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The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill

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

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ELEGIAC POEMS.
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
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199

ELEGIAC POEMS.


201

ELEGY I.

To Miss B---.

Hushd was rude Winter's blast, the breathing Spring
Had wak'd each flow'r, and tun'd the vocal grove,
Had shower'd fresh roses from her purple wing,
And sent through Nature the great Soul of Love.
To hail the year in woodlands warbling round,
In hawthorns blooming, youths and maidens hie;
The Beauty, sick of fops, all empty found,
The faithful Lover, worn with many a sigh.
Then bright S---, sprightly blooming Maid,
Pride of the circle, and the Poet's theme,
Left high Edina, for the greenwood shade,
The balmy Zephyr, and the murm'ring stream.

202

She pass'd, like Cynthia, whom the Virgin Tribe,
And youthful Band, with sacred songs adore;
Her eyes dart fatal shafts on ev'ry side;
She pierces hearts, and kills with secret pow'r.
How graceful on the sea-beat mole she stood,
With Love's black Tresses waving to the wind;
With Venus' eyes she calm'd the raging flood,
With Venus' smile she sooth'd each storm unkind.
His bark the hurrying mariner prepares,
Proud of his beauteous Freight, and plies the oar;
A thousand Lovers send a thousand pray'rs,
To speed her voyage to the fort'nate shore.
Meanwhile the Nymph, with highly blooming charms
Like Egypt's Queen, sat Sov'reign of the Main;
Her beauteous look sharp Eurus' breath disarms,
Her graceful smiles the swelling tides restrain.
Old Neptune smooth'd his brow, and hastes to bear
Another Venus; the gay smiling skies,
And Zephyrs shed for joy a show'ry tear,
And fann'd the sail with breath of am'rous sighs.
Cupid, as o'er the winding Forth he flew,
Mistook the Fair One for the Paphian Dame;
Choice arrows from his sounding quiver threw,
And burning mischief from his torches flame.

203

Swift to the greenwood shade She beauteous hies,
With flow'rets fresh to deck her sylvan Bow'r;
Thrice bless'd the Youth! selected by the Skies
To share thy Virgin Love, thou fairest Flow'r!
Go, Lovely Nymph! for thee the season glows,
The balmy Zephyrs fan the cooling grove,
And wafting odours from the blushing rose
Attune thy soul to Harmony and Love.

204

ELEGY II.

To the Same.

When pleasing cares disturb the youthful breast,
When ardent sighs speak forth the heart's desire,
When hopes and fears consume the hours of rest,
Then Venus sets a lover's soul on fire:
Then would I scorn the wealth which many chuse,
And look on gay plum'd honour with disdain:
Th'inspired mind a nobler aim pursues,
And Venus' slave submits to Venus' chain.
Should Fame, or Pow'r, or Wisdom, plead to move
A lover's mind, with all their specious shew,
While Venus soothes me with the smiles of Love,
Like Paris, ever at her shrine I bow.
While S--- smiles, with lovely beaming eyes,
Here let me kneel; no other boon I claim:
Beneath the sun the Phœnix burns and dies,
Beneath her charms I burn with grateful flame.

205

Sweet are thy smiles, O Fair One! and bestow
New life beneath the sunshine of thine eyes:
Deadly the shaft of scorn from Cupid's bow,
And where it strikes, the hapless lover dies.
The Merchant dreads the rage of winter seas,
And fearful cares surround the Tyrant's crown,
The Mother hears of war with trembling knees;
I know no danger but the Fair One's frown.
A Lover prays, vouchsafe a gentle ear,
Be kind as beautiful; then shall I joy
A sweeter Music than proud Art's to hear,
And for the fairest Form my verse employ.

206

ELEGY III.

The Author to his Lyre.

To the Same.

Awake my Lyre! thy sadly pleasing strain
Shall sooth my anguish, while thy numbers flow:
Awake my Lyre! it fits thee to complain,
In sounds according with thy Master's wo.
Sweet as my Love, thy voice O tuneful Lyre!
And Youths and Maids attend thine am'rous lay:
Like Her you plaintive feed a Lover's fire,
But yield no hope his torment to allay.
In vain, great Hermes destin'd thee to charm,
In vain, the Sisters taught their Bard to sing,
The Pow'rs of Love the Pow'rs of Art disarm,
And all thy magic can no comfort bring.

207

Phœbus in vain would wake thy Siren sound,
To calm the tumults of a Lover's breast,
The God of Love each captive sense has bound
In cruel Chains, nor gives his Victim rest.
Yet shall thy sad and solemn music say,
How much I suffer, and how much I love,
And bright S--- shall thy song repay.
With pity where her Charms destructive prove.

208

ELEGY IV.

To Mrs R---, of R---h---se, On a Visit in Sickness.

Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error!

Scarcely escap'd from Eurus sick'ning blast,
Stagg'ring and faint I left the bed of Pain,
And like some half wreck'd mariner aghast,
Revolv'd the various horrors of the main.
In sad review like troubled dream arose,
The pains of life: And what is life I said!
A fleeting April flower, a vernal rose
Born in the desert world to bloom and fade.
And what is life mis-spent! A noisome weed,
That taints the air till it forever dies;
And what, when it thro' Virtue's path does lead
Our steps; th'immortal flower of Paradise.

209

Thus pond'ring, lo! a female Form drew near,
In Vision bright, with youthful Beauty crown'd,
Such as of Dian's band were won't appear
With quiver'd pride to trace the woodlands round.
Her aubourne Tresses graceful seem'd to flow
In dainty curles, shadowing her iv'ry Neck,
Her cheeks with purple light of Love did glow,
And morning sweet, seem'd in her Eyes to break.
Like jocund Queen of May, she smiling said
As gently by my side she took her place,
Why do'st thou pine forlorn, in dreary shade,
Why suffer rankling Care to spoil thy peace.
Has ill-requited Love o'ercast thy day
With clouds; or stern Misfortune caus'd thy pain:
Some faithful Fair One can thy smart allay;
Pastime and Converse sweet, our ease regain.
Thus spoke the Fair: By none of these forlorn
I droop; 'tis sickness pale has made me dwell
Recluse, and many a pang that I have born,
But say who kindly greets my lonely cell.
Thy charming sympathy bespeaks thy place,
Some Nymph Angelic, who with magic pow'r
Of pity bright'ning in so fair a face,
Descends with joy to gild life's darkling hour.

210

Or Hebe thou! who crown'd with youth divine,
Bestowes the nectar'd bev'rage of the sky;
For sweeter nectar from these Lips of thine,
In speech distills, and pleasure from thine eye.
Or art thou She who down the flow'ry shore
Of winding Forth with bright Hygeia stray'd;
Fair Queen of Health, and young ey'd Love who bore
The double prize, and mighty conquests made.
Ah! from what Sun bursts on my ravish'd sight
This beam of Beauty, while these shadows fly;
And now I mark thy faultless form aright,
Shap'd by the faultless hand of Harmony.
Maria! thou, who late like Scotland's Queen
In radiant Circle, made all hearts your prize,
Superior 'mid our star-ey'd Beauties seen,
Like Venus, when she gilds the Westlin skies.
Who e'er I be, the blushing Dame rejoin'd,
I come to bring thee to our social Train,
Where friendly Converse, Wit, and Mirth combin'd,
Forever smile, and banish Care and Pain.
And we have built high o'er the murm'ring deep
With curious art, renew'd, our vernal bow'r;
Where Peace and blyth Content their pastimes keep,
And Nymphs and Nereids grace the festive hour.

211

Then leave your cell, and leave this dull annoy,
And you shall hear the Syren Sisters sing;
Whose songs shall steep your charmed soul in joy,
Or win you forth to hail the new born spring.
Maria spoke, and to her bower we go;
The blooming Bevy heal'd my sickness smart;
But soon I mourn'd the fiercest shaft of wo,
For cruel Cupid pierc'd my bleeding heart.

212

SONNET To FAIR CLARA.

To the Same.

Lips which Venus might adorn,
Hide! oh hide! your coral dyes:
Stars which do mislead the morn
Sparkling bright in Clara's eyes;
Hide your beams! nor in your sphere
Tempt a Lover to despair.
Cheeks where vermil roses glow,
Iv'ry neck of radiant guise,
Sweetly swelling Breasts of snow,
Where inshrin'd young Cupid lies,
Hide in shades of golden hair,
Nor tempt a Lover to despair.
Involv'd in Zephyr's honey'd breath,
Ah! by magic charm undone,
Ah! I meet a noble death,
Phænix like, beneath the sun;
Both an envy'd fortune prove,
He for Glory, I for Love.

213

SONNET To the Same.

