Imagens das páginas

SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 509 To that hoar pile * which still its ruin shows : How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind,

In whose small vaults a Pigmy-folk is found, To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung!
Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind
And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung!

Hence, at each sound, imagination glows !
Or thithert, where beneath the show'ry west

Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here ! The inighty kings of three fair realms are laid : Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows! Once foes, perhaps together now they rest,

Melting it fows, pure, murmuring, strong, and No slaves revere them, and no wars invade :

clear, Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour, And fills th' empassion'd heart, and wins th' bar. The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold,

monious ear! And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power,

In pagcant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail !
And on their twilight tombs aërial council hold. Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away,

Are by smooth Anan fill'd, or past'ral Tay, But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, [tides, Or Don's * romantic springs, at distance, hail ! On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread

Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. Your lowly glens f o'erhung with spreading Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace!

broom; Then to my ear transmit some gentle song, Or o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led;

Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, Or o'er your mountains creep, in aweful gloom ! Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, Then will í dress once more the faded bower,

And all their prospect but the wintery main. Where Jonson sat in Drummond's classic shade ; With sparing temperance at the needful time Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, (laid !

They drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest, And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's Along the Atlantic rock, undreading, climb, Meantime, ye powers, that on the plains which bore

And of its eggs despoil the solan's † nest. The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains & attend ! | Thus blest in primal innocence they live,

Where'er Home dwells, on hill or lowly moor, Suffic'd and happy with that frugal fare

To him I lose, your kind protection lend, Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my abHard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare ;

sent friend! Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!


Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage

Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest;

For not alone they touch the village breast,
But fill'd in elder time th' historic page.
There, Shakspeare's self, with ev'ry garland crown'd,

Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen,
In musing hour ; his wayward sisters found, THE SCENE OF THE FOLLOWING STANZAS IS SUPPOSED

And with their terrours dress'd the magic scene. TO LIE ON THE THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND.
From them be sung, when, 'mid his bold design,
Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast !

In yonder grave a Druid lies
The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line

Where slowly winds the stealing wave: Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass'd. The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply told,

To deck its poet's sylvan grave.
Could once so well my answering bosom pierce;
Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colour bold,

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds
The native legends of thy land rehearse;

His airy harp || shall now be laid, To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful versc.

That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,

May love through life the soothing shade, In scenes like these, which, daring to depart From sober truth, are still to Nature true,

Then maids and youths shall linger here, And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view,

And, while its sounds at distance swell, Th' heroic Muse employ'd her Tasso's art.

Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear
How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke,

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.
Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd!
When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd sword ! When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,

And oft suspend the dashing oar One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pig- To bid his gentle spirit rest ! thies; where it is reported that several miniature bones of the human species bave been dug up in * Three rivers in Scotland. † Valleys. the ruins of a chapel there.

| Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to + Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near the Scotch poet, Drummond, at his seat of Haw. sixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian thornden, within four miles of Edinburgh. kings are interred.

$ Barrow, it seems, was at the Edinburgh Uni.. An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of versity, which is in the county of Lothian. which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the II The harp of Æolus, of which see a description Hebrides, chiefly subsist.

in the Castle of Indolence.

And oft as Ease and Health retire

And see, the fairy valleys fade, To breezy lawn, or forest deep,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! The friend shall view yon whitening spire *, Yet once again, dear parted shade, And ’mid the varied landscape weep.

Meek Nature's child, again adieu ! But thou, who own'st that earthly bed,

The genial meadst assign'd to bless Ah! what will every dirge avail ?

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom! Or tears which Love and Pity shed,

Their binds and shepherd-girls shall dress That mourn beneath the gliding sail !

With simple hands thy rural tomb. Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near? Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes, With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,

“O! vales, and wild woods,” shall he say, And Joy desert the blooming year.

“ In yonder grave your Druid lies!" But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide + Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of

No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, Richmond some time before his death. Now waft me from the green hill's side

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

• Mr. Thomson was buried in Richmond church.


