Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret;

She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine Of this quickly reformed coquette.

Yet still, I must own, I should never have known From your verses what else she deserved; Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate, As your fair was so devilish reserved.

Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical miss

Can such wonderful transports produce; Since the world you forget, when your lips once My counsel will get but abuse. [have met,' You say, when I rove, I know nothing of love; "Tis true, I am given to range:

If I rightly remember, I've loved a good number,
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

I will not advance, by the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair;

Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't
Or drive me to dreadful despair.

[affright,

While my blood is thus warm I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonists' school;
Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure,
Thy mistress would think me a fool.

And if I should shun every woman for one,
Whose image must fill my whole breast-
Whom I must prefer, and sigh but for her-
What an insult 'twould be to the rest!

Now, Strephon, good-bye, I cannot deny
Your passion appears most absurd;
Such love as you plead is pure love indeed,
For it only consists in the word.

TO ELIZA.

ELIZA, what fcols are the Mussulman sect, Who to women deny the soul's future existence ! [defect,

Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.

sense,

Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of [driven; He ne'er would have women from paradise Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, With women alone he had peopled his heaven. Yet still, to increase your calamities more, Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, [four!He allots one poor husband to share amongst With souls you'd dispense; but this last who could bear it?

His religion to please neither party is made, On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil:

|

'Though women are angels vet wedlock's the devil.'

LACHIN Y GAIR.*

AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! In you let the minions of luxury rove: Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, [love: Though still they are sacred to freedom and Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains, Round their white summits though elements war; [fountains, Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd;

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid +

On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,

I

As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade;

sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. 'Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices

Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?' Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, [vale. And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,

Winter presides in his cold icy car: Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers; They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

Iil-starr'd, though brave, did no visions foreboding+

Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?' Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,§ Victory crown'd not your fall with applause:

Lachin y Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch

Gary, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern High

lands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain. Be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our Caledonian Alps. Its appearance is of a dusky lae, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows. Near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth to these stanzas.

+ This word is erroneously pronounced plad: the proper pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is shown by the orthography.

I allude here to my maternal ancestors, the Gordons,' many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stuarts. George, the second Earl of Huntly, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James the First of Scotland, By her he left four sons: the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors.

certain; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, ‘pars pro teto.

§ Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am not

Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber, You rest with your clan in the caves of Brae

mar;

The pibroch resounds to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.

Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,

Years must elapse ere I tread you again: Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. England! thy beauties are tame and domestic To one who has roved o'er the mountains afar; Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic! The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr !

TO ROMANCE.

PARENT of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,

Thy votive train of girls and boys;
At length, in spells no longer bound,
I break the fetters of my youth;
No more I tread thy mystic round,

But leave thy realms for those of Truth.
And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams

Which haunt the unsuspicious soul,
Where every nymph a goddess seems,
Whose eyes through rays immortal roll;
While Fancy holds her boundless reign,
And all assume a varied hue;
When virgins seem no longer vain,

And even woman's smiles are true.
And must we own thee but a name,
And from thy hall of clouds descend?
Nor find a sylph in every dame,

A Pylades in every friend? +
But leave at once thy realms of air

To mingling bands of fairy elves;
Confess that woman's false as fair,

And friends have feeling for-themselves! With shame I own I've felt thy sway;

Repentant, now thy reign is o'er,
No more thy precepts I obey,

No more on fancied pinions soar.
Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye,
And think that eye to truth was dear;
To trust a passing wanton's sigh,

And melt beneath a wanton's tear!
Romance! disgusted with deceit,
Far from thy motley court I fly,
Where Affectation holds her seat,
And sickly Sensibility;

A tract of the Highlands so called. There is also a Castle

of Braemar.

It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the com

panien of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Eurya.

Whose silly tears can never flow

For any pangs excepting thine; Who turns aside from real woe,

To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. Now join with sable Sympathy,

With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Whose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female choir,

To mourn a swain for ever gone,
Who once could glow with equal fire,

But bends not now before thy throne.
Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears
On all occasions swiftly flow;
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears,
With fancied flames and frenzy glow;
Say, will you mourn my absent name,
Apostate from your gentle train?
An infant bard at least may claim
From you a sympathetic strain.
Adieu, fond race! a long adieu !

The hour of fate is hovering nigh;
E'en now the gulf appears in view,

Where unlamented you must lie : Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether.

ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES,
SENT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COM-
PLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS
WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY DRAWN.

But if any old lady, knight, priest, or physician,
Should condemn me for printing a second edition;
If good Madame Squintum my work should abuse,
May 1 venture to give her a snack of my muse!'
New Bath Guide.

CANDOUR compels me, Becher! to commend The verse which blends the censor with the friend.

Your strong yet just reproof extorts applause
From me, the heedless and imprudent cause.
For this wild error, which pervades my strain,
I sue for pardon-must I sue in vain?
The wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways depart:
Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart?
Precepts of prudence curb, but can't control,
The fierce emotions of the flowing soul.
When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind,
Limping Decorum lingers far behind :
Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace,
Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase.
The young, the old, have worn the chains of
love;

Let those they ne'er confined my lay reprove:
Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing

power

of an historian, or modern novelist.

Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow,
To paint a pang the author ne'er can know !
The artless Helicon I boast is youth;-
My lyre, the heart; my muse, the simple truth.
Far be't from me the 'virgin's mind' to 'taint:'
Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint.
The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile,
Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile,
Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer,
Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe-
She whom a conscious grace shall thus refine,
Will ne'er be tainted' by a strain of mine.
But for the nymph whose premature desires
Torment her bosom with unholy fires,

No net to snare her willing heart is spread;
She would have falien, though she ne'er had

read.

For me, I fain would please the chosen few,
Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true,
Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy
The light effusions of a heedless boy.