He who Hebe's dimpling cheek,
Or Venus golden locks admires,
Or from star-like eyes does seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a chaste adorned Mind,
Gentle Thoughts, and calm Desires,
Hearts with mutual love combin'd,
Kindle never dying fires,
Where these are not, never prize
Golden locks nor radiant Eyes.
To what female Shrine so fair
This prime Sisterhood resort;
They each mortal charm repair,
Grafting their immortal Sort;
Beauty fades like April morn,
These with lasting Grace adorn.
 

See anonymous verses. The additional stanza by the author.


214

Sir AMBROSE AND Fair PORTIA.

Inscribed to the Amiable Miss H---.

CANTO I.

Sir AMBROSE sat in tower so high,
Feeding his constant smart,
With charm of chastest imagery,
Instamp'd on faithful heart.
Below the sea green billows roll'd
Responsive to his song,
While list'ning to the tale he told,
On wing the wild fowl throng.
“'Tis not the bloom of young desire
“When roseat hues adorn,
“And Orient Beauty's gay attire
“Smiles like an April morn:
“'Tis not the fleeting dream of love
“My sick'ning fancy warms,
“Nor looks, nor eyes, which artful move
“To kindle Soft alarms.

215

“Let the fair Syrens sly deceive
“The gaudy saunt'ring throng,
“Who, scorning merit, idly grieve
“Such fairy scenes among.
“Far nobler prize my heart constrains,
“Yielding to soft controul;
“Far other beauty binds in chains
“The magnet of my soul.
“For Portia, fair and peerless maid,
“With modest looks and smiles,
“Like blush of virgin rose display'd,
“My feverish thought beguiles.
“Though She like stately pine appears,
“By Fortha's verdant shore;
“Though She her golden tresses wears,
“To shade her goodly store:
“Yet here more sovereign worth enshrin'd,
“Eclipses Beauty's 'Tyre;
“More lasting beauties of the mind
“Here fan a Lover's fire.
“Discretion, with adornment rare
“Of every power to please,
“Good nature, of angelic air,
“And Virtue leagu'd with Peace.
“The generous sigh for others good,
“Prime tenant of the breast;
“Pity, who lends, in melting mood,
“Her hand to the deprest;

216

“Contentment, Truth and Chastity,
“All met in holy cell,
“Bless'd sisterhood of Piety,
“In Portia's bosom dwell.
“O! had Sir Ambrose there a place,
“In her esteem to stand,
“He would not prize the fairest face
“That shines on Fortha's strand.
“O! might he wait by Portia's side,
“Like Squire of low degree,
“Partake the pleasance such divide,
“Nor fear proud rivalry.
“Like captive bird, within her bow'r,
“Soft minstrelsy employ;
“Her ear with warbling prelude lure,
“And kisses sweet enjoy.
“Thrice bless'd, such excellence to woo,
“With constancy discreet;
“My faithful heart, my faithful vow,
“Offering with incense meet.
“For her I'd brave the torrid zone,
“'Mid freezing Zembla pine;
“Pierce the Siberian wilds alone,
“Potosi's deepest mine.
“For her, with rival Knights, I'd bear
“The weight of helm and shield;
“Couch in the van the quiv'ring spear,
“She purchase of the Field.

217

“Fierce tournaments for Her explore,
“Her fame, with trumpet sounds,
“Proclaim on Nile or Ganges' shore,
“And write my love with wounds.
“But ah! how vain my vows and pray'r,
“Which Portia may deride!
“Which only Echo deigns to hear,
“Sung to the winds and tide.
“How vain the strife, by hardy deed,
“My loyal flame to show,
“If Portia dooms true love to bleed,
“Regardless of his wo!
“Yet let me gain the victor's wreath,
“New garlands for the Fair;
“Ennobled by a Lover's death,
“These passion true declare.
“Let my last song, if not with joy,
“Be fraught with doleful sighs,
“Mine elegy: 'Mid death's annoy,
“So sings the swan, and dies.
“What though I paint, in passion'd strain,
“The anguish of my heart!
“This only feeds a lover's flame,
“Not heals a Lover's smart.
“What though the Fair, with beauteous smile,
“Essay'd my thoughts to prove;
“Arm'd her coy glance with magic wile,
“And taught my heart to love:

218

“Yet must I feed a hopeless flame,
“A hopeless toil pursue:
“Not choice, but Fortune, yields the Dame,
“And Fortune is not true.
“With suitors vex'd, like Argosee,
“By adverse tempests tost,
“She wrecks her golden treasury
“Upon an unknown coast.
“Thus prying censure blames; not so
“Her cautious choice I deem;
“Pond'ring on life's important throw,
“Perchance a golden dream.
“Some of the goodliest fruits we meet
“A treacherous poison hold;
“The fairest flowers not always sweet,
“Not all that glisters gold.
“Safe from the world's ensnaring lure,
“Like Saint in holy cell,
“On heavenly Providence secure,
“Her hopes and fortunes dwell.
“To Heaven she yields her Spousal Choice,
“With holy credit new,
“The sacred lot, Heav'n's solemn voice,
“Confers a Bridegroom true.
“And she has plac'd in holy bow'r
“Three lots, with mystic pride;
“Who happ'ly draws in favour'd hour,
“Has Portia for his bride.

219

“Full many a Knight of good degree
“His hopeful fortune tries,
“With oraisons to Pow'rs on high,
“To yield the envy'd Prize.
“Full many a youth of gentle kind,
“Like bankrupt merchant crost,
“Curses false Fortune's cruel wind,
“Wrecking his gainful boast.
“And now with dawning morn elate,
“To Portia's halls I hie,
“Hanging the chain of all my fate
“On wheel of destiny.
“O! may yon guardian Choir above
“My prosperous venture met!
“O snare this silver bird of love
“In mystic toils she set!
“Rightly, ye Pow'rs! my footsteps turn,
“Who all my fortunes scan;
“Else never, never to return,
“I go a banish'd man!
“Never to see bright Portia more,
“Nor friend nor sacred home;
“Nor sportive Muse on Forthas' shore,
“But through the world to roam.”

220

CANTO II.

O'er glitt'ring waves now dawning morn,
Purpl'd, Sir Ambrose, tow'rs;
The Sun in golden chariot borne,
Starts from his eastern bowers:
All nature wakes: The woodlands round
Chant to the sky-lark's song:
The Shepherd's flute, with jocund sound,
Pipes to the bleeting throng.
The fields rejoice in sunny dale,
The village tribes repair
To morning task; or artless tale
Rehearse, devoid of care.
Ambrose alone estrang'd from joy,
Forsakes his couch of rest,
Where doubts and fears, with pale annoy,
Had scar'd his anxious breast:
And ever waking jealousy,
Like guard of Argus' eyes,
On watch, lest chance or rivalry,
Should steal his golden Prize.

221

Forlorn he pass'd the sleepless hours,
Pond'ring his devious way;
Where shelt'ring in hesperian bow'rs
This envy'd Treasure lay.
And now his horn with shrilling sound
Summons in Gothic hall
His trusty yoemen, gath'ring round,
To 'tend his early call.
“Fair smiles the morn with cloudless shine,
“Meet emblem of my Love;
“O might her smiles with charm divine
“My faithful vows approve!
“For now I go with Knightly State,
“To woo this peerless Dame,
“And mystic Lot decides my fate,
“Repaid with Love or Shame.
“Thro' distant lands and desarts drear,
“Our arduous journey lies,
“But what is labour, death, or fear,
“While Portia fair the prize!
“And let us march in martial boast,
“Each on his stately steed,
“Discourteous Knights on stranger coast
“May rude contentions breed.
“Or should my hopes be foil'd, I go
“Forlorn with trusty band,
“To drown, in arms, a Lover's wo
“Warring in foreign land.”

222

He said, his faithful Yoemen bold,
Must'ring in gorgeous wier,
With stately steeds, and banner'd gold,
Around their Chief appear.
Proud he bestrides his courser brave,
Like Knight in days of yore,
When riding o'er the Colchian wave,
He claim'd his golden store.
Onward they pass, o'er length'ning plain
Urging their eager claim,
Nor hill, nor flood, their course detain,
Nor Phœbus' sultry beam.
O'er dreary dales, like hawkes pursue
Elate, their distant prey,
And o'er the mountain path renue
The toil of many a day.
The shaking marsh, the foaming deep,
The desart wilds, in vain,
Where plund'ring Hords their station keep,
Their patient Rout restrain.
At length bright morning's cheerful beams,
More grateful scenes disclose,
With verdant fields and past'ral streams
The flow'ry vales arose.
With sweet vicissitude they change,
The pathless wilds and muirs,
For rural hamlets fair arange,
Gay lawns, and stately tow'rs.