John Deer, an agreeable poet, was the son of His health being now in a delicate state, he was a solicitor at Aberglasney, in Carmarthenshire, advised by his friends to take orders; and he was where he was born in 1700. He was brought up accordingly ordained by Dr. Thomas, Bishop of at Westminster-school, and was designed by his Lincoln ; and, entering into the married state, he father for his own profession; but being at liberty, sat down on a small living in Leicestershire. This in consequence of his father's death, to follow his he exchanged for one in Lincolnshire ; but the own inclination, he indulged what he took for a fenny country in which he was placed did not natural taste in painting, and entered as pupil to agree with his health, and he complained of the Mr. Richardson. After wandering for some time want of books and company. In 1757, he pubabout South Wales and the adjacent counties as an lished his largest work, “ The Fleece," a didactic itinerant artist, he appeared convinced that he should poem, in four books, of which the first part is

pasnot attain to eminence in that profession. In 1727, toral, the second mechanical, the third and fourth he first made himself known as a poet, by the publi- historical and geographical. This poem has never cation of his “ Grongar Hill,” descriptive of a been very popular, many of its topics not being scene afforded by his native country, which became well adapted to poetry; yet the opinions of critics one of the most popular pieces of its class, and has have varied concerning it. It is certain that there been admitted into numerous coliections. Dyer are many pleasing, and some grand and impressive then travelled to Italy, still in pursuit of profes passages in the work; but, upon the whole, the gesional improvement; and if he did not acquire this neral feeling is, that the length of the performance in any considerable degree, he improved his poeti- necessarily imposed upon it a degree of tediouscal taste, and laid in a store of new images. These ness. he displayed in a poem of some length, published Dyer did not long survive the completion of his in 1740, which he entitled “The Ruins of Rome, book. He died of a gradual decline in 1758, leavthat capital having been the principal object of his ing behind besides the reputation of an inge journeyings of this work it may be said, that it nious poet, the character of an honest, humane, and contains many passages of real poetry, and that the worthy person. strain of moral and political reflection denotes a benevolent and enlightened mind.

[ocr errors]


nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple evening, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man;
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale;
Come, with all thy various dues,
Come and aid thy sister Muse;
Now, while Phoebus riding high,
Gives lustre to the land and sky!
Grongar Hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar, in whose mossy cells
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ;
Grongar, in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made,

So oft I have, the evening still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sate upon a flowery bed,
With my hand beneath my head;
While stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over mead and over wood,
From house to house, from hill to hill,
Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd sides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves, and grottoes where I lay,
And vistas shooting beams of day:
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal :
The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise :
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly-risen hill.

Now, I gain the mountain's brow,

The town and village, dome and farm, What a landscape lies below!

Each give each a double charm, No clouds, no vapours intervene;

As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. But the gay, the open scene

See on the mountain's southern side, Does the face of Nature show,

Where the prospect opens wide, In all the hues of Heaven's bow !

Where the evening gilds the tide; And, swelling to embrace the light,

How close and small the hedges lie! Spreads around beneath the sight.

What streaks of meadows cross the eye! Old castles on the cliffs arise,

A step methinks may pass the stream, Proudly towering in the skies!

So little distant dangers seem; Rushing from the woods, the spires

So we mistake the Future's face, Seem from hence ascending fires !

Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass; Half his beams Apollo sheds

As yon summits soft and fair, On the yellow mountain-heads !

Clad in colours of the air, Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,

Which to those who journey near, And glitters on the broken rocks!

Barren, brown, and rough appear ; Below me trees unnumber'd rise,

Still we tread the same coarse way, Beautiful in various dyes:

The present 's still a cloudy day. The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,

O may I with myself agree, The yellow beech, the sable yew,

And never covet what I see ; The slender fir that taper grows,

Content me with an humble shade, The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs. My passions tam'd, my wishes laid; And beyond the purple grove,

For, while our wishes wildly roll, Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!

We banish quiet from the soul: Gaudy as the opening dawn,

'T is thus the busy beat the air, Lies a long and level lawn,

And misers gather wealth and care. On which a dark hill, steep and high,

Now, ev'n now, my joys run high, Holds and charms the wandering eye!

