Chapter 7

Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, That, from the mountain's side, 35 Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. 40

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 50 Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name!

VARIATIONS.

Ver 2. May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear,

3. Like thy own solemn springs,

9. While air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat

24. Who slept in flowers the day,

29. Then lead, calm vot'ress, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile,

31. Or upland fallows grey, Reflect its last cool gleam.

33. But when chill blustering winds, or driving rain, Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,

49. So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipp'd Health, Thy gentlest influence own, And hymn thy favourite name!

ODE TO PEACE.

O thou, who bad'st thy turtles bear Swift from his grasp thy golden hair, And sought'st thy native skies; When War, by vultures drawn from far, To Britain bent his iron car, 5 And bade his storms arise!

Tired of his rude tyrannic sway, Our youth shall fix some festive day, His sullen shrines to burn: But thou who hear'st the turning spheres, 10 What sounds may charm thy partial ears, And gain thy blest return!

O Peace, thy injured robes up-bind! O rise! and leave not one behind Of all thy beamy train; 15 The British Lion, goddess sweet, Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet, And own thy holier reign.

Let others court thy transient smile, But come to grace thy western isle, 20 By warlike Honour led; And, while around her ports rejoice, While all her sons adore thy choice, With him for ever wed!

THE MANNERS.

AN ODE.

Farewell, for clearer ken design'd, The dim-discover'd tracts of mind; Truths which, from action's paths retired, My silent search in vain required! No more my sail that deep explores; 5 No more I search those magic shores; What regions part the world of soul, Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll: If e'er I round such fairy field, Some power impart the spear and shield, 10 At which the wizard Passions fly; By which the giant Follies die!

Farewell the porch whose roof is seen Arch'd with the enlivening olive's green: Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest, 15 By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest, Comes, like a bride, so trim array'd, To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade!

Youth of the quick uncheated sight, Thy walks, Observance, more invite! 20 O thou who lovest that ampler range, Where life's wide prospects round thee change, And, with her mingling sons allied, Throw'st the prattling page aside, To me, in converse sweet, impart 25 To read in man the native heart; To learn, where Science sure is found, From Nature as she lives around; And, gazing oft her mirror true, By turns each shifting image view! 30 Till meddling Art's officious lore Reverse the lessons taught before; Alluring from a safer rule, To dream in her enchanted school: Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast, 35 Hast blest this social science most.

Retiring hence to thoughtful cell, As Fancy breathes her potent spell, Not vain she finds the charmful task, In pageant quaint, in motley mask; 40 Behold, before her musing eyes, The countless Manners round her rise; While, ever varying as they pass, To some Contempt applies her glass: With these the white-robed maids combine; 45 And those the laughing satyrs join! But who is he whom now she views, In robe of wild contending hues? Thou by the Passions nursed, I greet The comic sock that binds thy feet! 50 O Humour, thou whose name is known To Britain's favour'd isle alone: Me too amidst thy band admit; There where the young-eyed healthful Wit, (Whose jewels in his crispéd hair 55 Are placed each other's beams to share; Whom no delights from thee divide) In laughter loosed, attends thy side.

By old Miletus,[34] who so long Has ceased his love-inwoven song; 60 By all you taught the Tuscan maids, In changed Italia's modern shades; By him[35] whose knight's distinguish'd name Refined a nation's lust of fame; Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet, 65 Castilia's Moorish hills repeat; Or him[36] whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, In watchet weeds on Gallia's shore; Who drew the sad Sicilian maid, By virtues in her sire betray'd. 70

O Nature boon, from whom proceed Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; If but from thee I hope to feel, On all my heart imprint thy seal! Let some retreating cynic find 75 Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind: The Sports and I this hour agree, To rove thy scene-full world with thee!

FOOTNOTES:

[34] Alluding to the Milesian tales, some of the earliest romances. C.

[35] Cervantes. C.

[36] Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745. C.

THE PASSIONS.

AN ODE FOR MUSIC.

Performed at Oxford, with Hayes's music, in 1750.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 5 Possest beyond the Muse's painting: By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 10 From the supporting myrtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 15 Would prove his own expressive power.

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, And back recoil'd, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. 20

Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woful measures wan Despair 25 Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? 30 Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all the song; 35 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung;--but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: 40 He threw his blood-stain'd sword, in thunder, down; And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 45 And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, 50 Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 55 And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sate retired; And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 65 Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of Peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.

But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 70 Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, 75 Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: 80 He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best; They would have thought who heard the strain 85 They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: 90 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Music! sphere-descended maid, 95 Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! Why, goddess! why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As, in that loved Athenian bower, You learn'd an all commanding power, 100 Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd, Can well recall what then it heard; Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, 105 Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders, in that godlike age, Fill thy recording Sister's page-- 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 110 Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age; E'en all at once together found, Cecilia's mingled world of sound-- O bid our vain endeavours cease; 115 Revive the just designs of Greece: Return in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate!

VARIATION.

Ver. 30. What was thy delightful measure?

ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON.

THE SCENE IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE THAMES NEAR RICHMOND.

In yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave; The year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its poet's sylvan grave.

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 5 His airy harp[37] shall now be laid, That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, May love through life the soothing shade.

Then maids and youths shall linger here, And while its sounds at distance swell, 10 Shall sadly seem in pity's ear To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, And oft suspend the dashing oar, 15 To bid his gentle spirit rest!

And oft, as ease and health retire To breezy lawn, or forest deep, The friend shall view yon whitening[38] spire And 'mid the varied landscape weep. 20

But thou, who own'st that earthy bed, Ah! what will every dirge avail; Or tears, which love and pity shed, That mourn beneath the gliding sail?

