Chapter 8

Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest; For not alone they touch the village breast, But fill'd, in elder time, the historic page. 175 There, Shakespeare's self, with every garland crown'd, Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, In musing hour; his wayward sisters found, And with their terrors drest the magic scene. From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold design, 180 Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast! The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass'd. Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply told, Could once so well my answering bosom pierce; 185 Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colours bold, The native legends of thy land rehearse; To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse.

XII.

In scenes like these, which, daring to depart From sober truth, are still to nature true, 190 And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, The heroic muse employ'd her Tasso's art! How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke, Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd! When each live plant with mortal accents spoke, 195 And the wild blast upheaved the vanish'd sword! How have I sat, when piped the pensive wind, To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung! Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders which he sung! 200 Hence, at each sound, imagination glows! Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here! Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows! Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and clear, And fills the impassion'd heart, and wins the harmonious ear! 205

XIII.

All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail! Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away, Are by smooth Annan[51] fill'd or pastoral Tay,[51] Or Don's[51] romantic springs at distance hail! The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread 210 Your lowly glens, o'erhung with spreading broom; Or, o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led; Or, o'er your mountains creep, in awful gloom! Then will I dress once more the faded bower, Where Jonson[52] sat in Drummond's classic shade; 215 Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's laid! Meantime, ye powers that on the plains which bore The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains,[53] attend!-- Where'er Home dwells, on hill, or lowly moor, 220 To him I lose, your kind protection lend, And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my absent friend!

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 44. Whether thou bidst the well taught hind relate

51. The sturdy clans pour'd forth their bony swarms,

56. Or in the gloom of Uist's dark forest dwells:

58. With their own visions oft afflicted droop,

66. Their bidding mark, and at their beck repair:

100. At those sad hours the wily monster lies;

111. O'er its drowned bank, forbidding all return!

124. His babes shall linger at the cottage gate!

127. With dropping willows drest, his mournful sprite

130. Shall seem to press her cold and shuddering cheek,

133. Proceed, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue,

135. Nor e'er of me one hapless thought renew,

138. Unbounded is thy range; with varied stile

164. They drain the sainted spring; or, hunger-prest,

193. How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's side, Like him I stalk'd, and all his passions felt; When charm'd by Ismen, through the forest wide, Bark'd in each plant a talking spirit dwelt!

201. Hence, sure to charm, his early numbers flow, Though strong, yet sweet---- Though faithful, sweet; though strong, of simple kind. Hence, with each theme, he bids the bosom glow, While his warm lays an easy passage find, Pour'd through each inmost nerve, and lull the harmonious ear.

204. Melting it flows, pure, numerous, strong, and clear,

216. Or crop from Tiviot's dale each--

220. Where'er he dwell, on hill, or lowly muir,

FOOTNOTES:

[40] How truly did Collins predict Home's tragic powers!

[41] A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins. Ed. 1788.

[42] A summer hut, built in the high part of the mountains, to tend their flocks in the warm season, when the pasture is fine. Ed. 1788.

[43] By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first appearance of the northern lights, which happened about the year 1715; at least it is most highly probable, from this peculiar circumstance, that no ancient writer whatever has taken any notice of them, nor even any modern one, previous to the above period. Ed. 1788.

[44] Second sight is the term that is used for the divination of the highlanders. Ed. 1788.

[45] The late Duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the battle of Culloden. Ed. 1788.

[46] A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern, etc. It hovers in the air over marshy and fenny places. Ed. 1788.

[47] The water fiend.

[48] One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pigmies; where it is reported, that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in the ruins of a chapel there.

[49] Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are interred.

[50] An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly subsist. Ed. 1788.

[51] Three rivers in Scotland. Ed. 1788.

[52] Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to the Scotch poet Drummond, at his seat of Hawthornden, within four miles of Edinburgh.

[53] Barrow, it seems, was at the Edinburgh University, which is in the county of Lothian. Ed. 1788.

AN EPISTLE,

ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS HANMER, ON HIS EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.

