simple song;
Or drove my flock to pasture o'er the lee,
Happy from love and wild ambition free.

All conqu'ring love! I feel thy tyrant reign,
Inspir'd by thee, I burn and waste in vain:
Ye gods! what magic can our hearts secure,
What art can shield us from thy mighty pow'r!
The fiercest souls thy matchless force can move,
And gods themselves have felt all conqu'ring love.

Too well thy nature and thy pow'r I know,
Now hapless left to unremitting woe.
No more from harmony I hope for ease,
Nor flow'ry lawns, nor sunny fields, can please;
All nature's beauty yields no joy to me,
For nature saddens, since despis'd by thee.

The breath of mildew kills the vernal bloom;
With dire disease the harmless flocks consume;
Chill winter blasts the glory of the year,
Thy scorn, O Delia! is the plague I fear.
Sweet are soft slumbers on the verdant plain;
Sweet cooling fountains to the thirsty swain;
Sweet gentle sunshine, or descending show'rs,
To fervent bees, or to the drooping flow'rs;
Thou, Delia, all my hope, and, without thee,
What's joy, or sun, or life itself, to me!

Come, lovely nymph! thy cruel scorn resign;
Come, lovely nymph! and feed thy flocks with mine.
Happy with thee, thro' flow'ry fields I'll stray,
Or waste, in pleasing toils, the summer's day;
Your snowy flock to freshest pasture lead,
Or by the breezy shore, or verdant mead
Irriguous, where the purple vi'lets glow,
The strawb'ries ripen, and the roses blow;
There, soft reclin'd, and banish'd ev'ry care,
I'll sing, or wreath with flow'rs thy beauteous hair.

Now all around me breathes the blushing year,
Prideful the trees their flourish'd branches rear;
From fragrant blooms the grateful odours rise,
And hopeful harvest glads the shepherd's eyes;
All nature smiles, the hill, the flow'ry plain,
Love, only love, no kind return can gain.

Come, charming maid! for thee my bow'r is crown'd
With roses, balmy woodbine breathes around;
O'er the green turf my spotless wool is cast,
And choicest fruits afford a rich repast:
Besides, while rival nymphs my favour woo
With gifts, their gifts are all reserv'd for you:
Ev'n blooming maids have su'd my love to gain,
And am'rous nymphs prefer their gifts in vain;
With me their charms no kind acceptance boast,
In thine alone all other charms are lost.

Nor of unseemly form, nor rustic mien,
As late I view'd me in the chrystal plain.
Let others boast the gay effeminate air,
The boyish wiles, which gain the trifling fair;
The manly feature, void of Lydian art,
Tho' brown with toil, will gain the worthier heart.
Ah! guileful spite, and faithless love, destroy
My blasted prime! which braves the joint annoy
Of storm inclement, and the scorching sun,
By woman's stern ingratitude undone!
Besides, the rural throng, my Doric lays,
Beneath the shade, in crouding circles, praise;

The wood nymphs fair, the village maidens bring
Their gifts, and round me dance in jocund ring;
And the harmonious sisterhood impart
Their magic pow'rs to melt the feeling heart.
Ah! wretch! the only nymph I sing to gain
Repays with scorn, and mocks the shepherd's strain.
The bleating sheep, the rugged rocks return
My wild complainings, and in pity mourn:
In vain I sing, while she disdains my lay,
Ah! heart insensate! and more hard than they.

I burn! I burn! as woodland shades consume,
Conceive destruction, and assist their doom.
O when wilt thou thy killing scorn forego;
When will thy breast an equal passion know?
Storms cease to bluster, and the seas to roar;
Even raging tempests give their fury o'er:
Would heav'n you too were mutable as these,
And could be soften'd like relenting seas;
But deaf, as rocks beat by the sounding main,
You frown unmov'd, regardless of my pain.

Ye conscious echoes! vocal through the dale,
To Delia loud proclaim my mournful tale:
On all your wings, ye fanning zephyrs, bear,
And breathe my sorrows round the cruel fair:
Her virgin pride my tender verse shall move,
And soft compassion touch her soul with love.
Ah hapless swain! thy Delia is not kind,
But stern and ruthless as the winter wind,

She Colin and his profer'd love disdains,
And Colin vainly to the rocks complains.
No sigh nor tear her killing scorn disarms,
She claims thy life the victim of her charms.

I go! I go! compell'd by proud disdain;
Kind death is near to rid me of my pain:
Where o'er the flood projects the rocky steep,
And hoarse below is roll'd the grumbling deep;
From its proud height my wretched weight I'll throw,
And rest in death from love's tormenting wo.
Adieu my flocks! adieu ye groves and plains!
Now cease ye woods, no more resound my strains.

PASTORAL SECOND.

Inscribed to John Home, Esq; Author of the celebrated Tragedy of Douglas, And other Dramatic Works.

Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata Lycori,
Hic nemus, hic ipso tecum consumerer ævo.—

Damon and Hylas.

Now Sol the skies with purple light array'd,
The glories of his western throne display'd.
Where the clear stream, with verdant alder crown'd,
Flows gently murm'ring o'er the channel'd ground:
While all is flush'd by the departing ray,
Damon and Hylas fram'd the rural lay;
Young Damon o'er the perjur'd Chloris mourn'd,
And Hylas for his absent Delia burn'd.

Soft as they sung, the sighing groves complain,
The sorrowing flocks, attentive, heard the strain;
With pity mov'd, the silver swans deplore,
And taught the theme to all the list'ning shore;
The list'ning shore to every verse reply'd,
And zephyr o'er the bending osiers sigh'd.

O thou! whom Phœbus and the Nine inspire,
With pow'rful art to strike the sounding lyre,
To rouse the British youth to war's alarms,
To fire each patriot breast with glory's charms,
To call forth virtue by the magic sound,
From crouds attentive, and consenting round;
Accept, O Home! and let this myrtle twine
Around thy garland, woven by the Nine:
This humble shrub would some protection claim
Among thy laurels, rising into fame.

Damon.

Ye sylvan pow'rs! ye genii of the grove!
Ye echoes! vocal with my tale of love:
Ye meads! adorn'd with flow'rs of golden hue,
That fill their cups with tears of evening dew!
Ye mourning woods! ye weeping fountains! join
Sighs with my sighs, and shed your tears with mine;
Of Chloris, perjur'd, loudly I complain;
Hear, and assist this last, my dying strain.

No more the days on golden wings shall rise,
While bounteous nature paints the vernal skies;
For me no joys shall purple autumn bring,
Nor winter conquest at the village ring:
The verdant mountain, and the flow'ry field,
The shepherd's charge, no more delight shall yield;
With Chloris nature did her charms display,
With her they flourish'd, and with her decay:

For her well pleas'd I join'd the rural throng,
The shepherd's fortune, and the shepherd's song;
By her forsaken, these delight no more,
Nor plains, nor mountains, nor the breezy shore:
While well known scenes and conscious groves I view,
My passion rages, and my griefs renew.
Say, hapless youths! who love's disaster prove,
How great the anguish sprung from slighted love.
Chloris! I waste beneath thy proud disdain;
Resound, ye woods, resound my dying strain.

Here where the green walks lead to op'ning glades,
Cool'd by soft fountains and embow'ring shades;
Here, hand in hand, with Chloris have I stray'd,
Chloris then faithful to the vows she made;
Here on the sunny bank, where fairest grows
The golden king-cup and the blushing rose,
I gather'd ev'ry flow'r that seem'd most fair,
And deck'd the garland for her beauteous hair:
Each morn her favour with fresh gifts I sought,
And downy chesnuts from my hamlet brought.
Ah! now these careless joyful days are gone,
Chloris is fled, and I am left alone;
Chloris the shepherd and his gifts disdains,
Resound ye woods! resound my dying strains.

Where the tall poplar speads its branching shade,
On the fair rind I carv'd the vows she made:
Ev'n then I clasp'd her in my circling arms,
And glow'd enamour'd with deceitful charms;

Her faith she pledg'd, invok'd the gods above,
And call'd on all the mighty pow'rs of love.
She swore and said, when Chloris perjur'd proves,
Vultures shall fly before the fearless doves;
O'er the mid land shall boiling ocean roar,
And waving harvests turn to sandy shore;
On barren oaks shall golden apples grow,
And rivers backward to their fountains flow.
Flow back, ye streams! and seek your springs again;
Arise ye floods! and overwhelm the plain;
Chloris is false: no more the dove shall fear,
Nor barren oaks their fruitless branches rear.

Ye powers! that over love mysterious reign!
To you I come, nor let me plead in vain:
For you at midnight shall my incense rise
With all the pomp of magic sacrifice;
Cypress shall wave your flaming altars round;
With lonely weed each image shall be crown'd;
By moon-light I will cut the unripen'd ear,
And mournful yew, and deadly night-shade bear;
Libations dire your list'ning pow'r shall move,
I'll drink the potion, and forget to love;
While witness to your rites, the silver moon,
Eclipsing oft, shall look with pity down.

I rave! I rave! what charms successful prove
Against the shafts of all-subduing love!
Chloris still in my inmost bosom reigns,
Fills every thought, and burns through all my veins:

With slow dissolving anguish I consume,
And life is only but a joyless gloom;
Soon will its care and adverse frown be o'er,
Damon at rest, and Chloris lov'd no more;
Damon to silent dreary shades shall go,
Where luckless lovers rest from human wo.
Farewel, ye flocks! adieu, ye groves and plains!
Now cease, ye woods, no more resound my strains.

Next Hylas sung, while, from the hawthorn spray,
The nightingale pursu'd her am'rous lay.

Hylas.

Begin, my muse, the soft Sicilian strain,
Sicilian muses haunt the flow'ry plain.
Now the cool evening sheds its purple ray,
And dewy night succeeds the scorching day;
From new shorn meads the dusty swains retreat,
The weary reaper seeks his humble seat;
Beneath the shade the jovial lab'rers rest,
And every swain is with his Sylvia blest.
Where now, Oh! where can charming Delia stray,
While love's soft fires upon her Hylas prey.

Begin, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Such am'rous lays a mighty charm contain.
While Orpheus sung, he sooth'd the shades below,
And Hell consenting, mourn'd the poet's wo:
Th'ambitious youth Timotheus could inspire
With love at once, and check the rising fire:

With song the Syrens rul'd the lawless main,
And mighty warriors bound in magic chain:
By song I try my Delia's heart to move,
And numbers shall recal my absent love.
Hark! from the spreading oak's aerial boughs,
His ling'ring mate the am'rous ring-dove woos:
From yonder beech, th'impatient turtle sighs,
And see, her lover at the signal flies:
Forlorn, unpity'd, and unheard, I mourn;
'Tis night, yet Delia deigns not to return.

Begin, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Come, Delia, come, and bless thy faithful swain!
As Phœbus sunk, the yellow sunflower mourns,
Shuts up its leaves, and droops till he returns;
As, without genial heat, the tender vines
Decay, and ev'ry with'ring flow'ret pines:
So, far from Delia, love's dissolving flame,
And fruitless sighs, destroy my sinking frame.
Absent from thee, what object can delight,
The flocks displease, and sunshine turns to night;
The woodbine shade its balmy sweets denies,
The drooping lily hangs its head and dies;
Th'industrious bees neglect their flow'ry toil;
Come, Delia! come, and all around will smile.

Begin, my muse! the soft Sicilian lay,
My song, ye floods, to Delia's ear convey.
Perhaps ev'n now, amid your crystal waves,
Her snowy sides the naked wanton laves;

Breath soft, ye zephyrs! round the gentle fair,
Ye river nymphs! employ your friendly care,
May no rough touch her tender limbs molest,
Nor rougher wave insult her snowy breast:
But Delia haste! thy simple vestures seize,
Nor give thy beauties to the ruder breeze;
Come, Delia! come! and let my longing arms
Infold thee, glowing with disorder'd charms.

But whence the fields this sudden verdure wear,
And o'er the plain resounding shouts I hear,
Soft am'rous whispers die along the shore,
And, ere he sets, gay Phœbus smiles once more.
'Tis Delia, Delia, ye immortal pow'rs!
Delia consents to bless the silent hours:
Cease then, ye gentle muses! to complain,
No more resound the soft Sicilian strain.

Thus sung the shepherds at the close of day,
The sky still blushing with the ev'ning ray:
Safe in the fold they lodge their fleecy care,
And, warn'd by Hesper, to their home repair.

PASTORAL THIRD.

Most humbly inscribed to His Grace the Duke of Montagu.

O mihi tam longæ maneat pars ultima vitæ,
Spiritus, et quantum sat erit tua dicere facta!
Non me carminibus vincet, nec Thracius Orpheus,
Nec Linus. ------

Colinet and Palemon.

How gay the season in its pride appears!
Each rural scene autumnal honours wears.
Whether through Langholm's shady groves we stray,
Or trace, pure Tweed! thy winding devious way;
Where Tiviot's wave, and Yarrow's doleful stream,
Still hear the Lothian Shepherd's mournful theme,
When wild in anguish, 'mid the whelming tide,
She sought her Lord, in death a spousal bride.
In young-ey'd beauty virtue bright'ning glows,
As angel pity weeps o'er human woes,
And Scotia's blooming maids, by Yarrow's stream,
Sing to their plaintive lyres the fav'rite theme.

The bleating flocks on their soft fleeces lie;
From pasture hills the lowing herds reply:
The yellow harvests whiten all the plain
With Ceres' stores, to glad the happy swain:
The orchards burnish, where ripe apples grow,
And plumb and peach their fragrant tribute shew.
Adown the vale, all on the margin green
Of pastoral Tweed, the rural tribes are seen
At pastime, as the jocund rebecks sound,
How fleet their twinkling footsteps beat the ground:
And sportive Marian, with eyes sidelong glance
Of powerful magic, through the mazy dance,
Conducts the charm'd Alexis, every pow'r
Of love, attractive, in their blessful hour.

Ye princely Throng, who grace Tweed's verdant plain,
Who bless the hamlets of the rural swain,
Nor coy disdain to make their fortune grow,
Who swell your state, and cause the tide to flow
Back to its native ocean: shield the muse!
Oh! lend the refuge which the proud refuse!
The forest oak the lowly shrub secures,
The lowly shrub with mantling growth embow'rs
His regal strength. The silver larix hides
The shadow'd stream, and branches by its sides.
Descend! revisiting your prosp'rous swains,
To bless their pastimes and their rural strains.

Colinet.
Thrice blissful plain, where Tweed's sweet currents stray,
Where past'ral muses on thy margin play,
And shepherd-swains do shear their bleating sheep
On Lammermuir, or snowy Cheviot steep:
Where nymphs so fair haunt thy Arcadian stream,
Like Galatea, whose fresh beauties beam
Pure as the season, as she drives her flock,
New wash'd, to bask beneath Sicilian rock,
Still stain'd by Acis's blood. Oh! when shall I
With you, kind mates! in these green pastures lie:
When shall I leave Ore's barren, joyless shore,
Where wrongs and poverty my days devour,
Amid a barb'rous throng: my sheep consume
By rot, and mildew blasts the vernal bloom,
And Ceres' better hope. When shall I stray
Down Leaderhaughs with you the live-long day;
Or visit Gallashiels and Cowdenknows,
Where first on shepherd's flute my infant muse
Incondite verses sung. To pass my days
With you I long, and bind my brows with bays,
When ever absent from this tyrant shore,
Nor pains, nor wrongs, nor loss I shall deplore.

Palemon.

Soft are thy numbers, Colinet, and bring
Sweet sadness, as when birds of ev'ning sing.
The lot of man is trouble; we increase
This nat'ral evil by unhappiness.

But smooth thy brow; our past'ral Sov'reign, She
Who smiles on all, may ray her smiles on thee
With grace benevolent. On barren heath
I fed my pining flocks: by her bequeath,
Transplanted to those southern vales, I grew
In branching honours, like the poplar bough.