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye 25 Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near? With him, sweet bard, may fancy die, And joy desert the blooming year.

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, 30 Now waft me from the green hill's side, Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

And see, the fairy valleys fade; Dun night has veil'd the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade, 35 Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!

The genial meads,[39] assign'd to bless Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress, With simple hands, thy rural tomb. 40

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes: O! vales and wild woods, shall he say, In yonder grave your Druid lies!

VARIATION.

Ver. 21. But thou who own'st that earthly bed,

FOOTNOTES:

[37] The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence. C.

[38] Richmond Church, in which Thomson was buried. C.

[39] Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death.

ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND;

CONSIDERED AS THE SUBJECT OF POETRY; INSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HOME.

I.

Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, 'Mid those soft friends, whose hearts, some future day, Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song.[40] Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth[41] 5 Whom, long endear'd, thou leavest by Levant's side; Together let us wish him lasting truth, And joy untainted with his destined bride. Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast My short-lived bliss, forget my social name; 10 But think, far off, how, on the southern coast, I met thy friendship with an equal flame! Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand: To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; 15 Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, And paint what all believe, who own thy genial land.

II.

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill; 'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet; Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet, 20 Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill; There, each trim lass, that skims the milky store, To the swart tribes their creamy bowls allots; By night they sip it round the cottage door, While airy minstrels warble jocund notes. 25 There, every herd, by sad experience, knows How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly, When the sick ewe her summer food foregoes, Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie. Such airy beings awe the untutor'd swain: 30 Nor thou, though learn'd, his homelier thoughts neglect; Let thy sweet muse the rural faith sustain; These are the themes of simple, sure effect, That add new conquests to her boundless reign, And fill, with double force, her heart-commanding strain. 35

III.

E'en yet preserved, how often mayst thou hear, Where to the pole the Boreal mountains run, Taught by the father, to his listening son, Strange lays, whose power had charm'd a Spenser's ear. At every pause, before thy mind possest, 40 Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, With uncouth lyres, in many-colour'd vest, Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd: Whether thou bidst the well taught hind repeat The choral dirge, that mourns some chieftain brave, 45 When every shrieking maid her bosom beat, And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave! Or whether, sitting in the shepherd's shiel,[42] Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war's alarms; When at the bugle's call, with fire and steel, 50 The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny swarms, And hostile brothers met, to prove each other's arms.

IV.

'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells, In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard seer, Lodged in the wintry cave with Fate's fell spear, 55 Or in the depth of Uist's dark forest dwells: How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross, With their own visions oft astonish'd droop, When, o'er the watery strath, or quaggy moss, They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop. 60 Or, if in sports, or on the festive green, Their destined glance some fated youth descry, Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen, And rosy health, shall soon lamented die. For them the viewless forms of air obey; 65 Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair: They know what spirit brews the stormful day, And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.

V.

To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray, 70 Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal blow! The seer, in Sky, shriek'd as the blood did flow, When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay! As Boreas threw his young Aurora[43] forth, In the first year of the first George's reign, 75 And battles raged in welkin of the North, They mourn'd in air, fell, fell Rebellion slain! And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight, Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crown'd! They raved! divining, through their second sight,[44] 80 Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were drown'd! Illustrious William![45] Britain's guardian name! One William saved us from a tyrant's stroke; He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame, But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast broke, 85 To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke!

VI.

These, too, thou'lt sing! for well thy magic muse Can to the topmost heaven of grandeur soar; Or stoop to wail the swain that is no more! Ah, homely swains! your homeward steps ne'er lose; 90 Let not dank Will[46] mislead you to the heath; Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake, He glows, to draw you downward to your death, In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! What though far off, from some dark dell espied, 95 His glimmering mazes cheer the excursive sight, Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside, Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light; For watchful, lurking, 'mid the unrustling reed, At those mirk hours the wily monster lies, 100 And listens oft to hear the passing steed, And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes, If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch surprise.

VII.

Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed! Whom late bewilder'd in the dank, dark fen, 105 Far from his flocks, and smoking hamlet, then! To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed: On him, enraged, the fiend, in angry mood, Shall never look with pity's kind concern, But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood 110 O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all return! Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape, To some dim hill, that seems uprising near, To his faint eye the grim and grisly shape, In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear. 115 Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source! What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse! 120

VIII.

For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, Or wander forth to meet him on his way; For him in vain at to-fall of the day, His babes shall linger at the unclosing gate! Ah, ne'er shall he return! Alone, if night 125 Her travel'd limbs in broken slumbers steep, With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep: Then he, perhaps, with moist and watery hand, Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek, 130 And with his blue swoln face before her stand, And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak: "Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue, At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew, 135 While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, Drown'd by the Kelpie's[47] wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee more!"

IX.

Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill Thy muse may, like those feathery tribes which spring From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing 140 Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, To that hoar pile[48] which still its ruins shows: In whose small vaults a pigmy folk is found, Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, And culls them, wondering, from the hallow'd ground! 145 Or thither,[49] where, beneath the showery west, The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid; Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest, No slaves revere them, and no wars invade: Yet frequent now, at midnight's solemn hour, 150 The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power, In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, And on their twilight tombs aërial council hold.

X.

But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, 155 On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides, Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace! Then to my ear transmit some gentle song, Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, 160 Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, And all their prospect but the wintry main. With sparing temperance, at the needful time, They drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest, Along the Atlantic rock, undreading climb, 165 And of its eggs despoil the solan's[50] nest. Thus, blest in primal innocence, they live Sufficed, and happy with that frugal fare Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare; 170 Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!

XI.