ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITION OF THE HIGHLANDS. ADDRESSED TO MR HUME BY COLLINS, REFERRED TO IN P. iii. H-, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naïads long

Have seen thee ling ring, with a fond delay,

'Mid those soit friends, whose hearts, some future day,

Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song,

Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth,

Whom, long endear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's side;,
Together let us with him lasting truth,

And joy untainted with his destin'd bride.
Go! nor, regardless, while these numbers boast
My fhort-liv'd blifs, forget my social name;
But think, far off, how, on the southern coast,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame!
Fresh to that soil thou tarn'st, whose ev'ry vale
Shall prompt the poet, and his sorg demand:-
To thee thy copious subjects ne'er fhall fail;

Thou need'st but take the pencil to thy hard,
And paint what all believe who own thy genial landi.

11.

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill,
'Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet;
Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet
Beneath each birken fhade on mead or hill.
There each trim lafs that fkims the milky store,.
To the swart tribes their creamy bowl allots;
By night they sip it round the cottage door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes,
There ev'ry herd by sad experience knows,

How, wing'd with fate, their elt-thot arrows
When the sick ewe her summer food forgoes,

Such airy beings awe th' untutor'a swain:*

Aly;

Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie..

Nor thou, tho' learn'd, his homelier thoughts.neglect ;;

Let thy sweet muse the rural faith sustain :

These are the themes of simple sure effect,
That add new conquests to her boundless reign,
And fill with double force her heart-commanding strain.

Ev'n yet preserv'd, how often may'st thou hear,,
Where to the pole the Boreal mountains run,
Taught by the father to his list'ning son,
Strange lays, whose pow'r had charm'd a Spencer's ear
At ev'ry pause, before thy mind pofsest,

Old Runic bards fhall seem to rise around,

With uncouth lyres, in many-colour'd vest,

Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'ds:

Whether thou bid'st the well-taught hind repeat

The choral dirge that mourns some chieftain brave,
When ev'ry fhrieking maid her bosom beat,

And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave;
Or whether, sitting in the thepherd's fhiel,

Thou hear'st some soundirg tale of war's alarms;
When, at the bugle's call, with fire and steel,

The sturdy clans pour'd forth their bony swarms,
And hostile brothers met to prove each other's armst

IV.

'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells,

In Sky's lone isle the gifted wizzard "sits,
"Waiting in wintry cave "his wayward fits;"
Or in the depth of Uist's dark forests dwells:
How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engrofs,
With their own visions oft astonish'd droop,
When o'er the wat'ry strath or quaggy mofs
They see the gliding ghosts embodied troop.
Or if in sports, or on the festive green,

Their "piercing" glance some fated youth desery
Who, now perhaps in lusty vigour seen

And. rosy health, fhall soon lamented die.
For them the viewlefs forms of air obey

Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair
They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
And heartlefs oft like moody madness stare,
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare

"Or on some bellying rock that shades the deep,
"They view the lurid signs that cross the fky,
"Where, in the west, the brooding tempests lie,
"And hear their first faint rustling pennons sweep.
"Or in the arched cave, where, deep and dark,
"The broad unbroken billows heave and swell
In horrid musings rapt they sit to mark
"The lab ring moon; or list the nightly yell
Of that dread spirit, whose gigantic form

"The seer's entranced eye can well survey,
"Thro' the dim air who guides the driving storm,
"And points the wretched bark its destin'd prey
"Or him who hovers, on his flagging wing,

"O'er the dire whirlpool, that, in ocean's waste,

"Draws instant down whate'er devoted thing

"The failing breeze within its reach hath plac'd.

The distant seaman hears, and flies with trembling haste..

V.I.

Or if on land the fiend exerts his sway,

"Silent he broods o'er quicksand, bog, or fen,

"Far from the fheiting roof and haunts of men,ity

When witched darkness thus the eye of day,

A

* A leaf of the manuscript containing the fifth stanza, and one half of the sixth, is here lost. The chasm is supplied by Mr Mackenzie.

