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Or his, who to maintain a critic's rank,
Tho' conscious of his own internal blank,
His want of taste unwilling to betray,
'Twixt sense and nonsense hesitates all day;
With brow contracted hears each passage read,
And often hums and shakes his empty head;
Until some oracle ador'd, pronounce
The passive bard a poet or a dunce;
Then, in loud clamour echoes back the word,
'Tis bold! insipid-soaring or absurd.
These, and th' unnumber'd shoals of smaller fry,
That nibble round, I pity and defy.

While the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breast shall beat;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathizing verse shall flow:
"Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mouru
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn."

THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.

Written in the Year 1746.

MOURN, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more,
Invite the stranger to the door;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

The wretched owner sees afar
His all become the prey of war;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain;
Thy infants perish on the plain.
What boots it then, in every clime,
Thro' the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze?
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke.
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancour fell.

The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day:
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night:
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.
O baneful cause, oh, fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The sons against their fathers stood,
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's soul was not appeas'd:
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel!
The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forsaken wanders o'er the heath,
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the shades of night descend,
And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes and dies.

VERSES

ON A YOUNG LADY PLAYING ON A HARPSICHORD
AND SINGING.

WHEN Sappho struck the quiv'ring wire,
The throbbing breast was all on fire:
And when she rais'd the vocal lay,
The captive soul was charm'd away!

But had the nymph, possest with these,
Thy softer, chaster, pow'r to please;
Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth,
Thy native smiles of artless truth;

The worm of grief had never prey'd
On the forsaken love-sick maid:
Nor had she mourn'd a hapless flame,
Nor dash'd on rocks her tender frame.

LOVE ELEGY.

IN IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.

WHERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of joy?
Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest;
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast.
Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour;
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,

Or press her wanton in love's roseate bower. For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead, Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, To hear the music of the grove resound.

I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall,

Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue, Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall, And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew: There leagued with hopeless anguish and despair, Awhile in silence o'er my fate repine: Then, with a long farewel to love and care,

To kindred dust my weary limbs consign.

Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear

On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love sincere, And bid the turf lie easy on my breast?

SONG.

WHILE with fond rapture and amaze, On thy transcendent charms I gaze,

My cautious soul essays in vain
Her peace and freedom to maintain:
Yet let that blooming form divine,
Where grace and harmony combine,
Those eyes, like genial orbs, that move,
Dispensing gladness, joy, and love,
In all their pomp assail my view,
Intent my bosom to subdue;

My breast, by wary maxims steel'd,
Not all those charms shall force to yield.

But, when invok'd to beauty's aid,
I see th' enlighten'd soul display'd;
That soul so sensibly sedate
Amid the storms of froward fate!
Thy genius active, strong and clear,
Thy wit sublime, tho' not severe,
The social ardour void of art,
That glows within thy candid heart;
My spirits, sense and strength decay,
My resolution dies away,
And ev'ry faculty opprest,
Almighty love invades my breast!

SONG.

To fix her 'twere a task as vain
To count the April drops of rain,
To sow in Afric's barren soil,
Or tempests hold within a toil.

I know it, friend, she's light as air,
False as the fowler's artful snare;
Inconstant as the passing wind,
As winter's dreary frost unkind.

She's such a miser too in love,

It's joys she'll neither share nor prove;
Tho' hundreds of gallants await
From her victorious eyes their fate.

Blushing at such inglorious reign,
I sometimes strive to break her chain;
My reason summon to my aid,
Resolv'd no more to be betray'd.

Ah! friend! 'tis but a short-liv'd trance,
Dispell'd by one enchanting glance;
She need but look, and, I confess,
Those looks completely curse or bless.

So soft, so elegant, so fair,

Sure something more than human's there; I must submit, for strife is vain, 'Twas destiny that forg'd the chain.

ODES.

BURLESQUE ode'.

WHERE wast thou, wittol Ward, when hapless

fate

From these weak arms mine aged grannam tore: These pious arms essay'd too late,

To drive the dismal phantom from the door.

Dr. Smollett, imagining himself ill treated by lord Lyttleton, wrote the above burlesque on that nobleman's monody on the death of his lady.

Could not thy healing drop, illustriotis quack, Could not thy salutary pil! prolong her days; For whom, so oft, to Marybone, alack! Thy sorrels dragg'd thee thro' the worst of ways!

