TO THE EARL OF $

"Tu semper amoris

Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name.

Such is the youth whose scientific pate
Class-honors, medals, fellowships, await;
Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize,
If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes.
But, lo! no common orator can hope
The envied silver cup within his scope.
Not that our heads much eloquence require,
Th' ATHENIAN's glowing style, or Tully's fire.
A manner clear or warm is useless, since
We do not try by speaking to convince.
Be other orators of pleasing proud:

We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd:
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone,

A proper mixture of the squeak and groan;
No borrowed grace of action must be seen;
The slightest motion would displease the Dean;
Whilst every staring graduate would prate
Against what he could never imitate.

The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up;
Nor stop, but rattle over every word-
Not matter what, so it can not be heard.
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest;
Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak the best;
Who utters most within the shortest space,
May safely hope to win the wordy race.

The sons of science these, who, thus repaid,
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade;
Where on Cam's sedgy bank supine they lie
Unknown-unhonor'd live, unwept-for die :
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls,
They think all learning fix'd within their walls:
In manners rude in foolish forms precise,
All modern arts affecting to despise;

Yet prizing BENTLEY'S,* BRUNCK's, or PORSON'St

note,

More than the verse on which the critic wrote:

Vain as their honors, heavy as their ale, Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel, When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal. With eager haste they court the lord of power, Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY rules the hour; § To him with suppliant smiles they bend the head, While distant mitres to their eyes are spread. But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, They'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his place. Such are the men who learning's treasures guard; Such is their practice, such is their reward! This much at least we may presume to sayThe premium can't exceed the price they pay.

• Celebrated critics.

1806.

↑ The present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may perhaps justify their preference. The concluding clause of the foregoing note was added in the first edition of Hours of Idleness.

↑ Vain as their honors, &c.-The four ensuing lines were inserted in the second edition of Hours of Idleness.

§ Since this was written, Lord H. Petty has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honor of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no comment.

While distant mitres, &c. In the private volume, While mitres prebends to their eyes are spread.

Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago,"
Valerius Flaccus.

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, 'tis 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 ;

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

Our vital streams of weal or wo,
Though near, alas! distinctly flow,
Nor mingle as before:
Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
Till death's unfathom'd gulf 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 reason; For sense and reason (critics know it) Have quitted every amorous poet,

Nor left a thought to seize on.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard!
Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard
That he who sang before all,
He who the lore of love expanded,
By dire reviewers should be branded
As void of wit and moral.t

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, Harmonious favorite of the Nine!

These stanzas were first published in the second edition of Houm of

Repine not at thy lot:

Thy soothing rays 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 truth, dear -, in fancy's flight,
I soar along from left to right;

My muse admires digression.

I think I said 'twould 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 abound,
Where specious rivals glitter round,

From snares may saints preserve you! And grant your love nor 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.

And though some trifling share of praise, To cheer my last declining days,

To me were doubly dear;

Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I'd wave at once a poet's fame,

To prove a prophet here.

A bard (horresco referens) defied his reviewer to mortal combat. If example becomes prevalent, our periodical censors must be dipped in the Styx; for what else can secure them from the numerous host of their aged assailants?

GRANTA.

A MEDLEY.

"Αργυρέαις λογχαισι μάχου καὶ πάντα Κρατήσεις κα

OH! Could LE SAGE'S † 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.

Then would I view each rival wight,
Petty and Palmerston survey;
Who canvass there with all their might,
Against the next elective day.

Lo! candidates and voters liet

All lull'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
But very seldom, now and then.

They know the chancellor has got

Some pretty livings in disposal: Each hopes that one may be his lot, And therefore smiles on his proposal.

Now from the soporific scene §

I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later,

To view unheeded and unseen

The studious sons of Alma Mater.

There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes
Sits poring by the midnight lamp;
Goes late to bed, yet early rises.

He surely well deserves to gain them, With all the honors of his college, Who, striving hardly to obtain them, Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge:

Who sacrifices hours of rest

To scan precisely metres Attic; Or agitates his anxious breast In solving problems mathematic:

• The motto was not given in the private volume.

