Obrazy na stronie

And though some trilling share of praise,

Renouncing every pleasing page
To cheer my last declining days,

From authors of historic use;
To me were doubly dear;

Preferring to the letter'd sage
Whilst blessing your beloved name,

The square of the hypothenuse."
I'd waive at once a Poet's fame,

Still, harmless are these occupations,
To prove a Prophet here.

That hurt none but the hapless student,

Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent;

Whose daring revels shock the sight, Αργυρεαις λογχαισι μαχου και παντα Κρατησαις. .

When vice and infamy combine,

When drunkenness and dice unite,
On! could Le Sage's' demon's gift

And every sense is steep'd in wine.
Be realized at my desire,

Not so the methodistic crew,
This night my trembling form he a lift,

Who plans of reformation lay:
To place it on St Mary's spire.

In humble attitude they sue,
Then would, unroofd, old Granta's halls

And for the sins of others pray.
Pedantic inmates full display;
Fellows who dream on lawn, or stalls,'

Forgetting that their pride of spirit,

Their exultation in their trial,
The price of venal votes to pay.

Detracts most largely from the merit
Then would I view cach rival wight,

Of all their boasted self-denial.
Puy and Palmeoston survey;
Who canvass there with all their might,

'T is morn, -- from these I turn my sight:

What scene is this which meets the eye? Against the next elective day.

A numerous crowd, array'd in white, a
Lo! candidates and voters lie,

Across the green in numbers fly.
All lulld in sleep, a goodly number!

Loud rings, in air, the chapel bell;
A race renown'd for piety,

'T is hush'd : What sounds are these I licar ? Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber

The organ's soft celestial swell
Lord H--, indeed, may not demur,

Rolls deeply on the listening ear.
Fellows are sage, retlectiog men!

To this is joined the sacred song,
They know preferment can occur,

The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain;
But very seldom,- now and then.

Though he who hears the music long
They know the Chancellor has got

Will never wish to bcar again.
Some pretty livings in disposal;

Our choir would scarcely be excused,
Each hopes that one may be his lot,

Even as a band of raw beginners ;
And, therefore, smiles on bis proposal.

All mercy, now, must be refused
Nos, from the soporific scene

To such a set of croaking sinners.
I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later,

If David, when his toils were ended,
To view, unleeded and unseen,

Had heard these blockheads sing before him, The studious sons of Alma Mater.

To us his psalms had ne'er descended, There, in apartments small and damp,

In furious mood he would have tore 'em. The candidate for college prizes

The luckless Israelites, when taken
Sits poring by the midnight lamp-

By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Goes late to bed, yet early rises.

Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,
De, surely, well deserves to gain them,

On Babylonian river's border.
With all the honours of his college,

Oh! had they sung in notes like these,
Who, striving hardly to obtain them,

Inspired by stratagem or fear,
Thus seek's unprofitable knowledge;

They might have set their hearts at case-
Who sacrifices bours of rest,

The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.
To scan, precisely, metres Attic,

But, if I scribble longer now,
Or agitates his anxious breast

The deuce a soul will stay to read;
In solving problems mathematic;

My pen is blunt, my ink is low,
Who reads false quantities in Sele,

'T is almost time to stop indeed. Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle,

Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires, Deprived of many a wholesome meal,

No more like Cleofas, I fly; lo barbarous Latin 3 doom'd to wrangle;

No more thy theme my Muse inspires, * The Diable Boiteax of LE SAGE, where Asmodeus, the demon,

The reader 's tired, and so am I. places Doe Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses

1806. for bis inspection.

' Sele's pablication on Greek metres displays considerable talent end ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is 'The discovery of Pytbagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse | mot remarkable for accuracy.

is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right-angled tri• The Laris of the schools is of th: CANISE SPECIES, and not rery angle. ist lligible.

: On a Saint day the students wear surplices in chapel.