223

The recess of a mountain steep
A tuneful grove display'd,
Where Love and Venus seem'd to keep
Their haunt in cooling shade.
Pomona yielded fruitage sweet,
Flora her fragrant flow'rs,
A bevy Bright, with Minstrels meet,
Spring from their darkling bow'rs:
Their snowy limbs, their rosy smiles,
Their locks of raven hue,
Shadowing fair breasts, with am'rous wiles,
'Gan ev'ry heart subdue.
“Ye whose consenting bosoms beat
“To pleasure's soft alarms,
“Here close your various search, and sate
“Desire in Beauty's arms!
“Ambition spread thine ermin'd pride!
“Fame haunt the tented field,
“Let guilt and power the world divide!
“Love better joys can yield.
“Here youthful dalliance, peace, and joy,
“Crown'd with unfading prime,
“Far from the changeful world's annoy,
“Disport in native clime.
“Come, taste the raptures of our bowl,
“Your fruitless toils forego,
“And we will bathe the charmed soul
“In joys which Lovers know.”

224

With magic lure the Sirens sung,
Ambrose their guile defies,
Arms with reproach his scornful tongue,
And in disdain replies:
“How vain is Beauty's gaudy flow'r,
“The shadow of a shade!
“Poor pageant of an idle hour,
“Born just to bloom and fade.
“How vainer still when modest Grace,
“Which might the Sex adorn,
“To Circe's wanton wiles gives place,
“Transforming praise to scorn.
“When beauty spreads deceitful snare,
“Her vauntage to destroy,
“Changing to thrall of pain and care
“Her golden dreams of joy,
“Be Faith and Truth our lasting prize!
“Of female Worth the crown,
“And Virtue chaste, which never dies,
“When all your bliss is flown.”
Sir Ambrose thus, with looks severe,
Each turn'd his ling'ring steed,
While whelm'd in shame and sad despair,
False Beauty's bevy fled.

225

CANTO III.

Like bird from snare, with eager speed,
O'er hill and dale they hie,
Till, as the length'ning shades proceed,
Fair bulwarks they espy.
Orgus, for his renowned race,
These rear'd on rising ground;
A Baron He, with lordly grace,
Rul'd in his rocky mound.
Thither they bend; the ward on wall
Gives summons where he sat;
The porter, rous'd with clarion's call,
Unfolds the stately gate.
O'er circling moat the bridge is cast,
The Knight, with trusty Squires,
In marble court alights in haste,
The lordly fort admires.
The menial train, in order'd state,
To hall of audience lead,
Where Orgus, in his gorgeous seat,
Bids the grave Stranger speed.

226

In golden cups, the glitt'ring train
Present the sparkling wine;
And then, in story loud and vain,
He talk'd of Rufus' line.
Of Guendola, whose Ebran's fame
Could salve the infamy
Of thrones desoil'd by guilty blame,
Cancell'd by chastity.
Of Cambria's Prince, and Cymbelline,
And Vortiger, with hive
Of Saxons false, to undermine
Those sweets which made them thrive.
He talk'd of Locrine, Brutus' son,
Of Albanact of old,
From whom his noble lineage run,
In line of Barons bold;
And shew'd their feats, with blazon proud,
Pourtray'd in Gothic hall,
Their high descent, their royal blood,
Unstain'd by foreign thrall.
And now his splendid table stor'd
With costly cheer and wine,
Sir Ambrose, with this mighty Lord,
Sits down in state to dine.
His martial train apart repair,
Their strength with travel worn;
In the high stalls their coursers fare,
O'er lib'ral heaps of corn.

227

When flowing cups, with potent charm,
Had wak'd the op'ning heart,
Thus Orgus, with carousing warm,
'Gan secret thoughts impart.
“I know thee well, Sir Ambrose thou!
“Nor thy behest can hide;
“Big with vain hope, you vainly woo
“Bright Portia for your bride.
“Thy mind what magic can inspire,
“Where many a heart is lost,
“There, with rash venture, to aspire,
“Braving an unknown coast!
“Or why thus through the world to roam,
“In fruitless foreign chace,
“When plumed honour, nearer home,
“Shews with as fair a face!
“Here Fame and Birth, like diamond store,
“In golden links combin'd;
“The sacred image all adore,
“And art thou only blind!”
“Blind let me be, so I prefer,
“True Worth's unborrow'd shine;
“For native Merit shames the glare
“Of birth, like foreign mine.”
“But I'll outmatch thee, Orgus said,
“The Dame born to command
“All hearts, Vanessa! thou shalt wed,
“And with Her half my land.”

228

“Ill fare the Knight, unworthy he
“To gain such peerless prize:
“Who would not sue on bended knee,
“Where birth with merit vies.
“And Ambrose here, with conscious pride,
“Could act true lover's part,
“Nor ever sue a worthier Bride,
“Had Love not reft his heart:
“For there's in Love imperial sway,
“All vauntage to controul,
“Of human boast, and thrall's her prey,
“Prime magnet of the soul.”
“But dangers lurk in every field,”
Cries Orgus, big with wrath;
“Bethink thee, in thy path, conceal'd,
“Of ambush, war, and death.”
“Nor ambush, war, nor death I dread,”
Says Ambrose, with disdain,
“When Portia is the victor's meed,
“And life without her pain.”
“Then go, unwise! from good to ill,
“Thy rivals proud have sworn
“Thy pains to soothe, thy blood to spil,
“And shroud thy corse ere morn.”
Sir Ambrose led his Yeomen bold,
They cross the castle's mound
In fair array; their horns of gold
A fierce defiance sound.

229

CANTO IV.

Course on my trusty Friends with speed!
While day shines in the sky,
For ambush'd foes it is decreed
Against our safety lie:
And Orgus' Sons are of the plot
To work a Rival's fall:
May Heaven decide our destin'd lot,
May snares the crafty thrall.
Then o'er the fertile plain they flew,
And o'er the whistling heath,
And as the chearful sun withdrew,
They slack their steeds to breath.
When, bursting from the neighb'ring wood,
A hostile troop drew near
With clam'rous noise; in vengeful mood,
Each couch'd his quiv'ring spear.
“Yield Slaves, or die! Rombaldo cries,
“Such was their Leader's name,
“Vain your atchieve in knightly guise
“To force our vaunted Dame:

230

“Her Champions we! whose arms shall prove
“Who best deserves the Fair,
“And quell your rash aspiring love
“In death, and black despair.”
The boaster spoke; his squadron fierce
Assails at his command,
The trusty Yeomen bravely pierce
Thrice through the vanquish'd band.
Again their bloody toils renew,
The glitt'ring faulchion's wound,
The closing spears in shivers flew,
And many press'd the ground.
Unquell'd each frowning squadron stood,
And now the mortal fray
Had clos'd in gen'ral death, and blood;
Beneath the setting ray:
When Ambrose spoke, the rival Lord,
And must our Yeomen die,
And must the combat be restor'd
For our proud rivalry.
Let us alone the battle wage,
To whom the spoils belong,
Nor, in the barb'rous work of rage,
Consume, this valiant throng.
“Agreed! Rombaldo cries, and swore,
“This javline shall decide
“My rightful claim: In Ambrose gore
“By arm of prowess dyed.

231

And now the Chiefs, with lordly prance,
Traverse the destin'd ground;
And now they couch the quiv'ring lance
At the shrill trumpet's sound:
The Champions start; in mid carreer
They meet with dread intent,
The sounding mail repells the spear,
The spears in shivers went.
Again they turn, the falchion gleams
To end their furious fight;
Down Ambrose, arm the blood in streams
Serves but to rouse his might.
At the next charge, with vengeful speed
Against his foe He flew;
And headlong down, both Knight and steed,
Groaning to earth he threw.
Then seiz'd the pledge of his emprize,
Rombaldo's helm and sword,
And bids the band in scornful guise
Replace their victor Lord.
Nor stay'd; annon, Rombaldo's train
In friendly arms prevail,
To raise their Champion from the plain,
Fainting in cumbrous mail.
Meanwhile bright Portia in her Bow'r
In fond retirement sat,
And dream'd her Knight, all dangers o'er,
Had drawn the prosp'rous fate.

232

His am'rous vows the Lady bright
Long heard, pure offering!
What time the marine red cross Knight,
Vanquish'd proud Iber's King.
Her dreams, his Suit, with rivals proud
Beset, awak'd the flame
Of Virgin Love, in pleasing mood
Pleading his juster claim.
Each Suitor vain dismiss'd, aside,
The per'lous lots She threw,
For surer love a willing Bride
In stronger fetters drew.
Ambrose! course on thy prosp'rous way
To Portia's stately tow'rs,
Her little page, in trim array
Conducts, while ev'ning lours.
Propitious fate has stamp'd thy doom;
With nuptial Bevy hies
The blythsome Hymen to relume,
His torch at Portia's eyes.
And now the castle's blaze, afar,
His am'rous journey guides,
Grateful as ev'ning's golden star,
When to his dome he glides.
And now the watch, on turret high,
Welcome Sir Ambrose Band,
Full wide the ready portals fly,
And in the Court they stand.