Oh! had you seen the Noble Pair, as late
Amid the hamlets at their yearly treat:
The swains, with garlands crown'd, all em'lous seen,
Low hail their pastoral Lord and pastoral Queen:
How fairer than Pomona by his side
She smil'd a rural, blooming, past'ral Bride.
Like Cynthia on Eurota's flow'ry strand,
Begirt with nymphs, her lovely huntress band
Of Daughters bright, on whom the Parent smil'd
In extacy, as when fresh beams begil'd
Sweet break of morn: around the shepherds threw
Fresh wreaths of ev'ry fragrance, ev'ry hue;
While hand in hand, encircling in the dance
The Noble Pair, their twinkling footsteps glance.

Young Mico sweep'd the sprightly lyre, the strains
Of old Dametas rouse the list'ning swains:
Tho' fourscore summers crown'd his silver'd age,
Yet joys of youth this wond'rous man engage:
He danc'd around his past'ral Queen, and play'd
The songs of Tweed, till summer's day decay'd.

And had you seen that day when all the land
Triumph'd, and all was pastime, you should stand

A convert to our happiness, which flows
From this chief fountain that our Queen bestows!
Her cares thro' all the hamlets; nor will deem
The time mispent as in Arcadian dream.
Whate'er the proud, the selfish churl may boast,
Her cares are ever pleasing, never crost:
She sees her children in her vassals share
The blessings she rejoices to prepare;
As chosen Delegate, and pleas'd dispense,
The smiles of Heav'n and Heav'nly providence.

Colinet.
Oh! when shall such great sentiments be read
In others breasts, the little tyrant dread;
Nor plague, nor barren Ceres, save what yields
The hamlets loss of flocks, and herds, and fields.
Their only care is adverse to the swain,
To rack his rent, and raise his toils as vain:
Nor reck they how their opulence does grow,
Of proud estate from plunder'd swains brought low.
How when the plague of Heaven thins the fold,
And blasts their fields, the just remit their gold;
Nor madly crave, what, in disast'rous hour,
Descending floods and merc'less storms devour.
Infernal avarice! with fiends combin'd,
Demons of wrath, to desolate mankind!

Palemon.

Thrice happy swains, who feel their bliss complete,
When such indulgence in such patrons meet.

Fierce storms may howl, the snowy tempests rave,
The roaring floods descend, but ne'er bereave
The shelter'd shepherds, who full joyous sing,
Safe from all storms, beneath their Sov'reign's wing.

Nor let us, simple swains, whose thoughts are rude,
Of men and manners, of all things conclude,
From climes and customs. Nature ever flows
To that prime fountain, whence her succour grows.
Hail, golden age! when modern crimes unknown,
The hamlets stood by innocence alone.
No tyrants threaten'd, and no scoundrel train
Of prouling tacksmen, to devour the swain:
When mother earth, by her own children plough'd,
Who plough'd the seas, to settle, not to croud
The world with rapine, did, with grateful smile,
Invite their labour, and return their toil
With usury. When the accursed love
Of gems, and Tyrian robes, and wealth, which move
The world to crimes, was not yet known, nor ore
Dug to betray, much better in the store
Of Mammon hid, ten thousand fathom deep,
Than amongst men, such bloody conflicts keep.
When these usurp'd no rule, and worth rever'd
Sole for herself, became her own reward.
Oh, golden age! shall never man behold
These Eden scenes of paradise unfold:
And truth prevail, richer, than golden store,
Or gems, or pearl, or mines of precious ore.

Colinet.

Then thy fair winding flood should copious flow
In purest streams, sweet Tweed! and myrtles grow
To shade thy cooling tides from summer's ray;
Each fragrant shrub on thy rich banks display
Sabean odours, like the groves which weep
Sweet gums of Po, or Tagus' golden deep:
While down thy shores Caister's silver throng,
To princely bow'rs, repeat melodious song.

Then heroes, princes, and descending gods
Again shall grace our plains and bless'd abodes;
Again the goddess, whose retreat we mourn,
Astræa, to forsaken climes, return:
And princely shepherds in our peaceful Dell,
Again descend, with Tweed's glad swains to dwell.

Fair was Adonis, the prime Cyprian swain,
Belov'd of Venus, but belov'd in vain.
Of am'rous nymphs, and am'rous wiles, no care
Had he, but to the woodlands would repair,
To rouse the chace, or drive his num'rous sheep
To Idas' pastures, or Cytheron steep.
Blyth of his gamesome prime, unbroke, and coy,
Fair Venus lov'd, and gain'd the lovely boy:
Nor yet her arts his coy reserve could tame;
Oft for his flock he left the Cyprian dame:
He led his flock, fair as the spotless snow
Of Thracian Rhodope, nor fear'd to go
Down the deep forests with his deadly bow.

Till woful gash'd, as in his Cyrnean den
He rous'd the angry savage, with his men,
And staunch Molossian dogs; the mournful croud
Lay out this shrivel'd flow'r where Venus stood;
More lovely in her tears and grief, she cry'd,
“Ah! what avails my plaint, to kings ally'd,
“The prince of shepherds, and Cytheron's pride.
“So young, so lovely, in thy manhood's prime,
“Torn by a savage in thy native clime.
“The joyless plains with me shall ever mourn;
“The conscious day, the month, the year return
“With signs of cruel fate: from native rocks,
“Whence sweet Adonis led his bleating flocks,
“Wat'ring these plains, a fountain fresh shall flow,
“Yearly distain'd with bloody signs of wo:
“Each bord'ring flow'r the mark of sorrow wears,
“And Venus still shall swell the brook with tears.
“Ah! wretched Venus! cruel fates bequeath
“This shrivel'd flow'r, Adonis, cold in death.
“Ah fairest flow'r! despoil'd of all thy charms,
“He lyes unconscius in a goddess arms.”

Palemon.
The beauteous Atalanta, with her train
Of female hunters, grac'd th'Arcadian plain;
And in the rural hamlets hid, consumes
Her virgin prime, amid the op'ning blooms.
Sworn of bright Cynthia's band, she bears the bow,
And golden buskins on her ankles glow:

Health arms her limbs with strength, and pride with scorn
Distain'd her cheek; she wakes with hound and horn
The crimson'd dawn, nor mountain savage fears,
Nor fiercest lions, till soft love appears
In shepherd Hypomene. Then fades her eye:
Her huntress courage leaves the nymph to sigh
In lonely bow'r: her darts neglected lie:
Once dread of many a tusky boar, who fell
Transfix'd in the deep woods, or winding dale
Of fam'd Laconia. Now he warmly woos:
The maiden huntress flies, and he pursues,
Fir'd by her charms: till, as she reach'd the heights
Of snowy Hæmus, in her modest flights,
Where could a hapless virgin fly? He threw
The golden lure of Venus in her view;
And as she stoop'd to grasp the envy'd prize,
He seiz'd the richest treasures by surprise.
'Mid nuptial bow'rs young Hymen's torch convey'd
The willing bride, who fled a tim'rous maid.
The vales rejoice, as o'er Eurota's plain
The blissful lovers sway with ample reign.

Colinet.

By Esca's flood the lion Scot upheld
Fam'd Scotia's cross, in many a bloody field;
Her native guard upon the bold frontiers,
He brav'd the mighty in the strife of spears.
Twice twenty chiefs of Egbert at his board,
A menial train, attend their victor Lord.

A bevy fair, to serve a Baron's state,
As many blooming captive dames await,
Tending domestic cares: the swains secure,
Within strong forts, defy each hostile pow'r,
With num'rous flocks and herds: the flying host,
Innur'd to conquest, scour the ocean's coast;
Fell dread of foes; and guard the holy fires,
Where bright Melrosia wakes her virgin quires
In sacrifice, and pure oraisons paid
To heav'nly Pow'rs, their shelt'ring wings to spread,
And save her country from the stranger band
Of Pagan spoilers, who lay waste the land.

Like the fair lilly of the vale she grew
In the sweet prime of youth; her beauty drew
Young Caledon, ensnar'd by virgin wile,
Of looks and eyes, which could the Brave beguile.
The flow'ry spring show'd fairer, the bright eye
Of summer sparkl'd; the ripe blushing dye
Of autumn painted rapture, as the Maid
With Caledon, adown sweet Tiviot stray'd,
List'ning his tale of love. With early spring,
Shedding sweet flow'rets from his purple wing,
Blyth Hymen came, with mask and courtly guise,
To reallumne at blaze of radiant eyes
His mystic torch. Anon the loud alarms
Of dire invasion, call the Brave to arms.

Bold like the brindl'd lion o'er his prey
Rose Caledon, and mark'd his horrid way,

With blood and death: the vaunting pagan band,
He bound, or stretched them on the crimson sand;
Returning victor in their ships to hail
Northumbria's kindred tow'rs fierce storms assail
With ruffian broil: Alas! 'mid raging waves,
The Flow'r of Scotland sink in wat'ry graves.

And, oh! Melrosia! who shall comfort thee!
The Prince, thy Bridegroom, tomb'd in wint'ry sea.
Nine moons the raving Princess o'er the shores
Demands his mangl'd corse: nine moons deplores,
The chearful light shut out, in darksome cell,
Where wailing melancholy loves to dwell.
At last, by pitying Heav'n restor'd, with train
Of noble Maids, she seeks Tweed's blissful plain,
The haunt of her belov'd. There loves to dwell,
'Mid groves and streams, and with his passing bell,
To wake her Vestal Choirs; and morn and eve
To usher with oraisons for the Brave;
Imploring Heav'n thro' all these holy bow'rs,
To shield her people from the Pagan pow'rs.

Tweed's echoing shores her holy hymns repeat,
And holy Angels guard her pure retreat:
Each village maid, and shepherd of the dell,
At evening hear Melrosia's silver bell;
And white rob'd Seraphs, choiring in the air
Till dawn of morn, lament the Sainted Pair.

Each cornice, freeze, and architrave bewray,
The mimic labours cunning hands pourtray;
The blooming Maids who Jed and Tiviot grace,
In snowy viels the rich Mosaic trace:
And peerless Nymphs, from Fortha's winding shore,
In silk Melrosia's gordian knots explore;
Whose fame for faith, and love unchang'd, shall grow,
While forests shade us, or pure fountains flow.
Adieu chaste Naid of the streams! thy tale
Our nymphs and swains shall learn in ev'ry vale:
Their sweetest flow'rs, the Sisters never cease
To strew, where Faith with Valo'r sleeps in peace.

Palemon.
The Prince of Shepherds, who on Sion's hill,
Nor scorn'd to feed his flock, nor to instill
His wholesome doctrine, he will often take
As Pilot of this Galilean lake,
This world's gulph, his lecture from the page
Of sacred lore, our proud hearts to engage
By winning smiles of grace and truth, so pure
Of ought to earth ally'd; th'inchanting lure,
Must gain all hearts, to hear the Shepherd sing,
On simple reed, the songs of Sion's King,
By angel choirs re-echo'd. Touch'd with fire,
Indocile, rustic, rude on mystic lyre,
When shall my closed lips be op'd to sing
The loves of Solima and Sion's King.

Colinet.

I see these better days the fates dispense,
To sing of Grace and mystic Providence;
When impious Pride and Falsehood's group no more
Unload their poisons on this world's shore.
Mean time, while hope reposes, let us raise
A verdant altar to the Prince of Peace;
Who once a Hebrew Swain resigned to save
His princely life, his vassals from the grave.

No bleeding lambs nor sheep shall ever soil
The holy oracle, nor herds defile,
But purest sacrifice of grateful praise,
Faith, Holiness, and Love, shall ever blaze
In hecatombs, to Him who left the sky,
Who taught and bled that man might never die.
He breath'd his spirit in his friends, and said,
“Follow the harmless shepherd's peaceful trade;
“Protect your lambkins from the rout which prey
“With rav'nous range, way-lurking to betray
“Unguarded folds. Oh! watch the prouling croud
“Of lawless man, oppressive, false, and proud.
“Let Shepherd Boys, who tend with nightly guard
“Of mastive watch, obtain their meet reward.
“Be never niggard of your stores, nor lead
“By base example to unrighteous deed.
“Encourage modest Merit: tyrant crimes
“Invade all right, in these corrupted times.
“Brave prosp'rous guilt, nor sink the poor man's scale,
“When falsehood, malice, pow'r, and pride prevail.

“Avenge their Cause: nor, impious, thou! refuse
“Their much deserted int'rests to espouse,
“'Gainst traitors false: They are the Mystic Spouse.
“The gen'rous mind makes ev'ry burden light
“Unto the Poor, nor robs them of their Right.
“Godlike dispense the blessings Heav'n bestows
“Freely on all: The lamp of day, which glows
“With purest fire, is emblem that our light
“Should shine, and drive these shadows of the night.”

Palemon.
Arise, fond swain! to sing, and not to preach,
Is here an office, and within your reach.
The gentlest Critics mildly will reprove
Our motely tales of shepherds, heroes, love.
Arise! the storm, from Cheviot mountains rare,
And piercing, blows: The lambkins faintly bear
The drizzling show'r; behind this grove to-night
We rest: to pastures green with morning light.

See the elegant poem, The Braes of Yarrow, in the volume of poetry published by the Rev. Mr Logan.

PASTORAL FOURTH.

Most humbly inscribed to the Right Honourable the Lady Frances Douglas.

Extinctam nymphæ crudeli funere Daphnen
Flebant. ------

Colinet, Palemon.

Sweet is the ev'ning hour, the blushing west,
From crimson cloud, invites the flocks to rest:
The star of eve, as to his dome he glides,
With streamy splendor, gilds the mountain sides:
The moon serene, in glory to her sphere
Ascends: the stars faint twinkling disappear:
All nature rests: the vulture's lazy flight
Imposes silence on the ear of night.

Now, Colinet, renew the mournful song,
Which gain'd the prize amid our shepherd throng:
Our stated hour is come, at Douglas' grave,
To mourn with dirges due, and garlands weave;
To strew the latest flow'rs the season yields,
Their yearly tribute from consenting fields:
Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn,
And plaintive verses with meet rites return.

And thou, bright Dame! by ties of nature join'd,
And stronger love's in sympathy combin'd,
Who ever hears, or sadly seems to hear,
The suff'ring Fair One, in a Daughter's ear,
Repeat her tales of sorrow, while the moon
Eclipsing seems to stoop with pity down;
Accept, thrice princely Douglas! what you chuse,
Your fav'rite eclogue, when the past'ral muse
Her select songs presented at the shrine
Of fairest Candor, whose sweet graces join
To shield th'Immortal Sisters: They who move
Th'impassion'd soul with pity and with love,
Or sacred grief, whose streaming sorrows flow,
With angel tears, conjoin'd o'er human wo.

So while, sweet winding Tweed! thy swelling streams,
With purest wave, divide two sister realms,
Sicilian muses, to thy list'ning swains,
On Doric reed, shall sing Arcadian strains.
Thy wand'ring tides, amid the noble throng,
Who haunt thy shores, repeat the shepherds song:

Nor they disdain in Langholm's bowr's to hear
The verse which charm'd fair Douglas' classic ear.
So shall the baleful harpy tribe deplore
The golden crown they sacraligious tore:
And pallid Envy's strife be ever laid,
While lawrel wreaths my barren temples shade.

Colinet.

Ye tuneful Sisters! Leave your silver springs
Of Tweed, and listen while your Shepherd sings:
Come from your wat'ry bow'rs and grottos deep,
Sweet wells of sadness, which for ever weep:
In sacred sympathy conjoin'd, bestow
Your angel tears on female worth laid low.
And ye sad Swains your murm'ring fountains hide
With branching cypress o'er the shaded tide.
Exchange gay garlands for funereal flow'rs,
And mourn for Douglas in dismantl'd bow'rs:
Hang sable pansies, bell-flow'rs, round her grave,
And dirges sing; this dying charge She gave.

