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Bands that masses only sung,
Hands that censers only swung,
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill:
O miserere, Domine!
Weltering amid warriors slain,
Sing, O miserere, Domine!
Bangor! o'er the murder wail !
O miserere, Domine!
· William of Malmsbury says, that in his time the extent of the ruins of the monastery bore ample witness to the desolation occasioned by the massacre ;_"tot semiruti parietes ecclesiarum, tot anfractus porticum, tanta turba ruderum quantum vix alibi cernas."
FAREWELL TO THE MUSE."
ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me,
roam, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speak
ing The language alternate of rapture and woe: Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are
breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know.
Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came
sorrow, Or pale disappointment to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow,
Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day! But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not
assuage; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining,
The languor of pain, and the chillness of age.
'T was thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing,
To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain,
'[Written, during illness, for Mr. Thomson's Scottish Collection, and first published in 1822, united to an air composed by George Kinloch of Kinloch, Esq.]
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; As vain thy enchantments, 0 Queen of wild Numbers,
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers
Farewell, then — Enchantress ;-I meet thee no
EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE.
Plain as her native dignity of mind,
*[Mrs. Euphemia Robison, wife of William Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinedder,) died September, 1819, and was buried at Saline in the county of Fife, where these lines are inscribed on the tombstone.]
MR. KEMBLE’S FAREWELL ADDRESS,
ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE.
As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound, Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground
*[These lines first appeared, April 5, 1817, in a weekly sheet, called “ The Sale Room," conducted and published by Messrs Ballantyne and Co., at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. James Ballantyne says, “ The character fixed upon, with happy propriety, for Kemble's closing scene, was Macbeth, in which he took his final leave of Scotland on the evening of Saturday, the 29th March, 1817. He had laboured under a severe cold for a few days before, but on this memorable night the physical annoyance yielded to the energy of his mind.— He was,' he said, in the green-room, immediately before the curtain rose, • determined to leave behind him the most perfect specimen of his art which he had ever shown;' and his success was complete. At the moment of the tyrant's death the curtain fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. The applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased - were resumed. - rose again were reiteratedand again were hushed. · In a few minutes the curtain ascended, and Mr. Kemble came forward in the dress of Macbeth, (the audience by a consentaneous movement rising to receive him,) to deliver his farewell. ......“Mr. Kemble delivered these lines with exquisite beauty, and with an effect that was evidenced by the tears and sobs of many of the audience. His own emotions were very conspicuous. When his farewell was closed, he lingered long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The house again stood up, and cheered him with the waving of hats and long shouts of applause. At length, he finally retired, and, in so far as regards Scotland, the curtain dropped upon his professional life for ever.”]
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,