As on the mountain-turf I lie; Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,

While the wanton Zephyr sings, His sides are cloth'd with waving wood,

And in the vale perfumes his wings; And ancient towers crown his brow,

While the waters murmur deep; That cast an aweful look below;

While the shepherd charms his sheep; Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,

While the birds unbounded fly, And with her arms from falling keeps ;

And with music fill the sky, So both a safety from the wind

Now, e'en now, my joys run high. On mutual dependence find.

Be full, ye courts; be great who will; 'T is now th' raven's bleak abode;

Search for Peace with all your skill: 'Tis now the apartment of the toad ;

Open wide the lofty door, And there the fox securely feeds;

Seek her on the marble floor. And there the poisonous adder breeds,

In vain you search, she is not there; Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds;

In vain ye search the domes of Care ! While, ever and anon, there falls

Grass and flowers Quiet treads, Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.

On the meads, and mountain-heads, Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,

Along with Pleasure, close ally'd, And level lays the lofty brow,

Ever by each other's side : Has seen this broken pile complete,

And often, by the murmuring rill, Big with the vanity of state ;

Hears the thrush, while all is still,
But transient is the smile of Fate !

Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
A little rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run,

Aspice murorum moles, præruptaque saja, Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,

Obrutaque horrenti vesta theatra situ :

Hæc sunt Roma. Wave succeeding wave, they go

Viden'velut ipsa cadavera tanta A various journey to the deep,

Urbis adhuc spirent imperiosa minas?
Like human life, to endless sleep !
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,

Enough of Grongar, and the shady dales
To instruct our wandering thought;

Of winding Towy: Merlin's fabled haunt Thus she dresses green and gay,

I sing inglorious Now the love of arts, To disperse our cares away.

And what in metal or in stone reinains Ever charming, ever new,

Of proud antiquity, through various realms When will the landscape tire the view! And various languages and

ages fam'd, The fountain's fall, the river's flow,

Bears me remote, o'er Gallia's woody bounds, The woody valleys, warm and low;

O'er the cloud-piercing Alps remote; beyond The windy summit, wild and high,

The vale of Arno purpled with the vine, Roughly rushing on the sky!

Beyond the Umbrian and Etruscan hills, The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tower,

To Latium's wide champain, forlorn and waste, The naked rock, the shady bower ;

Where yellow Tiber his neglected wave

JANUS VITALIS Mournfully rolls. Yet once again, my Muse, And intermingling vines; and figur'd nymphs, Yet once again, and soar a loftier flight;

Floras and Chloes of delicious mould, Lo the resistless theme, imperial Rome.

Cheering the darkness; and deep empty tombs, Fall'n, fall'n, a silent heap; her heroes all And dells, and mouldering shrines, with old decay Sunk in their urns; behold the pride of pomp, Rustic and green, and wide-embowering shades, The throne of nations fall’n ; obscur'd in dust; Shot from the crooked clefts of nodding towers. E'en yet majestical: the solemn scene

A solemn wilderness! with errour sweet, Elates the soul, while now the rising Sun

I wind the lingering step, where'er the path Flames on the ruins in the purer air

Mazy conducts me, which the vulgar foot Towering aloft, upon the glittering plain,

O'er sculptures maim'd has made ; Anubis, Sphinx, Like broken rocks, a vast circumference :

Idols of antique guise, and horned Pan, Rent palaces, crush'd columns, rifled moles, Terrific, monstrous shapes ! preposterous gods Fanes rollid on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs. Of Fear and Ignorance, by the sculptor's hand Deep lies in dust the Theban obelisk

Hewn into form, and worshipp’d; as e'en now Immense along the waste ; minuter art,

Blindly they worship at their breathless mouths + Gliconian forms, or Phidian subtly fair,

In varied appellations : men to these O'erwhelming; as th' immense Leviathan (From depth to depth in darkening errour fall’n) The finny brood, when near Ierne's shore

At length ascrib'd th' inapplicable name. Outstretch'd, unwieldy, his island-length appears How doth it please and fill the memory Above the foamy flood. Globose and huge, With deeds of brave renown, while on each band Gray mouldering temples swell, and wide o'ercast Historic urns and breathing statues rise, The solitary landscape, hills and woods,

