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from eddying tempests; he rolls his form She listens to the steps of the hunter on in the whirlwind ; and hovers on the blast the heath, and thinks it is the tread of of the mountain.

Calmar. Let him not say, “Calmar is fallen In Morven dwelt the chief; a beam of by the steel of Lochlin; he died with war to Fingal. His steps in the field were gloomy Orla, the chief of the dark brow." marked in blood; Lochlin's sons had fled Why should tears dim the azare eye of Mon! before his angry spear: but mild was the Why should her voice curse Orla, the deeye of Calmar; soft was the flow of his stroyer of Calmar? Live, Calmar! live to yellow locks -- they stream'd like the me- revenge me in the blood of Lochlin! Jeis ieor of the night. "No maid was the sigh the song of bards above my grave. Swet of his soul; his thoughts were given to will be the song of death to Orla, free friendship, to dark-haired Orla, destroyer the voice of Calmar. My ghost shall saile of heroes! Equal were their swords in on the notes of praise.”_Orla!” said the battle; but fierce was the pride of Orla, son of Mora, “could I raise the song of gentle alone to Calmar. Together they death to my friend ? Could I give his lax. dwelt in the cave of Oithona.

to the winds ? No; my heart would speak From Lochlin Swaran bounded o'er the in sighs; faint and broken are the sousda blue waves.

Erin's sons fell beneath his of sorrow. Orla! our souls shall hear the might. Fingal roused his chiefs to combat. song together. One cloud shall be ean Their ships cover the ocean! Their hosts on high; the bards will mingle the nape throng on the green hills. They come to of Orla and Calinar.” the aid of Erin.

They quit the circle of the chiefs. Their Night rose in clouds. Darkness veils the steps are to the host of Lochlin. The drink armies; but the blazing oaks gleam through blaze of oak dim twinkles throngh the the valley. The sons of Lochlin slept: night. The northern star points the path their dreams were of blood. They lift the to Tura. Swaran, the King, rests og his! spear in thought, and Fingal flies. Not so lonely hill. Here the troops are mixed : the host of Morven. To watch was the they frown in sleep. Their shields beneath post of Orla. Calmar stood by his side. their heads. Their swords gleam, at dis : Their spears were in their hands. Fingal tance, in heaps. The fires are faint; the called his chiefs. They stood around. embers fail in smoke. All is hushed; bet The king was in the midst. Gray were the gale sighs on the rocks above. Lighuh

! his Jocks, but strong was the arm of the wheel the heroes through the slumberin king. Age withered not his powers. “Sons band. Half the journey is past, when of Morven,” said the hero, "to-morrow we Mathon, resting on his shield, meets tbt meet the foe; but where is Cuthullin, the eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glistes shield of Erin? He rests in the halls of through the shade: his spear is raised a Tura; he knows not of our coming. Who high. "Why dost thou bend thy bre, will speed through Lochlin to the hero, Chief of Oithona ?” said fair-haired Calma and call the chief to arms? The path is by We are in the midst of foes. Is this i the swords of foes, but many are my heroes. time for delay?” — “ It is a time for ve They are thunderbolts of war. Speak, ye geance,” said Orla, of the gloomy bros chiefs! who will arise ?"

Mathon of Lochlin sleeps : seest thon bis ! “Son of Trenmor! mine be the deed,” spear? Its point is din with the gore of my said dark-haired Orla, “and mine alone. father. The blood of Mathon shall reel con What is death to me? I love the sleep of mine ; but shall I slay him sleeping, at the mighty, but little is the danger. The of Mora? No! he shall feel his wound; sons of Lochlin dream. I will seek car- my fame shall not sorr on the blood el! borne Cuthullin. If I fall, raise the song slumber. Rise, Mathon! rise! the son oli of bards, and lay me by the stream of Lu-Connal calls; thy life is his: rise to rent bar.”—“And shalt thou fall alone?” said bat.” Mathon starts from sleep, but did be fair-haired Calmar. “Wilt thou leave thy rise alone ? No: the gathering chiels bouse ! friend afar? Chief of Oithona! not feeble on the plain. «Fly, Calmar fly!" said dortis my arm in fight. Could I see thee die, haired Orla; “Mathon is mine; I shall die and not lift the spear ? No, Orla! ours has in joy; but Lochlin crowds around; dy been the chase of the roebuck, and the feast through the shade of night." Orla tutti of shells; ours be the path of danger: ours the helm of Mathon is cleft; his shield has been the cave of Oithona ; ours be the falls from his arm: he shudders in bli narrow dwelling on the banks of Lubar.”_ blood. He rolls by the side of the blazine “Calmar!" said the chief of Oithona, “why oak. Strumon sees him fall His wat should thy yellow locks be darkened in rises; his weapon glitters on the head.com the dust of Erin? Let me fall alone. My Orla; but a spear pierced father dwells in his hall of air: he wiỉ brain gushes through the wound, and lami rejoice in his boy: but the blue-eyed Mora on the spear of Calmar. As soll the waren spreads the least for her son in Morven. I of Ocean on two mighty barks of the north

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Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.

