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For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, Await, alike, the inevitable hour:
The paths of glory lead-but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise:
Can storied urn or animated bust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre;
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide:
With incense kindled at the muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
(Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray,) Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet even these bones, form insult to protect,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Their name, their years, spell'd by th' unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;` Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
"One morn I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came, nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
“The next, with dirges due, in sad array,
Slow through the churchyard path we saw him borneApproach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis❜ry all he had a tear;
He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode; (There they, alike, in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.
Wizard.-Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day
Lochiel.-Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old, wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.
Wizard.-Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn; Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high, Ah! home let him speed,-for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? "Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; Return to thy dwelling! all lonely, return! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.
Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam, like a wave on the rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array
Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal;