While the slow foot their tardy march delay,
The knights, impatient, spur along the way:
Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led,
To Turnus, with their master's promise sped:
Now, they approach the trench, and view the walls,
When, on the left, à light reflection falls;
The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night,
Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright;
Volscens, with question loud, the pair alarms-
«Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms?
From whence? to whom?» He meets with no reply,
Trusting the covert of the night, they fly;

The thicket's depth, with hurried pace, they tread,
While round the wood the hostile squadron spread.

With brakes entangled, scarce a path between,
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene;
Euryalus his heavy spoils impede,

The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead;
But Nisus scours along the forest's maze,
To where Latinus' steeds, in safety graze,
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend,
On every side they seek his absent friend.

« O God! my boy," he cries, « of me bereft,
In what impending perils art thou left!»>
Listening he runs-above the waving trees,
Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze;
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around
Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground;
Again he turns-of footsteps hears the noise,
The sound elates-the sight his hope destroys;
The hapless boy a ruffian train surround,
While lengthening shades his weary way confound;
Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights pursue,
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew.
What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare?
Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share!
What force, what aid, what stratagem essay,
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey!
His life a votive ransom nobly give,
Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live!
Poising with strength his lifted lance on high,
On Luna's orb he cast his phrenzied eye:
«Goddess serene, transcending every star!
Queen of the sky! whose beams are seen afar,
By night, Heaven owns thy sway, by day, the grove,
When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove;
If e'er myself or sire have sought to grace
Thine altars with the produce of the chace;
Speed, speed, my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd,
To free my friend, and scatter far the proud.»>
Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung;
Through parted shades, the hurtling weapon sung;
The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay,
Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay:
He sobs, he dies,-the troop, in wild amaze,
Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze;
While pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven,
A second shaft with equal force is driven;
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes,
Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies.
Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall;
Thou youth accurst! thy life shall pay for all.»>
Quick from the sheath his flaming glave he drew,
And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew.

Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals, Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals; Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise,

And

pour these accents, shrieking as he flies:
Me, me, your vengeance hurl on me alone,
Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own;
Ye starry Spheres! thou conscious Heaven attest!
He could not-durst not-lo! the guile confest!
All, all was mine-his early fate suspend,

He only loved too well his hapless friend;
Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove,
His fault was friendship, all his crime was love.»
He pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored;
Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest,
And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast:
As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air,
Languid in death, expires beneath the share;
Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower,
Declining gently, falls a fading flower;
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head,
And lingering Beauty hovers round the dead.
But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide,
Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide;
Volscens he seeks, amidst the gathering host,
Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost;
Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe,
Rage nerves his arm, Fate gleams in every blow;
In vain, beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds,
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds;
In viewless circles wheel'd his falchion flies,
Nor quits the Hero's grasp till Volscens dies;
Deep in his throat its end the weapon found,
The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound.
Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved,
Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved;
Then on his bosom, sought his wonted place,
And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace!

Celestial pair? if aught my verse can claim,
Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame!
Ages on ages shall your fate admire;

No future day shall see your names expire;
While stands the Capitol, immortal dome!
And vanquish'd millions hail their Empress, Rome!

TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF
EURIPIDES.

WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast, where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge,

Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,

Can rouse the tortured breast no more; The wild desire, the guilty flame,

Absorbs each wish it felt before. But, if affection gently thrills

The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills,

In love can soothe the aching breast;
If thus, thou comest in gentle guise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the gods have given!

FRIEND of my youth! when young we roved,
Like striplings mutually beloved,

With Friendship's purest glow;

The bliss which wing'd those rosy hours,
Was such as pleasure seldom showers
On mortals here below. *

The recollection seems, alone
Dearer than all the joys I've known,
When distant far from you;
Though pain, 't is still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
And sigh again, adieu!

My pensive memory lingers o'er
Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more,

Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life's evening dream is dark and dull,
And we may meet—ah! never!

As when one parent spring supplies

Two streams, which from one fountain rise,
Together join'd in vain;

Ilow soon, diverging from their source,
Each murmuring seeks another course,
Till mingled in the main.

Our vital streams of weal or wor,
Though near, alas! distinctly flow,

Nor mingle as before;

Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
Till death's unfathom'd gulph appear,

And both shall quit the shore.

Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,
Now flow in different channels;
Disdaining humbler rural sports,
"Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts,
And shine in Fashion's annals.

