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They, whom once the defart beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample fway fhall ftretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.
Low the dauntlefs earl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound
Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king fhall bite the ground.
Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likenefs fee;
Long her firains in forrow steep,
Strains of immortality!

Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage biot the fun.
Sifters, weave the web of death.
Sifters, ceafe: the work is done.
Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph fing:
Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'ft the tale,
Learn the tenour of our fong.
Scotland, thro' each winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sifters, hence with fpurs of fpeed!
Each her thund'ring faulchion wield;
Each beftride her fable fteed.
Hurry, hurry, to the field!

§ 75. The Dejcent of Odin. An Ode. UPROSE the king of men with speed,

GRAY.

And faddled straight his coal-black steed: Down the yawning steep he rode, That leads to Hela's drear abode. Him the dog of darknefs fpied: His fhaggy throat he open'd wide; While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,

Foam and human

gore

diftill'd. Hoarfe he bays with hidecus din, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin; And long purfucs, with fruitlefs yell, The father of the powerful spell. Onward ftill his way he takes

(The groaning earth beneath him shakes), Till full before his fearlefs eyes The portals nine of hell arife.

Right against the eastern gate, By the mofs-grown pile he fat, Where long of yore to fleep was laid The duft of the prophetic Maid. Facing to the northern clime, Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme; Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread, The thrilling verse that wakes the dead; Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breath'd a fullen found.

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Long on thefe mould'ring bones have beat
The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain!
Let me, let me fleep again.

Who is he, with voice unbleft,
That calls me from the bed of reft?
ODIN.

A traveller to thee unknown
Is he that calls, a warrior's fon.
Thou the deeds of light fhalt know;
Tell me what is done below,

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,
Dreft for whom yon golden bed?

PROPHETESS.

Mantling in the goblet fee
The pure bev'rage of the bee;
O'er it hangs the thield of gold:
'Tis the drink of Balder boid.
Balder's head to death is given.
Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven!
Unwilling I my lips unclofe:
Leave me, leave me to repofe.
ODIN.

Once again my call obey ;
Prophetefs, arife, and fay
What dangers Odin's child await,
Who the author of his fate.

PROPHETESS.

In Heder's hand the hero's doom;
His brother fends him to the tomb.

Now my weary lips I clofe:
Leave me, leave me to repofe.
ODIN.

Prophetefs, ny fpell obey;
Once again arife, and fay
Who th' avenger of his guilt,
By whom fhall Hoder's blood be fpilt?

PROPHETESS.

In the caverns of the Weft,
By Odin's fierce embrace compreft,
A wondrous boy fhall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er fhall comb his raven hair,
Nor wash his vifage in the ftream,
Nor fee the fun's departing beam,
Till he on Hoder's corfe shall smile
Flaming on the funeral pile.
Now my weary lips I clofe:
Leave me, leave me to repofe.
ODIN.

Yet awhile my call obey;
Prophetefs, awake, and fay
What Virgins thefe, in fpecchiefs woe,
That bend to earth their folemn brow,
That their flaxen treffes tear,
And fnowy veils, that float in air.
Tell me whence their forrows rofe;
Then I leave thee to repofe.

PROPHETES S.

Ha! no traveller art thou, King of Men, I know thee now ! Mightieft of a mighty line

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§76. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment.

OWEN's praife demands my fong,

Owen fwift, and Owen strong;

Fairest flow'r of Roderic's ftem,
Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profufely pours:
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hofts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by fide as proudly riding,
On her fhadow long and gay
Lochlin plows the wat ry way;
There the Norman fails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war:
Black and huge along they fweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native fands The dragon-fon of Mona stands ; In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft, High he rears his ruby creft. There the thund'ring ftrokes begin, There the prefs, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky fhore Echoing to the battle's roar. Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thoufand banners round him burn: Where he points his purple fpear, Hafty, hafty Rout is there; Marking with indignant eve Fear to stop, and fhame to fly. There Confufion, Terror's child; Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild; Agony, that pants for breath; Defpair, and honourable Death.

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GRAY.

Ode on the Inflallation of the Duke of
Grafton. Irregular. GRAY.

HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground)!

Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, "And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

"Mad Sedition's cry profane,

"Servitude that hugs her chain;

"Nor in thefe confecrated bow'rs

"Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train in
"flow'rs.

"Nor Envy bafe, nor creeping Gain,
"Dare the Mufe's walk to ftain,

"While bright-eyed Science watches round:
"Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!”

