With thee I climb the proud Columbian steep,
To see the blackening storm expand its wings,
Which bending on the woods with eagle-sweep
Its sturdy files around the valley flings.

The son of Fingal, in his cloudy cave
Tunes his aërial melody to thine,

And follows 'thee on Æther's limpid wave,
From the bright pole-star to the burning line.

Reclining on his Marathonian lance,

The tragic father asks who found the shell
That us'd his attic audience to entrance,
Or bid the tumults of the bosom swell.

Even mighty Shakespear marvels to behold
The sudden wonders of thy wizard hand;
There spectres frown, and awful scenes unfold,
In gloomy contrast to his magic band.

But when thy Seraph spreads his starry plume,
His glories brighten, as the song proceeds;
Ætherial splendours pierce the gilded gloom,
And the deep vista shows his wondrous deeds.

Young Favourite of the Muse accept the lay,
A primal offering from Ierne's coast,
Where like the lark that hails the rising day,
I try to sing Edina's pride and boast.

Ode to Freedom.

+Eschylus-See his Chorusses.He fought at the battle of Marathon. The Seraph, án Ode.

And yet thou art unknown, except to few,
Who, as the Genii round the cradle wait
Of one ordained fair Science to renew,
Or fix the fortunes of his parent state :

So these observe the glorious mark afar,
On which, intent, you fix your kindling eye ;
As the young eagle views the solar car,
And longs to follow through the glowing sky.

Is it thy lot a Thespian wreath to wear,

And bid the manes of the dead return? Shall the fallen patriot grace the funeral bier, Or rival minds with fiercest passions burn?

Or wilt thou seek the pure Aonian springs,
That only to the favoured few are known,
And nobly rising from material things,

Aspire to make the moral world thine own?

"Tis thine on steady wing to mount the sky,
And see her glorious dome immensely spread,
O seize the sacred lightnings as they fly,
And strike triumphant Vice and Folly dead.

"Tis thine to claim the Muses noblest right,
O seize the holy harp in Zion strung;
And emulate the solemn bard of Night,*
And him + that lights primæval glories sung.

RATHFRYLAND, SEPT. 12, 1802.

Young.

✦ Milton. See his Hymn to Light.

TO THE

REV. HENRY BOYD, A. M.

On reading his translation of Dante and Original Poems.

HAIL, holy Minstrel of yon haunted shore,
Where heaven-taught bards the harp of Erin strung,
And youthful warriors in their halls of yore,
The mighty prowess of their fathers sung.

Those sons of song, bright beams of other days,
In purer worlds that glow, in light sublime;
Smite Heav'n's bold lyre responsive to thy lays,
Rising extatic from the shades of Time.

And oft when moonlight trembles on the seas,
While Midnight watches on her cloudy tower,
Soft aëreal music floating on the breeze,

Wakes dreams of transport in thy classic bower.

For thee the voice of Arno's lovely vale
Pours hymns seraphic on the listening night,
While Heaven's pure breath in many a charmed gale,
Bears the wild minstrelsy of warm delight.

* Dante.

That voice was hushed, while dark oblivious gloom
Involved in night the Tuscan's bold design,
Till on his sacred, long deserted tomb,

Thou bad'st the torch of Fame immortal shine.

Ah! while it blazed to consecrate his grave, Mysterious sounds in grateful numbers flowed, Soft as the voice in Horeb's awful cave,

When the loud tempest fled the Mount of God.

On Glory's shrine, that braves involving night,
Where Genius burns a pure etherial flame,
In dazzling characters of living light,

Thy daring hand inscribed the poet's name.

"Tis thine to wake the long-resounding shell, That hung for ages on his mouldering urn; While raptured Fancy in her wizard cell,

Sees the past triumphs of her powers return.

Warming thy bosom with celestial fire,
Lo! the bright visions of the blest arise
To sounds harmonious as the seraph's lyre,
Hailing a kindred spirit to the skies.

In those pure dreams you saw the wand'rer hail The long-loved vestal mid the realms of day, Where silver clouds in broken columns sail,

O'er the blue mazes of the starry way.

On Heaven's proud towers, unshaken and sublime," "Twas thine to mark the warm, primeval ray That led the infant steps of rosy Time,

When Nature's temple shone in new-born day.

4

That beam withdrew from Earth's polluted sphere, Back to its fount, eternal and divine,

Where the rapt spirits of empyreal air,

Hail Light's blest source with energies like thine.

The awful secrets of the world unknown,

Gave their deep horrors to thine ardent view, While tortured Feeling heaved the labouring groan, As fierce and red the bolts of Vengeance flew.

There frightful realms of terror and dismay,
In vain essayed to chill thy dauntless soul,
Inspired of Heaven, you urg'd your venturous way,
Where billowy clouds in nameless horrors roll.

Shuddering yon scenes of endless woe I trace,
Where Chaos glimmers in the flash of hell,
While sickening Nature turns her horrent face,
To think that Life should in these dungeons dwell.

From those unfathom'd caverns of Despair,
Where righteous Justice pours avenging ire,

Again you pierce the dull malignant air,
Thick in the vapours of sulphureous fire.