233

But who can paint these Lovers true,
Meeting in fond embrace!
How when his per'lous march She knew,
The roses left her face:
How, when She saw her wounded Knight,
She swoon'd, thro' pain and care!
Like wreath of snow, from Arthur's height,
He grasp'd the falling Fair.
Anon restor'd, her female prime
In fresher lustre shows,
So smiles the Sun in southern clime,
Thro' white, or damask rose.
Her golden locks dishevell'd flow,
Bright Venus' magic veil,
And chaste affection's roseat glow,
Sweet artifice! conceal.
They lead the Knight, 'mid lustre's shine,
To close his hours in rest,
While, golden dreams of bliss divine
His days with Portia bless'd.
Apart She mourns; the rival sword
Which caus'd a Lover's smart,
Her iv'ry breast with pity gor'd,
And pierc'd her maiden heart.
Bless'd Pair! whom gentlest sates conjoin,
Not chance nor treasur'd store;
Thrice happy Knight! who gains a mine
Richer than worlds of ore.

234

The harmless pleasures, side by side,
Lead on the jocund hours,
And Constancy with Love ally'd,
Frequent their Nuptial Bow'rs.
Like Two fair Trees with blossoms crown'd,
The glory of the grove,
They spread their golden Branches round,
The Fruits of faithful Love.
The fields rejoice, the smiling vale,
Where winding Fortha strays:
Whose village maids the pleasing tale
Repeat to future days.
Banks of Forth, 1785.

242

CURSORY THOUGHTS IN THE S****y of the Ab**y.

INSCRIBED TO ANDREW CROSBIE, ESQ. ADVOCATE, VICE-DEAN OF THE FACULTY OF ADVOCATES, F. R. S. OF EDINBURGH, AND OF THE SOCIETY OF SCOTTISH ANTIQUARIES, WHOSE EXTENSIVE KNOWLEDGE, AND EMINENT ABILITIES, BOTH AS LEARNED COUNSEL, AND AT THE BAR, REFLECT DIGNITY AND LUSTRE AROUND THOSE SHINING GOOD QUALITIES, WHICH ADORN SOCIETY, WHICH DISTINGUISH THE HUMANE, THE DISINTERESTED, AND MANLY CHARACTER.
Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ! ------
Virg.
Ye Regal Seats! where native Monarchs sway'd,
When Scotia's fame, triumphant as her sword,
Pervaded every clime, nor swelling pride
Of haughty Normans circumscrib'd her state;
To you I fly, ordain'd, in better days,
Meet refuge for the friendless, when the rod
Of guilt triumphant, in this iron age,
Bears down the Juster Cause: Propitious hide,
In circle of your sanctuary, the son,
Outcast, forlorn, a stranger to the tear
Which Pity gives to Misery, full oft
The only mite here left her to bestow.
Perhaps he bends beneath Misfortune's rain,
Or faithless friends, like parricides, pursue,

243

In howling pack; or sad reverse of trade,
Or dire mischance of ocean, fire, or storm,
Has ever shipwreck'd on the sea of life,
With all his clamant children; or the snares
Of gen'rous surety, plunder'd for his friend.
Nor waste, nor luxury, nor costly schemes
Of grasping avarice, with loss repaid,
Has made them poor: The Destiny which rules
O'er all, which, smiling, fills our flowing cup
With each endearing sweet, or, frowning stern,
With stepdame's eye, refuses ev'ry good
Her fav'rites share, 'tis this which casts their lot,
The rich man's portion, purple, feast, and song,
While patience starves, or bends beneath the weight
Of sickness, want, reproach; Perhaps the bent,
The sacred biass of a gen'rous soul,
Like Heav'n, dispensing bliss, who gives, and feels
For others, goodness far surpassing self,
And every selfish view, beyond the sphere
Of fortune, narrow for their lib'ral mind,
Has brought them, venerable exiles, here,
To seek that refuge once they freely gave,
Which now they lack themselves. Set wide your gates,
Thou hallow'd asylum! and save the good,
The just, the gen'rous, from vindictive fang
Of sordid Avarice, of Justice stern,
Inexorable, deaf to Mercy's cry.

241

Let not th'illustrious Friend to mis'ry lack
The cordial sympathy he once bestow'd
On all distress'd: Oh! may he never feel
These woes, which villain luxury prepares,
With cruel thoughtless insult, to o'erwhelm
The hoary head of age. Let not the chains
Of wanton guilt, or malice, mark the limbs
Of poor misfortune, like a felon dragg'd
'Mid treason, murder, perj'ry, to a jail,
Depriv'd of air, of liberty, and link'd
With such society their soul abhors,
And pleas'd, recoils upon itself. Near may
The legal privileged ruffian, he,
Whose gorgon visage stamp'd for blackest deeds,
Speaks gibbets, death, and Erebus, profane
Thy holy threshold with defilement vile
Of unbless'd feet: Nor e'er his scrols unfold,
In sacrilegious mockery of the law,
With licenc'd outrage, to invade man's right:
Safe, in thy magic circle may they dwell
Remote from all annoy: Sweet slumbers close
Their careful eyes: Sweet may the red breast sing
Beneath their lattice, to the orient blaze
Of golden morn, and smiling health, and peace,
Virtue's fair sisters, lead them thro' the haunts
Of moral contemplation, till the powers,
The guardian Genii of these walls, conjoin'd
With mild Astræa, set the prisoners free.

242

Within your peaceful precincts, kind receive
Th'unshelter'd head, long struggling with the storm
Of Life's rude ocean: By confederate strife
Of Parents, Brothers, Kindred, oh! despoil'd
Of every right: Yet from the list'ning bar
Of judgment turning, sham'd to plead a cause
Of helpless Orphans, nature shrinks to hear.
O public insult to humanity!
Trembling with heart-felt agony to speak
The horrid tale; which tears the finest chords,
The tortured, nicely feeling frame within;
While silent, suff'ring patience, bleeds convuls'd
On sharpest rack. Compar'd with this, the worst
Of mortal plagues, which nature 'gainst herself
Arms inwardly, how calm th'instructed mind,
Exalted in its peace, may stand the shock
Of common evils, welcome every round
Of fickle fortune, brave the Lordly frown
Of tyrant greatness, who disdains to hear
The poor man's cause, or, impious, overturns,
Like swelling Pharoah, mid his lyar train
Of flatt'ry vile, meet levee for mean pride.
Well may they bear, unmov'd, the restless toil
Of carping envy, hostile still to good,
Or secret malice, with her fiend-like arts,
Sly, undermining every honest praise:
The scoff of brutal ignorance, the scorn
Of fools, and knavish outlaws, the foul pride

243

Of rank hypocrisy, who boastful talks
Of God, and vaunted faith, and love divine,
Yet impious, in the afflicted's case, defies
All works of love, the God of love ordains,
And disapprove their passport from high bliss,
Aliens to good rejected. Scorn the trade,
The slav'ry mean of many a dastard heart,
Who bears on high the shameless front, nor spares
To revel on the wreck such hirelings make;
The plagues of a bad world, the tools of pride,
The slaves of pampar'd luxury: No care,
No honest toil they know, save to complete
The little tyrant's knavish plan who rules
Despotic o'er some paultry spot: These moil,
By hellish fraud and art'fice, to ensnare
The freeborn, and enchain them to the yoke,
Which galls their liberty, bends their spirit down,
And moulds them for submission: The fearless few
Of virtues train, who cross the little strides
Of pigmy power, as bravest cruelly feel
The scourge which levels man. Ye abject slaves!
Of tyranny, who work another's will,
And basely serve your own, go sink the scale
Of widows, orphans, and the poor man's lot,
Heavy at best: Ye div'lish hirelings! lift
O'er them the proud, the insolent, the scum,
The dross of earth, to keep them low: Employ
Your guileful, plotting, scoundrel train, renown'd
For every vice, when Fiends possession take,

244

And urge on man's damnation. Haste! devour
The poor, the widow's house, the orphans spare,
And sacred portion; what the ruffian bands
Of harden'd outlaws, roving pirates arm'd,
Or private robbery, not so deep in crimes,
Had spar'd, remorseful, to the pension'd roll
Of crying want and age. Then all t'ensure
The speedy fall of Him, whose soul abhores
Such cruel deeds, whose tearful eyes o'erflow
For wrongs he cannot cure, who braves the wrath
Of plodding sly deceit, who thwarts bold vice,
Who stands forth in the gape such Demons make;
Go! Bribe the abandon'd, tempt the perjur'd down
The yawning gulphs of horror! loose each tye,
Each fear, each curb, each sacred bond which chains
All social life, to truth, to honesty,
To just, and right, to man, and to his God,
And to enforce mean vengeance, damn mankind!
HAIL princely domes! fair mansions of our kings,
Whose structure proud, with high embattled tow'rs
And antique galleries, and pillard state,
Does sooth the pensive melancholy thought:
Whose cloyster'd walls and holy fanes decayed,
Majestic yet in ruin, steal the soul
From sad remembrance of these evil times,
To happier thoughts of golden Ages past,
Unstain'd with modern crimes. To you I call,
And to your wildy pleasing solitudes