From yonder realms of empyrean day
Burfts on my ear th'indignant lay:

There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine,

The few whom Genius gave to fhine

Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undifcover'd clime.
Rapt in celeftial transport they ;

Yet hither oft a glance from high

They fead of tender fympathy,

To blefs the place where on their op'ning foul
Firft the genuine ardour stole.

'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd shell;
And, as the choral warblings round him fwell,
Meek Newton's felf bends from his state fublime,
And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.

"Ye brown o'er-arching groves, "That contemplation loves,

"Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! "Oft at the blufh of dawn

"I trod your level lawn,

"Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright
"In cloifters dini, far from the haunts of Folly,
"With Freedom by my fide, and foft-eyed
"Melancholy."

But, hark! the portals found, and pacing forth
With folemn steps and flow,

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth, ·
And mitred Fathers, in long order go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn;

And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn

That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare;
And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rofe,
The rival of her crown and of her woes;
And either Ilenry there,

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord
That broke the bonds of Rome

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human paffions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb).
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade thefe awful fanes and turrets rife,
To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come;
And thus they fpeak in foft accord
The liquid language of the skies:
"What is grandeur? what is pow'r?
"Heavier toil, fuperior pain.
"What the bright reward we gain !
"The grateful memory of the Good.
"Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r,
"The bee's collected treasures sweet,
"Sweet mufic's melting fall, but sweeter yet
"The ftill finall voice of Gratitude."

Foremost,

Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud,
The venerable Margret fee!

"Welcome, my noble Son (the cries aloud),
"To this thy kindred train, and me:
"Pleas'd in thy lineaments we tracę
"A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.
"Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye,
"The flow'r unheeded fhall defcry,
"And bid it round heaven's altars fhed
"The fragrance of its bluthing head:
"Shall raife from earth the latent gem
"To glitter on the diadem.

"Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, "Not obvious, not obtrufive, fhe "No vulgar praife, no venal incenfe flings; "Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd "Profane thy inborn royalty of mind; "She reveres herfelf and thee.

"With modeft pride to grace thy youthful brow "The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, the brings, "And to thy juft, thy gentle hand "Submits the fafces of her fway,

"While fpirits bleft above, and men below, "Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay. Thro' the wild waves, as they roar, "With watchful eye and dauntlefs mien "Thy fteady courfe of honour keep, "Nor fear the rocks, nor feck the fhore: "The Star of Brunfwick fmiles ferene, "And gilds the horrors of the deep."

§ 78. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE.
OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,
And pray'd till I've been weary;
For once I'll try my with to gain
Of Oberon the Fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

That lurk't in woods unfeen,
And oft by Cynthia's filver light
Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green;
If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As ancient ftories tell,

And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd

Thou fought'ft a wondrous spell;

Oh deign once more t'exert thy pow'r!
Haply fome herb or tree,
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,
Conceals a balm for me.

I afk no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to please;
Far from the heart those gifts remove
That fighs for peace and eafe:

Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs the foul can wound,
'Tis pain in each degree;
'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;
Beyond, is agony.

Take then this treacherous fense of mine,
Which dooms me ftill to fmart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To pains new pangs impart.

Oh hafte to fhed the facred balm!
My fhatter'd nerves new string;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,
The nymph Indifference bring.
At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly;

And Difappointment in the rear,
That blafts the promis'd joy.

The tear which pity taught to flow
The eye fhall then difown;

The heart that melts for others woe

Shall then fcarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then thall clofe;
And tranquil days thall ftill fucceed
To nights of calm repofe.

O fairy elf! but grant me this,
And fo may never-fading blifs
This one kind comfort fend;
Thy flow'ry paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead

To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread.

And be thy acorn goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrofial dew;
From fweeteft, fresheft, flow'rs diftill'd,
That shed fresh fweets for you.
And what of life remains for me
I'll pafs in fober ease;
Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,
Content but half to please.

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Yet void of hope or fear;
When, lo! behold an airy throng,
With lightest steps, and jocund fong,
Surpris'd my eye and ear.

A form fuperior to the reft
His little voice to me addrefs'd,

And gently thus began:

"I've heard ftrange things from one of you, "Pray tell me if you think 'tis true; "Explain it if you can.

"Such incenfe has perfum'd my throne ! "Such eloquence my heart has won!

"I think I guess the hand: "I know her wit and beauty too, "But why the fends a pray'r fo new

"I cannot understand.

"To light fome flames, and fome revive, "To keep fome others juft alive,

"Full oft I am implor'd; "But, with peculiar pow'r to please, "To fupplicate for nought but ease! "'Tis odd, upon my word!