'Tis mine to waste on love my time,
Or vent my reveries in rhyme,

Without the aid of Beason;

For Sense and Reason (Critics know it)
Have quitted every amorous Poet,

Nor left a thought to seize on.

enbarquently (I had almost said coNSEQUENTLY) the honour of representing the University; a fact so glaring requires no comment.

Poor LITTLE! Sweet, melodious bard!
Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard,
That he, who sang before all;
Ile, who the love of love expanded,
By dire reviewers should be branded,
As void of wit and moral.'
And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine,
Harmonious favourite of the Nine!

Repine not at thy lot;

Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution's arm is dead,

And Critics are forgot.

Still, I must yield those worthies merit,
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,

Bad rhymes, and those who write them;
And though myself may be the next
By critic sarcasm to be vext,

I really will not fight them;"
Perhaps they would do quite as well,
To break the rudely sounding shell
Of such a young beginner;
He who offends at pert nineteen,
Ere thirty, may become, I ween,
A very harden'd sinner.
Now I must return to you,
And sure apologies are due;
Accept then my concession;
in fancy's flight,

In truth, dear

I soar along from left to right,
My muse admires digression.

I think I said 't would be your fate
To add one star to royal state;

May regal smiles attend you;
And should a noble Monarch reign,
You will not seek his smiles in vain,

If worth can recommend you. Yet, since in danger courts abonud, Where specious rivals glitter round,

From snares may Saints preserve you; And grant your love or friendship ne'er From any claim a kindred care,

But those who best deserve you.
Not for a moment may you stray
From Truth's secure unerring way,
May no delights decoy;
O'er roses may your footsteps move,
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,
Your tears be tears of joy.

Oh! if you wish that happiness
Your coming days and years may bless,
And virtues crown your brow
Be, still, as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you've been known to me,

Be, still, as you are now.

1 These Stanzas were written soon after the appearance of a sever critique in a Northern review, on a new publication of the Britis i

Anacreon.

A Bard (borresco referens) defied his reviewer to mortal combat If this example becomes prevalent, our periodical centers must be dipt in the river Styx, for what else can secure them from the aumerous host of their enraged assailants!

On could LE SAGE'S1 demon's gift
Be realized at my desire,

This night my trembling form he'd lift,
To place it on St Mary's spire.

Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls

Pedantic inmates full display; Fellows who dream on lawn, or stalls, The price of venal votes to pay.

Turn would I view each rival wight,

P―ity and P-Im—st—n survey;

Who canvass there with all their might,
Against the next elective day.

Lo' candidates and voters lic,

All full'd in sleep, a goodly number!

A race renown'd for piety,

Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber.

Lord H, indeed, may not demur,
Fellows are sage, reflecting men!
They know preferment can occur

Bat very seldom,-now and then.
They know the Chancellor has got

Some pretty livings in disposal; Lach hopes that one may be his lot,

And, therefore, smiles on his proposal.

Now, from the soporific scene

Il turn mine eye, as night grows later,
Tone, unheeded and unseen,

The studions sons of Alma Mater.
There in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes
Si paring by the midnight lamp,

Gors late to bed, yet early rises.
He, surely, well deserves to gain them,
With all the honours of his college,
Who striving hardly to obtain them,

Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge;
Wo sacrifices hours of rest,

To scan, precisely, metres Attic,

or agitates his anxious breast

In solving problems mathematic;

W: reads false quantities in Sele,

Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, Deprived of many a wholesome meal,'

In barbarous Latin3 doom'd to wrangle;

The Folie Betrus of LE SAGE, where Asmodeus, the demon, The Chas an an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses

hrawon on Greek metres displays considerable talent una bust, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not - fee arturaty.

The Tata of the schools is of the CANINE SPECIES, and not very

Renouncing every pleasing page

From authors of historic use; Preferring to the letter'd sage

The square of the hypothenuse.' Still, harmless are these occupations,

That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent.
Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When drunkenness and dice unite,
And every sense is steep'd in wine.
Not so the methodistic crew,

Who plans of reformation lay:
In humble attitude they sue,

And for the sins of others pray. Forgetting, that their pride of spirit, Their exultation in their trial, Detracts most largely from the merit Of all their boasted self-denial. 'Tis morn,-from these I turn my sight: What scene is this which meets the eye? A numerous crowd array'd in white,2 Across the green in numbers fly.

