e youths whose locks divinely spreading,
Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
once the breath of fear and virtue shedding,
Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view!
hat new Alceus, fancy-blest,

Nor e'er her former pride relate
To sad Liguria's bleeding state.
Ah, no! more pleas'd thy haunts I seek
On wild Helvetia's mountains bleak,
(Where when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring archer, heard thy voice;

ap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted
O Goddess, in that feeling hour,
When most its sounds would court thy ears,
Let not my shell's misguided pow'r
er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.
Freedom, no, I will not tell,
Rome, before thy face,

all sing the sword in myrtles drest, [cealing,
it Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame con- Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,
hat place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?) The ravening eagle northward fled :)
ill she her brightest lightnings round re-Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
vealing,
[wound! With those to whom thy stork is dear;
Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd;
Whose crown a British queen refus'd!
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains,
One holier name alone remains :
The perfect spell shall then avail,
Hail, Nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail!

h heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,
i'd by a wild and ariless race,

n off its wide ambitious base,

en Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,
nd all the blended work of strength and
h many a rude repeated stroke, [grace,
many a barbarous yell, to thousand frag-He

ments broke.

mall Marino joins the theme, gh least, not last in thy esteem. e, louder strike, th' ennobling strings hose whose merchant sons, were kings; im who, deck'd with pearly pride, dria weds his green-hair'd bride: → port of glory, wealth, and pleasure, r let me change this Lydian measure;

ANTISTROPHE.

Beyond the measure vast of thought,
The works the wizard Time has wrought,
The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story,
Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand†,
No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary,
pass'd with unwet feet through all our

land.

To the blown Baltic then, they say,
The wild waves found another way,
Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains

rounding;

Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise,
A wide wild storm ev'n Nature's self confound-
ing,
[couth surprise,
Withering her giant sons with strange un-
This pillar'd earth, so firm and wide,

By winds and inward labours torn,
In thunders dread was push'd aside,

And down the shouldering billows borne.
And see like gems her laughing train,
The little isles on every side-
[main,
Mona, once hid from those who search'd the
Where thousand elfin shapes abide,
And Wight, who checks the western tide-
For thee consenting heaven has each be-
stow'd,

A fair attendant on her sovereign pride;
To thee this blest divorce she ow'd,
For thou hast made her vales thy lov'd, thy last

abode.

The Dutch: among whom there are very severe penalties for those who are convicted of killing ird. They are kept tame in almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are said to entertain a supersti sentiment, that if the whole species of them should become extinct, they should lose their ies.

This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. Some naturalists too have endeaed to support the probability of the fact, by arguments drawn from the correspondent disposiof the two opposite coasts. I do not remeniber that any poetical use has been hitherto made

There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a Mermaid becoming enamoured of a young man traordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, opened her passion to him, but was received with a coldness, occasioned by his horror and ise at her appearance. This, however, was so misconstrued by the sea-lady, that, in revenge s treatment of her, she punished the whole island, by covering it with a mist, so that all who pted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down ea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs.

3 B s

SECOND

SECOND EPODE.

Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile,
'Midst the green navel of our isle,
Thy shrine in some religious wood,
O soul-enforcing Goddess, stood!
There oft the painted natives feet
Were wont thy form celestial meet:
Though now with hopeless toil we trace
Time's backward-rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-tressy Dane,

Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
"Twere hard for modern song to tell.
Yet still, if truth those beams infuse,
Which guide at once and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided cloud that lie,
Paving the light embroider'd sky:
Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,
The beauteous model still remains.
There happier than in islands blest,
Or bowers by Spring or Hebe drést,
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,
Hear their consorted Druids sing
Their triumphs to th' immortal string.
How may the poet now unfold
What never tongue or numbers told?
How learn, delighted and amaz'd,
What hands unknown that fabric rais'd?
Ev'n now, before his favour'd eyes,
In Gothic pride it seems to rise!
Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,
Majestic, through the mix'd design;
The secret builder knew to choose
Each sphere-found-gem of richest hues :
Whate'er heaven's purer inould contains,
When nearer suns emblaze its veins ;
There on the wall the Patriot's sight
May ever hang with fresh delight,
And grav'd with some prophetic rage
Read Albion's fame through every age.
Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,
That near her inmost altar stand!
Now soothe her, to her blissful train
Blithe Concord's social form to gain.
Concord, whose myrile wand can steep
Ev'n Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep:
Before whose breathing bosom's balm
Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm.
Her let our sires and matrous hoar
Welcome to Britain's ravag'd shore:
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair;
Till, in one loud applauding sound,
The nations shout to her around-
Q how supremely art thou blest!
Thou, Lady, thou shalt rule the west.

