And, lost my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance leasing,
At once I'll tell thee our opinion
Concerning woman's soft dominion:
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
On eyes of blue or lips carnation,
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract us,
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love:
It is not too severe a stricture
To say they form a pretty picture;
But wouldst thou see the secret chain,
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION,

10.

Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,
When Angus hail'd his eldest born;
The vassals round their chieftain's hearth
Crowd to applaud the happy morn.
11.

They feast upon the mountain deer,
The pibroch raised its piercing note
To gladden more their highland cheer,
The strains in martial numbers float:
12.

And they who heard the war-notes wild,
Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain
Should play before the hero's child

While he should lead the tartan train, 13.

Another year is quickly past,

And Angus hails another son; His natal day is like the last,

Nor soon the jocund feast was done.

14.

Taught by their sire to bend the bow,
On Alva's dusky hills of wind,
The boys in childhood chased the roe,
And left their hounds in speed behind.
15.

But ere their years of youth are o'er,
They mingle in the ranks of war;
They lightly wheel the bright claymore,
And send the whistling arrow far,
16.

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair,

Wildly it stream'd along the gale ;
But Allan's locks were bright and fair,
And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.
17.

But Oscar own'd a hero's soul,

His dark eye shone through beams of truth; Allan had early learn'd control,

And smooth his words had been from youth. 18.

Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear

Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel;
And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear,
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel;
19.
While Allan's soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms to dwell:
Keen as the lightning of the storm,
On foes his deadly vengeance fell.

20.

From high Southannon's distant tower Arrived a young and noble dame; With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;

21.

And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride,
And Angus on his Oscar smiled:
It soothed the father's feudal pride
Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.

22.

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float,

And still the choral peal prolong. 23.

See how the heroes' blood-red plumes Assembled wave in Alva's hall Each youth his varied plaid assumos, Attending on their chieftain's call.

24.

It is not war their aid demands,

The pibroch plays the song of peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. 25.

But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late :
Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame?
While thronging guests and ladies wait,
Nor Oscar nor his brother came.

26.

At length young Allan join'd the bride: "Why comes not Oscar ?" Angus said; "Is not he here?" the youth replied; "With me he roved not o'er the glade.

27.

"Perchance, forgetful of the day,

'Tis his to chase the bounding roe; Or ocean's waves prolong his stay; Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 28.

"Oh, no!" the anguish'd sire rejoin'd, "Nor chase, nor wave, my boy delay; Would he to Mora seem unkind?

Would aught to her impede his way?

29

"Oh! search, ye chiefs! oh! search around! Allan, with these through Alva fly;

Till Oscar, till my son is found,
Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply."

30.

All is confusion-through the vale

The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, It rises on the murm'ring gale,

Till night expands her dusky wings;

31.

It breaks the stillness of the night,

But echoes through her shades in vain : It sounds through morning's misty light, But Oscar comes not o'er the plain.

32.

Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief
For Oscar search'd each mountain cave;
Then hope is lost; in boundless grief,
His locks in gray-torn ringlets wave.
33.

"Oscar! my son!-thou God of Heav'n
Restore the prop of sinking age!
Or if that hope no more is given,
Yield his assassin to my rage.
34.

"Yes, on some desert rocky shore
My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie;
Then grant, thou God! I ask no more,
With him his frantic sire may die!
35.

"Yet he may live,-away, despair!

Be calm, my soul! he yet may live; T'arraign my fate, my voice forbear! O God! my impious prayer forgive!

36.

"What, if he live for me no more,
I sink forgotten in the dust,
The hope of Alva's age is o'er:
Alas! can pangs like these be just ?"

37.

Thus did the hapless parent mourn, Till Time, who soothes severest woe Had bade serenity return,

And made the tear-drop cease to flow.

58.

For still some latent hope survived

That Oscar might once more appear; His hope now droop'd and now revived, Till Time had told a tedious year.

39

Days roll'd along, the orb of light Again had run his destined race; No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, And sorrow left a fainter trace.

40.

For youthful Allan still remain'd,
And now his father's only joy :
And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd,
For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.
41.

She thought that Oscar low was laid,
And Allan's face was wondrous fair;
If Oscar lived, some other maid

Had claim'd his faithless bosom’« rare
42.

And Angus said, if one year more
In fruitless hope was pass'd away,
His fondest scruples should be o'er,

And he would name their nuptial day.
43.

Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last Arrived the dearly destined morn; The year of anxious trembling past,

What smiles the lover's cheeks adorn!
44.

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial song
In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the coral peal prolong.

45.

Again the clan, in festive crowd,
Throng through the gate of Alva's hall;
The songs of mirth re-echo loud,
And all their former joy recall.

46.

But who is he, whose darken'd brow

Glooms in the midst of general mirth?

Before his eyes far fiercer glow

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. 47. Dark is the robe which wraps his form, And tall his plume of gory red; His voice is like the rising storm, But light and trackless is his tread.

48.

'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round,
The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd ;
With shouts the vaulted roofs resound.
And all combine to hail the draugnt.

49.

Sudden the stranger-chief arose,

And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with. wor.der glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.

50.

"Old man!" he cried, "this pledge is done: Thou saw'st 'twas duly drank by me;

It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:
Now will I claim a pledge from thee.
51.

"While all around is mirth and joy,
To bless thy Allan's happy lot,
Say, had'st thou ne'er another Doy ?
Say, why should Oscar be forgot?"

52.

"Alas!" the hapless sire replied, The big tear starting as he spoke, "When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke.

53.

"Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; And Allan is my last resource,

Since martial Oscar's death or flight."

54.

" 'Tis well," replied the stranger stern, And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye; "Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn ; Perhaps the hero did not die.

55.