Ye little Loves bestow the streaming tear,
As when you weep'd Adonis on his bier;
His lovely limbs gash'd by the Cyprian boar,
His snowy limbs distain'd in dust and gore.
Belov'd by Venus, but belov'd in vain,
He bleeds extended on the crimson'd plain.
Here with your golden darts, now useless grow'n,
Inscribe a verse on the relenting stone.

Douglas! the pride of Scotia's dames, deplore,
Douglas! our glory and our boast, no more;
Here shrowded in the tomb, and clay cold lies,
While we lament with unavailing sighs:
And ev'ry shepherd leaves his flocks, to pay
His mournful tribute to the Noblest Clay.
Let nature change, let all the world deplore,
Douglas! our glory and our boast, no more!

'Tis done, and see, the deep funereal gloom
O'ercasts all nature, and proclaims our doom.
With gelid pearls the shrevil'd forests rear
Their arms, their honours scatter'd on Her bier.
Lo! where on earth the flow'ry tribes consume
The breath of nature, and her endless bloom:
With Her they flourish'd, and with her consign
Their silken hues in sorrow to repine.
Ah! what are nature's various charms she wore,
Douglas lies cold in death, and charms no more!

For Her the sorrowing flocks refuse to feed,
The thirsty herds abhore the wat'ry mead,
The silver swans by fam'd Caister's shore
Her piteous death in mournful plaints deplore;
As to their flow'ry margins they retire
From vultures sang, and in sweet notes expire.

In deep recess coy Echo silent lies,
Forgets her fate and sad Narcissus' sighs,

Belov'd to madness: Ah! with piteous look,
The scornful boy devour'd the chrystal brook
In love's strong magic fix'd: a woful prey
The Nymphs Despiser sunk, and pin'd away
By melting love: now in Elysian grove
He joins sweet Echo, and returns her love:
Where amaranthine flow'rs the Pair adorn
On beds of roses sunk without a thorn.
The gen'rous Nymph the lovelorn maiden hears,
Repeats her sighs, and answers tears with tears.
Fair Douglas' fate with weeping train she mourns
In grot and bow'r, and meet lament returns:
Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore,
Douglas lies cold in death, and charms no more!

And oh! sad Sisters! of the sacred spring,
Who deck Her shrine, Her dying mandates sing.

When on the bed of death the Parent lay,
To the stern grizzly king a hapless prey;
And her sweet Boy embrac'd, to heaven she pray'd,
With trembling hands on her young Douglas laid,
And mother's pleading eyes: “Just God! she cry'd,
“Great God! I bless you for his manly pride.
“Of comfort reft, in want, in death undone
“By false reproach, I glory in my Son
“And heav'n's Redemption; which now nigh the goal
“Of a rough race, sustains my fainting Soul.
“Mercy absolves: from scenes of deep'ning wo,
“My sacrifice of praise shall purer flow,

“With radient Choirs, before the sapphire throne,
“Where Mercy pleads with Justice for my Son;
“Completing ev'ry hope: while here below
“A mother sees her branch of Douglas grow
“Amid connubial Virtues; the Prime Train
“Of Princely Friendships stretch their golden chain.

“Nor wealth nor grandeur I on Thee confer,
“Tho' born both wealth and grandeur high to share:
“The Father of the fatherless approve
“Thy course to Virtue and thy Country's love.
“Humble the proud, who may thy worth deride,
“And fire thy soul to deeds of honest pride.
“Born to be Great, aspire to raise thy Name,
“Tread in each Kindred Heroes steps to fame.
“The sword of Douglas in the battle wield,
“The Pride of peace, in war, a nation's Shield:
“For this gay vice and empty pomp disdain,
“But deck with Truth, abhoring Falsehood's stain.
“Pow'r without Worth and high Descent deride,
“And pageant Coronets, the vain man's pride:
“Woo Justice, Truth, and gracious Heav'n shall raise
“Some noble Mind to bless thy prosp'rous days:
“To right the Orphan, lift thy scale on high,
“To shine with glory, while these shadows fly.’

Her speech the chilly hand of death supprest,
And smiling on her Son She sunk to rest
On angels wings in mansions of the bright,
Laving her grief's sad wound in rivers of delight.

Much injur'd Shade! Oh! could this verse avail,
I'd fill the world with thy too rigid tale;
That brightest Eyes should weep o'er thy sad fate,
And Fame to distant climes thy Wrongs relate;
That all the Good, and all the Just should come,
And all ye Fair! to weep at Douglas' tomb:
Sad pilgrims yearly to console Her shade
With oraisons and carols for the Dead.

What tho' no pillar'd arch adorn the place
With scutcheon'd state, nor sculptur'd marble grace
Thy humble cell; each mournful Muse shall weep,
And tune their lyres unto thy sorrows deep.
What tho' vile sacrilege with base combine,
Of all its honours robb'd thine injur'd Shrine:
The Just shall honour Thee thro' all the land,
Thy spotless fame eternal wreathes command.
While staring ghosts, and yelling demons wait
On ruthless villainy, entomb'd in state:
Good Genii here their nightly station keep,
Where Truth and Innocence serenely sleep.

Bright Peace, with Olive Crown and Angels blest,
Shall guard the tomb where Douglas' relicts rest.
Pity, sweet pilgrim, visit thy sad cell,
And fond Remembrance ring thy solemn knell.
And ev'ry spring from grot and sylvan bow'rs,
The wood Nymphs fair shall strew thy grave with flow'rs;
With snow drop, primrose, each sweet smelling hue,
And still with annual rites their pleasing task renew.

Palemon.
Sweet tuneful Colinet, the strains you sing,
As is the music of the murm'ring spring.
Sweet are soft slumbers on the verdant plain,
Sweet cooling fountains to the thirsty swain,
Sweet gentle sunshine, or descending show'rs,
To fervent bees, or to the drooping flow'rs;
Yet fountains, slumbers, sunshine to the bee,
Not half so pleasing, as these strains to me.

Colinet.

To Thee bright Goddess, now our grief no more,
Lambkins shall bleed, if Heav'n increase our store,
While forests shade us, flow'rs their sweets bestow,
Thy Name, thy Honour, and thy Praise shall grow!

See! moist Arcturus sheds unwholesome dews,
Arise, the groves a noxious shade diffuse:
Chill Eurus blows, and Nature feels distress,
Time conquers all, and we must time redress.
Adieu ye shepherds-loves, ye mountains, streams,
Adieu ye lovelorn shepherds rural themes,
Adieu Fair, Peerless, Prime Arcadian crew,
Douglas, farewell! sweet Banks of Tweed, adieu!

[Occasional Poems]

EPITHALAMIUM

ON THE MARRIAGES OF His Grace JOHN Duke of Athole, Right Hon. DAVID Viscount Stormont, AND THOMAS GRAHAM of Balgowan, Esq; WITH THE Three Most Amiable Daughters OF The Right Hon. CHARLES Lord Cathcart.

CANTO I.

Sponsalia cantabit Musa: Di cœpta secundent
Fœdera! et æterno connectat pectora nexu
Intemerata fides; ter nobili sanguine surgant,
Qui terris dent jura væstris! securaque præstent
Imperia, et lapsis norint succurrere rebus.

Deep in the foaming brine, where Ocean laves
Fam'd Albion's isle, with ever-toiling waves,
With gems and pearl the radiant palace stands,
Chrystalline frame, where Amphitrite commands.
Their orgies here, the Sisters of the deep,
Seven festive days in annual splendor keep;
What time Hyperion from the southern goal
His chariot wheels, to warm the freezing pole.
With feast and song the sea-green Nymphs combine,
In full libations pour the sparkling wine,
In mystic dance their silver tridents rear
In homage to the regent of the sphere.

First Thetis to the sacred feast is borne
In em'rald car, which antique gems adorn,

And sculptur'd gold, where blazon'd bright is seen
The lineage high of Ocean's ancient Queen.
Proud, by her side, her eldest offspring came,
The Thracian Doris, Nereus' blooming dame,
Whose fifty Daughters follow'd o'er the tide,
Her maidens fair, their parents vaunted pride.
Eucrate, mild as spring, with garlands gay;
Cymodoce, who raging seas can stay;
Chaste Galatea, whose fresh beauties beam
In Acis bath'd her sweet Sicilian stream:
Erato prime, with love's black tresses crown'd;
Young Psamathe, for snowy breasts renown'd;
Cymothe fleet, whose steps the waves beguile;
And Glauce charming, with resistless smile;
With all their sister tribe, in jovial mood,
Laving their snowy limbs in briny flood.

In order next came Neptune's blooming train,
Fam'd Albion's Daughters, each in coral wain:
First stately Forth, with many a crowding sail,
And winding tides, enamour'd of the vale,
Choice Ceres' haunt, renoun'd in Bruce's reign,
When English Edward mourn'd his myriads slain.
Her beauteous nymphs, in silver veils bedight,
Glide thro' the deeps, like heavenly graces bright,
Three princely crowns, their tribute meet, they bore,
With sparkling pearl from the Indian shore:
And all the way they sung a Nuptial Song
For Cathcart's Brides, to whom sweet strains belong.

“Fair rise the new-born year! like blushing rose,
“To Hymen's shrine the lovely Cathcart goes.”

From silver lakes, which bathe her verdant isles,
Came branching Taia, with Hesperian spoils,
Whose hundred streams, obsequious urge their way
To hail true lovers on their bridal day;
Proud of their noble race, whose peerless worth,
Wooing the lovely daughters of the Forth,
In league of amity, each sister tide
Conjoins; together, o'er the waves they ride.

Then wealthy Clyde, who loyal tribute bore,
Of choicest nectar, from the Indian shore;
Whose fost'ring Stream the Muses Choirs adorn,
And wealthy Commerce set on western Throne.
Heard ye their Strains ! as up the stately wave,
The refluent river march'd with pride, to lave
In eastern Forth, whose flow'ry vales along
Melodious waft the Shepherd's nuptial song.

From pleasing dales sweet Tweed, once doom'd to glide
'Twixt hostile realms, now crown'd with rural pride,
Where many a Castle fair hangs o'er the wave,
And many a Baron bold, with warriors brave
Repell'd invasion: now in purer tide
Her lovely Daughers bathe their beauty's pride.

Or in the shades of Tiviot, Parent Stream!
Or silvan Jed, as in Arcadian dream,
Lead on the dance; or urge, in jocund throng,
The circling chace, these rural scenes among.

And Devon's Nymph, who laves with wa'try store
Her silver mass, presents the shining ore:
Nor longer jealous, hides her rich supplies,
Since princely Jason bears her golden prize.
The swelling Spey, and Varar's far-fam'd flood,
With northern Naids yeild their scaly brood;
And Deva's stream, fost'ring her learned Quire,
Charm'd with the magic of the Minstrel's lyre.

Next came the Nymphs from many a courtly bow'r,
Where Lordly Thamis' swelling waters pour;
Or stormy Humber, with the chaste Sabrine
Commix their sparkling sands with diamond sheen:
Or subterranean mines, where Tina flows,
And Commerce rich from sable mass bestows.

The King of Floods high tow'rs above the rest,
Augusta's image top'd his ruby crest:
Consign'd by fate, a triple crown he bore,
And trident, ensign of imperial pow'r.
Pride grac'd his brow, and conscious honour high,
And loyal zeal, and freedom's fearless eye;
Three gorgeous robes enrich'd with gold he brought
His artists frame with lively figures wrought.

Last came the peerless Daughter of the sea,
Th'imperial Queen whom gods and men obey,
Celestial Venus: splendent from afar,
With purple radiance blaz'd her diamond car;
Her car the doves with silver plumage drew,
Around her train on golden pennons flew;
These to the winds her floating crimson spread,
These o'er the waves Idalian flow'rets shed:
With regal pomp, the prime of Nereus' race,
She rides sublime their festival to grace.
Old Ocean smooths his brow, and joys again
To bear the fairest offspring of the main;
His hundred floods with fond embraces join,
And to the hall conduct the Charge Divine.
All these, obsequious, tend the sov'reign call,
To grace the feast in Amphitrite's hall.

Supreme the Goddess sat on regal throne,
Where pillar'd gold and diamond splendor shone.
Their homage paid, this blooming bevy join
O'er feast ambrosial, and nectarean wine.
From orient pearl, they feast in shining rows,
In em'rald cups the sparkling bev'rage flows
In circling course: to grace the feast descends
Prime Harmony, and magic pleasance blends.
'Mid harpings clear resounds th'Eolian lyre
With melting strains; nor mute the vocal Quire;
In sweet response, at every close they sung,
Whilst o'er the flood these gratulations rung:

“Hail, sacred Morn! thrice blest, and fairest, rise!
“That leads Hyperion up the Eastern skies,
“With Hymen in his train, whose genial ray
“Revives the world, and drives these shades away.
“Rise, sacred Morn! arise! and with thee bring
“First birth of Time, the ever-blooming Spring:
“With rosy pleasures in their gay career,
“And joyance meet to crown the festive year.”

Thus pass'd the jovial week, now twilight grey
In silver-skirted cloud conducts the day,
Then all in homage to the circling sky,
With mystic morrice ends their jubily.

On chrystal seats reclin'd in princely hall
The sea-green Nymphs attend the sov'reign call,
Where in rotation Amphitrite bestows
On every district where her current flows
The annual boon: in just succession rise
The Albion Floods, and claim their rightful prize.
The Pow'r consenting thus awards their claim,
Yours is the boon, ye Nymphs! of mighty fame.
Loyal allegiance thus fix'd Fate repays,
Then tribute claim of all the sea surveys.
With low obeisance and according voice
'Gan lordly Thames announce the gen'ral choice:

“Hail Neptune's Queen! whose mace of dreadful pow'r
“Controuls the floods, and quells the stormy stour;

“Who brings Hyperion on his annual way,
“Whom clouds, and winds, and wat'ry pow'rs obey;
“No common boon we crave, no treasures shine,
“No diamond flaming from the eastern mine,
“Nor pow'rs increase to scar the world's repose,
“Nor guilty wreaths from Turk or Christian foes,
“Nor tribute praise; th'etherial herald dame
“Awes distant climes with Albion's warlike fame:
“Her native main the world's vast wealth conveys,
“And crowns of conquest at her footstool lays.
“This be the boon, great Amphitrite prepare,
“In sovereign state, with this assemblage fair,
“To join, with mystic rites, on Thame's strand,
“The Noble Brides in Hymen's golden band.
“Whose happy Lovers wait in nuptial weir,
“The richest treasure of the new-born year.

“For Athole, he who rules with princely sway,
“Where branching Taia's silver currents stray,
“And fertile Mona, with his mountains steep,
“Their ancient realm o'erlooks the western deep;
“In whose high mind prime honour builds her bow'r,
“And Worth gives lustre beyond wealth or pow'r,
“For Cathcart fair avows his am'rous flame,
“The brightest Nymph from Fortha's winding stream.

“And gallant Graham, from martial lineage sprung
“Of Patriot Chiefs, by ancient poets sung,
“Smit with the charms that in Maria shine,
“With ardour woos, where worth and beauty join.

“But who comes yonder! with a bridegroom's haste,
“Like princely Phœbus from the gorgeous east!
“'Tis He in foreign courts supreme to guide
“Britannia's Weal, and o'er her fate preside!
“Now while her mighty Genii in their sphere,
“The weight of empire for their Stormont bear:
“The toils of state he gilds with beauty's smile,
“For Hebe could the cares of Jove beguile;
“And in Louisa's bloom, with virgin grace
“Of virtue, charming in so fair a face,
“Proffers to virtuous love what here below
“Exalted minds are only bless'd to know;
“The nectar'd joys which Hymen mix'd above
“For kindred souls, who mutual passion prove;
“When Venus' Son, with chosen golden darts
“Of passion chaste, has pierc'd two faithful hearts.