SIR, A patriot's hand protects a poet's lays, While nursed by you she sees her myrtles bloom, Green and unwither'd o'er his honour'd tomb; Excuse her doubts, if yet she fears to tell 5 What secret transports in her bosom swell: With conscious awe she hears the critic's fame, And blushing hides her wreath at Shakespeare's name. Hard was the lot those injured strains endured, Unown'd by Science, and by years obscured: 10 Fair Fancy wept; and echoing sighs confess'd A fix'd despair in every tuneful breast. Not with more grief the afflicted swains appear, When wintry winds deform the plenteous year; When lingering frosts the ruin'd seats invade 15 Where Peace resorted, and the Graces play'd.

Each rising art by just gradation moves, Toil builds on toil, and age on age improves: The Muse alone unequal dealt her rage, And graced with noblest pomp her earliest stage. 20 Preserved through time, the speaking scenes impart Each changeful wish of Phædra's tortured heart; Or paint the curse that mark'd the Theban's[54] reign, A bed incestuous, and a father slain. With kind concern our pitying eyes o'erflow, 25 Trace the sad tale, and own another's woe.

To Rome removed, with wit secure to please, The comic Sisters kept their native ease: With jealous fear, declining Greece beheld Her own Menander's art almost excell'd; 30 But every Muse essay'd to raise in vain Some labour'd rival of her tragic strain: Ilissus' laurels, though transferr'd with toil, Droop'd their fair leaves, nor knew the unfriendly soil. As Arts expired, resistless Dulness rose; 35 Goths, Priests, or Vandals,--all were Learning's foes. Till Julius[55] first recall'd each exiled maid, And Cosmo own'd them in the Etrurian shade: Then, deeply skill'd in love's engaging theme, The soft Provençal pass'd to Arno's stream: 40 With graceful ease the wanton lyre he strung; Sweet flow'd the lays--but love was all he sung. The gay description could not fail to move, For, led by nature, all are friends to love.

But Heaven, still various in its works, decreed 45 The perfect boast of time should last succeed. The beauteous union must appear at length, Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian strength: One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn, And e'en a Shakespeare to her fame be born! 50

Yet ah! so bright her morning's opening ray, In vain our Britain hoped an equal day! No second growth the western isle could bear, At once exhausted with too rich a year. Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part; 55 Nature in him was almost lost in art. Of softer mould the gentle Fletcher came, The next in order, as the next in name; With pleased attention, 'midst his scenes we find Each glowing thought that warms the female mind; 60 Each melting sigh, and every tender tear; The lover's wishes, and the virgin's fear. His every strain[56] the Smiles and Graces own; But stronger Shakespeare felt for man alone: Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand 65 The unrival'd picture of his early hand.

With[57] gradual steps and slow, exacter France Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance: By length of toil a bright perfection knew, Correctly bold, and just in all she drew: 70 Till late Corneille, with Lucan's[58] spirit fired, Breathed the free strain, as Rome and he inspired: And classic judgment gain'd to sweet Racine The temperate strength of Maro's chaster line.

But wilder far the British laurel spread, 75 And wreaths less artful crown our poet's head. Yet he alone to every scene could give The historian's truth, and bid the manners live. Waked at his call I view, with glad surprise, Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rise. 80 There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms, And laurel'd Conquest waits her hero's arms. Here gentler Edward claims a pitying sigh, Scarce born to honours, and so soon to die! Yet shall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring 85 No beam of comfort to the guilty king: The time[59] shall come when Glo'ster's heart shall bleed, In life's last hours, with horror of the deed; When dreary visions shall at last present Thy vengeful image in the midnight tent: 90 Thy hand unseen the secret death shall bear, Blunt the weak sword, and break the oppressive spear!

Where'er we turn, by Fancy charm'd, we find Some sweet illusion of the cheated mind. Oft, wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove 95 With humbler nature, in the rural grove; Where swains contented own the quiet scene, And twilight fairies tread the circled green: Dress'd by her hand, the woods and valleys smile, And Spring diffusive decks the enchanted isle. 100

O, more than all in powerful genius blest, Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast! Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall feel, Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal! There every thought the poet's warmth may raise, 105 There native music dwells in all the lays. O might some verse with happiest skill persuade Expressive Picture to adopt thine aid! What wondrous draughts might rise from every page! What other Raphaels charm a distant age! 110

Methinks e'en now I view some free design, Where breathing Nature lives in every line: Chaste and subdued the modest lights decay, Steal into shades, and mildly melt away. And see where Anthony,[60] in tears approved, 115 Guards the pale relics of the chief he loved: O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend, Deep sunk in grief, and mourns his murder'd friend! Still as they press, he calls on all around, Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound. 120

But who[61] is he, whose brows exalted bear A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air? Awake to all that injured worth can feel, On his own Rome he turns the avenging steel; Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall 125 (So heaven ordains it) on the destined wall. See the fond mother, 'midst the plaintive train, Hung on his knees, and prostrate on the plain! Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide The son's affection, in the Roman's pride: 130 O'er all the man conflicting passions rise; Rage grasps the sword, while Pity melts the eyes.