245

Of rocks, and dales, and mountains hoar, beneath
Whose verdant sides the goodliest prospect lies,
Of princely seats in fair arrange, of woods,
And pastures green, of chrystal lakes, and seas,
Unbounded, graced with many a gliding sail;
And distant hills, and high Edina crown'd
With lofty spires, and maiden towers, which deck
In Gothic majesty the lengthning scene:
Oft let me trace with frequent foot your wilds,
What time gay morning dawns, or ev'ning hour
To contemplation, tunes the pensive mind.
Your solemn echos to the ear of night,
And thousand wakeful fires, her listning guard,
Shall oft repeat, in lib'ral verse my Song,
In numbers unpremeditate. Apart,
Secure, in refuge of your ivy'd rocks,
And pendant mountains hoar, I round survey
The crowding urbane landscape: Oft at noon
Look down on all the busy tribes below
With philosophic eye. Ye gaudy trains!
Of plummed peagentry, who idly cross
Life's jostling path, say! What's the vain avail
Of all your endless labours! The vain shew
Of useless wealth and greatness! Death concludes
The narrow race, and on the mimic group
And hurrying player, shuts the changeful scene.
Ye purse-proud citizens! who bustling raise
Yon dusty clouds, annoyance to the poor,

246

The harmless, useful schemes of honest trade,
Which builds, which props the fabric of the State,
When will tir'd Av'rice, not grasping more,
Leave their just portion to the crowds who starve!
Like the Behemoth, bask in sunny clime,
Your vaunted strength, along the willowy shore,
Draining the rivers tide, which freely flows,
Refreshing far the plain, till swilling lust
Of selfish Mammon desolate the scene.
Good Genii! unrolling human lot,
With kindliest biass, who enchain the Fiends
Malignant, only active to infuse
Their swelling spleen empois'ning Nature round,
Oh! save us from the plagues Yon Felons shed,
Pandora's box, with deadliest bane renew'd.
See! where with haggard lip and corse deform!
Meet dwelling for such Wretch, thro' life he steals,
Defrauding his staunch creditor, the grave,
That felon, Faustus, with his dev'lish arts,
Ensnaring widows, orphans, to devour
Their sacred pittance, or with Turpin rob
The hives industrious, in disdain of law;
The Necromancers skulk 'mid Honour'd Train,
Who shun the Scoundrels, and as hell abhor.
In contemplation's solitudes remote,
Oh! hid me from yon ruthless group, who turn
Aside from misery, and fiend-like shut
The doors of mercy, while misfortune mourns

247

The scourge of vice. Ye lordly drones! vile group
Of pride and meanness, who consume the hive,
The stores of thousands, on your idle train,
Squand'ring in cruel riot, what might bless
Some sober families, who pine in want,
Roll on in selfish, pamper'd sloth, and shove
Yon friendless bankrupt from the path, attir'd
In weeds uncouth, unpity'd and forlorn.
See how apart he shuns the meas'ring eye
Of strutting insolence, and wipes the tear
Which modest worth and honesty, depress'd,
Oft consecrate to deck the shrine of pride.
So in yon mountain wild, the wounded deer
His bleeding stound apart bewails, and shuns
The boyant ranging herd: In sportive ease,
As taught by cruel man, whose thoughtless mirth
Insults the wretched, struggling with their fate,
The trooping quarry with consent avoid
Their helpless brother, and full lordly pass
Their fellow-outcast, while mute patience bears
The gen'ral scorn, the dow'r of misery,
And sighs his pangs to the deep shelt'ring shade.
Ye Sisters Nine! who held your fav'rite haunt,
In days of yore, in these fair regal seats,
Your peaceful residence, with footsteps pure,
Oh! say, for to your hallow'd ken reveal'd
All nature lies: Is vice, with brazen front,
And fearless stride, o'erleaping ev'ry bound,

248

A Fiend let loose to domineer on earth,
Because the laws are impotent to curb,
Unable to subdue the lawless pest,
Bent on foul deeds, inhuman and accurs'd,
On earth establishing the works of hell?
Say is the evil world, like fell disease,
Which daily gathers increase, bad and worse,
Incurable! Has virtue, in the eye
Of human race, once lovely, kind, and pure
From ev'ry blemish, name and nature lost,
Congenial with the skies, and, sad reverse,
Put on the demon form of loathsome, foul,
Of bloated spite, fierce insolence, of power
Gigantic monster! with a hundred hands,
To do a thousand black abhorred deeds,
Which make all hell rejoice, and ravage earth,
Their waste abode, meet dwelling for such Fiends.
Are all things chang'd for worse! That inward light,
That charity, pure truth, and sacred faith
'Twixt man and man, have names without existence,
As sounds taught children. In the schools we learn
Of these eulogium high, and vaunted phrase,
And from the bar, and pulpit, their acclaim
With zealous orat'ry proceeds: Alas!
These only empty names, mere echo sounds;
A voice and nothing more remains of thee,
Thou radiant angel Virtue! Heav'n's first born,
Her loveliest, dearest child! No stranger once

249

On earth, in Paradise, to eye of man
Once passing fair. Abroad into the world,
Walk forth, 'tis all a dream: What schoolmen teach,
The libertine crowd decry, with hissing scorn.
Hypocrisy, mean Atheist, thee abjures,
For sordid ends, and triumphs in his gain,
Tho' coward Conscience blame his losing trade.
Masking in sacred garb, with semblance starch
Of ev'ry holy Grace, of Mild and Meek,
Vile counterfeits! when sacerdotal Pride,
Hypocrisy, to varnish cruel guile,
And the revengeful Villain lurks beneath,
How many Achans, fir'd with Atheist love
Of the accursed thing, now fawn on pow'r,
And proudly lord it o'er God's Heritage,
O'erleaping ev'ry bound: Unseemly league!
To work their tyrant purpose, to forsake
Their altars, and their oracles of peace,
Apostate Traitors! with satannic zeal,
Wide humbling man, to build proud Phar'o's scheme:
To crush the friendless, to bear down the scale
Of public liberty, abhorred tools
Of guilty pow'r! Mean troublers of our peace!
Whom Heav'n shall vex with tenfold plagues return'd.
Ye grov'ling cringing slaves! worst shame of all
Th'apostate Eldership! Oh! hide your heads,
Lest the pure light withdraw its holy beam,
Prophan'd by monstrous sights: Oh! hide your heads

250

Before the Lord of Conscience, He, who tries
The treasons of the times, with awful search
Pervading Solyma, with godlike ken
Of eyes all-seeing, as with candle's flame,
Or blazing torch, to shew th'accursed thing
Which causeth Judah stumble, each false friend
Who only lurks in Zion to betray.
What legion Demons, quitting nobler game,
Could tempt such fawning dastards to destroy
The Church's discipline! to sell their faith
For Judas' paltry barter! with rude force,
To rend that adamantine hallow'd bond,
Th'eternal chain the Church o'er Satan holds,
And Belial's sons; the chain which binds your souls:
But you have sold them, instruments of crimes,
To slavish villainy, to tyrant pow'r,
To a remorseless Bigot, who betrays
The Church, the Public, and the charter'd rights
Of Freemen sold, to build his grov'ling scheme.
Within your midnight secret Popish pale
Of partial select Ses****, pack'd in haste,
Go plead for dire abortion, murder, crimes
Which want a name: Send forth suborned proofs,
Bandied about by sensual parasites,
By shameless Matrons, outlaws, knaves, and fools,
Falsehood's black wiles enroll'd! the Devil's voice,
Against all truth, all conscience, and all law!
Mean scoundrels, go! and from unhallow'd den

251

Of perjury and treason ne'er disclos'd,
Save when the gulphs of Tophet dire disgorge
Their rankness to pollute the world with crimes,
Send lustful dalliance forth, swoll'n tyrant pride,
O'erleaping ev'ry bound; with Athiest train
Of policy, or Hell's black plagues in one;
Yon d**** V**** to infect the age
With habitude unclean. The Cherub face
Of sacred Childhood scapes not leudness fang,
Which shelt'ring in the refuge of rank wiles,
Embolden'd by the purest, chast reserve,
Foully invaded Heav'n. Oh! hide your head,
Thou purest Sun! nor shine on Villain deeds,
The Muses will not speak, nor Shame declare.
Ah! tell it not in Gath! the hoary scape
Of rev'rend Elders, like Susanna's twain,
Commixes with the sacrilegious group
Of Belial and proud Eli's sons; seduce,
By impious suff'rance, unguarded youth
To revelry and rape: With Hell's defile
Prophane each holy sanctuary, and seat
Leud sons of Satan with the sons of God.
And when your cup o'erflows, in honest minds
Inkindling indignation, Fiends abash'd
Appal'd in triple shades shall joyous deem
Their Guilt, and Judas by your crimes out done,
Who, boasting vows and offerings of peace,
Do pious homage only to betray,

