Imágenes de páginas

• One morn I mifs'd him on th' accuftom'd hill,


Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came; nor yet befide the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.

• The next with dirges due in fad array,

Slow through the church-way path we faw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can't read) the lay, • Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

There fcatter'd oft, the earliest of the year,

By hands unfeen, are show'rs of violets found;
The red-breaft loves to build and warble there,
And little foofteps lightly print the ground.


Here refts his head

upon the lap of earth
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown:
Fair fcience frown'd not on his humble birth,
• And melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,
• Heav'n did a recompence as largely fend:

He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear:

He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther feek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bofom of his father and his God.'

We have already observed that any dreadful catastrophe is a proper fubject for Elegy; and what can be more fo than a civil war, where the fathers and children, the dearest relations and friends, meet each other in arms? We have on this fubject a moft affecting Elegy, intituled the Tears of Scotland, afcribed to Dr. Smollet, and fet to mufic by Mr. Ofwald, juft after the late rebellion.

The Tears of SCOTLAND. Written in the Year 1746.


Mourn, hapless CALEDONIA, mourn

Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Thy fons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie flaughter'd on their native ground;
Thy hofpitable roofs no more
Invite the ftranger to the door;
In fmoaky ruins funk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

[ocr errors]


The wretched owner fees afar
His all become the prey of war;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then fmites his breaft, and curfes life.
Thy fwains are famish'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravish'd virgins fhriek in vain;
Thy infants perish on the plain.


What boots it then, in every clime, Thro' the wide fpreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, Still fhone with undiminish'd blaze? Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke. What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage, and rancour fell.



The rural pipe, and merry lay, No more fhall chear the happy day: No focial scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: No ftrains but thofe of forrow flow, And nought be heard but founds of woe; While the pale phantoms of the flain Glide nightly o'er the filent plain.


Oh baneful caufe, oh! fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!.

The fons against their fathers food,
The parent fhed his children's blood.

Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victors fouls were not appeas'd;
The naked and forlorn muft feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel!

The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Forfaken, wanders o'er the heath.
The bleak wind whiftles round her head;
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of fhelter, food, and friend,
She views the fhades of night defcend,
And, ftretch'd beneath inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.


Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns;
Refentment of my country's fate,
Within my filial breaft fhall beat;
And, fpite of her infulting foe,
My fympathizing verfe fhall flow,
"Mourn, haplefs Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn."

[ocr errors]


Love as we have already obferved, is likewife one of the proper fubjects for this kind of poem. An example of which we fhall give from the love Êlegies lately publish'd by Mr. Hammond.



Let others boaft their heaps of fhining gold,

And view their fields with waving plenty crown'd, Whom neighb'ring foes in conftant terror hold, And trumpets break their flumbers, never found



While, calmly poor, I trifle life away,

Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearful fire, No wanton hope my quiet fhall betray,

But cheaply blefs'd i'll fcorn each vain defire.

[ocr errors][subsumed][ocr errors]


With timely care I'll fow my little field,

And plant my orchard with its mafter's hand, Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range the sheaves along the funny land.

If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,

I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.


What joy to hear the tempeft howl in vain,

And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast?
Or lull'd to flumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy fink at last to rest.

Or if the fun in flaming Leo ride,
By fhady rivers indolently ftray,
And with my DELIA walking fide by fide,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away.


What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To stop and gaze on DELIA as I go !
To mingle sweet difcourfe with kiffes fweet,
And teach my lovely scholar all I know!


Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,
In filent happiness I reft unknown;

Content with what I am, not what I feem,
I live for DELIA, and myfelf alone.

Ah foolish man! who thus of her poffefs'd,

Could float and wander with ambition's wind,
And if his outward trappings fpoke him bleft,
Not heed the ficknefs of his confcious mind.


With her I fcorn the idle breath of praise,
Nor truft to happiness that's not our own,
The fruile of fortune might fufpicion raise,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.

XI. STANHOPE, in wifdom as in wit divine, May rife, and plead Britannia's glorious caufe, With steady rein his eager wit confine,

While manly sense the deep attention draws.


Let STANHOPE fpeak his lift'ning country's wrong,
My humble voice fhall please one partial maid;
For her alone, I pen my tender fong,
Securely fitting in his friendly fhade.


STANHOPE fhall come, and grace his rural friend,
DELIA fhall wonder at her noble guest,
With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,
And for her husband's patron cull the best.
Her's be the care of all my little train,

While I with tender indolence am bleft,
The favourite fubject of her gentle reign,
By love alone diftinguish'd from the reft.
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,

In gloomy forefts tend my lonely stock,
For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,
And fleep extended on the naked rock.

Ah! what avails to prefs the ftately bed,

And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep, By warbling fountains lay the penfive head,

And, while they murmur, ftrive in vain to fleep

« AnteriorContinuar »