Thus generous Critic, as thy Bard inspires, The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires; Each from his scenes her stores alternate bring, 135 Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal string: Those sibyl leaves, the sport of every wind, (For poets ever were a careless kind,) By thee disposed, no farther toil demand, But, just to Nature, own thy forming hand. 140

So spread o'er Greece, the harmonious whole unknown, E'en Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone. Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more, By winds and waters cast on every shore: When, raised by fate, some former Hanmer join'd 145 Each beauteous image of the boundless mind; And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim A fond alliance with the Poet's name.

Oxford, Dec. 3, 1743.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 1. While, own'd by you, with smiles the Muse surveys The expected triumph of her sweetest lays: While, stretch'd at ease, she boasts your guardian aid, Secure, and happy in her sylvan shade: Excuse her fears, who scarce a verse bestows, In just remembrance of the debt she owes; With conscious, &c.

9. Long slighted Fancy with a mother's care Wept o'er his works, and felt the last despair: Torn from her head, she saw the roses fall, By all deserted, though admired by all:

near And "Oh!" she cried, "shall Science still resign 11 Whate'er is Nature's, and whate'er is mine? to Shall Taste and Art but show a cold regard, 22. And scornful Pride reject the unletter'd bard? Ye myrtled nymphs, who own my gentle reign, Tune the sweet lyre, and grace my airy train, If, where ye rove, your searching eyes have known One perfect mind, which judgment calls its own; There every breast its fondest hopes must bend, And every Muse with tears await her friend." 'Twas then fair Isis from her stream arose, In kind compassion of her sister's woes. 'Twas then she promised to the mourning maid The immortal honours which thy hands have paid: "My best loved son," she said, "shall yet restore Thy ruin'd sweets, and Fancy weep no more." Each rising art by slow gradation moves; Toil builds, &c.

25. Line after line our pitying eyes o'erflow,

27. To Rome removed, with equal power to please,

35. When Rome herself, her envied glories dead, No more imperial, stoop'd her conquer'd head; Luxuriant Florence chose a softer theme, While all was peace, by Arno's silver stream. With sweeter notes the Etrurian vales complain'd, And arts reviving told a Cosmo reign'd. Their wanton lyres the bards of Provence strung, Sweet flow'd the lays, but love was all they sung. The gay, &c.

45. But Heaven, still rising in its works, decreed

63. His every strain the Loves and Graces own;

71. Till late Corneille from epick Lucan brought The full expression, and the Roman thought:

101. O, blest in all that genius gives to charm, Whose morals mend us, and whose passions warm! Oft let my youth attend thy various page, Where rich invention rules the unbounded stage: There every scene the poet's warmth may raise, And melting music find the softest lays: O, might the Muse with equal ease persuade Expressive Picture to adopt thine aid! Some powerful Raphael should again appear, And arts consenting fix their empire here.

111. Methinks e'en now I view some fair design, Where breathing Nature lives in every line; Chaste and subdued, the modest colours lie, In fair proportion to the approving eye: And see where Anthony lamenting stands, In fixt distress, and spreads his pleading hands: O'er the pale corse the warrior seems to bend,

122. A rage impatient, and a fiercer air? E'en now his thoughts with eager vengeance doom The last sad ruin of ungrateful Rome. Till, slow advancing o'er the tented plain, In sable weeds, appear the kindred train: The frantic mother leads their wild despair, Beats her swoln breast, and rends her silver hair; And see, he yields! the tears unbidden start, And conscious nature claims the unwilling heart! O'er all the man conflicting passions rise;

136. Spread the fair tints, or wake the vocal string:

146. Each beauteous image of the tuneful mind;

FOOTNOTES:

[54] The OEdipus of Sophocles.