"And shrouds each star that wont to chear the night ;
"Or if the drifted snow perplex the way,
"With treach'rous gleam he lures the fated wight,
"And leads him flound'ring on, and quite astray."
What though, far off, from some dark dell espied,
His glimming mazes chear th' excursive sight,
Yet turn, ye wand'rers, turn your steps aside,

Nor trust the guidance of that faithlefs 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.

VII.

Ah, lucklefs 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 "his wayward fate shall lead :"
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 bank, forbidding all returne
Or, if he meditate his wifh'd escape

To some dim hill that seems uprising near,
To his faint eye the grim and grisly shape,
In all its terrors clad fhall wild appear.
Meantime the wat'ry surge fhail round him rise,
Pour'd sudden forth from ev'ry swelling source.
What now remains but tears and hopeleís sighs?

His fear-hook limbs have lost their youthly force,
And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse..

VIFI.

For him, in vain, his anxious wife fhall wait,
Or wander forth to meet him on his way;
For him, in vain, at to-fall of the day,
His babes fhall linger at th' unclosing gate.
Ah, ne'er shall he return! Alone, it night

Her travell'd limbs in broken slumbers steep,
With dropping willows drest, his mournful sprite
Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep :
Then he, perhaps, with moist and watʼry hand,
Shall fondly seem to prefs her fhudd'ring cheek,
And with his blue swoln face before her stand,
And shiv'ring 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 hapless thought renew,
While i lie welt'ring on the ozier'd shore,

Drown'd by the Kaelpie's wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee more.”

Unbounded is thy range. With varied stile 1.

Thy muse may, like those feath'ry tribes which spring From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing Round the moist marge of each cold Hebid isle, To that hoar pile which still its ruin thows;

In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found, Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, And culls them, won'dring, from the hallow'd ground! Or thither 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's solemn hour,

The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sov'reign pow'r In pageant robes, and wreath'd with fheeny gold, And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold.

x.

But O! 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 wint'ry main.
With sparing tem'prance, at the needful time,
They drain the sainted 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 fhallow soil, and bleak and bare;
Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!

XI.

Nor need'st thou blush, that such false themes engage
Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores pofsest;

For not alone they touch the village breast,

But fill'd in elder time th' historic page.

There Shakespeare's self, with ev'ry garland crown',
In musing hour, his wayward sisters found,
And with their terrors drest the magic scene.
From them he sung, 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 past.
Proceed, nor quit the tales, which, simply (told,
Could once so well my answ'ring bosom piece;
Proceed in forceful sounds and colours bold

The native legends of thy land rehearse;
To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse.

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' hero'c muse employed her Tafso's art!
How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke,
Its guthing blood the gaping cyprefs pour'd;
When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,
And the wild blast up-heav'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 his warm lay with softest sweetness flows;
Melting it flows, pure, num'rous, strong, and clear,
And fills th' impafsion'd heart, and wins th' harmonious ear.

XIII.

All, hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail,

Ye spac ous" 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'erbung with spreading broom,
Or o'er your stretching heaths by fancy led :
Then will I drefs once more the faded bow'r,
Where Johnson sat in Drummond's social fhade,

Or crop from Tiviot's dale each "classic flower,"
And mourn on Yarrow's banks the "widow'd maid.”
Meantime, ye pow'rs, that on the plains which bore
The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains, attend,

Where'er he dwell, on hill, or lowly muir,

To him I lose, your kind protection lend,

And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve, my absent friend.

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF COLLINS.

SWEET

For the Bee.

WEET bard! to thee was given to know

The soften'd energies that melt the heart,

Th' expansive thought, the panting throb and glow,
That inly thrilling agitates each part.

Thou felt the mix'd emotions of the soul,

And sung their force in high enraptur'd strains; Full well ye knew they reach'd from pole to pole, And fill'd the breast of Scotia's hardy swains. To thee who felt imagination's pow'r

Strike with redoubled force the brain's recess; ¡Dear were these feelings in the social hour,

And for these themes your memory we bless.