I seek not glory from the senseless crowd;
Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud;
Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize,
Their sneers or censures I alike despise.

ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me with all their deeds.-OSSIAN.

fast-falling,

once-resplendent

NEWSTEAD! dome ! Religion's shrine ! repentant Henry's pride!* Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloister'd tomb,

Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide, Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall Than modern mansions in their pillar'd state; Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. No mail-clad serfs,+ obedient to their lord, In grim array the crimson cross demand; + Or gay assemble round the festive board

Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:
Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye [time,
Retrace their progress through the lapse of
Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die,
A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime.

But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
His feudal realm in other regions lay:
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
Retiring from the garish blaze of day.
Yes! in thy gloomy ceils and shades profound
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could
view;

Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found,
Or innocence from stern oppression flew.

Henry II. founded Newstead soon after the murder of Thonis à Becket.

→ This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, The Wild Huntsman, synonymous with vassal.

The red cross was the badge of the crusaders.

A monarch bade thee from that wild arise, Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to prowl;

And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes,
Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl.
Where now the grass exhales a murky dew,
The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay,
In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,

Nor raised their pious voices but to pray.

Where now the bats their wavering wings extend, [shade, Soon as the gloaming* spreads her waning The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend, Or matin orisons to Mary paid.†

Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield;

Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed;
Religion's charter their protecting shield,
Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.
One holy Henry rear'd the Gothic walls,
And bade the pious inmates rest in peace;
Another Henry the kind gift recalls,

And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease.
Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer;
He drives them exiles from their blest abode,
To roam a dreary world in deep despair-

No friend, no home, no refuge but their God. Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain, Shakes with the martial music's novel din! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,

High crested banners wave thy halls within. Of changing sentinels the distant hum, [arms, The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum, Unite in concert with increased alarms. An abbey once, a regal fortress now,

Encircled by insulting rebel powers, [brow, War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening And dart destruction in sulphureous showers. Ah! vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the brave;

His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave. Not unavenged the raging baron yields;

The blood of traitors smears the purple plain; Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields, And days of glory yet for him remain. Still in that hour the warrior wish'd to strew Self-gathered laurels on a self-sought grave; But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to

save.

As 'gloaming,' the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly by Dr Moore in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony.

The priory was dedicated to the Virgin,

At the dissolution of the monasteries, Henry VIII. bestowed Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron.

With Resignation wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life!
Yet less the pang when, through the tedious
hour,

Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,
When love was bliss, and beauty form'd our
heaven;

Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene,
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when through clouds that pour the summer
The orb of day unveils his distant form,. [storm
Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain,
And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain;
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless
gleams,

The sun of memory, glowing through my dreams,
Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze,
To scenes far distant points his paler rays;
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,
The past confounding with the present day.
Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,
Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought;
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields.
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view,
To which I long have bade a last adieu !
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams :
Some who in marble prematurely sleep,
Whose forms I now remember but to weep;
Some who yet urge the same scholastic course
Of early science, future fame the source;
Who, still contending in the studious race,
In quick rotation fill the senior place.
These with a thousand visions now unite,
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight.
Ida! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train!
Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire,
Again I mingle with thy playful quire;
Our tricks of mischief, every childish
game,
Unchanged by time or distance, seems the same;
Through winding paths along the glade, I trace
The social smile of every welcome face;
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy and woe,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe.
Our feuds dissolved, but not my friendship

To love a stranger, friendship made me blest,-
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth,
When every artless bosom throbs with truth;
Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign,
And check each impulse with prudential rein;
When all we feel, our honest souls disclose-
In love to friends, in open hate to foes;
No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat,

When now the boy is ripen'd into man,
His careful sire chalks forth some wary plan;
Instructs his son from candour's path to shrink,
Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think;
Still to assent, and never to deny-
A patron's praise can well reward the lie:
And who, when Fortune's warning voice is heard,
Would lose his opening prospects for a word?
Although against that word his heart rebel,
And truth indignant all his bosom swell.

Away with themes like this! not mine the task
From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask;
Let keener bards delight in satire's sting;
My fancy soars not on Detraction's wing:
Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blow,
To hurl defiance on a secret foe;

But when that foe, from feeling or from shame,
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same,
Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance,
retired,

With this submission all her rage expired.
From dreaded pangs that feeble foe to save,
She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave;
Or, if my muse a pedant's portrait drew,
Pomposus' virtues are but known to few:
I never fear'd the young usurper's nod,
And he who wields must sometimes feel the rod.
If since on Granta's failings, known to all
Who share the converse of a college hall,
She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain,
"Tis past, and thus she will not sin again;
Soon must her early song for ever cease,
And all may rail when I shall rest in peace.

Here first remember'd be the joyous band,
Who hail'd me chief, obedient to command;
Who join'd with me in every boyish sport-
Their first adviser, and their last resort;
Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's frown,
Or all the sable glories of his gown;
Who, thus transplanted from his father's
Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule-- [school-
Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise,
The dear preceptor of my early days:
Probus, the pride of science, and the boast,
To Ida now, alas! for ever lost.
[page,
With him, for years, we search'd the classic
And fear'd the master, though we loved the sage;
Retired at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learning's labour is the blest retreat.
Pomposus fills his magisterial chair;
Pomposus governs-but, my muse, forbear:
Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot;
His name and precepts be alike forgot:

Dr Drury. This most able and excellent man retired from his situation in March, 1805, after having resided thirty-five years at Harrow; the last twenty as head-master; an office he held with equal honour to himself and advantage to the very extensive school over which he presided. Panegyric would here be superfluous; it would be useless to enumerate qualifi cations which were never doubted. A considerable contest

Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years,

Matured by age, the garb of prudence wears.

of this I can only say,

Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelasgi? Non foret ambiguus tanti certaminis hæres.