ePub 版


But Oscar's breast is cold as clay,..

His locks are lifted by the gale ; And Allan's barbed arrow lay,

With him in dark Glentanar's vale.


And whence the dreadful stranger came,

Or who, no mortal wight can tell; But no one doubts the form of flame,

For Alya's sons knew Oscar well.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

Ambition nerv'd young Allan's hand,

Exulting demons, wing'd his dart, While Envy wav'd her burping brand,

And pour'd her venom round his heart.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow :

Whose streaming life-blood stains his side ? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,

The dart bas drunk bis vital tide.

74. . :

And Mora's eye could Allan move,

She bade his wounded pride rebel : Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love,

Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell.

Lo! bee'st thou not a lonely tomb,

Which rises o'er a warrior dead?
It glimmers thro' the twilight gloom ;
Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

Far, distant far, the noble grave,

Which held his clar's great ashes, stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave, i

For they were stain’d with kindred blood.

[ocr errors]

What miastrel grey, what hoary bard,

Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise ? The song is glory's chief reward,':'

But who can strike a' murd'rer's praise ?.

[ocr errors]

Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand,

No minstrel dare the theme awake; Guilt would benumb his palsied hand,

His harp in shuddering chords would break.

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse,

Shall sound his glories high in air, A dying father's bitter curse,

A brother's death-groan echoes there. ;

TO THE DUKE OF D. D-R-T! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Exploring every path of Ida's glade, Whom, still, affection taught me to defend, And made me less a tyrant than a friend; Tho' the harsh custom of our youthful band, Bade thee obey, and gave me to command Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower The gift of riches, and the pride of power; Even now a name illustrious is thine own, Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne. Yet, D-r-, let not this seduce thy soul, To shun fair science, or evade controul; · Tho' passive tutors, (1) fearful to dispraise The titled child, whose future breath may raise, View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.

When youthful parasites, who bend the knee
To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee!
And, eren in simple boyhood's opening dawn,
Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn;
When these declare, « that pomp alone should wait
« On one by birth predestin’d to be great;
u That books were only meant for drudging fools,
« That gallant spirits scorn the common rules ; »
Believe them not, they point the path to shame,
And seek to blast the honours of thy name:
Turn to the few, in Ida's early throng,
Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong;

(1) Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant; I merely mention, generally, what is too often the weakness of preceptors.

Or, if amidst the comrades of thy youth,
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth,
Ask thine own heart! 'will bid thec, boy, forbcar,
For well I know, that virtue lingers there. .

Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day,
But, now new scenes invite me far away;
Yes! I have mark’d, within that generous mind,
A soul, if well matur’d, to bless mankind;
Ah! tho', myself, by nature haughty, wild,
Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child;
Tho' ev'ry error stamps me for her own,
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone;
Tho' my proud heart no precept, now, can tame,
I love the virtues which I cannot claim.
'Tis not enough, with other sons of power,
To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour,
To swell some pecrage page in feeble pride,
With long-drawn names, that grace no page beside;
Then share with titled crowds the common lot, si:
In life just gaz'd at, in the grave forgot; ' .
While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead, .
Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head,
The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll,
That well-emblazon’d, but neglected scroll, . .
Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find
One spot to leave a worthless name behind ;---
There sleep, unnotic'd as the gloomy vaults,
That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults;
A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread,
In records, destin'd never to be read.
Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes,
Exalted more among the good and wise;

A glorious and a long career pursue,
As first in rank, the first in talent too;
Spurn every vice, each little mcauness shun,
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son!
Turn to the annals of a former day,
Bright are the deeds, thine earlier sires display;
One, tho' a courtier, liv'd a man of worth,
And call’d, proud boast! the British Drama forth (1).
Another view! not less renown'd for wit.
Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit;
Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine,
In ev'ry splendid part ordain'd to shine;
Far, far, distinguish'd from the glittring throng,
The pride of Princes, and the boast of Song (2).
Such were thy fathers, thus preserve their name,
Not heir to titles only, but to fame. ..
The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close,
To me, this little scene of joys and woes ;
Each knell of Time now warns me to resign
Shades, where hope, peace, and friendship, all were mine;
Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue,
And gild their pinions, as the moments flew;

(1) « Thomas S-k lle, Lord B--k-st, created Earl of « D- by James the First, was one of the earliest and « brightest ornaments to the poetry of his country, and u the first who produced a regular drama. »

ANDERSON's British Poets. (2) Charles S-k-le, Earl of D--, esteemed the most , accomplished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II, and the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch, in 1665, on the day previous to which he composed his celebrated song. His character has been drawn in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve. Vide Anderson's British Poets.

« 上一頁繼續 »