PARENT of golden dreams, Romance ! LACUN Y Gain, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loon sa Gins, lowers proudly preeminent in the Northern Highlands, near In

Auspicious queen of childish joys! vercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest

Who lead'st along, in airy dance, mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain ; be this as it may, it is Thy volive train of girls and boys : curtainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our

At length, io spells no longer bound, • Caloonian Alps. Jis appearance is of a dusky bue, but the summit is the seat of eternal spows. Near Lachin y Gair I spent

I break the fetters of my youth ; some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has No more I tread thy mystic round, given birth to the following Stanzas.

But leave thy realms for those of Truth. Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses !

And yet, 't is hard to quit the dreams In you let the minions of luxury rove;

Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,

Where every nymph a goddess seems, Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:

Whose eyes through rays immortal roll; Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,

While Fancy holds her boundless reign, Round their white summits though elements war,

And all assume a varied hue, Though cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth-llowing foun- When virgins seem no longer vain, tains,

And even woman's smiles are true. I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

And must we own thee but a name, Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wanderd,

And from thy hall of clouds descend;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;' Nor find a sylplı in every dayme,
Ou chieftajus long perishı'd iny memory ponder'd,

A Pylades' ja every friend ?
As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade : But leave, at once, thy realms of air,
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory

To mingling bands of fairy elves :
Gave place to the rays of the brighit polar star;

Confess that woman 's false as fair, For Fancy was cheer'd by traditional story

And friends have feelings for-themselves. Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.

With shame, I own, I 've felt thy sway, « Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices

Repentant, now thy reign is o'er; Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ?»

No more thy precepts I obey, Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

No more on fancied pinions soar : And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale: Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye, Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers,

And think that cye 10 Truth was dear, Wieter presides in his cold icy car;

To trust a passing wanton's sigli,
Clouds there encircle the forms of


And melt beneath a wanton's tear.
They úwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

Romance ! disgusted with deceit, III-starrd,” though brave, did no visions foreboding

Far from thy motley court I fly, Tell you that Fate had forsaken your cause?»

Where Affectation holds her seat, Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, 3

And sickly Sensibility; Victory crown'd not your fall with applause :

Whose silly tears can never flow Still were you happy, iu death's early slumber

For any pangs excepting thine; You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar; 4

Who turns aside from real woe, The Pibroch5 resounds to the piper's loud number

To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine:
Your deeds on the echocs of dark Loch na Garr.

Now join with sable sympathy,
Years have rolld on, Loch na Garr, since I left you;
Years must elapse cre I tread
you again;

With cypress crown'd, arrayed in weeds,

Who heaves with thee lier simple sigh,
Nature of verdure and flowers las hereft you,
Yet, still, are you dearer than Albion's plain.

Whose breast for every bosom bleeds ; England! thy beauties are tarne and domestic

And call thy sylvan female quire,

To mourn a swain for ever gone,
To one who has roved on the mountains afar;
Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic,

Who once could glow with equal fire,
The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr!

But bends not now before thy throne. This word is erroneously pronounced PLAD: the proper pronun

Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears, ciation (according to the Scotch) is shown liy the ortbography.

On all occasions, swiftly tlow; I allude bere to my maternal ancestors, the GORDONE, many Whose bosoms hcave with fancied fears, of wbom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known

With fancied flames and frenzy glow: by the name of the Preteodor. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Staw 1878. George, the second

Say, will you mourn my absent name, Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stewart, daughter

Apostate from your gentle traio? of James the First of Scotland; by her he left four sons: the third, An infant Bard, at least, may claim Sir William Gordon, I bave the bonour to claim as one of my pro

From you a sympathetic strain. Genitors.

3 Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden I am not certain ; " It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, wiih ihose principal action, . pars pro toto.»

of Achilles and Parroc us. Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, • A tract of the Highlands so called ; there is also a Castle o have been handed down to posterity as remarkable instances of alBraemar.

tachments which, in all pro jability, never existed, beyond the ima• The Lagpipe.

gination of the poet, the page of an historian, or modern novelist.

Adieu! fond race, a long adieu !