252

Trampling on dreadful Mysteries. In scorn
Of all, and reeking from the sensual stye
Of drunkenness, go! bring your Champion forth!
With Athiest profanation, with disdain
Of holiest things, insulting God and Man,
His grace divine, the crimson streams which flow
Around his dreadful Altar, schemes of love
To man eternal, by base man prophan'd;
Go! seat your champion at the Royal Feast,
And while all Israel troubl'd deep complain
With uproar's voice, yon grov'ling slavish tribe
Of Levites, Rulers, Apostates, shall draw
O'er all oblivion's viel. Bold sinners know
Th'all-seeing Judge, who reigns enthron'd in light
Numbers your secret thoughts, your evil deeds,
Against the dread Assize. Hot burning wrath
Avenging his own cause, devour'd the seats
Of Korah's Usurpation: Plung'd in death
Those shrieking rebels, in the gulphs of pride:
This Nadab with unhallow'd fire consum'd,
And melted Sinais' rocky heights convuls'd,
And all the sacrilegious. Trembling, fear!
This burning Tophet, roaring for her prey!
Forbid it all ye gracious Powers, who watch
O'er Man's apostacy! such group should spring
From laws too feeble, to restrain the floods
Of bold iniquity, that preys on man:
The laws are wisely fram'd, the tables pure,
Where Justice, Wisdom, Truth, with finger dread,

253

Are fairly writ, that ev'ry eye may see
Where duty draws us, ev'ry inward thought
May tremble to transgress: Corruption's plague,
With influence malign, invades the spheres,
And bloats the sun, and taints the inward light,
Once rational, to resist that sanction high,
Connected still with universal good,
To Man observant, but with penal force
To hold in awe offenders, to ensure
Obedience, till o'er the flaming arch
The Sapphire throne descend, and trumpet voice
Of heaven's dread Justice' peal the last Assize.
Nor is mankind so lost, so dead to sense,
To feelings fine of virtue, and her praise,
So blind to Nature's light, as to disdain
What's honest, pure, and true. A pow'r in all,
The umpire Conscience, delegate of heaven,
Internal Monitor, the voice of God,
Points ev'ry upright path we take in life;
Unerring guide, as magnet to the pole:
The written tables, fenc'd with terrors dread,
Of Thunder and of Justice' edged sword,
Constraining Man to Man, to Heaven, to God,
Enforce on all with sovereign sanction firm.
Yet is there vast defect, if lawful thus
To name such monstrous evil; pregnant long
With gross corruption, present, and to come;
The Shame, the Bane, the Bravo of our state,

254

Who opens mines of wickedness unknown,
When Pagans, Goths, and Saracens bore rule:
Or Antichrist vile Man of lies, and sin,
Reign'd uncontroul'd in fiery wrath, and spread
Hell's desolation thro' the works of God.
Justice with hand impartial weighs the cause
Twixt Man and Man, and hence between the signs
Of heav'ns high concave, blaze her golden scales.
And just the praise of him in quest of right,
Who scorning vile chicanery of law,
The guise of varnish'd falsehood, hateful trade!
Of Knaves, who cheat and spoil at Justice feet,
While he Misfortune's friend, thro' ev'ry maze
Impartial, active, guides to center true
The polar point where only Truth does lie,
His aim unveiling Falshood, not to hide.
For with unhallowed foot, with guileful haste,
And eager vissage keen, to push a trade
Against the peace of all, or right or wrong,
Some wealthy felon, or some orphan'd train,
His fraud, his wiles, his villain wrongs oppress;
To him the same, just or unjust no care
Of plund'ring Turpin, train'd to merc'less deeds,
Of licenc'd villainy, the Pirate bent
On rapine, marks his prey, and thro' the maze
Of writs unnumber'd lengthening as they wind
The fatal labyrinth, with high encrease
Of number, subject, value, as the leaves

255

Of the Cumean Maid, he leads them on,
An Ignis Fatuus, 'mid the pits of death,
Devoted to destruction: Thrice hapless proof,
Corruption reigns o'er all, when justest cause
Of good men is perverted at the will,
The nod of every Outlaw, when the wrong'd
Must suffer rapine, in pursuit of right,
And vaunted Justice bleeds by her own sword;
While fell Tresilian stamps the firm decree,
And weeping Mercy, with averted eye,
Turns from the bench of law, whose impure stain,
From Foulest Channels loudly pleads redress.
Ah! see yon guilty train of conscious Knaves,
Who trembling, stand abash'd, the sacred light
Within them, waking keen remorse, and woes
They cannot speak; for those are they who sold
The just man's cause, who sold a Briton's Rights,
Subourned tools of faction! Their good name,
Their Friends', Instructors', all their worldly share
Of present good they prize; and better hopes,
Bartered of heavenly bliss, the meanest scorn
Of all the damn'd: Who, gracious Powers, defend
From Hell's delusion, by most solemn oath,
Did seal their impious bargain, wrecking all,
That man holds dear; and, in the phrensy'd mood
Of clam'rous faction, deaf to every voice,
Her own except; braving the yawning gulph
Of dread hereafter. Ah! Thrice remorseless band,
Befool'd of all, by a mean scoundrel snar'd,

256

And taught his rebel purposes, encag'd,
A nest of birds unclean. Lo, yonder chair
Of judgment, where Astræa once more would
Descend, did not a false Prov--- Judge,
O Sacrilege abhord! usurp the seat,
A better's right, by partial decrees stain'd,
Injust, absurd, mere insolence of pow'r,
The scoff of lowest intellects, the scorn
Of School-boys, and their theme for low contempt.
Just powers! who love mankind, defend the free,
The brave, the wrong'd, who friendless in such strife,
Outface the meaness of a Jeffries vile,
Who sacrilegous, sold law, conscience, soul,
To work politic Tyrants will: To plead
Excuse for perj'ry, for treason base,
For every vice which gradual mining saps,
A nation's life; which tramples on the right,
The Briton's charter'd privilege to be heard,
And fully heard, against a Demon fell,
Who wants a name, 'ere B--- sentence pass.
Thrice holy walls! Whose desolated pile,
And storied mansions mould'ring to decay,
Scarce serve to shield the mighty dead intomb'd
From proud annoy, ye Princes! Monarchs! laid,
With factious peers, once troublers of your peace,
Beneath one common marble Ah! how vain

257

Your faded grandeur, your once high estate,
Your titl'd peerage, the full blaze of pow'r,
The tide of fortune the rich pomp of pride,
Now shriv'ld in the dust. Your Trophied Gates,
Your Ample Courts, once throng'd with cavalcades
Of pageant state, of flattery base, intent,
To rise by early adulation; these
Avail no more, nor in historic page,
Can save your mem'ry from the tonchstone proof
Of candid speculation, from keen pen
Of satyr dread, or bigots wanton rage.
'Tis now your vanity and pride must feel,
The curse of being great; and deep convinc'd,
Yield to the challeng'd, sharp, tormenting proof,
That every toil is vain, save Wisdom's, she
Who trains man to the noblest end of life,
The life of God and virtue, which survives,
When all your Crowns and Palaces decay,
And heaven's bright starry mansions sink in night.
The gaudy sun is sunk, the Maiden Towers
Shine to the crimson'd sky: The solemn hour
Of closing evening, leads me to lament
At Julia's Tomb; there strew the latest flowers
Which fading autumn yields. Hail! holy shrine
Good Genii haunt; where fancy's eye does trace
Heroic Shades, and Kindred Chiefs, and Saints
Encrown'd, who leave their Amaranthine bowers
To visit thy cold relicts in the tomb.
Thou! once the first in bloom of youth! the pride
Of Scotia's beauteous dames; the first, the hope

258

Of Douglas princely Line, the first in worth,
And in the gloom of adverse fortune train'd,
The first in misery: Say, is there not,
Some blest reversion in the sky, for those
Who drink the cup of bitterness! entomb'd,
O teach prime Moralist! The Rich, the Great,
That true nobility ne'er dwelt in blood,
Or lineage high! that graceful She resides,
Where worth and valour shine, and Public Love,
That angel flame, which like the fire He stole,
Exalts the hero, dignifies the pride
Of Princes, Statesmen, in whom mercy smiles,
To Shield th'unshelter'd head. Look from they sphere,
To guard thy offspring from the fatal snares
Which haunt the great! look with a Mother's eye
Upon their princely League, and build thine House,
Amid connubial virtue: May the fame
Of heroes, patriots, Scott, and Douglas rise,
In them, renew'd with glory: May the smiles,
Th'enchanting love of Providence, embrace
Thy numerous progeny: Oh! deign to hear
In thy high sphere this request; if the care
Of faithful vassalage in wrongs long tryed,
Can reach immortals, may the helpless race
Who clamant, croud the lowly plunder'd shed
Of him, whose melting heart in sorrow bleeds,
In want unfriended, 'mid the worst of Wrongs,
Find kindly refuge from oppressive Pow'r:
Or if ordain'd to mourn, thus sooth each pang;
Our poverty Once sav'd our Master's House.
 

