Εικόνες σελίδας
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση
[ocr errors]

Of Lyric And sigb'd and look’d, sigh'd and look’d,

Whose palms, new-pluck'd from Paradise,

Or Lyric Poetry Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again :

In spreading branches more sublimely rise,

At length, with love and wine at once oppress’d, Rich with immortal green above the rest ;
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. Whether, adopted to some neighb’ring star,

Chor. The prince, &c. Thou rollist above us, in thy wand'ring race,
Now strike the golden lyre again;

Or in procession fix'd and regular,

Mov’d with the heav'n's majestic pace ;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

Or call’d to more superior bliss,

Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss :
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark! hark; the horrid sound,

Whatever happy region is thy place,
Has rais'd up his head,

Cease thy celestial song a little space;
As awake from the dead,

Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
And amaz'd he stares around.

Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,

Hear then a mortal muse thy praise rehearse
See the furies arise :

In no ignoble verse;
See the snakes that they rear,

But such as thy own voice did practise here,
How they hiss in their hair,

When thy firsi fruits of poesy were giv'n
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

To make thyself a welcome inmate there,
Behold a ghastly band,

While yet a young probationer,

And candidate of heav'n.
Each a torch in his band !
Those are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain,
And unbury'd remain,

If by traduction came thy mind,
Inglorious on the plain :

Our wonder is the less to find
Give the vengeance due

A soul so charming from a stock so good;
To the valiant crew.

Thy father was transfus’d into thy blood,
Behold how they toss their torches on Inigli, So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,

How they point to the Persian abodes, An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.

And glittring temples of their hostile gods. But if thy pre-existing soul
The princes applaud with a furious joy ;

Was form’d at first with myriads more,
And the king seiz'da flambeau, with zeal to destroy; It did through all the mighty poets roll,
Thais led the way

Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,
To light bim to his prey,

And was that Sappho last which once it was before.
And, like another Helen, she fir'd another Troy. If so, then cease thy flight, О heaven-born mind!

Chor. And the king seiz'd, &c. Thou hast no dross to purge from tby rich ore,
Thus long ago,

Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,

Than was the beauteous frame she left behind :
Ere heaving bellows learnt to blow,
While organs yet were mute ;

Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind.
Timotheus, to his breathing flute,

And sounding lyre,

May we presume to say, that, at thy birth,
Could swell the soul of rage, or kindle soft désire. New joy was sprung in heav'n, as well as here on earth?
At last divine Cecilia came,

For sure the milder planets did combine
Inventress of the vocal frame ;

On thy auspicious boroscope to shine,
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

And e'en the most malicious were in trine.
Enlarg’d the former narrow bounds,

Thy brother angels at thy birth
And added length to solemn sounds,

Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. That all the people of the sky
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Might know a poetess was born on earth.
Or both divide the crown :

And then, if ever, mortal ears
He rais'd a mortal to the skies;

Had heard the music of the spheres.
She drew an angel down.

And if no clust'ring swarm of bees
Grand chor. At last, &c. On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew,
There is another poem by Dryden, on the death of

'Twas that such vulgar miracles

Heav'n had not leisure to renew :
Mrs Anne Killegrew, a young lady eminent for her

For all thy bless'd fraternity of love * Dr John-skill in poetry and painting, which a great critic * has

pronounced to be undoubtedly tbe noblest ode that Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holy day above.
our language has ever produced." He owns,


a whole it may perhaps be inferior to Alexander's Feast; O gracious God! how far have we
but he affirms that the first stanza of it is superior to any Profan'd thy heav'nly gift of poesy?
single part of the other. This famous stanza, he says, flows Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,
with a torrent of enthusiasm : Fervet immensusque ruit. Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,
How far this criticism is just, the public must determine. Whose harmony was first ordain'd above

For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love? .
Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,

O wretched me! why were we hurry'd down
Made in the last promotion of the bless’d;

This lubrique and adult'rate

age, 4.




that as

Or Lyric

[ocr errors]


of Lyric (Nay added fat pollutions of our own)

VII. l'oetry. T'increase the streaming ordures of the stage !

The scene then chang’d, with bold erected look
What can we say t'excuse our second fall?

Our martial king the sight with rev'rence struck :
Let this thy vestal, Heaven, atone for all:

For not content t'express his outįvard part,
Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd,

Her land call'd out the image of his heart :
Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefil'd ;

His warlike mind, bis soul devoid of fear,
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child. His high-designing thoughts were figur'd there,

As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear.
Art she had none, yet wanted none ;

Our plænix queen was pourtray'd too so bright,
For nature did that want supply :

Beauty alone could beauty take so right:
So rich in treasure of her own,

Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace,
She might our boasted stores defy :

Were all observ’d, as well as heav'nly face.
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,

With such a peerless majesty she stands,
That it seem'd borrow'd where 'twas only born. As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands;
Her morals, too, were in her bosom bred,

Before a train of heroines was seen,
By great examples daily fed,

In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen.
What in the best of books, her father's life, she read. Thus nothing to her genius was denied,
And to be read herself, she need not fear;

But like a ball of fire the further thrown,
Each test, and every light, her Muse will bear,

Still with a greater blaze she shone,
Tho' Epictetus with his lamp were there.