Years roll on years-10 ages, ages yield-
The hour of fate is hovering nigh;

Abbots to abbots in a line succeed,
Even now the gulf appears in view,

Religion's charter their protecting shield,
Where unlamented you must lie:

Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.
Oblivion's blackening lake is scen

One holy DENRY reard the Gothic walls,
Convulsed by gales you cannot weather, And bade the pious inmates rest in peace;
Where you, and eke your gentle queen,

Another Henry' the kind gift recals,
Alas! must perish altogether.

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,-
It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me with

No friend, no bome, no refuge but their God. all their deeds.

OSSIA.. Hark! how the hall, resounding to the strain,

Shakes with the martial music's novel din !
SEKSTEAD! fast-falling, once resplendent dome! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,
Religion's shrine ! repentant Henry's a pride!

High-crested banners, wave thy walls within.
Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloister'd tomb,
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide :

Of changing sentinels the distant hum,

The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnislid arms, Hail to thy pile ! more honour'd in thy fall,

The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum,
Than modern mansions in their pillar'd state;

Unite in concert with increased alarms.
Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall,
Scowling defiance on the blast of fate.

An abbey once, a regal fortress now,

Encircled by insulting rebel powers; So mail-clad serfs, 3 obedient to their lord,

War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening brow, la grim array, the crimson cross 4 demand,

And dart destruction in sulphureous showers. Or gay assemble round the festive board,

Al! vain defence! the hostile traitor's siegc, Their chief's retainers, an immortal band.

Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the brave; Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye

Ilis thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, Retrace their progress, through the lapse of time; Rebellion's recking standards o'er him wave. Marking each ardent youth, ordaind to die,

Not unavenged, the raging baron yields, A Fotive pilgrim, in Judea's clime.

The blood of traitors smears the purple plain; Eat Dot from thee, dark pile! departs the Chief,

Unconquer'd still his faulchion there he wields, His feudal realm in other regions lay;

And days of glory yet for him remain. In thee, the wounded conscience courls relief,

Still, in that hour the warrior wish'd to strew Retiring from the garish blaze of day.

Self-gather'd laurels on a self-sought grave; Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound,

But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, 1 The monk abjured a world he ne'er could view;

The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save. Or blood-staio'd Guilt repenting solace found, Trembling she snatch'd him 3 from the unequal strife, Or lopocence from stern Oppression flew.

lo other fields the torrent to repel,

For nobler combats here reserved his life, å monarch bade thee from that wild arise, Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to prowl;

To lead the band where godlike FALKLAND 4 fell. And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes,

From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given, 1 Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl.

While dying groans their painful requiem sound,

Far different incense now ascends to heavenWhere now the grass exhales a murky dew,

Such victims wallow on the gory ground. The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay, la sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,

There, many a pale and ruthless robber's corse, 1 Nor raised their pious voices, but to pray.

Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod;

O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with horse, Where now the bats their wavering wings extend,

Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers Irod.
Soon as the gloamings spreads her waning shade,
The eboir did oft their mingling vespers blend,

Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread, | Or matin orisons to Mary paid.

Ransack'd, resiga perforce their mortal mould;

From ruffian fangs escape not e'en the dead, "As one poem on this subject is printed in the beginning, the Raked from repose, in search of buried gold. matbor bad originally no inteetion of inserting the following: it is "At the Dissolution of the Monasteries, Henry VIII. bestowed * added at the particular request of some friends.

Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron. * Henry II, founded Newstead soon after the murder of Thomas-a- Newstead sustained a considerable siege in the war between

Charles I. and his Parliament. This word is used by Walter Scout, in his poem, • The Wild ? Lord Byron and his brother Sir William held high commands Hustas, as synonymous with Vassal.

in the royal army; the former was General in Chief in Ireland, • The Red Cross was the badge of the Crusaders.

Lieutenant of the Tower, and Governor to James Duke of York, afAsGloaming," the Scottish word for Twiligbt, is far more terwards the unbappy James II. The latter had a principal share periral, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men. in many actions. Vide Clarendon, Home, etc. particelarly Dr Moore, in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured 10 * Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accomplished use it on account of its barmony.

man of bis age, was killed at the battle of Newberry, charging in The Priory was dedicated to the Virgin.

the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cavalry.