↑ The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the der on, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection. Lo! candidates and voters lie, &c. The fourth and fifth stanzas, which are given here as they were printed in the Hours of Idleness, ran as follows, in the private volume :

"One on his power and place depends,
The other on the Lord knows what;
Each to some eloquence pretends,
Though neither will convince by that.

"The first, indeed, may not demur."

From the soporific scene. In the private volume, From corruption's shameless scene.

No net to snare her willing heart is spread;
She would have fallen, though she ne'er had read.
For me, I fain would please the chosen few,
Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true,
Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy
The light effusions of a heedless boy.
I seek not glory from the senseless crowd;
Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud;
Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize,
The sneers or censures I alike despise.

November 26, 1806.

Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber, You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar ;* The pibrocht 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 flow'rs 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

LACHIN Y. GAIR.*

Lachin y. Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch na Garr, towers proudly preeminent 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 among 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 elements war; Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

Ah! where 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-covered 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 your voices 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 fore

boding,

Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?" Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,§ Victory crown'd not your fall with applause:

• First published in Hours of Idleness.

This word is erroneously pronounced plad; the proper pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is known by the orthography.

I allude here to my maternal ancestors "the Gordons," many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by bloed, as well as attachment, to the Stuarts. George, the second earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James the First of Scotland. By her he left four sons: the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honor to claim as one of my progenitors.

Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, 1 am not certain; but, as many fell in the Insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, para pro toto."

TO ROMANCE.I

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 'tis 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 feeling 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;

A tract of the Highlands so called. There is also a Castle of Braemar, ↑ The bagpipe.

First published in the Hours of Idleness.

It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Oreston, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to posterity as remarkable instances of attachments, which in all proba bility never existed beyond the imagination of the poet, or the page of an historian or modern novelist.

440

Whose silly tears can never flow
For any pangs excepting thine;
Who turns aside from real wo,

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 choir,

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 frenzy 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.

Adieu, fond race! a long adieu!
The hour of fate is hovering nigh;
E'en now the gulf appears in view,

Where unlamented you must lie: Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether.

ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

Han to thy pile! more honor'd in thy fall

Than modern mansions in their pillar'd state; Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall,

Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.

No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross || demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board,

Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:

But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
His feudal realm in other regions lay:
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
Retiring from the garish blaze of day.

Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could view ;
Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found,
Or innocence from stern oppression flew.

A monarch bade thee from that wild arise, [prowl;
Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to
And superstition's crimes, of various dyes,
Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl.

Where now the grass exhales a murky dew, The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay, In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,

Nor raised their pious voices but to pray.

Where now the bats their wavering wings extend,
Soon as the gloaming spreads her waning shade,
The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend,
Or matin orisons to Mary paid.

Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield; Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed: Religion's charter their protecting shield, Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.

One holy HENRY § reared the Gothic walls, And bade the pious inmates rest in peace; Another HENRY the kind gift recalls,

And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease.

Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer;
He drives them exiles from their blest abode,
To roam a dreary world in deep despair -
No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God.
Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain,
Shakes with the martial music's novel din !
The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,
High crested banners, wave thy walls within.

Of changing sentinels the distant hum,
The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd arms
The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum,
Unite in concert with increased alarms.

An abbey once, a regal fortress || now,
Encircled by insulting rebel powers,

War's dread machines o'erhang thy threat'ning brow,
And dart destruction in sulphureous showers.

Ah vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, Though oft repulsed by guile, o'ercomes the brave, His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave.

• As "gloaming," the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly by Dr. Moore in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony.

↑ Gloaming spreads her warang shade. In the private volume, Twilight winds a waning shade.

The priory was dedicated to the Virgin.

§ At the dissolution of the monasteries, Henry VIII, bestowed Newtond Abbey on Sir John Byron.

| Newstead sustained a considerable siege in the war between Charles I. and his parliament.