"Perchance, if those whom he most loved, Would call, thy Oscar might return; Perchance the chief has only roved; For him thy Beltane* yet may burn. 56.

"Fill high the bowl the table round,

We will not claim the pledge by stealth, With wine let every cup be crown'd; Pledge me departed Oscar's health."

57.

"With all my soul," old Angus said,
And fill'd his goblet to the brim ;
"Here's to my boy! alive or dead,

I ne'er shall find a son like him." 58. "Bravely, old man, this health has sped; But why does Allan trembling stand? Come, drink remembrance of the dead, And raise thy cup with firmer hand." 59.

The crimson glow of Allan's face

Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue;
The drops of death each other chase
Adown in agonizing dew.
60.

Thrice did he raise the goblet high,

And thrice his lips refused to taste; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye On his with deadly fury placed.

61.

"And is it thus a brother hails

A brother's fond remembrance here? If thus affection's strength prevails, What might we not expect from fear?"

62.

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, "Would Oscar now could share our mirth!"

Internal fear appall'd his soul;

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.

63.

"Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!" Loud shreaks a darkly gleaming form; "A murderer's voice!" the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm. 64.

The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,
The stranger's gone,-amidst the crew

A form was seen in tartan green,
And tall the shade terrific grew.

• Beltane Tree, a Highland festival on the first of May, held near fires Mighted for the xcasion.

65.

His waist was bound with a broad belt round,
His plume of sable stream'd on high ;
But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there,
And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.
66.

And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild,
On Angus bending low the knee;
And thrice he frown'd on a chief on the ground,
Whom shivering crowds with horror see.
67.

The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole,

The thunders through the welkin ring,
And the gleaming form, througth the mist of the stom
Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.
68.

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased.
Who lies upon the stony floor?
Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast*,
At length his life-pulse throbs once more
69.

"Away, away! let the leech essay

To pour the light on Allan's eyes:"
His sand is done,-his race is run;
Oh! never more shall Allan rise!

70.
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.

71.

And whence the dreadful stranger came,
Or who, no mortal wight can tell;
But no one doubts the form of flame,
For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.
72.

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand,
Exulting demons wing'd his dart;
While Envy waved her burning brand,
And pour'd her venom round his heart.
73.

Swift is the shaft of Allan's bow:

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

The dart has drunk his vital tide.

74.

And Mora's eye could Allan move,

She bade his wounded pride rebel:
Alas! that eyes which beamed with love
Should urge the soul to deeds of hell!
75.

Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb

Which rises o'er a warrior dead?
It glimmers through the twilight gloom;
Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.
76.

Far, distant far, the noble grave

Which held his clan's great ashes stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood.

77.

What minstrel gray, what hoary bard,
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?
The song is glory's chief reward,
But who can strike a murderer's praise?
78.
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.

Old Angus press'd the earth with his breast-Fret Edition.

79.

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, Snail sound his glories high in air.

A dying father's bitter curse,

A brother's death groan echoes there.

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.

In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the following lines, which I had totally forgot. ten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from Hazron. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re perusal, I found them not

worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published

them, for the first time, after a slight revision.

Dorset! 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;
Though 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 gifts of riches and the pride of power;
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own,
Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne.
Yet Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul
To shun fair science, or evade control;
Though passive tutors, 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 even 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 predestined to be great;
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;
Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth,
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth,
Ask thine own heart; 'twill bid thee, boy, forbear;
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 matured, to bless mankind.
Ah! though myself by nature haughty, wild,
Whom indiscretion hail'd her favourite child;
Though every error stamps me for her own,
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone;
Though 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 peerage page in feeble pride,
With long-drawn names that grace no page beside,
Then share with titled crowds the common lot-
In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot;
While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead,
Except the dull, cold stone that hides thy head,

At every puoll: school the Junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forms till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but after a tertain period they command in turn those who succeed.

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

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 na ne behind.
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults
*That veil their dust, their follies, and their fa alts,
A race with old armorial lists o'erspread,
In records destined 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 meanness 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, though a courtier, lived a man of worth,
And call'd, proud boast! the British drama fortht.
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 every splendid part ordain'd to shine;
Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng,
The pride of princes, and the boast of song‡.
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 wort
mine :

Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue,
And gild their pinions as the moments flew ;
Peace, that reflection never frown'd away,
By dreams of ill to cloud some future day;
Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tel;
Alas! they love not long who love so well,
To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er
Scenes hail'd as exiles hail their native shore,
Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep,
Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep.
Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart;
The coming morrow from thy youthful mind
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind.
And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year,
Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate
May one day claim our suffrage for the state,
We hence may meet, and pass each other by
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe,
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe,
With thee no more again I hope to trace
The recollection of our early race;
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice.
Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught

To veil those feelings which perchance it ought,
If these but let me cease the lengthen'd strain-
Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain,
The guardian seraph who directs thy fate
Will leave thee glorious as he found thee great.

See the same line in Lara, stanza 11.

"Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, created Earl of Dorset, by James the first, was one of the earliest and brightest ornaments to the poetry of his country, and the first who produced a regular drama."Anderson's British Poeta.

Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, esteemed the most asscn.plishe! man of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles 11, 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.— Anderson's British Poets.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.
AD LESBIAM.

EQUAL to Jove that youth must be-
Greater than Jove he seems to me-
Who, free from jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms.
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserved for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 't is death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly;

I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,

My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support,
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS,

"LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERIS,"
1.

YE Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,
Whom dearer than her eyes she loved:
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,
But lightly o'er her bosom moved:

2.

And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to clear the air,
But chirupp'd oft, and, free from care,

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. Now having pass'd the gloomy bourne From whence he never can return, His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn, Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.

3.

Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,
For thou hast ta'en the bird away:
From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow,

Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow; Thou art the cause of all her wo Receptacle of life's decay.