“Lo here, the pride of birth and merit join'd,
“Begild the branches of a noble kind,
“Cathcart their Sire, from ancient peers renown'd,
“With civil fame, and martial plaudit crown'd,
“On whom his country looks, with hope elate,
“In evil times to prop Britannia's state.
“His Consort, sprung from Brandon's princely race,
“Whose fame the annals of our Isle shall grace,
“And circling fair in many a noble tide,
“Down Albion's vale, with bounteous current glide,
“Left her fair Image in her Daughter train,
“Love's pledges, when she sought the heavenly plain;

“Heirs of her worth: now, from the starry sky,
“She marks their safety with a Parent's eye;
“Like saintly guard, from shafts of mortal wo,
“She shields the precious Pearls she left below.

“Such their descent, and such the princely band,
“Who grace with bridal pomp Thames' flow'ry strand.
“With jocund troop, th'imperial Paphian Dame,
“Who first inspir'd, will crown the lover's flame,
“And with her bring all mystic Jollity,
“Hymen and bright Autonoe's Progeny;
“The Graces Three, in whom all charms combine,
“Offspring of Jove, and crown'd with youth divine:
“Whose winning smiles bid virtue brighter glow,
“Whose honey'd breath can temper cups of wo;
“Whose presence blest, enhances human joy;
“Whose absence, would life's fairest scenes destroy,
“Blast frolic youth, bid grandeur's plumage fade,
“And regal glory shrink a ghastly shade:
“For this your splendid palace we explore,
“To guide your train to Thamis' festive shore.
“Dread Goddess! hear, this proffer'd boon consign,
“And we the wealth of Indian worlds resign.”

The Pow'r replies: “Your fond petition gain,
“To Thames we pass, with all this blooming train:
“And now my steeds, impatient of controul,
“With fiery neighings, claim the distant goal;

“Aurora calls me from her rosy sphere,
“And ling'ring Phospher chides, with circlet clear.”

The Nereids heard, their busy march prepare,
And all the Nymphs who on the billows fare,
Their cars ascend; in marine state they glide
O'er the blue waves, which stoop their tow'ring pride.

With gorgeous troop the Goddess pass'd sublime,
Who rules the swelling seas in ev'ry clime;
In crystal orbs her pearly axle flew,
The Tritons brave their coral trumpets blew,
Her smiles the winds and murm'ring tempests fled,
Her golden scepter smooth'd the Ocean's bed:
Fair on her forehead beam'd the morning star,
The sun's bright orbit rose beneath her car;
Whose flaming glories, from th'etherial gate,
Full royally disclose imperial state.

All Nature shouts, the birds of every name,
And howling wilds, the year's return proclaim.
Air, earth, and sea, herds on a thousand hills,
Till ev'ry land the general joyance fills.

Aloft the Year, girt with her figur'd zone,
Rode with Hyperion on his golden throne:
Around the new-born Pow'rs perennial seat,
Flew forms ideal, endless to relate.

The winged Hours, in silver reins confin'd
The flying coursers, which outstrip the wind:
The crouding Days, and fleeting Months appear,
With unborn ages hov'ring in the rear.
With chant of merry birds, soft-breathing Spring
Seem'd shedding flow'rets from her crimson wing.
In loose attire the radiant Summer bound
Her spicy wreaths, and roses strew'd around.
Like nuptial bride, with highly blooming charms,
Ripe Ceres blush'd in Autumn's circling arms.
From ruffian blast, in ermine's speckled pride,
Coy Winter strove her sick'ning frame to hide.

These must'ring journey with the new-born year
In endless circuit thro' the rolling sphere
Revolving ever, till in ruins hurl'd,
Expires the shining fabric of the world.

See Mr Richardson's elegant poem.

CANTO II.

Ter fortunate Sponsus! tibi ducitur uxor,
Quæ Thalamus pietate beat, virtutibus ornat,
Et stirpis claræ decus morum transfulget honore.
Succrescat fœcunda Aula! agnoscat alumnos,
Gaudiisque decurrant venientes molliter anni,
Nec vobis alias decernant fidera tædas.

Thro' the mid Ocean, fann'd with am'rous gales,
Bright Amphitrite in state imperial sails.
Around the Queen, in blooming Beauty's pride,
The jocund bevy o'er the billows glide.
They speed their voyage all the live-long day,
And reach, with eve, Tamesias' ample bay.
There up the wid'ning channel's wond'ring stream
They wind with stately march their squadron trim,
Where lordly rises, 'mid the smiling plain,
The regal Seat where Albion monarchs reign,
And Julian Tow'rs begild the peopl'd strand,
The envy, and the dread of every land.
Here Fate ordains her fav'rite Line to rule
With Naval Scepter fear'd from pole to pole:
To awe the proud, to set the nations free
From slavish chain of grasping tyranny:

While o'er the deeps, like heav'n's red fire, is hurl'd,
Their thund'ring storm, to shake a guilty world.
To save a downward age, now Mercy brings
Th'imperial ensigns to the best of Kings;
Augustus sways and decks his triple crown
With justice, mildness, Grandeur's best renown,
And public love. Ye fretful factions, play!
Like clam'rous swarm beneath Hyperion's ray;
Short is your span, the summer breezes soil
Your varnish'd hues in dust, and close your idle toil.
Should rebel pride our scenes of peace deform,
Firm Royalty outrides the swelling storm;
The Skilful Pilot tried in boist'rous seas,
Guides public safety to the port of peace:
Whilst grateful Nations, loyal, bold, and free,
Bear down the league of factious anarchy,
Blest in Augustus' love. The Albion Queen,
Like Venus from the flood, with sov'reign mein,
And Siren voice, charming rude winds that blow,
With smiles of amity, shall kindly shew,
Like Cynthia mild, or Hesper's orient beam
That skirts the brow of night with silver gleam:
For in her sphere She shines, with virtues rare,
To soothe the Monarch's or the Peoples care.
Forgive the Muse, she soars on trembling wing,
'Mid Loyal Throng, their excellence to sing;

Would blend unequal voice in duteous lay
T'imperial Pow'r, whom three great realms obey,
And heav'n implore with pure oraisons meet,
His Toils to prosper who upholds the state.
Onward they pass, where Thamis' op'ning grove,
Splendent afar, reveals the bow'r of love.
Before the marble gate, with stedfast eye,
Watch'd Constancy, who guides the orbs on high,
In faithful course, bids vernal seasons glow,
Or rising year, love's better gifts, bestow.
Within shone faithful love, and virtue's pride,
And Virgin Beauty, grac'd on either side
With prime Nobility, and Honour high,
And blushing Merit sweet, with downcast eye,
With many a princely Dame, and gallant Peer,
To grace their nuptials rob'd in gorgeous wier.
And hark! the damsels sing their carols sweet,
While jocund hautboy, with respondence meet,
Conducts the song: “Come forth, ye Nymphs! so fair,
“Bright Venus' train, your bridal crowns prepare:
“Love's radiant harbinger, with golden crest,
“The star of ev'ning, trembles in the west;
“And, for the Bridegroom, chides the ling'ring hours,
“And brings the Bride into the bridal bow'rs.
“Now Hymen lights his torch in trim array,
“And starry night shines lovelier than the day;

“'Tis Hymen calls, attend the sacred sound,
“The cares of love, with love's best joys are crown'd.”
Now cease, ye damsels! cease your nuptial song!
Lo! where they, brightest of the virgin throng,
Whom crowns of worth and beauty prime adorn,
Break from their chambers, like the blushing morn,
Or Sol's chaste Sister, flush'd with purple ray,
From eastern palace to eclipse the day.
In glitt'ring robes array'd, and garlands green,
The Brides, in semblance like some maiden Queen,
Like Dian on Eurota's flow'ry strand,
With shafts unerring, 'mid the huntress band:
Or when Jove's Daughter calls his progeny,
They shine in beauty like the Graces Three.
But who is she! in virgin robes array'd,
Of silver silk, as suits the noble maid,
Like youthful Hebe, dazzling ev'ry eye,
Adjusts their train where ambush'd Cupids ly.
And now, with other throng, the hall rebounds,
The bright assemblage hear celestial sounds;
The warbling lute, and soft recorders clear,
With clanging trumpets pierce the echoing air,
Whilst from a golden cloud, with concourse bright,
Unfolds the state of sov'reign Amphitrite.
Great Tethys' Race, bedeck'd in em'rald sheen,
The Albion Pow'rs, and love's imperial Queen,

With meet oraisons greet each noble Bride,
Then range their squadron gay on either side.
Bright Ocean's dame, on either Bride bestows
A sparkling crown, enchaced with diamond rows.
Venus their cestus binds, where winning Smiles,
And young Desire, and Beauty, range their wiles.
The Graces, handmaids to the rival Fair,
In artful ringlets spread their flowing hair:
And all the concourse rang'd in brilliant row,
Choice service do, fond courtesy to show;
While glancing round, from many a radiant eye,
Th'unerring shafts of mighty Cupid fly.
Anon the Bridegroom's summons seems to say
“Arise, my Turtle Dove! and come away!
“Bleak Winter's gloom, with dark suspence is fled,
“The dawning year now gilds his orient head;
“The woodlands round your bridal carols sing,
“And youthful Hymen shakes his fragrant wing:
“A thousand pleasures wait in trim aray,
“Arise my best Belov'd! and come away.”
The Gallant Baron, with a Parent's pride
Conducts, in solemn state, each Sister Bride,
Where sacred priest before the altar stands,
And joins the faithful Pairs in holy bands;
Blending his utt'rence chaste with cordial pray'r,
“May faith and truth, high heav'ns best blessings, share.”

Return'd in pomp, the gay assemblage greet
The nuptial train, with gratulations meet:
In the bright van, the sov'reign Queen of Love,
With Amphitrite, their princely favour prove:
Taia and Forth, their maids, in trim array,
Before their steps with flow'rets strew'd the way.
On lovely Cathcart's brow, with bright renown,
Irradiant Athole plac'd his ducal crown:
Louisa's coronal, from the Graces' grove
Stormont intwin'd with never-fading love.
Graham's martial wreaths on fair Maria shine,
Heroic laurel wove with myrtle twine:
While Beauty's Guard, like Red-Cross Knights of old,
In shining circle stand the Brothers bold.
And now, in order plac'd, each smiling guest,
In Princely guise proceeds the nuptial feast;
The lustres blaze, the sparkling bev'rage flows,
And festive joyance in each bosom glows.
The Queen of Love demands the mystic song,
At her command begin the virgin Throng;
At her command prime Harmony descends,
The muses Train their magic pleasance blends.
Resounds Arion's harp, and Sirens three,
Commixing charm of heav'nly minstrelsy,
With trembling voice angelical, controul,
And steal with ravishment the thrilling soul.
They sung high mysteries of verse sublime,
Where daring fancy never learn'd to climb;

The loves of Vesta, crown'd in bright abodes,
Espous'd by Cœlum, eldest of the Gods,
From whom descends th'immortal progeny,
The Gods of Hades, Ocean, Earth, and Sky.
Of ancient Time, the annals of his reign
They sung, 'ere Sol illumin'd the starry plain,
When Chaos heard the dreadful voice, and fled,
Creation struggling in her infant bed:
The waters sought the deep, the fluid air
Compass'd the globe, and fire the heav'nly sphere.
Then life and light, and Nature's frame begun,
And first to measure time the regent Sun,
By whom ordain'd the hour, day, month, and year,
With unborn ages, in fixed course appear.
Anon, with martial strain, the halls rebound,
The Tritons brave, their coral trumpets sound.
They sung the terrors of the Norric sword,
When furious Suen, with vent'rous sails, explor'd
High Scotia's shore, across the foaming main,
With host vindictive, for his kinsmen slain:
They, from the burden'd deep, unloading, range
Their iron freight, of armed warriors strange,
With silvan spoils, and bowmen skilled to guide
Their Doffrine shafts: Stalks Devastation wide,
And Rape, and Death, from Bertha's martial town,
To Deva's stream, and northern Caledon.

With spoil and pride inflate, the barb'rous band,
With tyrant rod, control'd th'indignant land,
'Till Athole, Stormont, and the gallant Graham,
Their country's shield, like Northern tempest came.
Fallen, with his Peers, on Taia's purple heath,
The Scandian mourn'd his glory set in death;
In his proud fleet the flying rout consume,
The Victors whelm them in a fiery doom.
Then rear each leader's tomb with lordly guise,
Sad sable beacons, seen with streaming eyes,
While Scandia shuns high Scotia's fatal shore,
And mourns her wariors who return no more.
Thus plaintive, soon to joy they strung the lyre
With melting sounds, that kindle soft desire,
And youthful fancy; for of Love they tell,
And League of Amity, meet charm to quell
Demons of war, and hatred: How the dart
Of Venus' son, unerring, pierc'd the heart
Of Caledon, in Beauty's blooming pride,
To pine for Anna fair, his Cimbrian bride.
With wealthy dow'r, of many a verdant isle,
Which 'mid the blust'ring Ocean seems to smile,
Whose fishy lakes, and shaggy dales, the gleam
Of ling'ring Summer, greets with fost'ring beam,
The Virgin came; in gilded vessel, crown'd,
With gallant chiefs, and streamers, to the sound

Of silver fifes: beneath the waving shade
Of silken canopy, the beauteous Maid,
With winning looks, and magic charm, is seen,
To soothe rude winds and waves, like Egypt's Queen,
When up the silver Nile her galleys move,
With Anthony; nor bless'd with virtuous love.
And now the Lover spies his Bride afar,
In navy struggling with the wat'ry war;
For, envious of their joy, with adverse storm,
The sudden tempests Anna's way deform,
With barb'rous rage divide whom love conjoin'd,
The Princess captive by the ruffian wind,
Forc'd from a Bridegroom's arms, by rapine rude,
Is born on wings of tempest o'er the flood;
And hardly 'scap'd, with ships half-wreck'd, explores
High Lochlin's port, within the shelt'ring shores.
The Prince consum'd with Venus' pleasing pain,
The more the jealous elements restrain,
The more he burns for his betrothed bride,
And faithful follows o'er the angry tide.
Her virgin grace, the light of radiant eyes,
And virtue meetly shrin'd in beauteous guise,
Kindle the blazing torch beheld afar,
And, like Love's harbinger, the friendly star,
Which drew Leander cross the rapid tide
Of Thracian Bosphorus, to Hiero's bed,

With grateful splendors gild his path, and keep
His am'rous voyage o'er the foaming deep:
The torch of Venus burns to light his way,
Where Cimbrian Princess, like the blooming May,
Awaits to crown his faith, each peril o'er,
With love's sweet joys in Hymeneal bow'r.
Then pass'd the nuptial months, in pastime bright,
Of feast, and courtly mask; and many a knight
Won fame and favour at the rapid course;
Or, proudly mounted on his barbed horse,
And kindling prowess at bright Beauty's glance,
Couch'd in fierce tournament his quiv'ring lance.
Each morn shook pleasance from his fragrant wings,
And young-ey'd Love increasing treasure brings:
Till rich in public praise, and homage due,
The Royal Pair, renown'd for passion true,
In pomp departed, with their princely band,
And rul'd, with growing fame, their native land.
The minstrels ceas'd; for now in western foam
The star of evening sought his radiant dome:
The Graces and young Loves, with golden wing,
The Bridal Pairs into their chamber bring:
The Queen of Floods, and all the marine Pow'rs,
Thro' the still wave explore their wat'ry bow'rs.
'Twas silence all, in heavenly tow'rs on high,
The Spheres kept watch, with ever-waking eye:

Sweet on the lawn, from the etherial steep,
Fond Cynthia with Endymion seem'd to sleep:
When at their lattice, with sweet bird of eve,
Her mate, the muse thus parting carol gave.

“Farewel True Hearts, whom Hymen's sacred pow'r,
“Blending the Honours of such Noble Line,
“In chaste league does combine;
“May heav'nly blessings on your nuptials show'r.