Oil-dropping Twick'nham did not then detain
Thy steps, tho' tended by the Cambrian maids;
Nor the sweet environs of Drury-lane;
Nor dusty Pimlico's embow'ring shades;
Nor Whitehall, by the river's bank,
Beset with rowers dank;

Nor where th' Exchange pours forth its tawny sons;
Nor where to mix with offal, soil, and blood,
Steep Snow-hill rolls the sable flood;
Nor where the Mint's contaminated kennel runs:
Ill doth it now beseem,

That thou shouldst doze and dream,
When Death in mortal armour came,

And struck with ruthless dart the gentle dame.
Her lib'ral hand and sympathising breast
The brute creation kindly bless'd:
Where'er she trod grimalkin puri'd around,
The squeaking pigs her bounty own'd;
Nor to the waddling duck or gabbling goose
Did she glad sustenance refuse;
The strutting cock she daily fed,
And turky with his snout so red;

Of chickens careful as the pious hen,

Nor did she overlook the tomtit or the wren; While redbreast hopp'd before her in the hall, As if she common mother were of all.

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And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow.
Shine, goddess, shine with unremitted ray,
And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day.

Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged Poverty can smile with thee;
If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
And weak th' uplifted arm of Tyranny.
The Morning opes on high
His universal eye;

And on the world doth pour

His glories in a golden shower, Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn:

The brood obscene, that own her gloomy sway, Troop in her rear, and fly th' approach of Mora.

Pale shivering ghosts, that dread th' all-cheering light, [night. Quick, as the lightnings flash, glide to sepulchral

But whence the gladdening beam

That pours his purple stream

O'er the long prospect wide?

"Tis Mirth. I see her sit
In majesty of light,

With Laughter at her side.
Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And young Wit flings his pointed dart,
That guiltless strikes the willing heart.
Fear not now Affliction's power,
Fear not now wild Passion's rage,

Nor fear ye aught in evil hour,
Save the tardy hand of Age.

Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant poet's prayer; No cloud that rides the blast, shall vex the troubled air.

TO SLEEP.

SOFT Sleep, profoundly pleasing power,
Sweet patron of the peaceful hour,
O listen from thy calm abode,
And hither wave thy magic rod;
Extend thy silent, soothing sway,
And charm the canker Care away.
Whether thou lov'st to glide along,
Attended by an airy throng
Of gentle dreams and smiles of joy,
Such as adorn the wanton boy;
Or to the monarch's fancy bring
Delights that better suit a king;
The glittering host, the groaning plain,
The clang of arms, and victor's train;
Or should a milder vision please,
Present the happy scenes of peace;
Plump Autumn, blushing all around,
Rich Industry with toil embrown'd,
Content, with brow serenely gay,
And genial Art's refulgent ray.

By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, And edges flower'd with eglantine.

Still on thy banks so gaily green, May num'rous herds and flocks be seen, And lasses chanting o'er the pail, And shepherds piping in the dale, And ancient Faith that knows no guile, And Industry imbrown'd with toil, And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepar'd, The blessings they enjoy to guard.

TO BLUE-EY'D ANN.

WHEN the rough North forgets to howl,
And Ocean's billows cease to roll;
When Lybian sands are bound in frost,
And cold to Nova Zembla's lost!
When heav'nly bodies cease to move,
My blue-ey'd Ann I'll cease to love.

No more shall flowers the meads adorn;
Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn;
Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring;
Nor parching heats the dog-star bring;
Nor laughing lilies paint the grove,
When blue-ey'd Ann I cease to love.

No more shall joy in hope be found;
Nor pleasures dance their frolic round;
Nor love's light god inhabit Earth;
Nor beauty give the passion birth;
Nor heat to summer sunshine cleave,
When blue-ey'd Nanny I deceive.

When rolling seasons cease to change,
Inconstancy forgets to range;
When lavish May no more shall bloom;
Nor gardens yield a rich perfume;
When Nature from her sphere shall start,
I'll tear my Nanny from my heart.

TO LEVEN-WATER.

ON Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love;
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Arcadian plain.

Pure stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents stain thy limpid source;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel, and mottled par'.
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,

The par is a small fish, not unlike the smelt, which it rivals in delicacy and flavour.

TO INDEPENDENCE.

STROPHE.

THY spirit, Independence, let me share!
Lord of the lion-heart and cagle-eye,
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
Deep in the frozen regions of the north,
A goddess violated brought thee forth,
Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime

Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying

clime.

What time the iron-hearted Gaul
With frantic Superstition for his guide,
Arm'd with the dagger and the pall,
The sons of Woden to the field defy'd:
The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood,
In Heaven's name urg'd th' infernal blow;
And red the stream began to flow:
The vanquish'd were baptiz'd with blood'.

Charlemagne obliged four thousand Saxon prisoners to embrace the Christian religion, and immediately after they were baptized ordered their throats to be cut.-Their prince Vitikind fled for shelter to Gotriç king of Denmark.