$154. Ode to a Lady on the Death of Colonel Charles Ross, in the Action at Fontenoy. Written in May, 1745. COLLINS. WHILE lost to all his former mirth, Britannia's genius bends to earth,

And mourns the fatal day;
While stain'd with blood he strives to tear
Unseemly from his sea-green hair

The wreaths of cheerful May;

The thoughts which musing pity pays,
And fond remembrance loves to raise,
Your faithful hours attend :
Still Fancy, to herself unkind,
Awakes to grief the soften'd mind,
And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's descending wave,
His country's vows shall bless the grave,
Where'er the youth is laid:
That sacred spot the village hind
With every sweetest turf shall bind,
And Peace protect the shade.

O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
Aerial forms shall sit at eve,

And bend the pensive head;
And, fallen to save his injur'd land,
Imperial Honour's awful hand
Shall point his lonely bed!

The warlike dead of every age,
Who fill the fair recording page,

Shall leave the sainted rest;
And, half-reclining on his spear,
Each wond'ring chief by turns appear,
To hail the blooming guest.

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy's laurel'd field,

And gaze with fix'd delight:
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel,

And with the avenging fight.

But, lo where sunk, in deep despair,
Her garments torn, her bosom bare,

Impatient Freedom lies!

Her matted tresses madly spread,
To every sad which wraps the dead
She turns her joyless eyes.

Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground,
Till notes of triumph bursting round

Proclaim her reign restor'd:
Till William seek the sad retreat,
And bleeding at her sacred feet
Present the sated sword.

If, weak to sooth so soft an heart,
These pictur'd glories nought impart
To dry thy constant tear;
If yet, in Sorrow's distant eye,
Expos'd and pale thon sec'st him lie,
Wild war insulting near:

Where'er from time thou court'st relief,
The Muse shall still, with social grief,

Her gentlest promise keep:
Ev'n humble Harting's cottage vale
Shall learn the sad repeated tale,

And bid her shepherds weep.

, AND LUDICROUS

lo

156. Ode to Peace.
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,
And bade his storms arise!

§ 155. Ode to Evening.

COLLINS.

aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales;

[ear,

nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd

oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
inst the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:
ow teach me, maid compos'd,
o breathe some soften'd strain,

ose numbers stealing thro' thy darkening
vale,

7 not unseemly with its stillness suit, 3, musing slow, I hail

hy genial lov'd return!

when thy folding-star arising shows
pily circlet, at his warning lamp,
he fragrant hours, and elves
Tho slept in buds the day,

Tir'd 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,
What sounds may charm thy partial ears,
And gain thy blest return!
Peace, thy injur'd robes upbind 1
O rise, and leave not one behind
Of all thy beamy train:
The British lion, Goddess sweet,
Lies stretch'd on carth to kiss thy feet,
And own thy holier reign.

many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,

[still,

sheds the freshening dew; and, lovelier ne pensive pleasures sweet, epare thy shadowy car.

n let me rove some wild and healthy scene,
ind some ruin midst its dreary dells,
'hose walls more awful nod
7thy religious gleans.

Let others court thy transient smile,
But come to grace thy western isle,
By warlike Honour led!

And while around her ports rejoice,
While all her sons adore thy choice,
With him for ever wed!

FA

$157. The Manners. An Ode. COLLINS,
AREWEL, for clearer ken design'd,
The dim-discover'd tracts of mind:
Truths which, from action's paths retir'd,
My silent search in vain requir'd!
No more my sail that deep explores,
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 pow'r impart the spear and shield,
At which the wizard passions fly,
By which the giant follies die!

Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen
Arch'd with th' enlivening olive's green,
Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest,
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;
O thou! who lov'st that ampler range
Where life's wide prospects round thee change,
And, with her mingled sons allied,
Throw'st the prattling page aside:
To me in converse sweet impart
To read in man the native heart.
To learn where Science suré is found,
From nature as she lives around:
And gazing oft her mirror true,
By turns each shifting image view!
Till meddling Art's officious lore
Reverse the lessons taught before, MD -
Alluring from a safer rule,

ong, regardful of thy quiet rule,

N
GHY

Fancy, Friendship,Science, smiling Peace, To dream in her enchanted school;
Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name!

Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast,
Had bless'd this social science most.
9. B 4

Retiring

'chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
ent my willing feet, be mine the hut,
at from the mountain's side
iews wilds and swelling floods,
hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
I hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all
dewy fingers draw
he gradual dusky veil.

ile Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he

wont,

bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport eneath thy lingering light;

ile sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
ffrights thy shrinking train,
nd rudely rends thy robes;

Alluding to the Milesian Tales, some of the earliest romances.

Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in