“Be Constancy and Love your wealthy dow'r!
“For Virtue, bright'ning fair, in Beauty's eyes,
“Outsoaring winged Fame, and Titles proud,
“That mock the idle crowd,
“Is meetly crown'd with Merits golden prize.

“And may the guardian Cohort of the skies,
“Who hold in charge your safety to maintain,
“Within the refuge of their wings embrace
“Your Life and Princely Race;
“And increase strengthen Hymen's golden chain.

“And may high Grace conduct your Kindred Train
“To share full bliss, when mortal pleasures fly,
“Angelic Saints, the streams of life among,
“Circling in radiant Throng,
“To crown your joys of Immortality.”

The mottos of the Epithalamium may be thus translated.

CANTO I.

Sing muse! the nuptial song: May heav'n from high,
Smile on such union with propitious eye;
And sacred faith, in everlasting chain
Of golden concord, kindred hearts constrain.
Joy gild your days: long may your noble race
In Albion's isle preside, with lordly grace,
Tending the public weal; our anchor'd hope,
In peace, in war, their country's stable prop.

CANTO II.

Thrice favour'd! to receive at Hymen's shrine,
What far the splendors of high birth outshine;
Truth, piety, and female honour pure,
Prime crown of love, bright beauty's richest dow'r.
From noblest stem, may hopeful branches shoot,
With blossom rip'ning into golden fruit:
Your gentle fates in pleasing current flow,
By heav'n conjoin'd, nor cloud nor sorrow know.

THE CYRNEAN HERO.

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF PEMBROKE.

Hail to the Chief! whom civic wreathes adorn,
Whose loud acclaim from pole to pole is borne;
Whose godlike strife to save a sinking land,
To wrench the scourge from stern Oppression's hand,
To shield the last remains, the children brave
Of Freedom struggling 'mid the Tyrrhene wave;
The British Youth shall mark with fond surprize,
And Patriots feel their kindred passions rise;
More bold to plead for their invaded laws,
And grapple danger for the public cause;
To quell the storm when mad'ning factions roar,
Or tyrant Bourbon, from his hostile shore,
Like great Paoli, 'tend their Country's call,
Resolv'd on conquest, or a glorious fall.

What tho' illib'ral France, with venal band,
Now proudly lords it o'er thy native land!
The sordid State prepare with tyrant frown
And slavish yoke, to bend thy country down.
What tho' fell bondage shakes her iron rod
O'er Cortes' walls, glad freedom's late abode!
Yet brighter days shall gild the fav'rite Isle
And Fate relenting, on her warriors smile.
The race of Herc'les ev'ry danger braves,
Nor tamely bends to hosts of Latian slaves.
The public love each kindred bosom fills,
And pours her champions from a hundred hills:
Feircely they rally o'er the Cyrnean shore,
And drench the island with invader's gore.

Unconquer'd Cyrna, struggling to be free,
Still rends the yoke of galling slavery;
Renews the mortal charge with deep'ning roar,
Like the wild waves which dash her rocky shore.
Still Bourbon's mercenary host shall bleed;
Again high Cyrna lift her laurel'd head;
Again triumph in thy victorious sword,
The public father to his sons restor'd.

Thus would the Muse, who in thy wrongs takes part,
Who feels the pangs which rend thy patriot heart,
To sooth thy grief, her humble tribute bring
Of lenient hope, shed from her trembling wing.
Hope, our good Angel, with bright radiance crown'd,
With healing hand, allays Misfortune's stound:
Dispels the gloom which adverse tempests raise,
And gilds dark Providence with orient rays:
Points to the shipwreck'd mariner afar
His port, and guides him like the polar star.

What roused the Asmonean race to arms,
Who shook the Syrian Tyrant with alarms!
What steel'd the heart of Brutus, sternly good,
To save fall'n Rome, redeem'd by Cæsar's blood!
What led the Great, whose pinion'd fame does soar,
Thee, Tamerlane! distain'd with eastern gore!
The toiling Muscovite, Gustavus bold,
To face each danger, when in arms grown old!
'Twas the big hope still bounding in their breast
To save mankind, by tyrant pow'r opprest.
The harvest reap'd in iron fields, to see
Bless'd peace establish'd, and their country free.

This arm'd fair England's champions for the fight,
To combat Myriads in their country's right;
Victorious Alfred stain'd with Danish gore,
Her Edwards, Henrys, on the Gallic shore;
Their swords the scourge of Heav'n, with vengeful glare
Shook o'er the soe dread pestilence and war;

While kingdoms, tyrants, shrunk before their frown,
Whose scanty legion shook the Gallic throne.
The land which trembling fear'd a foreign sword,
With grateful welcome hail'd her laurel'd Lord:
Wing'd conquest led: grim Bondage stalk'd behind,
In rattling chains, she for the brave design'd:
High-thron'd, her guardian spread the gifts of Peace,
And freedom charter'd to a dauntless race:
Beneath his buckler, loyal, bold, and free,
They shar'd the golden sweets of Liberty.

Oh Liberty! man's first and choicest treasure,
Bright soul of virtue, sacred source of pleasure,
Daughter of Heaven! with every blooming grace
To charm the bold, and polish human race.
Without thee Nature droops, and all we boast
Of Country, Friends, and Kindred, all is lost:
The plume of grandeur fades, life knows no blessing;
No choice, no rich endearment worth caressing.
The world, a dreary, darksome prison lies,
Where all the soul of man within him dies:
Dies to each great design, the minion tame
Of guilty power, the slave of sin and shame.

For thee, what hardships would the bold endure!
How brave the vengeance of oppressive pow'r!
How, following fierce thro' toil, war, bonds, and death,
Resound the onset with their latest breath!
Unconquer'd struggle, or, should freedom bleed,
Sink, crown'd with glory, 'mid the honour'd dead.

Descend, dread Goddess of the fearless eye!
Come from eternal splendors of the sky!
Oh! shield the nations from despotic pride,
From rage and violence, usurping wide:
And teach them rais'd, to guard, with manly grace,
The native rights and honours of their race.
Dread Goddess, rise! extend thine equal reign
From farthest Ind' to Zembla's freezing main:
But chiefly hover, with benignant smiles,
Where, 'mid old Ocean, tow'r the British isles;
Where thy true race, of mind and courage high,
Repel the yoke of wasteful slavery.
While dreadful o'er the subject waves is hurl'd,
Like Heav'n's, their thund'ring storm, to shake a guilty world.

Here fix thy seat, and blaze with Roman flame,
In senates bold no tyrant arts can tame:
Rouze them to feel for the atrocious deed;
Brandish thy terrors at the guilty head:
From mean submission vindicate the land,
And give the vengeance to thy dauntless band:
Till pride and stern oppression be no more,
And foreign tyrants own Britannia's pow'r;
Whose Prince and people prop the general cause,
Supporting and supported by the laws;
While savage bondage, driv'n abroad to reign,
Feels her own scourge, and bites her iron chain.

Ye generous Britons! could this verse avail
To rouse your rage at suff'ring Freedom's tale;
Then might the wretched, struggling with their fate,
Revere thine arm, which props each falling state:
Assert their rights beneath thy guardian care,
And taste the sweets which you profusely share.

But whither would my wayward fancy rove!
Inrich'd with liberty and virtue's love,
Paoli rests in hope; nor aught abates
Of this prime anchor, 'mid the frowning fates.
Ye mean usurpers, insolent through pow'r!
Hang forth your trophies from Aleria's tow'r!
Raze Freedom's seat! and when her sons complain,
Load them to groan beneath a heavier chain!
Bluster, ye Fates! ye stormy squadrons, rise!
And sound the charge with thunder's dreadful voice!
The Island trembles; but, estrang'd from fear,
Her Pilot looks beyond where bright'ning skies appear;
Where radiant hope breaks o'er the ocean stream,
To gild her Shores, like Phosphor's orient beam.

Meanwhile, exil'd from all the great can boast,
From friends, from kindred, from your native coast:
Honour'd and safe, by Thames' fam'd stream repose,
Nor dread the guile of Cyrna's vengeful foes.

Fair Albion joys thy kindred soul to trace,
And speaks her welcome with a fond embrace:
Unfolds her gates, the Brave Man's sanctuary,
To shelter worth, and freedom fled with thee.
Her circ'ling seas a shining bulwark stand
To shield the patriot 'scaped from Pharaoh's hand.
Here, while the tempests lour, and Bourbon waits,
The hir'd assassin of weak Latian states:
The mem'ory of thy country's wrongs efface
In great designs, to save a sinking race;
To pour the lenitive, with healing hand,
In aching wounds that rankle thro' the land;
And form with Roman skill the Cyrnean race,
'Mid war's alarum taught the arts of peace.
Here whet thy rage, that when the hour shall come,
When righteous heav'n shall seal the tyrant's doom,
Paoli may in awful vengeance rise,
To crush the proud, like thunder from the skies.

And what may sooth the Brave, thy public cause
Secures thee Britain's wonder and applause:

Her Peers, the pride and bulwark of the land,
The Sons of Freedom, give thee friendship's hand.
Piercy and princely Douglas foremost found
To tame the dragon, foil'd with many an wound:
The scourge of tyrants grace thy modest gate,
To mourn with thee sad Cyrna's ruin'd state.
Behold! they come! Pembroke, of gallant soul!
Thy pangs to soothe, thy Cyrna's foes controul:
Whose order'd squadrons shake the plain afar,
With thund'ring storm, to pierce the ranks of war;
Pembroke, to ev'ry courtly grace ally'd;
In fields the Brave Man's friend, and early try'd.

See! Caledonia, once depress'd and low,
When pow'r and slav'ry forc'd the brave to bow,
Exalts her tow'ring front, and hastes to greet
The cause of liberty, with rev'rence meet;
Admires in thee the fire which blaz'd of old
In Græme, in Bruce, in Douglas firm and bold,
Who toil'd for Scotland in the throat of death,
And peal'd her triumph with his latest breath.
Her cities hail thee, and her senates wait
T'inroll thy name with chiefs and patriots great.

See Him! whom genius and true worth adorn,
And early wreaths, from stern oppression torn;
Who, rous'd by freedom's and by virtue's flame,
First heard the clarion peal Paoli's name:
Left learned ease and Albion's blissful shore,
In distant climes thy fortunes to explore:

There brav'd infested seas, nor fear'd to go
Thro' hostile camps throng'd dire with freedom's foe,
Till every peril past, 'mid fire and sword,
Glad Boswell hail'd high Cyrna's warlike Lord.

He hop'd to see thy righteous cause prevail,
And sullen bondage mourn her sinking scale:
Rehears'd the annals of thy rising State,
And leagu'd with Princes to avert her fate.
But now an exile from thy tribes, opprest
With ev'ry pang which rends thy patriot breast;
True cordial friendship glowing in his face,
In Grief and joy he claims thy warm embrace:
Invokes high heav'n to vindicate thy right,
And rouses Europe to the glorious fight.

So when proud Cæsar stretch'd his iron rod,
Expelling freedom from her fam'd abode:
The Mauritanian, smit with virtue's charms,
Ador'd the Goddess in her Cato's arms;
Arrang'd his myriads, kindling at the call,
To humble Cæsar, or with Cato fall.

Thus I, the follower of the tuneful croud,
By winding Forth rehearse my sonnets rude,
Nor rich to aid, nor pow'rful to redress,
The Muse may mourn with greatness in distress:
Breath her oraison, nor in blushes hide,
Aw'd by the frown of insolence and pride.

The sacred strains to worth and freedom due,
Paoli! borrow dignity from you.
The tears we shed when injur'd nations groan,
Mount with their cry to the celestial throne.

Nor lacks the Muse her burthen to complain;
The lot of man is stamp'd with grief and pain.
And she has mourn'd fell Envy's poison'd dart,
And galling scorn, which gnaws the conscious heart;
And foul ingratitude, the worst of crimes,
To blast fair honour tried in bitter times.
Of these she well could plain her baleful song,
But patience checks, and other cares belong:
To tend the charge the Sov'reign Sheperd gave,
To feed my flock along the briny wave;
To watch their safety from the prouling croud,
But most from man, oppressive false and proud.
There, whilst they haply brouze the wholesome flow'r,
On sunny cliff, or sport the harmless hour,
I ease my pastoral reed, and, pleas'd, retire
To charm wild Echo with my rustic lyre.
Or wand'ring, pensive, hear the brave complain,
And consecrate to Cyrna's Chief the strain.

The Author in this Poem uses the antient name of Corsica, which was called Cyrnum or Cyrna by the Greeks, from Cyrnus, the son of Hercules, who was supposed to have been the first who planted a colony in that island.

See Stephanus de urbibus, or that curious and interesting History of Corsica, published in the year 1770, by the ingenious James Boswell, Esq; of Auchinleck.

It will ever be remembered, with regret, how, after a hot campaign, the French army entirely reduced the brave Corsicans. Paoli (now beset with traitors and assassins, the mercenary pack set on by lawless power to hunt down the brave and unfortunate) left the Island, where he could continue no longer with advantage to his Countrymen.

Landing in Italy, he passed through several states, where he was entertained with respect, and at last took refuge in England.

There all ranks seemed to contend in paying homage to Fortitude and Freedom in the Person of Paoli. He was carried to St James's, and there courteously received; suitable apartments were assigned him; the chief of the nobility attended his levee; and, where-ever he passed, the people followed the Hero with public honours and applause.

ON THE LATE GREAT Naval and Military Preparations;

Humbly Inscribed to the Most Noble JAMES MARQUIS OF GRAHAM, Colonel of the Caledonian Band of Heroes.

Est et Volscorum egregia de gente Camilla,
Agmen agens peditum, et florentes ære catervas,
Bellatrix ------
Virg.

Heard you dread Mars his brazen clarion sound!
Heard you the thunders of his wasteful car!
Scotia's unconquer'd strength of hills rebound,
And fierce descend her glitt'ring ranks of war.

To arms, ye brave! and free! your Country cries,
The voice of fearless Freedom and of Fame,
Of parents, kindred, children, all we prize,
Behind your shield their sacred refuge claim.

For faithless Bourbon, sworn with tyrant boast
To quench your glory, with unnumber'd band
Of Death and Rapine, from his hostile coast
Vindictive hastens to devour the land.

Their furious purpose with insidious guile
The Tyrants mask'd, rousing th'infernal brood
Of Parricide against the Parent Isle
To lift her arm, distain'd with kindred blood:

Sad while we droop, spent with ignoble hate,
Like the fell Vultures hov'ring o'er their prey,
In iron fang would grasp th'enfeebled state,
To groan beneath the scourge of tyrant sway.

And shall mean Slav'ry lord it o'er the Isle,
O'er Faith and Freedom, in whose cause was spilt
Her childrens' blood; and the rich heirs despoil
Of vast estate, the trophies of his guilt!

Yet shou'd the Nine the trembling Muse inspire,
And lift her reed to their full trumpet strain;
Rouse Ocean's Queen, resistless in her ire,
With banner'd terrors o'er the subject main;

She'd call each Godlike Hero from the sphere
Where bright enshrin'd they prop a nation's doom;
And, ever watchful o'er the public care,
Wait Heaven's high mandate to dispel the gloom.

Immortal Russel! Bourbon's fierce controul;
And Vernon! thou! who crush'd the pride of Spain:
Dread Howard! Raleigh! Hawke's undaunted soul!
O fire with Glory's call your kindred train!

They call thee, O thou Great One! to arise,
To save thy country, on proud Bourbon hurld,
To pour her naval thunder, as the skies
Roll the loud storm which shakes a guilty world.

Britannia's awful Genius be thy guide!
Inspire, auspicious, and direct the blow!
As when Armada, 'mid the burning tide,
Before her sons of glory, sunk in wo.

Hail, Rodney! thrice with naval triumph crown'd,
While Spain, Batavia, mourn thy thunders roar,
And haughty France, transfix'd with mortal wound,
Bows her proud sails, and dyes the seas with gore.