Prometheus


259

THE INGENIOUS AND LEARNED MR GRAY,

Then republishing his beautiful Lyric Poems.

O thou! high seated on the muses hill!
Possessing Phoebus' lyre and Phoebus' skill;
Whether from the lofty steep you boldly sing,
Or crop fresh roses by the sacred spring,
Or quaff the stream, while Fancy to thine eyes,
Bids Nature's charms in heav'nly vision rise;
To grace thy Song, to steal the ravish'd heart,
To wake the Virtues, and their Joys impart:
Accept, O Gray! the humble wreath I bring,
Tune my rude reed and teach me how to sing.
Teach me like thee to gain the willing soul,
By Moral Truth, and Music's soft controul!
Above the great, above the world to rise,
Prometheus like, and borrow of the skies.

260

Teach me the Shafts of malice to malice to deride,
The tooth of envy, and the frown of pride;
Secure from ills that vex the rich and great,
To sail life's ocean in a lowly state.
Not selfish, as amidst its storm I steer,
To hide mine eyes from mis'ry's falling tear;
But bless'd to cheer the gloom of sad despair,
To hear the orphan's and the widow's pray'r;
To sooth their pangs, unfold Religion's plan,
Weep o'er their woes, and know myself a man.
Dysart, 1768.

261

ON THE MEMORABLE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR,

Where the Gallant GENERAL ELLIOT with his brave Garrison, for many months baffled all all the power of Spain, and in her final defeat, by the distruction of the Floating Batteries, won immortal laurels.

------ Elliotusne exurere classem,
Cantabricam, ipsos que potuit submergere ponto,
Unius ob noxam, et furias! ------
Virg.

Triumphant Victors! o'er the pride of Spain,
Who like the Bands of Asia, did sustain
The war of nations, and their wrathful mood,
Quench'd in red deluges of fire and blood:
While Classic Muses deeds heroic sing,
Admit, ye brave! the humble wreaths I bring,

262

To hang your Tow'rs, and deck your glitt'ring Arms,
In peaceful Trophies, pil'd from war's alarms.
Long share the treasur'd sweets your valour won,
Those Laurels which the bravest have out-done:
Unequal'd conduct, patient courage, join'd
With arts defensive to resist mankind.
The length'ning leaguer, danger, famine, death,
Brave Souls! defying with your latest breath:
The British Goddess on the heights of fame,
With blazon high inrolls her Soldier's name:
Elliot, with blooming mural garlands crown'd,
While Calpes bulwarks grace Herculean mound.
With thunders roar thy midnight light'ning's glare,
Devour whole hosts, and rack the groaning air.
Like dire Vesuvius hid in fiery clouds,
Thy Rocky Mortars whelm the hostile crouds,
With show'rs of Lava, from the mountain's womb,
In gulphs of sire whole armies to entomb.
'Mid bursting horrors, see what hosts expire!
What floating Castles sink in seas of fire!
Bourbon! thy glories shrink, the pride of Spain
Founders in tempest, 'mid the burning main.
So sunk the proud in that destructive hour
When vain Cantabria hasten'd to devour
With mooned fleets, and hosts, and tyrant faith,
A dragon Monster, fierce for works of death.
Like Erebus impatient for their prey,
The arm of Heaven dash'd their vast array.

263

Her valiant Sons, like northern tempest, came,
Their fleets to scatter, and the dragon tame:
Resistless, fierce to meet their country's foe,
Her Sons of glory strike the mortal blow;
Arm'd with fierce flames, Armada's pomp o'erthrew,
As Michael's might the Pandemonian crew.
So, while embattl'd nations rage in vain,
The Queen of Isles sits Sovereign of the Main:
Her Sons, the thunder in her hand, are hurl'd,
Like the loud storm which shakes a guilty world.
In fields of blood Cantabria's hosts expire,
And vaunting navies sink in gulphs of fire.
St Salvator's College, St Andrew's, 1782.

265

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR ANDRE.

Et bello audacis populi vexatus et armis,
Finibus extorris, complexu avulsus Iulæ,
Auxilium imploret videatque indigna suorumque
Funera: nec, cum se Lodovico pactu iniquo
Tradiderit, regno, aut optata luce fruatur;
Sed cadat ante diem, mediaque inhumatus arena.

If dying Patriots claim a nation's tear,
If civic Worth be yet to Britain dear,
If public Love and loyal Zeal bequeath,
By Goths devoted to a felon's death,
Immortal fame; her herald voice shall sound
His deathless praise, till every shore rebound:
Till Nature's theme celestial spheres reply
Of Andre, for his Country doom'd to die.
Thrice loyal! brave! Gem in barbaric clime!
Where every grace adorns thy youthful prime;
And civic Worth her splendors bright displays,
Till ruthless Traitors quench'd thy diamond blaze,

266

And all thy treasures to the Furies gave,
While madd'ning demons dig thine early grave.
With every private public virtue blest!
With thee thy Country's choicest wishes rest.
What tho' no trophied pile thine ashes keep,
Where Britain's Hero might entombed sleep:
What tho' no scutcheon'd arch adorn the place,
Where guilt and greatness only oft disgrace
The pride of Art: the Sov'reign of the main
And fearless Freedom weep, thy guardian Train.
Thro' future times her warrior Youth shall come,
Their arms to burnish at her Soldier's tomb:
While Britain sad, reclining on her spear,
With Mother's grief bewails her Andre's bier:
On bleeding heart inscribes the deathless name,
Her Son's best monument to live to fame:
And ever turning, where in hallow'd shade,
By haunted stream her fearless Chief is laid;
In Fancy's ear laments with wailing cries,
“On yonder shore my clay-cold Andre lies.”

267

THE INVASION.

Duris ut ilex tonsa bipennibus
Nigræ feraci frondes in Algido,
Per damna, per cædes, ab ipso
Ducit opes animumque ferro.
Hor. in Drus.

Where her deep foundations hiding,
'Neath the foaming western waves,
Lordly Mona tow'rs deriding
Storms which tear th'Eolian caves,
On chrystalline throne suspended
O'er the deep in dazzling state,
Britain's Goddess shone attended
By her Train, which faithful wait:
Lion fortitude protending
Ægis fell, and dreadful spear;
Freedom's dauntless form contemning
Dangers, death, and giant fear:

268

Wisdom, justice, might, resembling
Th'awful Pow'rs who rule the pole,
With adamantine chain assembling
Public Love, who binds the whole.
From her chair imperial bending,
Set with diamonds orient vien,
Thus, the sov'reign Pow'r descending,
Loud bespeaks her native main.
Hear ye subject deeps of Ocean!
Circling this terrestrial ball,
Fate who rules each dire commotion,
Bids you rest from foreign thrall.

269

Bourbon's vasty fleets alarming,
Plough no more th'indignant wave:
Tyrant pow'r her miriad's arming,
No more threatens to enslave.

270

In her vanquish'd Conflans flying,
Proud France bows her dragon pride:
And the crimson'd billows dying,
Seeks her coward shame to hide.
See her vaunted lilies drooping,
Once ador'd by myriad slaves,
To the British lion stooping,
Sink amid th'exulting waves.
'Bove the boast of fall'n greatness,
Britain tow'rs her laurel'd head,
To enchain the scepter'd traitress,
By the heav'nly fates decreed.

271

See the nations wide exulting,
Triumph in haughty Bourbon's fall:
Pow'r and pride with scorn insulting,
“These no more the world enthral.”
All to guard the realms of Ocean,
From Invasion's grasping chain,
Watching warlike Thuro's motion,
Here I range my guardian train.
While the youth of France confiding
Vainly in unnumber'd band,
With their fleets the ocean hiding,
Hasten to devour the land;
Thuro bold, with host of warriors,
Firm resistance to divide,
For the Hyperborean barriers,
Ploughs the raging wint'ry tide.
He his thronging cohorts cheering,
“Death or conquest is the prize,”
'Mid rude storms and billows steering,
Bravely Kingdoms three defies.
Ilay's verdant shores alarming,
Yet a mild, a gen'rous foe;
Eiren's northern port disarming,
Hark! his horns brief triumph blow.
See! his fleet, in vaunting glory,
Back explores proud Bourbon's coast;
Fancy speaks his boastful story,
Soon by Elliot's squadron cross'd.