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Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers

These, these he views, and views them but to weep. Yet are his tears no emblem of regret,

Cherish'd affection only bids them flow; Pride, Hope, and Love forbid him to forget,

But warm his bosom with impassion'd glow. Yet, he prefers thee to the gilded domes,

Or gewgaw grotroes of the vainly great; Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs,

Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate.
Haply thy sun emerging yet may shine,

Thee to eradiate with meridian ray;
Hours splendid as the past may still be chine,

And bless thy future as thy former day.

TO E. N. L. ESQ.

NII ego contolerim jucundo sanus amico.


Ilushd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre,

The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death; No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire,

Or sings the glories of the martial wreath.
At length, the sated murderers, gorged with prey,

Retire-the clamour of the fight is o'er;
Silence again resumes her awful sway,

And sable Horror guards the massy door. llere Desolatiou holds her dreary court;

What satellites declare her dismal reigo! Shrieking their dirge, ill-omened birds resort

To flit their vigils in the hoary fane. Soon a new moro's restoring beams dispel

The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies The fierce usurper seeks his native hell,

And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies. With storms she welcomes his expiring groans,

Whirlwinds responsive greet his labouring breath; Earth sludders as her cave receives his bones,

Loathing the offering of so dark a death. The legal Ruler? now resumes the helm,

le guides through gentle seas the prow of state Hope cheers with wonted smiles the peaceful realm,

And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied Hate. The gloomy tenants, Newstead, of thy cells,

Howling resign their violated nest; Again the master on his tenure dwells,

Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest. Vassals within thy hospitable pale,

Loudly carousing, bless their lord's return; Culture again adorns the gladdeving vale,

And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn.
A thousand songs on tuneful echo float,

Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees;
And, hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note,

The hunter's cry bangs lengthening on the breeze. Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake:

What fears, what anxious hopes attend the chase! The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake,

Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race. Ah! happy days! too happy to endure !

Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew : No splendid vices glitter'd to allure

Their joys were many, as their cares were few. From these descending, sons to sires succeed,

Time steals along, and Death uprcars his dart; Another chief impels the foaming steed,

Another crowd pursue the panting hart. Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine!

Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay; The last and youngest of a noble line

Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway. Deserted pow, he scans thy gray-worn towers

Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep

DEAR L--, in this sequester d scene,

While all around in slumber lie,
The joyous days which ours have been

Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye:
Thus, if amidst the gathering storm,
While clouds the darken'd noon deform,
Yon heaven assuines a varied glow,
I bail the sky's celestial bow,
Which spreads the sign of future peace,
And bids the war of tempests cease.
Ah! though the present brings but pain,
I think those days may come again ;
Or if, ia melancholy mood,
Some lurking envious fear intrude,
To check my bosom's fondest thought,

And interrupt the goldeu dream;
I crush the fiend with malice fraught,

And still indulge my wonted theme.
Although we ne'er again can trace,

In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore, Nor, through the groves of Ipa, chase

Our raptured visions as before ; Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion, And Manhood claims his stern dominion, Age will not every hope destroy, But yield some hours of sober joy. Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing Will shed around some dews of spring ; l'ut, if his scythe must sweep the flowers Which bloom among the fairy bowers, Where smiling Youth delights to dwell, And hearis with early rapture swell; If frowning Age, with cold control, Confines the current of the soul, Congeals the tear of Pity's eye, Or checks the sympathetic sigh, Or lears unmoved Misfortune's groan, And bids me feel for self alone; Oh! may my bosom never learn,

To sooth its wonted heedless flow,
Still, still, despise the censor stern,

But ne'er forget another's woe.
Yes, as you knew mc in the days
O'er which Remembrance yet delays,

This is an historical fact. A violent tempost occurred immediately subsequent to the death, or interment, of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and the cavaliers ; both interpreted the circumstance into divine interposition, but whether as approbation or condemnation, we leave to the casuists of that age to decide. I have made such use of the occurrence as suited the subject of my poem.