For Thee, with trophies of immortal fame,
Thy country decorates the arch of praise;
With darling sons enrolls thy deathless name,
Example! glory! boast of future days!

Long shall the Muses sing in peaceful quire
The Hero, He! turning with effort great
The storm of war: 'mid thunder, death, and fire,
Resolv'd to fall, or stem the tides of fate.

And herald fame on angel trumpet blow
Hesperian Isles redeem'd! the subject main
Circling her empire! while the vanquish'd foe
Mourn their proud league and pomp of war as vain.

While Envy fell with clam'rous faction fled,
Foul Harpies they! to blast thy flow'ring fame,
In Hell's deep gloom shall hide the guilty head
Before the triumph of thy loud acclaim.

While thus her future theme in jublee song,
Th'extatic Muse, with thrilling soul, surveys,
Their native flow'rs she culls for Scotia's throng
To wreathe the Crown of their immortal praise.

Oft has the blood-stain'd Caledonian sword
Repell'd Invasion from her sea-girt shore;
In fields of death bright Liberty explor'd;
Her gifts redeem'd from fang of lawless pow'r.

Again she trims her never-fading bays;
Again, renew'd, in youthful Heroes burn
The public virtues, with unconquer'd blaze:
So springs the Phœnix from his parent's urn.

Who graceful tow'rs along the front of war,
In prime of youth and peerage! Brandon! He!
Like Thracia's Lord, conspicuous from afar,
Whose loyal Worth crowns high Nobility.

From pleasing dales of Tweed, inur'd to arms,
See Princely Scot lead on, with Barons bold,
His warlike files, fresh kindling at alarms,
Their Country's bulwark, as in days of old.

Where gelid Spey rolls on his headlong stream,
And lordly castles their fair prospect yield,
The Mighty Gordon comes with horrent gleam
Of lances stain'd in Flowden's dreadful field.

From Morven's hills, hung o'er the foaming tide,
Thrice Noble Campbell hies, his Country's Boast;
Around, his Chieftans range their warlike pride,
To ward invasion from fair Albion's coast.

Where, circling her fair islands to the main,
Flows swelling Tay, Great Athole leads his pow'r,
A host of brothers; dread on native plain,
When Scandian navies fled the crimson'd shore.

By stately Forth, Edina's chosen band
Muster, still foremost in the lists of Fame,
To humble France, or proud Iberia's land;
Her patriot Chiefs awake the martial flame.

Where Skaia fam'd repels the northern foam,
From her green hills, her Sons renown'd afar,
The scourge of Lochlin, with fierce ensigns come;
Macdonald of the Isles directs the war.

Nor from their native mountains shall the throng,
Round gallant Fraser marsh'ling, lack due praise;
Fresh wreaths of glory to the brave belong,
Their sword fresh trophies of the field shall raise.

I see them Victors by Savannah's flood,
Where dying Maitland won the civic Crown;
Humbl'd Invasion in her stormful mood:
Like him of Thebes entomb'd with just renown.

I see the gallant Graham, with Buchan brave,
Arrange their cohorts for the mortal strife:
The Caledonian spurns the name of Slave,
And without Freedom, Peerage, Wealth, and Life.

Sons of the Goddess, of the fearless eye,
Resistless, terrible the Heroes come;
For Scotland sworn to conquer or to die,
To purchase Freedom, or a glorious tomb.

Dread, like the eagle, from their rocky build,
Descend the Northern Peers, renown'd of yore,
When slavish pow'r, by Valour forc'd to yield,
The Roman tyrant fled the fatal shore.

Their titles, number, prowess, to record,
Exceeds the limits of the Muse's lay;
And better He , with classic genius stor'd,
To distant times their Glory shall display.

Yet may she bring, weak herald of such praise,
Meet tribute where the Virtues fairest shine,
In beauteous Sutherland, and gild her lays
With splendor borrow'd from her Princely Line.

Sprung from the far-fam'd Caledonian race,
Thy raptur'd Country marks, renew'd in thee,
That soul of glory, which in war, in peace,
Encrown'd the fame of such prime Ancestry.

Whilst Albion shakes beneath the thund'ring pow'r
Of War and Discord, from Tain's shores they come,
Like tempest, to dispel the stormy stour,
With trusty swords, to fix a nation's doom.

A nation's bulwark, tried in dire alarms,
In them their Country calls Her champions forth,
Her voice they hear, and, 'mid the strife of arms,
Rush like the thund'ring tempest of the North.

Nor droop, ye Brave! that many laurels crown
One martial Maid: bright Dames of England! rise,
By patriot-virtues, to that prime renown
Which gives fresh lustre to all-conqu'ring eyes.

Like Volscian Queen, o'er Latium's glitt'ring strand,
Fearless She goes where spears and banners burn;
Where Chiefs, officious, wait Her high command,
And rushing cohorts at Her pleasure turn.

In warlike guise pleas'd by Her side to wait,
The lordly Wemyss, Captain of the host,
Scans with a leader's eye their martial state;
By the bright Maid himself distinguish'd most.

At Her command, they hew their flaming way
In length'ning column, horrent from afar:
The noble Stewart guides their fierce array,
And swells the onset 'mid the ranks of war.

In dread array, o'er hill and dale they go
Where danger calls, where on the purpl'd heath
Proud Eiren fell beneath their vengeful bow,
And Sweno mourn'd his glory set in death.

Should villain Envy, fierce with basilisk eye,
And venal Clamour, hell's foul harpies, tear
The wreath of praise, your pinion'd fame shall fly,
On eagle's wing, beyond their guilty sphere.

On Scotia's hills unfading wreaths shall grow,
Each grateful plain their flow'ry tribute yield;
Her fairest nymphs shall deck the warrior's brow,
Who o'er his Country lifts his guardian shield.

With You shall all Your Country's wishes rest:
Health to the Brave! who, prodigal of life,
Scorning to bask in ease, with dauntless breast
Arise her Champions 'mid the mortal strife.

May Albion's awful Genius be Your guide
Thro' fields of death: On You her civic crown
Bestow; best recompence, when conscious pride,
With Mother's eye, shall mark You for her own.

Lord Charles Howard, Lord Henry Seymour, and the bold Admirals Drake, Raleigh, Frobisher, and Hawkins, have made their names immortal, by completing the destruction of the Spanish Armada, when Philip invaded England in 1588. The renowned Lord Hawke overthrew M. Conslans, who had sailed from Brest to cover the then intended invasion in November 1759.

And Britain hath, with a mother's joy and glory in her heroic son, recorded in her annals, in letters of gold, what will be read with peculiar exultation by the brave and free to latest ages, That, on the ever memorable 12th of April 1782, the most active and intrepid Lord Rodney, at a time when the British empire was brought into the most imminent danger, by the wicked combination of many powerful Princes, headed by the ambitious House of Bourbon, most successfully encountered the numerous fleets of France, with all their army on board, conducting by Count de Grasse, to join the Spanish armament, in order to complete the conquest of the West India Islands, and invade the empire where most accessible.

The gallant Briton, fired with the public cause, fell upon the enemy's fleet with a spirit, skill, and fury unknown before, and spread terror, death, and carnage through every ship. With irresistible ardour, he continued this most bloody and decisive battle a whole day, till night closed upon the dreadful scene. The very flower and strength of the French navy was sunk, taken, or effectually destroyed. The undaunted Count de Grasse, who did all that man could do to prevent this fatal catastrophe, with his few surviving officers, fighting it out bravely to the last, was taken in the famous Ville de Paris, a most capital ship, which was the glory and boast of the French nation.

Thus the irrisistible spirit and undaunted bravery of one great man gave a mortal blow for ever to this proud and alarming confederacy; turned the scales of a most disastrous and expensive war on the side of Britain, against all her numerous and vaunting enemies; and, under the particular direction of Divine Providence, who ordains the rise and the fall of nations, saved, by a most signal and complete victory, the British empire, when pushed to the very verge of destruction.

The successful manœuvres of one skilful, active, and undaunted Admiral, whose soul was proof against every consideration, save the Love of his King and Country, established again, in the estimation of the world, the declining character of the British nation, maintained with splendour the empire of the seas, and diffused peace and tranquillity over all Europe.

It will not be forgotten, that, in 1778, Lord Rodney defeated the Spanish fleet under the brave Don Langara, who, with his Rear-Admiral and several ships of the line, fell into his hands. He also reduced St Eustatia, where several millions in specie and merchandize were taken. The Dutch fleet richly laden, were also captured; and their Admiral, fighting bravely, was killed.

Such heroic actions render Lord Rodney the most distinguished naval character of the times; and reflect a lustre round the Hero, which neither fortune nor nobility, nor the most flattering exertions of panegyric, can bestow; and which no clouds raised by Malice, Envy, and party, by outlaws and abandoned traitors to their ccountry, with all their impotent attempts, shall ever be able to tarnish or eclipse to latest ages.

The very spirited exertions of the Right Hon. Sir Laurence Dundas, Bart. of the Right Hon. John Dalrymple then Lord Provost, of the Magistrates and Town Council of the City of Edinburgh, and of many truly patriotic and eminent Citizens, were, on this loyal occasion, of raising a Regiment of Royal Volunteers, exceedingly remarkable.

See the Elegant Reflections on Military Preparations, by Sir John Dalrymple, Bart.

VERSES

ADDRESSED TO HIS GRACE HENRY DUKE OF BUCCLEUGH.

Go, happy Muse! with grateful song explore
The streams, and groves, which grace Esk's winding shore.
There, down the deep'ning dale and vocal wood,
Plain with the feather'd tribes your sonnets rude.
Hear the first trooping choir salute the spring,
How sweet the sky-lark and the thrustle sing;
The finch and linnet blend their warbling throat
In ceaseless concert, to the lively note
Of mellow blackbird: Philomel so sweet
Complain and Halcyon with respondence meet
To the bass cadence of the waters fall;
O'er gay parterres hear whisp'ring Zephyrs call,
Charm'd Echo from her Princely Bow'r still answering to all.
O'er blooming Cynthia's walks the Muse would rove,
Nor envy Tempe's vale, nor fabl'd grove:

A Fairer than fair Cynthia, bears command,
Or She who haunts Eurota's flowery strand,
And leads a brighter Choir: the angel grace
Of young eye'd Beauty marks her Noble Race.
The Train of blooming Hope sit smiling there,
Full sweet the Fruit whose Blossom shews so fair!

A nation turns, and marks with pleas'd surprise,
The godlike Virtues of their Race arise:
Sees from the Parent Tree his Branches shoot,
With promise rip'ning into Golden Fruit.
That best Ambition to be Truly Great,
And wed bright Honour to a high estate;
Making the tide of all their greatness flow
Back to the ocean, whence its succours grow;
To Bounteous Heaven, that gave a Princely Share,
For blessing thousands cast upon their care:
Gave Power and Worth, an image of her own,
To shake Corruption on her venal throne:
Gave Eloquence, to rouse the Kindling Band
Of Patriots Firm, and save a sinking land.

To crown Fine Talents, gave a Princely Soul,
Like magnet faithful to its native pole;
With ardor in their Country's Cause to burn,
And every virtue to this Center turn;
To stem the plagues which taint a nation's blood,
The bane of Av'rice, Riot's torrent flood;
The tide of venal baseness, and the shame,
The worst to blast a nation's awful fame.

T'unmask the snakes of Faction's hydra band,
And crush each mean usurper thro' the land.
T'expel the Stygian brood, and woo the grace
Of public virtues to resume their place;
Woo Concord, Peace, with wreaths of olive crown'd,
From dove-like wing dispensing blessings round;
The Public Love, which blaz'd in happier times;
Bright Temperance, unstain'd with modern crimes:
Rough Industry to build the common weal,
And fraught with great designs the public zeal,
To touch each cordial spring; the Parent, Soul,
Like fire Promethean, to inspire the whole.

They come, each glorious purpose to pursue;
At their approach, see fading scenes renew;
City and mart, with new-born pride appear,
And rural scenes the bloom of Eden wear.
Commerce, more gay, explores each distant land,
And richer harvests tempt the reaper's hand.
The cherish'd arts, with fond ambition join,
To charm the Lib'ral Soul that makes them shine:
Bright Science lifts aloft her starry head,
And every Muse explores the shelt'ring shade.

Such was my theme, as, by the winding stream
Of shady Esk, I shunn'd the Summer beam;
List'ning, I heard, or seem'd to hear, the call
To visit, Noble Scott, thy Princely Hall:
Following, with grateful step, “The storm is o'er,”
I said, “my bark now finds a shelt'ring shore.

“Th'insidious shelves are past, which lurking lay,
“Like deadly Malice, to devour their prey.
“I fear not galling Scorn's envenom'd dart,
“Nor Envy's snake, which gnaws the villain's heart;
“Nor critic's fang, nor harpy's hateful cry,
“My Chieftain's Palace is my sanctuary.”

Sept. 1784.

VERSES

On three Beautiful Sister Ladies Of great Fortune, in their Childhood.

Sororibus componam parvula munuscula Musæ.
An.

Sweet Flow'rs! so fair which vernal hues begild,
Etherial Gift! to grace our desart wild:
Beneath kind skies, and fanning Zephyrs born,
Your Fortha's shore, Prime Roses to adorn:
Where young eyed Beauty smiles in saintly guise,
As harmless Cupid all unquiver'd lyes,
And Truth, with Innocence, and Peace, secure,
Flying the world, haunt your blissful bow'r.

Long blossom, fair! Hyperion, in his way,
Shall foster Pearls, that shall eclipse his ray:
The bright Hesperides, with tribute meet
Of summer gales, their golden Blossoms greet:
And Guardian Pow'rs unfading fruits bestow,
Faith, Hope, and Love, which to the heav'ns shall grow:
While native Forth, proud of her precious Store,
Shall waft new Jasons from each wond'ring shore:
Rival the Fame of Colchis' golden strand,
And match the Wealth of either Indies land.

Sweet Flow'rs of Hope! may no unkindly blast
The orient sunshine of your morn o'ercast:
Nor Pain nor Griefs' untimely storm appear,
Shriv'ling your leaves before the mellowing year:
But may the radiant Cohort of the skies,
Like Argus, guard the Flow'rs of Paradise.

Long with a Mother's eye, a Mother's prayer,
In conscious rapture o'er her pleasing Care,
Like Eden's peerless Dame in bless'd retreat,
Bright Evelina, on your safety wait,
Fost'ring your vernal hues. Long see you grow
In Wisdom's soil: Your snowy bosoms glow
With female Worth, prime sense of Honour high,
Pure Truth, and Merit, sweet with downcast eye.
Immortal Blooms! surpassing Eden's kind,
Where Beauty shines the mirror of the Mind,
And rises fairer from the waste of Time,
To sky-born Lusture in the Heav'nly Clime.

Hov'ring extatic with a prophet's eye,
Hope joys her glitt'ring prospects to descry;
While guardian Saints, in airy forms arrayed,
The Blooms of Eden with their wings o'ershade.

May 1781.

VERSES

UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF LADY GLENORCHY.

Now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity—the greatest of these is Charity.
—1 Cor. xiii.

Vain the attempt to memorize thy name
In this unpolish'd verse. The just record,
Which bears the blazon of thy virtuous fame,
To rear more lasting trophies can afford.

To all indulgent, to thyself severe,
Whilst prying Envy scans no faults to chide,
You draw the veil, in form of Candour fair,
That hides thy neighbour's vanity or pride.

To squander wealth, and honour far more dear,
Heap'd on the shrine of luxury and scorn,
Full many toil: A nobler course you steer,
Soothing the lament wild of worth forlorn.

To tend the widow's and the orphan's cry,
By vice oppress'd; to still the bursting grief
Of female Virtue, with despairing eye,
Sunk at her Spoiler's door to beg relief.