"Tell her, with fruitlefs care I've fought; "And tho' my realms, with wonders fraught, "In remedies abound,

"No grain of cold Indifference "Was ever yet allied to fenfe

"In all my fairy round.

"The regions of the fky I'd trace,
"I'd ranlack every earthly place,
"Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r,
"To mitigate the pangs of fear,
"Difpel the clouds of black defpair,
"Or lull the reftless hour.

"I would be generous as I'm ju;
"But I obey, as others mult,

"Thofe laws which fate has made. My tiny kingdom how defend, "And what might be the horrid end,

"Should man my state invade ? "Twould put your mind into a rage, "And fuch unequal war to wage

"Suits not my regal duty!
"I dare not change a firft decree :
"She's doom'd to pleafe, nor can be free;
"Such is the lot of Beauty!"

This faid, he darted o'er the plain,
And after follow'd all his train;

No glimple of him I find:

But fure I am, the little fprite

Thefe words, before he took his fight,
Imprinted on my mind.

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Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak,
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn check
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the doar
To feck a fhelter in an humbler fhed.

Oh take me to your hofpitable dome!
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my pallage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be reprefs'd.
Heaven fends misfortune; why thould we re-

pine?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you fee; And your condition may be foon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Milery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then like the Jark I fprightly hail'd the morn;
But, ah! oppreflion forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguifh at the stern decree,
Fell, ing ring fell, a victim to defpair,

And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man, [door,
Whole trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the fhorteft fpan;
Oh give relief, and Heaven will biefs your store!

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How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad | O partner of my infant griefs and joys!

height,

The filver emprefs of the night appears! Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light, And faintly in its breaft the woodland bears. The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,

Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant glade; The bat, low-wheeling, fkims the dulky ground.

Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,

The Gothic abbey rears its fculptur'd tow'rs ; Dull through the roofs refounds the whiftling gale, Dark folitude among the pillars low'rs. Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window

waves,

graves,

And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftains; There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,

Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd,

Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken pray'r. Higho'er the pines, that with their dark ning fhade Surround yon craggy bank, the caftle rears Its crumbling turrets; ftill its tow'ry head

A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears. So, 'midst the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare,

Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends. Wild round the gates the dufky wall-flow'rs creep, Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led,

Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap,

Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments spread. 'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight, Great in their bloody arms, march o'er the lea, Eying their refcued fields with proud delight! Now loft to them! and, ah! how chang'd

to me!

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,

The dear idea of my Pollio bring; So fhone the moon thro' thefe foft nodding trees, When here we wander'd in the eves of fpring. When April's fmiles the flow'ry lawn adorn,

And mcdeft cowflips deck the streamlet's fide; When fragrant orchards to the roleate morn Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours dyed:

So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore,

Thefe were the emblems of his healthful mind; To him the letter'd page display'd its lore,

To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; Him with her pureft flames the Mufe endow'd, Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied: The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms; he faw, he felt, and died.

Big with the fcenes now paft, my heart o'erflows; Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rife, And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new, Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; Oft by the moon have brush'd the evening dew, When all was fearlefs innocence and glee. The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,

Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours; · But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines, And fainted well have loft their cheering pow'rs;

For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh where,

Where haft thou fled, and left me here behind? My tend'reft with, my heart to thee was bare; Oh now cut off each paffage to my mind! How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void, The tracklefs fhores that never were repafs d!' Dread feparation! on the depth untried,

Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghast! Wide round the fpacious-heavens I caft my eyes: Still thine the lifelefs glories of the skies? And fhall thefe ftars glow with immortal fire?

And could thy bright, thy living foul expire? Far be the thought! The pleafures moft fublime,

The glow of friendship, and the virtuous tear, The tow'ring with that fcorns the bounds of time,

Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here.. So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,

The languid stranger feebly buds, and dies : Yet there's a clime where Virtue fhall expand With godlike ftrength beneath her native fkies!

The lonely shepherd on the mountain's fide

With patience waits the rofy opening day; The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide With cheerful hope expects the morning ray : Thus I, on life's ftorm-beaten occan tof'd,

In mental vision view the happy fhore, Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coaft, Where fate and death divide the friends no more!

Oh that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade, Who now perhaps frequents this folemn grove, Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead,

And from my eyes the mortal film remove! Vain is the with yet furely not in vain

Man's bofom glows with that celeftial fire Which fcorns earth's luxuries, which finiles at pain,

And wings his fpirit with fublime defire! To fan this fpark of heaven, this ray divine,

Still, O my foul! still be thy dear employ; Still thus to wander thro' the fhades be thine, And fwell thy breaft with vifionary joy!

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