The Union: Or, Select Scots And English Poems Part 18

Aft Britains blude has dimd its shyne This poynt cut short their vaunt; Syne piercd the boisteris bairded cheik, Nae tyme he tuke to taunt.

x.x.xV.

Schort quhyle he in his sadill sw.a.n.g, His stirrip was nae stay, Sae feible hang his unbent knee, Sure taken he was fey: Swith on the hardened clay he fell, Richt far was heard the thud, But THOMAS luikt not as he lay, All waltering in his blude.

x.x.xVI.

With cairles gesture mynd ummuvit On raid he north the plain, His seim in thrang of fiercest stryfe, Quhen winner ay the same; Nor zit his heart dames dimpelit cheik, Coud meise saft luve to bruik, Till vengeful ANN returnd his scorn, Then languid grew his luke.

x.x.xVII.

In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik All panting on the plain, The fainting corps of warriors lay, Neir to aryse again; Neir to return to native land, Nae mair with blythsome sounds, To boist the glories of the day, And schaw their shyning wounds.

x.x.xXVIII.

On Norways coast the widowit dame May wash the rock with teirs, May lang luke owre the schiples seis Befoir hir mate appeirs.

Ceise, EMMA, ceise to hope in vain, Thy lord lyis in the clay, The valziant Scots nae revers thole To carry lyfe away.

x.x.xIX.

There on a lie quhair stands a cross Set up for monument, Thousands full fierce that summers day Filld kene waris black intent.

Let Scots quhyle Scots, praise HARDYKNUTE Let NORSE the name ay dreid, Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird, Sal latest ages reid.

XL.

Loud and chill blew the westlin wind, Sair beat the heavy showir, Mirk grew the nicht, eir HARDYKNUTE Wan neir his stately towir; His towir that usd with torches bleise To shyne sae far at nicht, Seimd now as black as mourning weid, Nae marvel sair he sichd.

XLI.

Thairs nae licht in my lady's bowir, Thairs nae licht in my hall; Nae blink shynes round my FAIRLY fair, Nor ward stands on my wall.

Quhat bodes it? ROBERT, THOMAS say, Nae answer fits their dreid.

Stand back, my sons, I'll be zour gyde, But by they past with speid.

XLII.

As fast I haif sped owre Scotlands faes, There ceist his brag of weir, Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame, And maiden FAIRLY fair.

Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir He wist not zit with dreid; Sair schuke his body, sair his limbs, And all the warrior fleid.

ODE

ON LYRIC POETRY.

BY DR. AKENSIDE.

Once more I join the Thespian quire, And taste th' inspiring fount again: O parent of the Graecian lyre, Admit me to thy secret strain.---- And lo! with ease my step invades The pathless vale and opening shades, Till now I spy her verdant seat; And now at large I drink the sound, While these her offspring, list'ning round, By turns her melody repeat.

I see ANACREON smile and sing: His silver tresses breathe perfume; His cheek displays a second spring Of roses taught by wine to bloom.

Away, deceitful cares, away!

And let me listen to his lay!

While flow'ry dreams my soul employ; While turtle-wing'd the laughing hours Lead hand in hand the festal pow'rs, Lead Youth and Love, and harmless Joy.

Broke from the fetters of his native land, Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords, With louder impulse, and a threat'ning hand, The [22]Lesbian patriot smites the sounding chords: Ye wretches, ye perfidious train, Ye curst of G.o.ds and free-born men, Ye murd'rers of the laws, Tho' now you glory in your l.u.s.t, Tho' now you tread the feeble neck in dust, Yet time and righteous JOVE will judge your dreadful cause.

But lo, to SAPPHO'S mournful airs Descends the radiant queen of love; She smiles, and asks what fonder cares Her suppliant's plaintive measures move: Why is my faithful maid distrest?

Who, SAPPHO, wounds thy tender breast?

Say, flies he?----Soon he shall pursue: Shuns he thy gifts?----He too shall give: Slights he thy sorrows?----He shall grieve, And bend him to thy haughtiest vow.

But, O MELPOMENE, for whom Awakes thy golden sh.e.l.l again?

What mortal breath shall e'er presume To echo that unbounded strain?

Majestic, in the frown of years, Behold, the [23]Man of Thebes appears: For some there are, whose mighty frame The hand of JOVE at birth endow'd With hopes that mock the gazing crowd; As eagles drink the noontide flame.

While the dim raven beats his weary wings, And clamours far below.----Propitious Muse, While I so late unlock thy hallow'd springs, And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse, To polish Albion's warlike ear This long-lost melody to hear, Thy sweetest arts imploy; As when the winds from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Thro' Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore, Till towns, and isles, and seas return'd the vocal joy.

But oft amid the Graecian throng, The loose-rob'd forms of wild desire With lawless notes intun'd thy song, To shameful steps dissolv'd thy quire.

O fair, O chaste, be still with me From such profaner discord free: While I frequent thy tuneful shade, No frantic shouts of Thracian dames, No satyrs fierce with savage flames Thy pleasing accents shall invade.

Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat The fairest flow'rs of Pindus glow; The vine aspires to crown thy seat, And myrtles round thy laurel grow.

Thy strings attune their varied strain, To ev'ry pleasure, every pain, Which mortal tribes were born to prove, And strait our pa.s.sions rise or fall, As at the wind's imperious call The ocean swells, the billows move.

When midnight listens o'er the slumb'ring earth, Let me, O Muse, thy solemn whispers hear: When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth, With airy murmurs touch my op'ning ear.

And ever watchful at thy side, Let wisdom's awful suffrage guide The tenour of thy lay: To her of old by JOVE was giv'n To judge the various deeds of earth and heav'n; 'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway.

Oft as from stricter hours resign'd I quit the maze where science toils, Do thou refresh my yielding mind With all thy gay, delusive spoils.

But, O indulgent, come not nigh The busy steps, the jealous eye Of gainful care, and wealthy age, Whose barren souls thy joys disdain, And hold as foes to reason's reign Whome'er thy lovely haunts engage.

With me, when mirth's consenting band Around fair friendship's genial board Invite the heart-awakening hand, With me salute the Teian chord.

Or if invok'd at softer hours, O seek with me the happy bow'rs That hear DIONE'S gentle tongue; To beauty link'd with virtue's train, To love devoid of jealous pain, There let the Sapphic lute be strung.

But when from envy and from death to claim A hero bleeding for his native land; Or when to nourish freedom's vestal flame, I hear my genius utter his command, Nor Theban voice, nor Lesbian lyre From thee, O Muse, do I require, While my prophetic mind, Conscious of pow'rs she never knew, Astonish'd grasps at things beyond her view, Nor by another's fate hath felt her own confin'd.

FOOTNOTES:

[22] ALCaeUS of Mitylene, the capital of Lesbos, who fled from his native city to escape the oppression of those who had inslav'd it, and wrote against them in his exile those n.o.ble invectives which are so much applauded by the ancient critics.

[23] PINDAR.

FINISH.