HORACE.

. chiefs of Morven on the scattered crests of Lochlin. The din of arms came to the ear DEAR L-, this sequester'd scene, of Fingal. He strikes his shield: his sons While all around in slumber lie, throng around; the people pour along the The joyous days which ours have been heath. Ryno bounds in joy. Ossian stalks Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye: in his arins. Oscar shakes the spear. The Thus, if amidst the gathering storm, eagle-wing of Fillan floats on the wind. While clouds the darken’d noon deform, Dreadful is the clang of death! many are Yon heaven assumes a varied glow, the widows of Lochlin. Morven prevails I hail the sky's celestial bow, in its strength.

Which spreads the sign of future peace, Morn glimmers on the hills : no living and bids the war of tempests cease. fue is seen ; but the sleepers are many: Ah! though the present brings but pain, grim they lie on Erin. The breeze of ocean I think those days may come again; lifts their locks: yet they do not awake. Or if, in melancholy mood, The hawks scream above their prey. Some lurking envious fear intrude,

Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast To check my bosom's fondest thought, of a chief? Bright as the gold of the stranger, And interrupt the golden dream; they mingle with the dark hair of his I crush the fiend with malice fraught, friend. 'Tis Calmar- he lies on the bosom And still indulge my wonted theme; of Orla. Theirs is one stream of blood. Although we ne'er again can trace, Fierce is the look of the gloomy Orla. He In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore, breathes not ; but his eye is still a flame: Nor through the groves of Ida chase it glares in death unclosed. His hand is Our raptured visions as before; grasped in Calmar's; but Calmar lives : he Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion, lives, thongh low. “Rise,” said the king, And Manhood clainis his stern dominion, “rise, Son of Mora ; 'tis mine to heal the Age will not every hope destroy, Wounds of heroes. Calmar may yet bound But yield some hours of sober joy. on the hills of Morven."

“Never more shall Calmar chase the deer of Morven with Orla ;” said the hero, Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing **what were the chase to me, alone? Who Will shed around some dews of spring ; would share the spoils of battle with Cal. But, if his scythe must sweep the flowers toar? Orla is at rest! Rough was thy soul, which bloom among the fairy bowers, Orla! yet soft to me as the dew of morn. Where smiling Youth delights to dwell, It glared on others in lightning; to me a And hearts with early rapture swell; silver beam of night. Bear my sword to If frowning Age, with cold controul, blue-eyed Mora ; let it hang in my empty Confines the current of the soul, hall. It is not pure from blood: but it Congeals the tear of Pity's eye, could not save Orla. Lay me with my Or checks the sympathetic sighi, friend: raise the song when I am dark." Or hears unmoved Misfortune's groan,

They are laid by the stream of Lubar. And bids me feel for self alone; Foor gray stones mark the dwelling of Orla Oh! may my bosom never learn and Calmar.

To soothe its wonted heedless flow, When Swaran was bound, our sails rose Still, still, despise the censor stern, on the blue waves. The winds gave our But ne'er forget another's woe. barks to Morven. The bards raised the song. Yes, as you knew me in the days

"What form rises on the rear of clouds? O'er which Remembrance yet delays, whose dark ghost gleams on the red streams Still may I rove untutor’d, wild, of tempests ? his voice rolls on the thunder. And even in age at heart a child. 'Tis Orla; the brown chief of Oithona. He was unmatched in war. Peace to thy soul, Orla! thy fame will not perish. Northine, Though now on airy visions borne, Calmar! Lovely wast thou, son of blue- To you my soul is still the same, yed Mora ; but not harmless was thy sword. Oft has it been my fate to mourn, li hangs in thy cave. The ghosts of Loch- And all my former joys are tame. lin sbriek around its steel. Hear thy praise, But, hence! ye hours of sable hue, Calmar!it dwells on the voice of the mighty. Your frowns are gone, my sorrow 's o'er; Thy name shakes on the echoes of Morven. By every bliss my childhood knew, Then raise thy fair locks, son of Mora. I'll think upon your shade no more. Spread them on the arch of the rainbow. Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past, and smile through the tears of the storm." And caves their sullen roar enclose,

We heed no more the wintry blast,

When lull'd by zephyr to repose. For once my soul, like thine, was pure, Full often has my infant Muse,

And all its rising fires could smother; Attuned to love her languid lyre : But now thy vows no more endure, But now, without a theme to choose, Bestow'd by thee upon another.