To clothe the Naked, set the Pris'ner free,
To feed the Hungry with the Bread of Life,
The work is thine, O meek-ey'd Charity!
Friend of the friendless, 'mid this mortal strife.

“Thus guard my Flock,” the sov'reign Shepherd gave
Supreme command; and bid such virtue rise
From sin in triumph, and the ghastly grave,
To crowns of life and glory in the skies.

POEM.

And—a certain man—fell—among thieves, Luke x. 30.

To brave fell envy's shaft, and faction's rage,
Teach me, firm soul of Athens, martyr'd Sage!
Thou Cranmer! foremost of the sainted Band,
Who round the crimson Altar radiant stand,
Teach me with suff'ring patience to endure
The scoff or scourge of persecution's power.

When drunk with success, an imperious Nation
Blasts ev'ry wreath with acts of indignation,
Spoil'd of a Christian's right, of life, of fame,
Let me admire in death immortal Graeme.
O godlike race! whom civic crowns adorn,
To crush the proud, to save your Country born;
Bruce, Wallace, Douglas! fear'd in fields of death,
Pealing her triumph with your latest breath;
Beauteous in life, or 'mid the stormy gloom,
When heaven mysterious call'd you to the tomb;

Your bleeding Worth let me admiring eye,
And greatly learn to live, or calmly die;
Reckless of fortune's frown or faction's roar,
Steer on my shatter'd bark to the celestial shore.

Should my few days be doom'd in humble state
Beneath the good, but far above the great,
To pass: Hear, gracious heaven! my fervent prayer,
And save my soul 'mid sorrow, want, and care.
Be mine, affliction! not that stoic pride
May scorn my neighbour, or thy counsels chide,
Or holy spleen, with Pharasaic eye,
Frown where the pardon'd penitent does lie;
Faith humbly bend, and kiss the lifted rod;
Nor fret thyself for man, nor impious question God.

Be mine affliction! that my heart may know
The bliss of heaven, to melt at human woe;
To muster still on worth's deserted side,
'Gainst scoundrel rapine fierce, and scoundrel pride:
In bleeding wounds the balm of comfort pour,
And wipe the rain from ev'ry drooping flow'r.
Be mine affliction! so in careful mood
I urge religion's and my country's good,
Tho' weak, with willing zealous heart engage
To stem the torrent of a downward age;
To wrench the scourge from proud Oppressor's hand,
And brave each base Usurper thro' the land;
Each sordid aim, each selfish scheme forego,
And lose the private in the public woe.

Oh! shield me Heav'n! when storms of envy break,
And Rome combines with breth'ren false to wreck
Treasure's endearing life; my spotless Name,
My children, peace and fortune, whelm'd in shame,
To please a Bigot's rage: when Malice' dart,
And Envy's tooth which gnaws the villain's heart;
When Falsehood mean, and Perj'ry's ruffian hand,
With arts from hell involve the sacred Band
Of man's own house: His children! gracious God!
Nurtur'd 'mid jails, in want, in drear abode
Of pinching poverty! o'er her clamant brood,
Nurs'd in the desart with her streaming blood,
Thus the fam'd Pelican attends, replete
With strong sensations, reckless of her fate,
To rear her callow young. Ah! vaunted Fair!
Once subject of my songs, my love, my care,
And angels deem'd, till snar'd by Jesuit arts,
And chang'd to fiends, they act no female parts.
Like her of Sorek , false and foul as hell,
By Jesuits taught 'gainst Nature to rebel
In Perj'ry, Parricide, and Treason's fell.

Oh! shield me Heav'n from this impoison'd Dart,
When spiteful Levites pierce a Levite's heart
With slanders keen. From the remorseless hate
Of Joseph's Brethren, sold to slavish state:
They saw the anguish of his Soul, when He,
Guiltless, in vain, besought their cruelty.

Fierce storms of persecution round my head,
For ruin roar: Oh! God of mercies, lead
My soul to patience firm, to peace, to Heav'n,
Forgiving all, to pray to be forgiven.

Then may some Christian friend, if such there be,
In this rank world, the friend of misery;
When Priests turn'd Atheists, swoll'n in Atheist pride,
Defy religion, and my wrongs deride;
When villain lux'ry, the Outcast leaves
Plunder'd, in blood, amid a Den of Thieves:
Then, may some good Samaritan be near,
To pour the oil of Mercy, and the Tear
Of sweet Humanity, in ev'ry wound,
And sooth with Pity's balm my rankling stound.

See the history of Delilah, Judges, chap. xvi. ver. 4. &c.

The P---y Inquis--- Hall, in the vintner's, where Mess. Whitefield and bold Thomas, the Sons of Hardieknute, as Guardians of the Constitution, so solemnly enacted the outrages of the Goths and Vandals against the Author, May 12. 4871.

TO THE ELEGANT SERAPHINA,

PERFORMING ON THE PIANO FORTE, AT A PRIVATE CONCERT.

Sweet Harmonist! say whence you guiltless stole
Such soft melodious tuneful chords, controle
Of list'ning Saints, of Terror, Death, and Pain,
Who by thy magic, start to life again.
Say, in Apollo's regions dost thou dwell,
With the sweet Nine! in Meads of Asphodel,
And garlands weave; bathing in raptures high
Th'incharm'd sprite, in wells of Harmony.
Or dost thou with angelic Choirs receive
Th'afflicted Fair One, from the troubl'd wave
Of Life's rude ocean: With harmonious flight,
To steep the soul in streamlets of delight;
Charming the pangs of mortal grief with song
Divine, according with angelic throng.
Oh! are thy dulcet strains which charming flow
From thy sweet harp, unerring sign to show,

That Virtue pure, that Chastity, and Love,
The noblest passion that does Angels move,
Which blessed Saints to noblest heights improve;
With Elegance and Youth have built their cell
In thy fair shrine, where all the Muses dwell:
And bring us willing captives at thy feet,
As Lion Monarchs did fam'd Orpheus greet;
And hid their horrid fangs, their brindl'd mane,
To hear the poet of false Love complain:
In slumbers quench'd the light'ning of his eyes,
To hear the minstrel mourn in deep melodious sighs.

Oh! swell once more the high melodious flow
Of angel symphonies, with exstatic glow;
With rapture, spirit, execution bold,
Like Saint Cecilia, or like Handel old,
Prime Son of Orpheus, charming th'incharmed soul,
The thrilling fancy, by sublime controle
Of magic science. Again, when shall I hear!
Thy tuneful numbers burst upon the ear,
In ravishment divine; entranc'd behold
Thy silver flying fingers, deck'd with gold,
Roll back the tides of chastest Harmony,
Meandring feuge, wrought resonant and high,
O'erflowing ev'ry bound of mortal song,
To lead the willing charmed captive throng,
Thy conquer'd audience, bless'd from Heav'n to hear
A Virgin Seraph guides the melodious sphere
Of Science, Genius, Beauty, Youth, and Love,
Which Heav'n admires, and her bless'd choirs approve.

Say, warbling Philomel! 'mid thy beauteous train,
What heart can hear unmov'd thy thrilling strain!
Thy tender strains awake the soul of love,
Thy music can the joys of saints improve;
With charm divine, can kindle soft desire,
Can sooth dull care, and set the soul on fire.

When shall I bask recumbent by thy side,
In glow of harmony's o'erflowing tide!
Attend such strains as angels lean to hear
From heav'nly bow'rs, and leave their blissful sphere,
With sweetest Echo, sorrow to beguile,
Thro' thy seraphic music. Oh! somewhile
Soft bring me to thy bow'r, and let me know
The bliss of heav'n in thy melodious flow.

Oh! let me burn beneath thy Phœnix eye,
And all the wiles of love and music try,
Conceive the angel flame, Promæthean fire,
And in sweet ravishments of love expire.

100

EXTEMPORE AT A CONCERT

Where L* B C*** performed on the Harpsichord.

------ Virtute et ingenio in forma, admodum venusta,
Nihil amabilius. ------
Vos.

Minerva spread her silken nets in vain,
Alluring wisdom for the Phrygian swain:
Proudly bedeck'd in pow'rs so lordly guise
Imperial Juno claim'd bright beauty's prize.

Thou loveliest Nymph! of Ocean's western shore,
Our hearts controuls by Music's sov'reign pow'r.
O form divine! which Venus self might wear!
That Elegance of mind her best Compeer!
That Syren Harmony inshrin'd! to grace the tuneful sphere.

101

ELEGIAC POEMS ON ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONS.

Si quid mea carmina possunt!

103

THE ALBION PRINCESS.

Fallen Royalty! for thee in Albion's dale,
The Muse shall mourn, culling each fragrant flow'r
To strew thy path: But what avail
Her sacred tears to charm thy bitter stow'r.
See the Ode to Sir Robert Murray Keith.

Proud on Cimbria's throne reposing,
Rob'd in garb of regal state,
Troubl'd thoughts in vain composing
The usurper Julian sat:
Pow'r and grandure her pavilion,
Rear'd high o'er the Baltic wave,
At her footstool, fortune's minion
Flatt'ry kneel'd a fawning slave.

Yet the Syren's soothing blandish
Fail'd to calm her throbbing breast;
Yet transfix'd with secret anguish,
Guilt in vain assay'd to rest.

104

Round her purple couch entwining,
Rous'd remorse her Gorgon train;
Fear with jealousy combining,
Wreath'd her glitt'ring crown with pain.

'Twas the midnight dreary season,
When her death like watch appears;
To the thorny couch of treason,
Conscience told her dismal fears.
“Oh! the keen tormenting anguish
“That has robb'd my soul of rest;
“Doom'd in the pride of life to languish,
“With corroding cares opprest.

“Nor the pageant pomp of grandeur,
“Can the sick'ning fancy please;
“What is greatness! what is splendor,
“When the mind is not at ease!
“Nor gay pleasure's courted potion
“Can my inward bale controul;
“All the waters of the ocean
“Cannot wash the guilty soul.”

Julian spoke, when startling horror
Seem'd the knell of death to hear,
O'er the wave lamenting louder,
Female voices rend the air:
Fades the taper's lurid lustre,
Ghastly pale the Tyrant shook,
As dread scene in radiant muster,
From the sky the vision broke.

105

All in dazzling glory splendant,
Now releas'd from mortal frame,
With bright troop of saints attendant,
Albion's injur'd Princess came.
O'er her starry front suspending
Angels held a heav'nly crown,
Whence so late the traitor rending,
Dash'd the wreaths of prime renown.

For the faded form of sorrows,
Dying of a broken heart,
Worth celestial Beauty borrows,
Grace and joy that never part.
Round the Princess Angels hover,
Robes of radiance sweep the ground,
Kindred Heroes dread discover
Their imperial brows encrown'd.

Hark! the voice of injur'd greatness,
Like the midnight thunders drear,
All dismays the scepter'd trait'ress,
Conscious guilt, appall'd with fear.
Think, thou! whose usurping grandeur
Fills the Cimbrian throne of state;
Think on thy detested splendor,
Purchas'd by my wretched fate.

Faith, nor League, nor fair Dominion,
Could that fatal night restrain,
When with murder and rebellion
You profan'd my Blameless Reign.

106

Now beyond thy shafts of malice,
Rising to the starry sphere,
Julian, in thy guilty palace,
Thy dread doom with horror hear.

Peace and Hope, sweet twins of Virtue,
Shall be strangers to thy breast:
Fell Despair, with Terror's wild crew,
Still shall rob thy couch of rest.
Round thy sceptre, gain'd by treason,
Guile and factious strife shall twine:
Base Dishonour, with full blazon,
Crown that shameless head of thine.

Thro' the world the hiss of scorning
Still shall hail insidious pride:
Public loss thy reign deforming,
Public shame thy annals hide.
Go! False Queen! your Triumphs muster,
Soothe Remorse with Treason's boast;
Spread your plumes in gorgeous lustre,
Soon by storms of vengeance cross'd.

In your gilded galley gliding,
Urge thro' life your prosp'rous way:
See! the deathful tempest hiding,
Grimly waits his ev'ning prey.
Go! like Ahab's varnish'd Princess,
Seize the Children's regal right!
Urge the brave, by false pretences,
Call the triple shades of night!

107

Spoil the vineyard! while the Keepers
'Tend their harmless dance and song;
Press the vintage, busy reapers!
Wicked Fortune crowns the strong!
Hold that dagger! Angels flying
From sweet Mercy's seat on high!
Spare a Mother's second dying,
In fierce arms of agony!

Full my cup of deep affliction,
From the dreadful dregs relieve;
Let my Orphans claim protection,
Let me rest beyond the grave.
If one gleam of Hope ascending,
Cheers the darkness of thy breast,
When thy dream of state is ending,
Think on Her you once oppress'd.

Think on all my Sad Undoing,
Torn in Youth from high estate;
From my Zenith plung'd in ruin,
To my grave pursu'd with hate.
Think on all my rueful story,
Murder'd by thy stern decree,
Think on Denmark's martial glory,
Think on England sham'd in me.

109

ELEGY

Sacred to the Memory of the Right Hon. the Lady Jammima Hope.

Candida miratur limen Olympi.

Celestial Visitant! who left 'erewhile
Thy native skies, to brighten Earth's dull scene,
Charming our twilight with thine angel smile,
Life's troubl'd ocean with thy look serene.

Thou can'st not die: Thy bloom shall never fade,
Blown by the breath of Heav'n's creating grace;
Thy purity in saintly robes array'd,
Thy mildness splendent in a Cherub's face.

Here set thy morning beam, Faith's eye sublime
Can pierce where newly trimm'd thy splendors rise:
So steals fair Hesper down the westlin clime:
So lights his crescent bright in other skies.

110

There far within the starry concave high,
Where thousand Choirs carrol Jehovah's praise,
And thousand Censers to their song reply,
Flashing with dreadful pomp their golden blaze:

You join Heav'n's jub'lee: or by streams of joy
Hold sweet communion with a kindred Throng;
Or round the Sapphire mount, in blest employ,
Attend the inexpressive Nuptial Song.

There minist'ring before the living Throne,
With Virgin Saints in radiant glory crown'd:
Faith sees thee from thy sphere shed pity down;
Faith hears thy voice thus soothe thy Parents stound.

“Weep not for me! 'scap'd from the stormy wave
“Of Life's rude ocean, here I find repose,
“Eternal life beyond the dreary grave,
“Where bow'rs of Paradise their sweets disclose.

“Weep not for me: the love of Zion's King
“Brings me redeem'd into his high abode,
“Confers an Angel's harp, an Angel's wing,
“To praise with meet accord the Saviour God.

“Sprung to the sphere, absolv'd from death and pain,
“Joyful I sing. Rise, sacred Morn, arise!
“Blending in union pure a kindred Train,
“Translated to the Glories of the skies.”

111

TO THE MEMORY OF Mrs KINLOCH OF GILMERTON.

------ Præcipe lugubres
Cantus, Melpomene. ------
Hor.

Weary'd with griefs sad office, pleasing pain,
To join with sorrow the consenting voice,
The gen'rous sigh, and sympathetic tear;
Forth from the lonly mansions of the dead,
With fault'ring steps I turn'd, and left the Fane
Where pious grief had led me to discharge
My mournful tribute at Belinda's grave.
To shed in sadness the soft falling tear,
To strew the green turf with sweet smelling flow'rs,
And sing soft rest to the departed shade.

Disconsolate along the fresh show'r'd bank
I slowly took my solitary way;
The chrystal brook, which fed the bord'ring flow'rs,
With plaintive murmers sought the distant vale,

112

The curfew, solemn knell of day, prepar'd
The world for rest; the chearful Sun had sunk
His golden orb, and Philomel alone,
Sole sitting in the neighb'ring grove, pursu'd
With may a warbl'd maze her trilling strain.
Down on the dark green grass I lay reclin'd,
And while still night in ebon mantle clad,
With silent steps, led forth her stary train,
Thus sadly to the listning vale I mourn'd:

O fatal day! thou bitter source of wo!
Which left us poor bereft of what we priz'd:
O cruel Death! which robb'd the world of joy,
And for Belinda, comliness itself,
Soft feeling pity, virtue mildly great,
Wit, elegance, and open-hearted truth,
Left us the cold pale corse; the dull remains
Of worth returning to her native skies.