· Charles II.

Still, may I rove untutord, wild, And, even in age, at heart a child.

Though now on airy visions borne,

To you my soul is still the same, Oft has it been my fate to mourn,

And all my former joys are tame. But, hence! ye hours of sable hue;

Your frowns are gone, my sorrow 's o'er; By every bliss my childhood knew,

I'll thiuk upon your shade no more. Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past,

And caves their sullen roar enclose, We beed no more the wintry blast,

When lulla by zephyr to repose. Full often has my infant Muse

Attuned to love her languid lyre; But now, without a theme to chuse,

The strains in stolen sighs expire ; My youthful nymphs, alas! are flown;

E-- is a wife, and C-- a mother, And Carolina sighs alone,

Aod Mary's given to another;
And Cora's eye, which rolld on me,

Can now no more my love recal;
In truth, dear --,' was time to flee,

For Cora's eye will shine on all.
And though the sun, with genial rays,
His beams alike to all displays,
And every lady's eye 's a sun,
These last should be confined to one.
The soul's meridian don't become lier
Whose sun displays a general summer.
Thus faint is every former flame,
And Passion's self is now a name:
As, when the ebbing flames are low,

The aid which once improved their light, And bade them burn with fiercer glow,

Now quenches all their sparks in night; Thus has it been with passion's fires,

As many a boy and girl remembers, While all the force of love expires,

Extinguish'd with the dying embers.

On! had my fate been join'd with thine,

As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not then been mine,

For then my peace had not been broken. To thee these early faults I owe,

To thee, the wise and old reproving; They know my sins, but do not know

'T was thine to break the bonds of loving. For once my soul, like thine, was pure,

And all its rising fires could smother; But now thy vows no more endure,

Bestow'd by thee upon another. Perhaps his peace I could destroy,

And spoil the blisses that await him; Yet let my rival smile in joy,

For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. Ah! since thy angel form is gone,

My heart no more can rest with any ; But what it sought in thee alone,

Attempts, alas! to find in many. Then fare thee well, deceitful maid,

*T were vain and fruitless to regret thee; Nor hope nor memory yield their aid,

But pride may teach me to forget thee. Yet all this giddy waste of years,

This tiresome round of palling pleasures, These varied loves, thiese matron's fears,

These thoughtless strains to passion's measures, If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd;

This cheek, now pale from early riot, With Passion's hectic ne'er bad flush'd,

But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. Yes, once the rural scene was sweet,

For nature seem'd to smile before thee; And once my breast abhorrd deceit,

For then it beat but to adore thee.. But now I seek for other joys;

To think would drive my soul to madness; In thoughtless throngs and empty noise,

I conquer half my bosom's sadness. Yet even in these a thought will steal,

In spite of every vain endeavour; And fiends might pity what I feel,

To know that thou art lost for ever.

But now, dear L--, 't is midnight's noon,
And clouds obscure the watery moon,
Whose beauties I shall not rehearse,
Described in every stripling's verse;
For why should I the path go o'er,
Which every bard has trod before?
Yet, ere yon silver lamp of night

Has thrice perform d her stated round, Has thrice retraced her path of light,

And chased away the gloom profound, I trust that we, my gentle friend, Shall see her rolling orbit wend Above the dear-lov'd peaceful seat, Which once contain'd our youth's retreat ; And then, with those our childhood knew, We'll mingle with the festive crew; While many a tale of former day Shall wing the laughing hours away; Abd all the flow of soul shall pour The sacred intellectual shower, Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn Searce glimmers through the mist of Morn.

I would I were a careless child,

Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave.
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon' pride

Accords not with the free-born soul,
Which loves the mountain's craggy side,

And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
Fortune! take back these cultured lands,

Take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile lands-

I hate the slaves that cringe around: "Sassenagh, or Saxon, a Gaelic word signifying either Lowland or English,

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