And speaking busts ! Sweet Scipio, Marius stern, And boundless wilds; while the vine-mantled brows Pompey superb, the spirit-stirring form The pendent goats unveil, regardless they

Of Cæsar raptur'd with the charm of rule Of hourly peril, though the clefted domes

And boundless fame ; impatient for exploits, Tremble to every wind. The pilgrim oft

His eager eyes upcast, he soars in thought At dead of night, 'mid his orison hears

Above all height: and his own Brutus see, Aghast the voice of Time, disparting towers, Desponding Brutus, dubious of the right, Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd,

In evil days, of faith, of public weal, Rattling around, loud thundering to the Moon; Solicitous and sad. Thy next regard While murmurs soothe each awful interval

Be Tully's graceful attitude ; unprais'd, Of ever-falling waters; shrouded Nile,

His outstretch'd arm he waves, in act to speak Eridanus, and Tiber with his twins,

Before the silent masters of the world,
And palmy Euphrates *; they with drooping locks And Eloquence arrays him. There behold,
Hang o'er their urns, and mournfully among Prepar'd for combat in the front of war,
The plaintive-echoing ruins pour streams. The pious brothers ; jealous Alba stands

Yet here, adventurous in the sacred search In fearful expectation of the strife,
Of ancient arts, the delicate of mind,

And youthful Rome intent: the kindred foes Curious and modest, from all climes resort. Fall on each other's neck in silent tears; Grateful society with these I raise

In sorrowful benevolence embrace The toilsome step up the proud Palatin,

Howe'er, they soon unsheath the flashing sword, Through spiry cypress groves, and towering pine, Their country calls to arms; - now all in vaiv Waving aloft o'er the big ruin's brows,

The mother clasps the knee, and e'en the fair On numerous arches rear'd : and frequent stopp'd, Now weeps in vain ; their country calls to arms. The sunk ground startles me with dreadful chasm, Such virtue Clelia, Cocles, Manlius, rous'd : Breathing forth darkness from the vast profound Such were the Fabii, Decii; so inspir’d, Of aisles and halls, within the mountain's womb. The Scipios battled, and the Gracchi spoke : Nor these the nether works; all these beneath, So rose the Roman state. Me now, of these And all beneath the vales and hills around, Deep musing, high ambitious thoughts inflame Extend the cavern'd sewers, massy, firm,

Greatly to serve my country, distant land, As the Sibylline grot beside the dead

And build me virtuous fame; nor shall the dust Lake of Avernus; such the sewers huge,

Of these fall’n piles with show of sad decay
Whither the great Tarquinian genius dooms Avert the good resolve, mean argument;
Each wave impure; and proud with added rains, The fate alone of matter. Now the brow
Hark how the mighty billows lash their vaults, We gain enraptur'd; beauteously distinct
And thunder ; how they heave their rocks in vain ! The numerous porticoes and domes upswell,
Though now incessant time has rollid around With obelisks and columns interpos'd,
A thousand winters o'er the changeful world, And pine, and fir, and oak : so fair a scene
And yet a thousand since, th' indignant floods Sees not the dervise from the spiral tomb
Roar loud in their firm bounds, and dash and swell, Of ancient Chammos, while his eye beholds
In vain ; convey'd to Tiber's lowest wave. Proud Memphis' reliques o'er th' Egyptian plain :

Hence over airy plains, by crystal founts, Nor hoary hermit from Hymettus' brow,
That weave their glittering waves with tuneful lapse, Though graceful Athens in the vale beneath.
Among the sleeky pebbles, agate clear,

Along the windings of the Muse's stream,
Cerulean ophite, and the flowery vein

Lucid Illyssus weeps her silent schools, Of orient jasper, pleas'd I move along, And vases boss'd, and huge inscriptive stones, + Several statues of the Pagan gods have been

converted into images of saints. • Fountains at Rome adorned with the statues From the Palatin hill one sees most of the reof those rivers.

markable antiquities.

« AnteriorContinuar »