The strains in stolen sighs expire; My youthful nymphs, alas! are flown;

Perhaps his peace I could destroy, E- is a wife, and C- a mother,

And spoil the blisses that await hlm; And Carolina sighs alone,

Yet, let my rival smile in joy, And Mary's given to another;

For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. And Cora's eye, which rolled on me,

Can now no more my love recal,
In truth, dear L-, 'twas time to flee,

Ah! since thy angel-form is gone,
For Cora's eye will shine on all.

My heart no more can rest with any; And though the Sun, with genial rays,

But what it sought in thee alone, His beams alike to all displays,

Attempts, alas! to find in many. And every lady's eye's a sun, These last should be confined to one. Then fare thee well, deceitful maid, The soul's meridian don't become her, Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; Whose sun displays a general summer. Nor hope nor memory yield their aid, Thus faint is every former flame,

But Pride may teach me to forget thee And Passion's self is now a name : As when the ebbing flames are low,

Yet all this giddy waste of years, The aid which once improved their light,

This tiresome round of palling pleasures, And bade them burn with fiercer glow,

These varied loves, these matron's fear, Now quenches all their sparks in night;

These thoughtless strains to Passieni Thus has it been with Passion's fires,

measures,
As many a boy and girl remembers,
While all the force of love expires,
Extinguish'd with the dying embers.

If thou wert mine, had all been hushd;

This cheek now pale from early riot,

With Passion's hectic ne'er had flash d, But now dear 1-, 'tis midnight's noon,

Bat bloom'd in calm domestic quiet And clouds obscure the watery moon, Whose be ies I shall not rehearse, Described in every stripling's verse;

Yes, once the rural scene was sweet,

For nature seem'd to smile before thee; For why should I the path go o'er, Which every bard has trod before? And once my breast abhorr'd deceit, Yet, ere yon silver lamp of night

For then it beat but to adore thee. Has thrice performd her stated round, Has thrice retraced her path of light, But now I seek for other joys,

And chased away the gloom profound, To think would drive my soul to madnes; I trust that we, my gentle friend,

In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, Shall see her rolling orbit wend,

I conquer half my bosom's sadness. Above the dear loved peaceful seat Which once contain'd our youth's retreat ; Yet, even in these, a thought will steal, And then, with those our childhood knew,

In spite of every vain endeavour; We'll mingle with the festive crew; And fiends might pity what I feel, While many a tale of former day

To know that thou art lost for ever. Shall wing the laughing hours away; And all the flow of soul shall pour The sacred intellectual shower, Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morn.

STANZAS.

I would I were a careless child,
TO

Still dwelling in my Highland care, OH! had my fate been join'd with thine, Or roaming through the dusky wild, As once this pledge appear'd a token,

Or bounding o'er the dark blue ware. These follies had not then been mine,

The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride For then my peace had not been broken.

Accords not with the freeborn soul.

Which loves the mountain's craggy side, To thee these early faults I owe,

And seeks the rocks where billows roll To thee, the wise and old reproving ; They know my sins, but do not know Fortune! take back these cultured landa,

Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. Take back this name of splendid sound'

WBITTEN BENEATA AN ELM IN TIB CHUBCI

YARD OF HARROW ON TIB UILL.

SEPT.

I hate the touch of servile hands

LINES
I hate the slaves that cringe around:
Place me along the rocks I love,

Which sound to ocean's wildest roar,
I ask but this—again to rove

2, 1807. Through scenes my youth hath known

before.
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches

sigh,

Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless Few are my years, and yet I feel The world was ne'er design'd for me ;

sky;

Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal The hour when man must cease to be?

With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; Once I beheld a splendid dream,

With those who, scatter'd far, perchance

deplore, A visionary scene of bliss ;

Like me, Truth! wherefore did thy hated beam

the happy scenes they knew before: Awake me to a world like this?

Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,
Mine eyes admire,my heart adores thee still,

Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I loved—but those I loved are gone;

I lay, Had friends — my early friends are And frequent mused the twilight-hours fled;

away ; How cheerless feels the heart alone, Where, as they once were wont, my limbs When all its former hopes are dead!

recline, Though gay companions, o'er the bowl, But ah! without the thoughts which then Dispel awhile the sense of ill,

were mine : Though Pleasure stirs the maddening How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,

soul,

Invite the bosom to recal the past ; The heart—the heart is lonely still. And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,

“Take, while thou canst, a lingering last

farewell!" How dull to hear the voice of those

When Fate shall chill at length this fever'd Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or

breast, power,

And calm its cares and passions into rest, Have made, though neither Friends or Foes, Oft have I thought 'twould soothe my dying Associates of the festive hour;

hour, Give me again a faithful few,

If aught may soothe when life resigns her In years and feelings still the same,

power, And I will fly the midnight crew,

To know some humbler grave, some narrow Where boist'rous joy is but a name.

cell,

Would hide my bosom where it loved to And Woman! lovely Woman, thon,

dwell; My hope, my comforter, my all !