[55] Julius the Second, the immediate predecessor of Leo the Tenth.

[56] Their characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden.

[57] About the time of Shakespeare, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, six hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in general to the correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally disregarded by those of our own country, Jonson excepted.

[58] The favourite author of the elder Corneille.

[59] Turno tempus erit, magno cum optaverit emptum Intactum Pallanta, etc. VIRG.

[60] See the tragedy of Julius Cæsar.

[61] Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogue on the Odyssey.

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE,

SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear 5 To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen; No goblins lead their nightly crew: 10 The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew!

The redbreast oft, at evening hours, Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, 15 To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain, In tempests shake the sylvan cell; Or 'midst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell; 20

Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 1. To fair Pastora's grassy tomb

7. But shepherd swains assemble here,

11. But female fays shall haunt the green,

12. And dress thy bed with pearly dew!

17. When chiding winds, and beating rain, In tempest shake the sylvan cell; Or 'midst the flocks, on every plain,

21. Each lovely scene shall thee restore;

23. Beloved till life could charm no more,

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A PAPER WHICH CONTAINED A PIECE OF BRIDE-CAKE, GIVEN TO THE AUTHOR BY A LADY.

Ye curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes, By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake, With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize, Nor dare a theft, for love and pity's sake!

This precious relic, form'd by magic power, 5 Beneath her shepherd's haunted pillow laid, Was meant by love to charm the silent hour, The secret present of a matchless maid.

The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request, Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art; 10 Fears, sighs, and wishes of the enamour'd breast, And pains that please, are mix'd in every part.

With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought, From Paphian hills, and fair Cythera's isle; And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought, 15 The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding smile.

Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent, Denials mild, and firm unalter'd truth; Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent, And meeting ardours, and exulting youth. 20

Sleep, wayward God! hath sworn, while these remain, With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear, And cheerful Hope, so oft invoked in vain, With fairy songs shall soothe his pensive ear.

If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side, 25 And fond of soul, thou hop'st an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide, O, much entreated, leave this fatal place!

Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plaintive day, Consents at length to bring me short delight, 30 Thy careless steps may scare her doves away, And Grief with raven note usurp the night.

TO MISS AURELIA C----R,

ON HER WEEPING AT HER SISTER'S WEDDING.

Cease, fair Aurelia, cease to mourn, Lament not Hannah's happy state; You may be happy in your turn, And seize the treasure you regret.

With Love united Hymen stands, 5 And softly whispers to your charms, "Meet but your lover in my bands, You'll find your sister in his arms."

SONNET.

When Phoebe form'd a wanton smile, My soul! it reach'd not here: Strange, that thy peace, thou trembler, flies Before a rising tear! From 'midst the drops, my love is born, 5 That o'er those eyelids rove: Thus issued from a teeming wave The fabled queen of love.

SONG.

THE SENTIMENTS BORROWED FROM SHAKESPEARE.[62]

Young Damon of the vale is dead, Ye lowly hamlets, moan; A dewy turf lies o'er his head, And at his feet a stone.

His shroud, which Death's cold damps destroy, 5 Of snow-white threads was made: All mourn'd to see so sweet a boy In earth for ever laid.

Pale pansies o'er his corpse were placed, Which, pluck'd before their time, 10 Bestrew'd the boy, like him to waste And wither in their prime.

But will he ne'er return, whose tongue Could tune the rural lay? Ah, no! his bell of peace is rung, 15 His lips are cold as clay.

They bore him out at twilight hour, The youth who loved so well: Ah, me! how many a true love shower Of kind remembrance fell! 20

Each maid was woe--but Lucy chief, Her grief o'er all was tried; Within his grave she dropp'd in grief, And o'er her loved one died.

VARIATION.

Ver. 2. Ye lowland hamlets, moan;

FOOTNOTES:

[62] It is uncertain where this poem appeared. It was inserted in the Edinburgh edition of the Poets, 1794. A manuscript copy in the collection recently belonging to Mr. Upcott, and now in the British Museum, is headed, "Written by Collins when at Winchester School. From a Manuscript."

ON OUR LATE TASTE IN MUSIC.[[63]]

----Quid vocis modulamen inane juvabat Verborum sensusque vacans numerique loquacis? MILTON.