ANTISTROPHE.

The Saxon prince in horrour fled
From altars stain'd with human gore;
And Liberty his routed legions led
In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore.
There in a cave asleep she lay,
Lull'd by the hoarse-resounding main;
When a bold savage past that way,
Impell'd by Destiny, his name Disdain.
Of ample front the portly chief appear'd:
The hunted bear supply'd a shaggy vest;
The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard;
And his broad shoulders brav'd the furious
blast.

He stopt: he gaz'd; his bosom glow'd,

And deeply felt the impression of her charms:
He seiz'd th' advantage Fate allow'd;

And straight compress'd her in his vig'rous arms.

STROPHE.

The curlieu scream'd, the Tritons blew
Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite;
Old Time exulted as he flew ;
And Independence saw the light.
The light he saw in Albion's happy plains,
Where under cover of a flowering thorn,
While Philomel renew'd her warbled strains,
The auspicious fruit of stol'n embrace was born-
The mountain Dryads seiz'd with joy,
The smiling infant to their charge consign'd;
The Doric Muse caress'd the favourite boy;
The hermit Wisdom stor'd his opening mind.
As rolling years matur'd his age,

He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his sire;
While the mild passions in his breast asswage
The fiercer flames of his maternal sire.

ANTISTROPHE.

Accomplished thus, he wing'd his way,
And zealous roved from pole to pole,
The rolls of right eternal to display,

And warm with patriot thoughts the aspiring soul.

On desert isles2 it was he that rais'd
Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,
Where Tyranny beheld amaz'd

Fair Freedom's temple, where he mark'd her grave,

He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms
To burst the Iberian's double chain3;
And cities rear'd, and planted farms,
Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain.
He, with the generous rustics, sate
On Uri's rocks in close divan*;
And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,
Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man.

2 Although Venice was built a considerable time before the era here assigned for the birth of Independence, the republic had not yet attained to any great degree of power and splendour.

3 The Low Countries were not only oppressed by grievous taxations, but likewise threatened with the establishment of the Inquisition, when the Seven Provinces revolted, and shook off the yoke of Spain.

4 Alluding to the known story of William Tell and his associates, the fathers and founders of the confederacy of the Swiss Cantons.

STROPHË.

Arabia's scorching sands he cross'd3,
Where blasted nature pants supine,
Conductor of her tribes adust,

To Freedom's adamantine shrine;

And many a Tartar hord forlorn, aghast 6!
He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing;
And taught amidst the dreary waste
The all-cheering hymns of Liberty to sing.
He virtue finds, like precious ore,
Diffus'd thro' every baser mould,

Even now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,
And turns the dross of Corsica to gold".
He, guardian genius, taught my youth
Pomp's tinsel livery to despise:
My lips by him chastis'd to truth,
Ne'er pay'd that homage which the heart denies.
ANTISTROPHE.

Those sculptur'd halls my feet shall never tread,
Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity combin'd,
To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread;
And forge vile shackles for the free-born mind.
Where Insolence his wrinkl'd front uprears,
And all the flowers of spurious fancy blow;
And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears,
Full often wreath'd around the miscreant's brow:
Where ever-dimpling Falshood, pert and vain,
Presents her cup of stale profession's froth;
And pale Disease, with all his bloated train,
Torments the sons of Gluttony and Sloth.

STROPHE.

In Fortune's car behold that minion ride,
With either India's glittering spoils opprest:
So moves the sumpter-mule, in harness'd pride,
That bears the treasure which he cannot taste.
For him let venal bards disgrace the bay,
And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string;
Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay;
And all her jingling bells fantastic Folly ring;
Disquiet, Doubt, and Dread shall intervene;
And Nature, still to all her feelings just,
In vengeance hang a damp on every scene,
Shook from the baleful pinions of Disgust.

ANTISTROPHE.

Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts
By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell,
Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts,
And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell,
There Study shall with Solitude recline;
And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-swains;
And Toil and Temperance sedately twine
The slender chord that fluttering life sustains:
And fearless Poverty shall guard the door;
And Taste unspoil'd the frugal table spread;
And Industry supply the humble store;
And Sleep unbribed his dews refreshing shed:

5 The Arabs, rather than resign their indepen dency, have often abandoned their habitations, and encountered all the horrours of the desert.

6 From the tyranny of Jenghis-Khan, Timur. Bec, and other eastern conquerors, whole tribes of Tartars were used to fly into the remoter wastes of Cathay, where no army could follow them.

The noble stand made by Paschal Paoli and his associates against the usurpations of the French king, must endear them to all the sons of liberty and independence.

