« 上一頁繼續 »
.Reflect on thy past happy state,
How well you once was taught
In which you now are caught.
From Passion's meteor turn thy sight,
Thy footsteps always guide:
Where Truth and Peace reside.
At this Urania paused to try
To aught she had express'd:
Each party thus address'd:
"The nymph indeed, whose name I bear '' May well deserve your rival care,
"But' tis as mutual friends: "Your several gifts for her combine, '' Nor ere, in such a cause, decline
"To serve each other's ends.
"Let her whose charms at once can raise "The lover's sigh, the poet's praise,
"Your gentle favour find: "No more each other's votaries scorn, "While perfect grace and worth adorn
"Her person, and her mind!
"And though you must not yet declare "To whom the fates reserve the fair,
"This gentle youth direct, "If to his mind he can't be blest, "From envy to secure his breast,
"And bear with cool neglect.
"That face which jealousy can love,
"Permit him to admire: "But, oh! with strength possess his soul "Each anxious passion to controul,
"And check each fond desire.
Rut Avert, Inverness— 173 8—1796.
It was beyond a doubt that Macpherson was the author of Ossian, not the translator. Malcolm Laing has hounded him with the indefatigable and unrelenting sagacity of a Bow-street Magistrate; this accusation on the one side, and the lame evidence set up in his defence by the Highland Society on the other; have convinced all, who are capable of conviction.—There are many who are not persuaded ;' neither would they though one should rise from the dead.'
Let us have the songs of the Highlands, as faithfully as we have those of the Scottish Border. What is of modern fabrication will be easily distinguishable, by its trickery and tinsel.
The rhythm of Ossian is a curious subject of investigation, for any one who studies metre. All the other ingredients, will be found in the following of Macpherson's acknowledged poems.
WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS.
The wind is up, the field is bare;
Some hermit lead me to his cell, Where Contemplation, lonely fair,
With bless'd Content has chose to dwell.
Behold ! it opens to my sight.
Dark in the rock: beside the flood; Dry fern around obstructs the light; The winds above it move the wood.
Reflected in the lake I see
The downward mountains and the skies, The flying bird, the waving tree,
The goats that on the hills arise.
The grey-cloak'd herd drives cn the cow;
The slow-paced follower walks the heath; A freckled pointer scours the brow;
A musing shepherd stands beneath.
Curve o'er the ruin of an oak,
The hills re-echo to the stroke:
Some rural maid with apron full,
I see the smoky columns roil,
And through the chinky hut the beam.
Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss,
Three panting dogs beside repose;
One bleeding deer is stretched on grass.
A lake, at distance, spreads to sight,
In midst an island's rocky height
One tree bends o'er the naked walls,
By intervnls a fragment falls,
As blows the blast along the sky.
Two rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide, With labouring oars along the flood;
An angler, bending o'er the tide,
Hangs from the boat the insidious wood.
Beside the flood, beneath the rocks,
Bend on each other amorous looks,