VI.

But thou, who own'st that earthly bed,
Ah! what will every dirge avail !
Or tears which Love and Pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail!

VII.

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm'ring near;
With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,
And Joy desert the blooming year.

VIIL

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill's side,
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

IX.

And see, the fairy valleys fade,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature's child, again adieu !

X.

*The genial meads, assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom!
There hinds and shepherd girls shall dress
With simple hands thy rural tomb.

XL

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes :
O vales, and wild woods!' shall he say,
In yonder grave your Druid lies!'

* Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death.

VERSES

Written on a Paper which contained a Piece of
Bride-cake.

YE curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes,
By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake,
With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize,
Nor dare a theft, for love and pity's sake!
This precious relic, form'd by magic power,
Beneath the shepherd's haunted pillow laid,
Was meant by love to charm the silent hour,
The secret present of a matchless maid,
The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request,
Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art;
Fears, sighs, and wishes of th' enamour'd breast,
And pains that please, are mixt in every part.
With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought,

From Paphian hills, and fair Cytherea's isle;
And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought,
The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding smile.
Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent,
Denials mild, and firm unalter'd truth;
Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent,
And meeting ardours, and exulting youth.

Sleep, wayward god! hath sworn, while these remain,
With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear,

And cheerful Hope, so oft invoked in vain,
With fairy songs shall soothe his pensive ear.
If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side,
And fond of soul, thou hop'st an equal grace,
If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide,
O, much entreated, leave this fatal place!
Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plaintive lay,
Consents at length to bring me short delight;
Thy careless steps may scare her doves away,
And grief with raven note usurp the night,

AN ODE

ON THE

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND.

I.

HOME! thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long Have seen thee ling'ring with a fond delay,

Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future day Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song. Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth,

Whom, long endear'd, thou leavest by Lavant's side; Together let us wish him lasting truth,

And joy untainted, with his destined bride. Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast My short-lived bliss, forget my social name; But think, far off, how, on the southern coast, I met thy friendship with an equal flame! Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where ev'ry vale Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand: To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, And paint what all believe, who own thy genial land.

II.

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill;
'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet;
Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet,
Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.
There each trim lass, that skims the milky store,
To the swart tribes their creamy bowls allots;
By night they sip it round the cottage-door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.
There, every herd, by sad experience, knows
How, wing'd with Fate, their elf-shot arrows fly,
When the sick ewe her summer food foregoes,
Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie.

A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins.

Such airy beings awe th' untutor'd swain: [neglect ;
Nor thou, though learn'd, his homelier thoughts
Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain;
These are the themes of simple, sure effect,
That add new conquests to her boundless reign,
And fill, with double force, her heart-commanding
strain.

III.

E'en yet preserved, how often may'st thou hear,
Where to the pole the Boreal mountains run,
Taught by the father to his list'ning son,
Strange lays, whose power had charm'd a Spenser's
At ev'ry pause, before thy mind possest,

Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around,
With uncouth lyres, in many-colour'd vest,

[ear.

Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd: Whether thou bidd'st the well-taught hind repeat The choral dirge, that mourns some chieftain brave, When ev'ry shrieking maid her bosom beat,

And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave; Or whether, sitting in the shepherd's shiel,*

Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war's alarms; When at the bugle's call, with fire and steel,

The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny swarms, And hostile brothers met to prove each others' arms.

IV...

'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells,
In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer,
Lodged in the wintry cave, with Fate's fell spear,
Or in the depth of Uist's dark forest dwells:

How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross,
With their own visions oft astonish'd droop,
When, o'er the wat❜ry strath or quaggy moss,
They see the gliding ghosts' unbodied troop;
Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,
Their destined glance some fated youth descry,
Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen,
And rosy health, shall soon lamented die.

A summer hut, built in the high part of the mountains, to tend their flocks in the warm season, when the pasture is fine.

D

For them the viewless forms of air obey, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair: They know what spirit brews the stormful day, And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.

V.

'Or on some bellying rock that shades the deep, 'They view the lurid signs that cross the sky, 'Where, in the west, the brooding tempests lie: 'And hear their first, faint, rustling pennons sweep. 'Or in the arched cave, where deep and dark 'The broad, unbroken billows heave and swell, 'In horrid musings wrapt, they sit to mark 'The lab'ring moon; or list the nightly yell 'Of that dread spirit, whose gigantic form

'The seer's entranced eye can well survey, 'Through the dim air who guides the driving storm, And points the wretched bark its destined prey. 'Or him who hovers on his flagging wing

'O'er the dire whirlpool, that, in ocean's waste, 'Draws instant down whate'er devoted thing

'The failing breeze within its reach hath placed'The distant seaman hears, and flies with trembling

haste.

VI.

Or, if on land the fiend exerts his sway, 'Silent he broods o'er quicksand, bog, or fen, Far from the shelt'ring roof and haunts of men, 'When witched darkness shuts the eye of day,

And shrouds each star that wont to cheer the night;

Or, if the drifted snow perplex the way,

'With treach'rous gleam he lures the fated wight, 'And leads him flound'ring on and quite astray.'

VII.

To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray,
Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal blow!
The seer, in Sky, shriek'd as the blood did flow,
When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay!