Heroes loved-but shrunk away in their fears. Yet midst the pride of all her charms, her heart was soft, and her soul was kind. She saw the mournful with tearful eyes. Transient darkness arose in her breast. Her joy was in the chace. Each morning, when doubtful light wandered dimly on Lulan's waves, she rouzed the resounding woods, to Gormal's head of snow. Nor moved the maid alone, &c.

THE SAME VERSIFIED.

WHERE fair-hair'd Harold, o'er Scandinia reign'd, And held, with justice, what his valour gain'd, Sevo, in snow, his rugged forehead rears, And, o'er the warfare of his storms, appears Abrupt and vast.-White-wandering down his side A thousand torrents, gleaming as they glide, Unite below; and pouring thro' the plain Hurry the troubled Torno to the main.

GREY, on the bank, remote from human kind,

By aged pines, half-shelter'd from the wind,
A homely mansion rose, of antique form,
For ages batter'd by the polar storm.

In that rude field, where Suecia's chiefs were slain,
Or forced to wander o'er the Bothnic main.

Dark was his life, yet undisturb'd with woes,
But when the memory of defeat arose

His proud heart struck his side; he graspt the spear,

And wounded Harold in the vacant air.

One daughter only, but of form divine,
The last fair beam of the departing line,
Remain'd of Sigurd's race.
His warlike son
Fell in the shock, which overturn'd the throne.
Nor desolate the house! Fionia's charms
Sustain'd the glory, which they lost in arms.
White was her arm, as Sevo's lofty snow,
Her bosom fairer, than the waves below,
When heaving to the winds. Her radiant eyes
Like two bright stars, exulting as they rise,
O'er the dark tumult of a stormy night,
And gladd'ning heav'n, with their majestic light.

In nought is Odin to the maid unkind
Her form scarce equals her exalted mind,
Awe leads her sacred steps where'er they move,
And mankind worship, where they dare not love.
But, mix'd with softness, was the virgin's pride,
Her heart had feelings, which her eyes deny'd.

Her bright tears started at another's woes,

While transient darkness on her soul arose.

The chace she lov'd; when morn, with doubtful beam

Came dimly wandering o'er the Bothnic stream,
On Sevo's sounding sides, she bent the bow,
And rouz'd his forests to his head of snow.
Nor mov'd the maid alone, &c.

One of the chief improvements, on this edition, is the care taken, in arranging the Poems in the order of time; so as to form a kind of regular history of the age to which they relate. The Writer has now resigned them for ever to their fate. That they have been well received by the Public, appears from an extensive sale; that they shall continue to be well received, he may venture to prophecy without the gift of that inspiration, to which poets lay claim. Through the medium of version upon version, they retain, in foreign languages, their native character of simplicity and energy. Ge

リ

sition cannot bear the test of a literal version, it is a counterfeit which ought not to pass current. The operation must, however, be performed with skilful hands. A Translator, who cannot equal his original, is incapable of expressing its beauties.

LONDON,
AUG. 15, 1773.