122 ODE ON THE SUPERSTITIONS, &c.

XII.

In scenes like these, which, daring 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!

How have I trembled, when at Tancred's stroke, Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd!

When each live plant with mortal accents spoke, And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd sword!

How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind,

To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung!

Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind,

Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung!

Hence, at each sound, imagination glows!

Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here!

Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows! Melting it flows, pure, murm'ring, strong and clear,

And fills th' impassion'd heart, and wins th' harmo

nious ear!

XIII.

All hail! ye scenes, that o'er my soul prevail !
Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away,
Are by smooth Annan* fill'd, or past'ral Tay †,
Or Don's romantic springs, at distance, hail!
The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread
Your lowly glens, o'erhung with spreading broom;
Or o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led;

Or o'er your mountains creep in awful gloom!

* + + Three rivers in Scotland.

124 ODE ON THE SUPERSTITIONS, &c.

Then will I dress once more the faded bower,
Where Jonson* sat in Drummond's classic shade;
Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower,

And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's laid!
Mean time, ye pow'rs that on the plains which bore
The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains, attend!-
Where'er Home dwells, on hill, or lowly moor,
To him I lose, your kind protection lend,.

And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my

absent friend!

* Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to the Scotch poet Drummond, at his seat of Hawthornden, within four miles of Edinburgh.

HECA

LED

THE END..