OBSERVATIONS ON THE ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite,
Stall chase far off the goblins of the night;
Aud Independence o'er the day preside,
Propitious power! my patron and my pride.

OBSERVATIONS

ON DR. SMOLLETT's ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

589

The poet, full of enthusiasm and admiration, con-
tinues his prosopopeia; and, in a strain of poetry
exceedingly wild and romantic, gives us the ge-
nealogy of Independence.

"A goddess violated brought thee forth,
Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime
Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying
clime."

According to the acceptation of our author, liberty means the security of our lives and possessions, and freedom from external force: inde

LYRIC poetry imitates violent and ardent passions. It is therefore bold, various, and impetuous. It abounds with animated sentiments, glow-pendence is of higher import, and denotes that ing images, and forms of speech often unusual, but commonly nervous and expressive. The composition and arrangement of parts may often appear disordered, and the transitions sudden and obscure; but they are always natural, and are governed by the movements and variations of the imitated passion. The foregoing ode will illustrate

these observations.

The introduction is poetical and abrupt. "Thy spirit, Independence, let me share! Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye, Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky." The picture exhibited in these lines is striking, because the circumstances are happily chosen, briefly, and distinctly delineated. It is sublime, because the images are few, and in themselves great and magnificent. The lion-heart and

eagle-eye" suggest an idea of the high spirit and commanding aspect of Independence: and the poet following with "bosom bare" denotes, in a picturesque manner, the eagerness and enthusiasm of the votary. The last circumstance is peculiarly happy.

internal sense and consciousness of freedom which
beget magnanimity, fortitude, and that becoming
pride which leads us to respect ourselves, and do
nothing unworthy of our condition. Liberty
therefore is, with perfect propriety, said to be the
mother of Independence, and Disdain his father-
Disdain arising from indignation against an op-
pressor, and triumph on having frustrated or es-
caped his malice. This stern personage is strongly
characterized in the following direct description.
"Of ample front the portly chief appear'd:
The hunted bear supply'd a shaggy vest;
The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard;
And his broad shoulders braved the furious blast."

Men may enjoy liberty without independence: they may be secure in their persons and possessions, without feeling any uncommon elevation of But if their mind, or any sense of their freedom. liberty is attacked, they are alarmed, they feel the value of their condition, they are moved with indignation against their oppressors, they exert the danger that threatened them, they triumph, themselves, and if they are successful, or escape they reflect on the happiness and dignity conferred "Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky." by freedom, they applaud themselves for their exIt marks the scene: it is unexpected, and excites ertions, become magnanimous and independent. surprise: it is great and awful, and excites astoThere is therefore no less propriety in deducing nishment. Combined with the preceding circum- the origin of Independence from Disdain and Listance, it conveys a beautiful allegorical meaning; berty, than in fixing the era of his birth. The and signifies that a mind truly independent is su-Saxons, according to our author, free, simple, and perior to adversity, and unmoved by external accidents. We may observe too, in regard to the diction, that the notions of sound and motion communicated by the words " howl" and " along," contribute, in a peculiar manner, to the sublimity of the description.

"Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky."
These lines are written in the true spirit of lyric
poetry. Without preparing the mind by a cool
artificial introduction, rising gradually to the im-
petuosity of passion, they assail the imagination
by an abrupt and sudden impulse; they vibrate
through the soul, and fire us instantaneously with
all the ardour and enthusiasm of the poet. Many
of the odes of Horace are composed in the same
spirit, and produce similar effects. Without any
previous argument or introduction, in the fulness
of passion and imagination, he breaks out in bold,
powerful, and impetuous figures.

Quo me, Bacche, rapis, tui

Plenum? Quæ nemora aut quos agor in specus
Velox mente nova?-

Qualem ministrum fulminis alitem

inoffensive, were attacked, escaped the violence of their adversary, reflected on the felicity of their condition, and learned independence.

The education of Independence, and the scene of his nativity, are suited to his illustrious lineage, and to the high achievements for which he was destined.

"The light he saw in Albion's happy plains,
Where under cover of a flowering thorn,
While Philomel renew'd her warbled strains,

The auspicious fruit of stol'n embrace was born→→
The smiling infant to their charge consign'd;
The mountain Dryads seiz'd with joy,
The Doric Muse caress'd the favourite boy;
The hermit Wisdom stor'd his opening mind."
The imagery in these lines is soft and agreeable,
the language smooth, and the versification nu-

merous.

Independence thus descended, and thus divinely instructed and endowed, distinguishes himself accordingly by heroic and beneficent actions. "Accomplish'd thus, he winged his way, And zealous rov'd from pole to pole, The rolls of right eternal to display,

And warm with patriot thoughts the aspiring soul."

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