272

Here I watch, and here the valiant,
Who 'mid winds and billows toil,
Shall encounter Thuro gallant,
All his short-liv'd trophies soil.
Thus the Goddess: Soon her thunder
O'er the echoing surge rebounds;
Banner'd terrors, fear, and wonder
Soon the trembling deep confounds.
Warlike Thuro, greatly daring,
Fires his vet'rans for the fight;
In the front, the Hero warring,
Braves the rage of mortal might.
All to meet on burning ocean,
Britain's champions fearless lead,
Elliot He! 'mid dire commotion,
Ever first in van to bleed.
Hark! the battle wildly raging,
Sulphur, horror, death, and fire,
Martial Chiefs with Chiefs engaging,
'Mid the mangled heaps expire.
O'er the gory decks bestriding,
Carnage, horror, death prevail;
Wild dismay in tempest riding,
Wide the troubled waves assail.
'Mid the mortal onset charging,
Mark the fearless Thuro's cry!
Thus his fainting mates enraging,
“We must conquer, or must die.”

273

“Glorious laurels homeward bearing ,
“Our rich freight in battle won;
“Striplings these proud honours tearing!
“Shall the bravest be outdone!
“Death with glory is the measure,
“Partial fate bestows the brave,
“Grant Just Pow'rs! the soldiers treasure,
“Conquest, or a glorious grave.”

274

Where a thousand fates were flying,
Thuro bleeding urg'd the strife,
Desperate, and bent on dying,
Amid slaughter scorning life.
“Spare the Bravest! Elliot charges
“Ev'ry warrior, spare the Brave!
“Where the mortal combat rages
“Fly ye Bold! and Thuro save!
“Strike your banners! vain resistance!”
Thrice their courage to renew,
Drooping courage with assistance,
Thuro cheers the vanquish'd crew.
Ah! amid the desp'rate toiling,
To the last, a Leader's part,
Acting brave, a shot recoiling
Woful peirc'd the Hero's heart.
Then the bloody conflict ending,
Gallia bows her crested pride:
Shame with deepest sorrow blending,
They the Victors will abide.

275

Gen'rous Elliot shields the vanquish'd,
For the wounded meet relief
Thro' the ships bestows; and anguish'd
Mourns the fallen Gallic Chief.
Where of old the Nymphs of Ocean
Deck'd the warlike Fergus' grave,
Crea's streams, in hallow'd lotion,
Kindly bathe the mangl'd brave.
In her chaste embrace the gallant,
She intombs from rolling tide,
Where her Chieftans, free and valiant,
In her holy fanes abide.
Britain's Monarch hails the story
Of her conquest; and anew
Crowns her Elliot's marine glory,
With applause to valour due.
O'er the wild waves fearless Britain
Shall repel proud Bourbon's yoke:
She, by foreign tempests beaten,
Flourish like her native oak.
Hark! the sons of Neptune bearing
Britain's fame from shore to shore,
Shout in full carousal cheering,
“Haughty Bourbon is no more.”

276

“See her faded lilies drooping,
“Sink amain in British wave;
“See her pageant glory stooping,
“Bends before the free and brave.
“To our brave Commanders drinking
“Brimming bumpers, let us vie;
“They, from dangers never shrinking,
“Fight to conquer or to die.
“Death or glory is the measure
“For the Brave the Fates bequeath;
“Britons, spoil'd of Freedom's treasure,
“Seek her in the jaws of Death.

EPITAPHIUM.

Hic situs est Thurot, Dux quem tria regna timebant,
Et sobolem jactant, quem tria regna suam.
Anglia virtutem, vim Hibernia, Scotia belli,
Dura pati; Lodovix nil nisi tela dedit.
Sic placuit Fatis. Tres inter consitas gentes,
Quam bene nunc cineres trepidans circumfluit Crea:
Non vane resupinum, Mavors quem belligerantem
Torvum pertimuit facie, Elliotus in undis,
Victor tristis æmulum, Laurique sacravit honore.
 

The annals of the former as well as of the late war are emblazon'd with records of the most signal national deliverances, and brilliant victories over the numerous fleets and armies of France. No time can erase the memory of the glorious service done his country, when the magnanimous Sir Edward Hawke encountered and subdued the powerful fleets of Bourbon, equipped for the invasion and destruction of the British nation.

While we glory in the name and prerogative of free Britons, the important overthrow of the common enemy of our religious liberty, accomplished under the immediate direction of divine providence, must be engraven on our hearts in the very deepest characters of gratitude and praise: And more especially as the discomfiture of an enraged and disappointed enemy brings to our remembrance the awful catastrophe of another Armada (in that age of heroism) whose signal overthrow, at that critical time, was the everlasting renown of the English navy, as it was in a most eminent degree the supreme safety and deliverance of these nations. But these atchievement of true heroism have been recorded by much abler pens; I consine myself to the northern invasion.

With manifest design to devide the force, to distract the attention of Britain from making a suitable resistance, while M. Conflans spread terror and desolation over the southern coasts of England, M. Thurot was appointed by express commission from the French King to disturb the eastern coasts of Scotland, the northern and western islands, and to land his troops in some of the remote districts, as should appear most eligible at the time.

After a long delay, M. Thurot succeeded at last in getting into the north seas with his squadron, which had been blocked up for many weeks by twenty sail of British men of war. Thurot's fleet consisted of the Marshal Belleisle of 48 guns, 600 men, the Begon of 36 guns, 600 men, La Blonde 36 guns, 400 men, La Terpsichore 24 guns, 230 men, La Marante 24 guns, 140 men. This armament took on board a select draught of troops from five different regiments. It was furnished with 168 guns, with 900 sailors, and with 1270 soldiers, draughted from the Swiss guards, from the corps of Hussars, and the light armed companies about Dunkirk.

The rumour of such an armament, so completely furnished, was sufficient to disturb the peace of a country entirely defenceless towards the north, alarming apprehensions were entertained of their destination, and Commodore Boice watched their motions, with a large fleet of men of war, and followed their course as far north as Aberdeen.

After collecting from the islands of Orkney what could then be had of provisions, they sailed for the western islands about the end of January 1760: There they landed in a few days, and continued two weeks victualling their little fleet. M. Thurot was of the greatest service to the gentlemen of Ilay, to John Campbell of Ardmac, to Mr M'Donald, and Mr M'Neil, in procuring payment to the inhabitants for meal, flour, and cattle. Particularly, he behaved in the most generous and honourable manner, obliging the land-officers to lay down all the gold they had, and to give draughts for the remainder on the King's Bank at Paris. Some officers had been so mean as to cheat the people with mock bills on the resident at the Hague; but this was severely remonstrated against by M. Thurot, whose deportment was in every respect most honourable, like a soldier.

When by consent they had agreed to burn and waste the whole country, he brought from his desk the commission from the French King, which expressly declared against hostilities unless resisted; and when some appeared yet by their looks refractory, he swore in great indignation, that not a soul of them should set foot again aboard the Marshal Belleisle who should commit the least trespass upon the friendly and defenceless inhabitants of the western islands.

M. Thurot landed at Carricfergus about a thousand troops: The town was without walls, and garrisoned by 180 new recruits, who, without ammunition, most obstinately defended the gate with their fixed bayonets. The Old Castle, in whose wall was a breach of 50 feet, capitulated with the town. The French there lost near 100 men, and again embarked on some sudden information, after carrying off the arms and necessaries from the Royal Magazine.

Upon the first tidings of the enemy being at Carricfergus, Commodore Elliot sailed in the Eolus, with the Pallas and Brilliant of 36 guns each, and in two days came up with the French squadron off the Isle of Man. The engagement continued near four glasses, and was obstinate, bloody, and decisive. They were all captured, the Marshal Belliesle commanded by M. Thurot, the La Blonde by Captain La Kayce, and the Terpsichore by Captain Dufraudais. The gallant M. Thurot fighting bravely to the last, and encouraging his men, was unfortunately slain.

The engagement having been continued closely and for so long a time, the slaughter on board the French ships was a perfect carnage: Amid the undistinguished mass of mangled bodies, the corpse of the brave commander was thrown over board with others. The public thanks was decreed by the Irish House of Commons, to Commodore Elliot and the other Captains with him, but the joy of all ranks was clouded by the death of Thurot; so far had the humane and generous conduct of an enemy gained upon the impartial sensations of mankind.

Some days after, the body of Thurot was cast ashore near Wigton, and being known by his dress and by some certain particular marks, was interred in the church-yard of Sorbay. A monument was erected over his grave, and his portrait engraven in copper, by subscription.

Here is the burial place of the famous Fergus Lord of Galloway, who so bravely repulsed the various inroads of the ancient Britons, and gave them a memorable overthrow.

END.