With this fond dream, methinks 'twere How cold must be my bosom now,

sweet to die, When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!

And here it linger’d, here my heart might lie; Without a sigh would I resign

Here might I sleep, where all my hopes arose, This busy scene of splendid woe,

Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose : To make that calm contentment mine

For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling Which Virtue knows, or

to

shade, know.

Prest by the turf where once my childhood

Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Fain would I fly the haunts of men- Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footI seek to shun, not hate mankind;

steps moved ; My breast requires the sullen glen, Blest by the tongues that charm'd my Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind.

youthful ear, Oh! that to me the wings were given Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged Which bear the turtle to her nest !

here, Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, Deplored by those in early days allied, To flee away and be at rest.

And unremember'd by the world beside.

seems

play'd

A F R A G M E N T.

June, 17, 1816.. contradictory and contradicted, that noge In the year 17—, having for some time could be fixed upon with accuracy. Where determined on a journey through countries there is mystery, it is generally supposed not hitherto much frequented by travellers, that there must also be evil: 1 know.net I set out, accompanied by a friend, whom how this may be, but in him there certainly I shall designate by the name of Augustus was the one, though I could not ascertais Darvell. He was a few years my elder, the extent of the other – and felt loth, a and a man of considerable fortune and an- far as regarded himself, to believe in its cient family-advantages which an exten- existence. My advances were received with sive capacity prevented him alike from un- sufficient coldness ; but I was young, and dervaluing or overrating. Some peculiar not easily discouraged, and at length suecircumstances in his private history had ceeded in obtaining, to a certain degree

, rendered him to me an object of attention, that common-place interconrse and moderate of interest, and even of regard, which confidence of common and every-day ces neither the reserve of his manners, nor cerns, created and cemented by similarity occasional indications of an inquietude at of pursuit and frequency of meeting, which times nearly approaching to alienation of is called intimacy, or friendship, according mind, could extinguish.

to the ideas of him who uses those words I was yet young in life, which I had to express them. begun early; but my intimacy with him Darvell had already travelled extensively

. was of a recent date: we bad been educa- and to him I had applied for informatien ted at the same schools and university; but with regard to the conduct of my intended his progress through these had preceded journey. It was my secret wish that he mine, and he had been deeply initiated into might be prevailed on to accompany me: what is called the world, while I was yet it was also a probable hope, founded upra in my noviciate. While thus engaged, 1 the shadowy restlessness which I had of had heard much both of his past and present served in him, and to which the animation life; and, although in these accounts there which he appeared to feel on such subjecta were many and irreconcilable contradic- and his apparent indifference to all by which tions, I could still gather from the whole he was more immediately surrounded. care that he was a being of no common order, fresh strength. This wish I first hinted

. and one who, whatever pains he might take and then expressed : his answer, though! to avoid remark, would still be remarkable. had partly expected it, gave me all the I had cultivated his acquaintance subse- pleasure of surprise – he consented; and, qnently, and endeavoured to obtain his after the requisite arrangements, we can friendship, but this last appeared to be un- menced attainable; whatever affections he might through various countries of the south

our voyages. After journering have possessed seemed now, some to have Europe, our attention was turned towards been extinguished, and others to be concen- the East, according to our original destina tred: that his feelings were acute I had suffi- tion; and it was in my progress throned cient opportunities of observing; for, al- those regions that the incident occurred though he could control, he could not alto- upon which will turn what I may have to gether disguise them : still he had a power relate. of giving to one passion the appearance of

The constitution of Darvell, which most another in such a manner that it was diffi- from his appearance, have been in early cult to define the nature of what was work-life more than usually robust, had been for ing within him; and the expressions of his some time gradually giving way, without features would vary so rapidly, though the intervention of any apparent disease slightly, that it was useless to trace them he had neither cough to their sources. It was evident that he became daily more enfeebled: his babica was a prey to some cureless disquiet; but were temperate, and he neither declined whether it arose froni ambition , love, re- nor complained of fatigue, yet he was evi murse, grief, from one or all of these, or dently wasting away: he became more and merely from a morbid temperament akin to more silent and sleepless, and at length o disease, I could not discover: there were cir- altered, that my alarm grew proportionate cumstances alleged which might have justi- to what I conceived to be his danger

. fied the application to each of these causes;

We had determined, on our arrival of but, as I have before said, these were so Smyrna, on an excursion to the ruins of

nor hectic, yet he

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