O mournful change! how has Death's killing blast
Transform'd the roses of that damask cheek
To deadly hue! those eyes, with wisdom bright,
Which like two friendly stars their blessings shed
Benevolence and peace to human kind,
How has dark night extinguish'd all their fire!
That tongue which with the voice of music spoke,
While more enamour'd still Palemon hung
In pleasing admiration, as when men
High favourd hear descending angels talk,
How has dumb silence with strong magic bound

113

The pow'r harmonious, never to awake,
That look divine, pervading to the soul,
That elegance of form, resistless shap'd
By Beauty's finest hand; how has the bane
Of chilling death each wond'rous charm destroy'd;
And all ye nobler graces of the mind,
Whom Fancy fails to paint, and mortal tongue
But ill explains by words, how are ye fled
From human sight! thou heav'nly piety,
Conjugal love, sincere parental care,
Domestic goodness, friendship, social joy
Endearing life, kind sympathy which falls
The generous tear, and hastens to relieve;
Good nature smiling like the golden morn,
Clear sense, and virtue fearful to offend,
Each precious gift which bounteous Heav'n bestows,
To shine admir'd, and bless the world with good.

O ruthless Death! thy cruel hand hath cropp'd
This beauteous flow'r, and rifled all its sweets!
Belinda, in the beauty of her youth,
Show'd like the poplar glory of the grove,
Which lifts the verdant top, and spreads its boughs,
Dispensing fragrance, till some stormy night
Shiver its strength, and tearing from its seat,
Spread forth the beauteous ruin on the plain.

O early lost! in the full noon of life,
When ev'ry grace shone in its summer bloom!
The sad rememb'rance only now remains,

114

Which, fondly whisp'ring what Belinda was,
Recounts to thee, Palemon! all her worth,
Renews thy loss, and on thy fancy preys.
Enamour'd, o'er this precious gem you hung,
And drunk in pleasure from its beamy rays;
But, in ill-fated hour, rapacious Death,
Like the night felon, stole, with silent steps,
And quench'd thy diamond's blaze, and left thee dark,
Forlorn, of all thy wealthy treasure spoil'd.

No more the smiling Hours, on golden wings,
Shall pass rejoicing, nor behold thee gaze
On Beauty's face, enamour'd of her charms.
No more, at ev'ning walks, shall hear the voice
Of conjugal esteem, of tenderness,
Of friendship, honest worth, and glad content,
In busy converse join'd. Thy pleasing race,
The fruit of faithful love, no more shall meet
The Mother's fondness, hasting to explain
Th'imploring look; nor friend nor kindred feel
The virtuous transport, that endearing bliss,
Which crown'd the social hour, when gentle peace,
When harmless mirth, and honesty of heart,
When wit refin'd, and gen'rous freedom, met.

For now the friendly star, which lately shone
So lovely bright, is shorn of all its beams;
The beauteous blaze is set, and cheerless night
Darkling succeeds. Yet know, Belinda dies

115

Only to view; for, like the western sun,
She set to rise with fresh resplendent beams
In brighter skies, and shine with nobler fires,
While Nature's Lord, who wak'd th'immortal flame,
Has rais'd the splendor never more to set.

Palemon, dry thy tears, and, with the eye
Of holy faith, look up, this sacred truth
Speaks wond'rous joy to thy deploring mind:
Though for a space the stroke of death shall part
Whom ev'ry wish and holy tie had bound;
Yet shall they meet, the long lost friends shall meet,
The tender husband and the loving wife,
And meet rejoicing, they shall part no more.

Such was my theme, while solemn Night began
Her peaceful reign; fair Hesperus was set
In the clear west, while, with unclouded ray,
Night's Empress shone, bright Cynthia, from her throne.
Glad of her silver beams in haste I rose,
And homeward fast explor'd my weary way.

Aug. 1757.

117

To the Memory of the Right Honourable SHOLTO CHARLES DOUGLAS,

EARL OF MORTON.

What Form august o'er yonder urn reclin'd,
Pays the last tribute with afflicted mind?
'Tis Caledonia! robb'd in garb of woe,
At Douglas' Tomb her parent sorrows flow.

Great, Wise, and Good! with ev'ry worth to grace
The deathless fame of an Heroic Race!
Sad Scotia mourns her Chief's untimely bier;
The Husband, Parent, Patriot claim the tear.

O early lost! thy Country's better prop
In evil times—While the bright beam of Hope
Circl'd true greatness! Heav'n's mysterious doom,
Now veils thy glory in the dark cold tomb.
A Star of Douglas sets; yet sets to rise
In Heav'nly sphere, where Virtue never dies.

118

Peace to the Brave! Sicilian Muses sing
Thy martial dirge, and laurel garlands bring:
Kingdoms sustain'd by thy Forefathers sword,
Shall grace the Fun'ral of their warlike Lord.
The public Tear heroic worth deplore,
The scourge of Tyrants on each foreign shore:
Each grateful Land their Plaudit high proclaim,
Th'etherial arch enshrine Immortal Fame;
The World's their Tomb that holds the sacred Dust,
Which waits the new-birth of the Brave and Just.

The Earl of Morton died in Sicily, whither he had gone for the recovery of his health.

119

VERSES FOR GENERAL WOLFE's MONUMENT.

Here rests the Chief with civic honours crown'd,
Immortal Wolfe, thro' either World renown'd:
His country's boast; who Freedom's thunder bore,
And conqu'ring banners, o'er Canada's shore.
Whose soul of glory, Bourbon's fierce controle,
Could bound the British empire with the pole.

120

Thrice loyal, brave, and politic in war!
Fall'n in thy Zenith, like a blazing star:
“Britain triumphs,” the bleeding victor cry'd,
And, smiling in the arms of conquest, died.

Hail patriot worth! nor can proud fame afford
To rival the bright trophies of thy sword;
Nor conscious Britain boast a nobler wreath,
Glory and Empire purchas'd by thy death:
Thy death remotest ages shall admire;
Thy trophies only with the world expire.

November, 1759.

General James Wolfe was one of those Commanders who was early distinguished by the greatness of military capacity, combined with the most intrepid valour, with skill and ardour in time of action.—With such remarkable qualities he was chosen by the Earl of Chatham, and presented to the King as the most eligible officer to conduct the expedition against Canada, anno 1759.—After surmounting every obstacle, he routed the French troops in a decisive engagement; in which, like the illustrious Theban hero, he fell by a glorious wound in the moment of victory, being told the enemy were flying on every side, he expired with this gallant sentiment: “Britain triumphs! I die contented!”

121

TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR PITCAIRN,

And his very gallant Fellow Officers and Soldiers, who fell in their Country's Cause, in pursuit of Victory, against the Rebels, at Bunker's Hill, July 17, 1775.

His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere. ------
Æn. Virg.

What godlike form, from yon imperial car,
Descends to trace the horrid waste of war!
'Tis Britain, sorrowing o'er her martial train,
With cruel wounds by doom of battle slain.
Nor crown, nor wreathe, her locks dishevel'd wear;
She rends her laurels for her heroes' bier;
She beats her breast, and, grov'ling on the ground,
Embalms with tears each mangled soldier's wound,
Calls on each dying Chief, and crowns the Brave
With living fame beyond the ghastly grave.

Thrice loyal, skill'd, and dauntless in the field!
The Vet'ran's glory, and thy People's shield!
How might thy Country, for her Soldier, spare
The traitor croud, who mock the public care!

122

Who see her life-blood stream from ev'ry vein,
While selfish luxury and ease distain
These dastard souls Pitcairn! for thee shall flow
The Muses' tears—'tis all they can bestow.
For thee, and for thy brother-heroes slain,
The Sacred Sisters weep. On Boston's plain
They hang your tombs with never-fading wreaths,
A conscious Nation to her Sons bequeaths.

True to her cause, a scanty loyal Band,
They brav'd rebellion's hosts on Boston's strand,
Struggling for Britain, in the throat of Death,
They peal'd her triumph with their latest breath:
'Mid war's dread thunders, as immortal, stood,
And seal'd her costly conquest with their blood.
And now she celebrates their obsequies
With honours due, and bids their trophies rise:
On bleeding heart inscribes each fav'rite name,
Her sons best monument to live to fame:
And ever turning where the tombs around
Of loyal valour bless the hallow'd ground,
In fancy's ear laments, with wailing cry,
“On yonder shore my clay-cold Warriors lie!”

Thus, when bold Faction, leagu'd with impious hate,
To rend the Roman or the Grecian state,
Muster'd her lawless myriads, still in vain,
Some orphan'd matron, 'mid the patriot slain,
Her slaughter'd sons, with speechless grief, hangs o'er,
With briny tears laving the crimson gore;

123

Thanks the great Gods they for their country bled,
And lays her children with the honour'd dead;
While, hov'ring o'er, th'etherial herald Dame
Sounds to the list'ning world the just acclaim.

Sept. 1775,

125

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE HONOURABLE GENERAL CHARLES COLVIL.

Ye whose consenting bosoms beat for fame,
And fuel seek to feed the hallow'd flame
This marble scan: Here noble Colvil's dust
In hope reposes, with unshaken trust.
Sprung from that race renown'd in many a field,
Whose valour firm, the king's and people's shield,
Blaz'd for their country, see their laurels twine
With native worth, to crown the Hero's shrine,
Where loyal zeal, and patriot love discreet,
And martial praise, and social virtue, meet.

O born to arms! to toil in evil times,
When Britain's banner wav'd o'er hostile climes;
And Freedom call'd thee with her dauntless band
To quell proud Bourbon, or Iberia's land;
To pour her thunder on the Belgic plain,
And calm the storm of faction's rebel train.

126

Then bless'd thy silver'd age, her conflicts o'er,
With peace and fame, by Fortha's winding shore.

Here, what is mortal of the brave, receive
What sacred rest untainted faith can give;
Victor thro' him who foil'd the grizly King,
With heav'nly hosts triumphant carols sing.
While we bewilder'd in our sphere below,
Ascend the radiant path thy virtues shew;
Mark all thy manly worth with conscious eye,
And nobly learn to live, and calmly die.

August 1775.

127

ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES ERSKINE, Esq; of Alva,

A young Gentleman of Fortune and Family, whose many excellent Qualifications once excited the most flattering Hopes.

------ Nox incubat atra.
Virg.

Incircl'd sportive in his mother's arms,
The sprightly Youth smiles sweet as breathing spring,
Which flow'ry May on her fond bosom warms,
Or mantles soft in dew-besprinkl'd wing.

How sweet the fruit whose blossom shews so fair!
What rising hopes distend a parent's breast!
Who views, in golden dreams, his youthful heir,
Belov'd of Heav'n, and by the world caress'd.

In spring of life he puts his verdure forth,
And gives his op'ning flow'rets to the sun;
Like strength of summer, tow'rs his manly Youth,
Rejoicing in some glorious sphere to run.

128

But man is vain: in fancy's dream to-day
He soars a vapour, by opinion fed,
To-morrow comes, and all his beams decay,
A wind arises, and the shadow's fled.

Swift rising storms deface the vernal sky,
The short-liv'd beauty of our morn is lost;
Like flow'rs we flourish, oft, like flow'rs, we die,
Cropt in the bud, by Death's untimely frost.

Full oft, like Primrose and Narcissus fair,
The blasted bloom of youthful hope expires;
All vain the parents tear, the parents pray'r,
When righteous Heav'n th'intrusted pledge requires.

Full oft arrested in her mad carreer,
Vaulting Ambition finds a narrow grave:
Full oft the patriot claims the sacred tear,
Bewail'd by thousands whom he toil'd to save.

Nor high descent, nor wealth, nor state avail,
Nor plumes more fair which dawning virtues yield:
By Death's keen blast youth's blossom'd sweets exhale,
Like lillies shrivell'd in the fading field.

Hail, gentle Shade! while all thy pangs are o'er,
And angels wreath thy never-fading crown,
Fancy thine imag'd greatness would explore,
The race of glory which thou might'st have run.

129

Perhaps, thou may'st have reap'd a deathless name,
With kindred Heroes in the warlike field,
Whose glorious deeds blaz'ning the arch of fame,
To great empryze their high incentive yield.

Perhaps, thy noble spirit may have blaz'd
In list'ning Senates for thy Country's weal;
Dash'd Faction down, and modest Worth uprais'd,
'Gainst bold Oppression stamp'd the just appeal.

Or girt with mitred Peers in rev'rend state,
Taught Monarchs truth from Heav'n's celestial store;
Or leaving care and grandeur to the Great,
Bright science in her shady haunts explore.

But, what avails fond Hope! thy fond desire
To bless mankind! the grave's dark silent urn
Seals up the rays of thy Promethean fire;
O'ercasts the morn which never can return.

Death's dreary shade has quench'd gay Fancy's ray,
Where Hope so fondly mark'd each great empryze:
Thy kind'ling spirit loaths the dull cold clay,
Thy Virtues seek their own congenial skies.

Thy golden gleam of morn is set in gloom,
Around thy Bier the silent Mourners croud,
Thy flow'rs of Genius shrunk into the Tomb,
The tears of Pity bathe thine early shroud.

University of Virginia Library

1. [Volume 1]

PASTORALS.

PASTORAL FIRST.

Inscribed to the Albion Fair.

PASTORAL SECOND.

Inscribed to John Home, Esq; Author of the celebrated Tragedy of Douglas, And other Dramatic Works.

PASTORAL THIRD.

Most humbly inscribed to His Grace the Duke of Montagu.

PASTORAL FOURTH.

[Occasional Poems]

EPITHALAMIUM

ON THE MARRIAGES OF His Grace JOHN Duke of Athole, Right Hon. DAVID Viscount Stormont, AND THOMAS GRAHAM of Balgowan, Esq; WITH THE Three Most Amiable Daughters OF The Right Hon. CHARLES Lord Cathcart.

CANTO I.

CANTO II.

The mottos of the Epithalamium may be thus translated.

CANTO I.

CANTO II.

THE CYRNEAN HERO.

ON THE LATE GREAT Naval and Military Preparations;

Humbly Inscribed to the Most Noble JAMES MARQUIS OF GRAHAM, Colonel of the Caledonian Band of Heroes.

VERSES

ADDRESSED TO HIS GRACE HENRY DUKE OF BUCCLEUGH.

VERSES

On three Beautiful Sister Ladies Of great Fortune, in their Childhood.

VERSES

UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF LADY GLENORCHY.

POEM.

And—a certain man—fell—among thieves, Luke x. 30.

TO THE ELEGANT SERAPHINA,

PERFORMING ON THE PIANO FORTE, AT A PRIVATE CONCERT.

EXTEMPORE AT A CONCERT

Where L*** B**** C***** performed on the Harpsichord.

ELEGIAC POEMS ON ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONS.

THE ALBION PRINCESS.

ELEGY

Sacred to the Memory of the Right Hon. the Lady Jammima Hope.

TO THE MEMORY OF Mrs KINLOCH OF GILMERTON.

To the Memory of the Right Honourable SHOLTO CHARLES DOUGLAS,

EARL OF MORTON.

VERSES FOR GENERAL WOLFE's MONUMENT.

TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR PITCAIRN,

And his very gallant Fellow Officers and Soldiers, who fell in their Country's Cause, in pursuit of Victory, against the Rebels, at Bunker's Hill, July 17, 1775.

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE HONOURABLE GENERAL CHARLES COLVIL.

ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES ERSKINE, Esq; of Alva,

A young Gentleman of Fortune and Family, whose many excellent Qualifications once excited the most flattering Hopes.

Where L* B C*** performed on the Harpsichord.