Pa

As Boreas threw his young Aurora* forth,

In the first year of the first George's reigta, And battles rag'd in welkin of the North,

They mouru'd in air, fell, fell rebellion slain? And as, of late, they joy'd in Preston's fight,

Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crown'd! They'rav'd! divining, through their second sight.f

He,

B 101

A

* By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first appearance of the northern lights, which happened about the year 1715; at lcast, it is most highly probable, from this peculiar circumstance, that no ancient writer whatever has taken any notice of them, nor even any one modern, previous to the above period.

+ Second sight is the term that is used for the dis vination of the Highlanders.

Thence each betakes him to his several toil;

To dive, to tly, to ride the wintry blast,
To dig the mine, to cleave the church-yard soil.

Or rake the bottom of the watery waste.
Each powerful drug, with more than mortal skill,

Where'er bestow'd, or hid from searching eye,
Selecting heedful of their tasker's will:

Nor cease their labours till the dawn descry Their hated impious work, and reddens all the sky.

* Nor wilt thou leave for other bards to sing,

The ruthless spirit of the angry flood; How, at grey eve, in fell and crafty mood, O'er fen and lake he shakes his foggy wind : Or when the curfew with his sullen note,

Unchains, to roam the earth, each elfin sprite, Like some drear lamp, from out the quaggy moat,

The-fiend shines forth, to lure th' incautious wight.'?

Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were

drown'd!
Illustrious William !f Britain's guardian name!

One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke;
He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame,

But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast broke,
To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke!

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These, too, thoul't sing ! for well thy magic muse
Can to the topmost heaven of grandeur soar;

Or stoop to wail the swain that is no more !
Ah, homely swaius! your homeward steps ne'er lose;

Let not dank Willi mislead you to the heath
Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake,

He glows, to draw you downward to yonr death,
In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake!
What though far off, from some dark dell espied,

His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sight,
Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside,

Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light:
For watchful, lurking, 'mid th' unrustling reed,

At those mirk hours the wily monster lies,
And listens oft to hear the passing steed,

And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes,
If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch

surprise.

bil,

skill

Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed!
Whom late bewilder'd in the dank, dark fen,

Far from his flocks, and smoking hamlet, then !
To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed:

+ The lete duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the battle of Culloden,

I A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern, &c. it hovers in the air over marshy and fenny places

On him, enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood, Shall never look with Pity's kind concern,

But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood
O'er its drown'd banks, forbidding all return!

Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape,
To some dim hill, that seems uprising near,

To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape,
In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear.

Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source !

What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs ? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthful force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless

corse !

For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait,

Or wander forth to meet him on his way ; For him in vain at to-fall of the day,

His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate! Ah, ne'er shall he return! Alone, if Night,

Her travel'd limbs in broken slumbers steep! With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite

Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep: Then he, perhaps, with moist and watery hand,

Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek, And with his blue-swoln tace before her stand,

And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak : “ Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils, pursue,

“ At dawn or dusk, industrious as before; “ Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew,

“ While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, F Drown'd by the Kelpie's* wrath, nor e'er shall aid

thee more !)

* The water fiend.

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Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill
Thy muse may, like those feathery tribes which

spring
From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing
Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle,

To that hoar pile* which still its ruins shows :
In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found,

Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows,
And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd

ground!
Or thither,t where beneath the show'ry west,

The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid;
Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest,

No slaves revere them, and no wars invade:
Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour,

The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold,
And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power,

In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold,
And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold.

But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race,

On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides,

Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides.
Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace!

Then to my ear transmit some gentle song,
Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain,

Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along,
And all their prospect but the wintry main.

* One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pigmies ; where it is reported, that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in the ruins ofą. chapel there.

+ Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the ancient Scottish, ļrish, and Norwegian kings are interred.

Ita qui

W) And

With sparing temperance, at the needful time, They drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest,

Along th’ Atlantic rock, undreading climb, And of its eggs despoil the solan's* nest.

Thus, blest in primal innocence they live, Suffic'd, and happy with that frugal fare

Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare;

Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!

Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage

H
Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest;

For not alone they touch the village breast,
But fill'd, in elder time, th' historic page.
There, Shakspeare's self, with every garland
crown'd,

AY Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen,

I In musing hour; his wayward sisters found, And with their terrors drest the magic scene.

From them he syng, when, 'mid his bold design, Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast !

The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass'd.

Proceed ! nor quit the tales which, simply toil, Could once so well my answering bosom pierce;

Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colour bold, The native legends of thy land rehearse; To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy pow'rful verse,

In scenes like these, which, darting to depart

From sober truth, are still to Nature true,

And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, Th'heroic muse employ'd her Tasso's art!

* An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chietly subsist.