Loud rings, in air, the chapel bell;

'Tis hush'd: What sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell

Rolls deeply on the listening ear.

To this is join'd the sacred song,

The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain;
Though he who hears the music long
Will never wish to hear again.
Our choir would scarcely be excused,
Even as a band of raw beginners;
All mercy, now, must be refused,

To such a set of croaking sinners.

If David, when his toils were ended,

Had heard these blockheads sing before him,

To us his psalms had ne'er descended,

In furious mood he would have tore 'em.

The luckless Israelites, when taken,

By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,
On Babylonian river's border.
Oh! had they sung in notes like these,
Inspired by stratagem or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease-
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.

But, if I scribble longer now,

The deuce a soul will stay to read;
My pen is blunt, my ink is low,

'Tis almost time to stop indeed.
Therefore, farewell, old GRANTA's spires,
No more, like Cleofas, I fly;
No more thy theme my Muse inspires,
The reader's tired, and so am I.

1806.

The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse

is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right angled triangle.

On a Saint day, the students wear surplices in chapel.

LACHIN Y GAIR.

LACHIN Y GAIR, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Locn na Gan, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain; be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our Caledonian Alps. Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth to the following Stanzas.

AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!

In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, Though still they are sacred to freedom and love: Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,

Round their white summits though clements war, Though cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd, My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;' On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,

As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade; I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; For Fancy was cheer'd by traditional story

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. «Shades of the dead! have I not heard voices your Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?»> Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale: Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car;

Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers

They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr: «Ill-starr'd, though brave, did no visions foreboding Tell you that Fate had forsaken your cause?»> Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, 3

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause; Still were you happy, in death's early slumber,

You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar,4 The Pibroch resounds to the piper's loud number

Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you;
Years must elapse ere I tread you again;
Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft

you,

Yet, still, are you dearer than Albion's plain: England thy beauties are tame and domestic

To one who has roved on the mountains afar; Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic,

The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr!

This word is erroneously pronounced PLA, the proper pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is shown by the orthography.

11 allade here to my maternal ancestors, the GoRoss, many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the STEWARTS. George, the second Earl of Hun ley, married the Princess Annabella Stewart, daughter of James the First of Scotland; by her he left four sons the third, Sir Wiliiam Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors.

Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden 1 am not certain; bat as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, pars pro toto..

4 A tract of the Highlands so called; there is also a Castle of Braemar.

• The Bagp pe.

TO ROMANCE.

PARENT of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious Queen of childish joys!
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,

Thy votive train of girls and boys;
At length, in spells no longer bound,

I break the fetters of my youth; No more I tread thy mystic round,

But leave thy realms for those of Truth. And, yet, 't is hard to quit the dreams Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Where every nymph a goddess seems, Whose

eyes through rays immortal roll; While Fancy holds her boundless reign, And all assume a varied hue, When Virgins seem no longer vain,

And even Woman's smiles are true. And must we own thee but a name,

And from thy hall of clouds descend;
Nor find a Sylph in every dame,

A Pylades' in every friend?
But leave, at once, thy realms of air,

To mingling bands of fairy elves:
Confess that woman's false as fair,

And Friends have feelings for-themselves. With shame, I own, I've felt thy sway, Repentant, now thy reign is o'er; No more thy precepts I obey,

No more on fancied pinions soar: Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye,

And think that eye to Truth was dear, To trust a passing wanton's sigh,

And melt beneath a wanton's tear. Romance! disgusted with deceit,

Far from thy motley court I fly,
Where Affectation holds her seat,

And sickly Sensibility;
Whose silly tears can never flow

For any pangs excepting thine;
Who turns aside from real woc,

To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine: Now join with sable Sympathy,

With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh Whose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female quire,

To mourn a swain for ever gone, Who once could glow with equal fire,

But bends not now before thy throne.

Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears,
On all occasions, swiftly flow;
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears,

With fancied flames and phrenzy glow;
Say, will you mourn my absent name,
Apostate from your gentle train?
An infant Bard, at least, may claim

From you a sympathetic strain.

It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of ¦ Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisns aud Furyalus, Damon and Pyth as have been banded down to posterity as remarkable instances of attachments which, in all probability, never existed, beyond the imagination of the poet, the page of an historian, or modera novelist.