And her bright soul broke out on ev'ry side.
Even love (for love sometimes her Muse express’d) What next she bad design’d, Heaven only knows :
Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her breast, To such immod’rate growth her conquest rose,
Light as the vapours of a morning dream,

That fate alone its progress could oppose.
So cold herself, while she such warmth express’d,

'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream.

Now all those charms, that blooming grace,

The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face,
Born to the spacious empire of the Nine,

Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;
One would have thought she should have been content In earth the much lamented virgin lies.
To manage well that mighty government;

Nor wit nor piety could fate prevent ;
But what can young ambitious souls confine ?

Nor was the cruel Destiny content
To the next realm she stretch'd her sway,

To finish all the murder at a blow,
For Painture near adjoining lay,

To sweep at once her life and beauty too;
A plenteous province and alluring prey.

But like a harden'd felon, took a pride
A Chamber of Dependencies was fram'd.

To work more mischievously slow,
(As conquerors will never want pretence,

And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.
When arm’d, to justify th' offence)

O double sacrilege on things divine,
And the whole fief, in right of poetry, she claim’d. To rob the relick, and deface the shrine !
The country open lay without defence :

But thus Orinda died:
For poets frequent inroads there had made,

Heav'n, by the same disease, did both translate ;
And perfectly could represent

As equal were their souls, so equal was their fale.
The shape, the face, with ev'ry lineament,

And all the large domains which the dumb sister sway'd. Meantime her warlike brother on the seas
All bow'd beneath her government,

His waving streamers to the winds displays,
Receiv'd in triumph wheresoe'er she went.

And vows for bis return, with vain devotion, pays.
Her pencil drew whate'er her soul design'd,

Ab generous youth ! that wish forbear,
And oft the happy draught surpass’d the image in her mind. The winds too soon will waft thee here!
The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks,

Slack all thy sails, and fear to come,
And fruitful plains and barren rocks,

Alas, thou know't pot, thou art wreck'd at home!
Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear,

No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face,
The bottom did the top appear;

Thou hast already had her last embrace.
Of deeper, too, and ampler floods,

But look aloft, and if thou kenn'st from far,
Which, as in mirrors, show'd the woods :

Among the Pleiads a new kindled star,
Of lofty trees, with sacred shades,

If any sparkles than the rest more bright,
And perspectives of pleasant glades,

'Tis she that shines in that propitious light.
Where nymphs of brightest form appear,

And shaggy satyrs standing near,

When in mid-air the golden trump sball sound,
Which them at once admire and fear.

To raise the nations under ground;
The ruins too of some majestic piece,

When in the valley of Jehoshaphat,
Boasting the power of ancient Rome or Greece, The judging God sball close the book of fate;
Whose statues, friezes, columns, broken lie,

And there the last assises keep
And, though defac'd, the wonder of the eye ;

For those who wake and those who sleep:
What nature, art, bold fiction, e'er durst frame,

When rattling bones together fly
Her forming hand gave feature to the name.

From the four corners of the sky;
So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread,
But when the peopl'd ark the whole creation bore. Those cloth'd with flesh, and life inspires the dead;



B 2



or Lyric The sacred pocts tirst shall hear the sound,

There, ev'ry herd, by sad experience, knows,

of Lyric Poetry, And foremost from the tomb shall bound,

How, wing'd with Fate, their elf-shot arrows fly, Poetry.
For they are cover'd with the lightest ground; When the sick ewe ber summer food foregoes,
And straight with in-born vigour, on the wing,

Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit beifers lie.
Like mounting larks to the new morning sing.

Such airy beings awe th' untutor’d swain :
There thou, sweet saint, before the quire sbalt go

Nor thou, tho' learn'd, bis homelier thoughts neglect:
As barbinger of heav'n, the way to show,

Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain;
The way which thou so well bast learnt below.

These are the themes of simple, sure effect,
That this is a fine ode, and not unworthy of the ge-

That add new conquests to her boundless reign,
nius of Dryden, must be acknowledged ; but that it is

And fill, with double force, ler heart-commanding

the noblest which the English language bas produced, Ev’n yet preserv’d, how often may’st thou hear,
or that any part of it runs with the torrent of enthusi-

Where to the pole the Boreal mountains run,
asm which characterizes Alexander's Fcast, are posi-
tions which we feel not ourselves inclined to admit.

Taught by the father to bis list’ning son,
Had the critic by whom it is so highly praised, inspect. Strange lays, whose pow'r had charm’d a Spenser's ear.
ed it with the eye which scanned the odes of Gray, we

At every pause, before thy mind possest,
cannot help thinking that he would have perceived with uncouth lyres in many-colour’d vest,

Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, some parts of it to be tediously minute in description, With uncouth lyres in many-colour'd vest, and others not very perspicuous at the first, perusal

. Whether thou bidd'st the well-taught hind repeat

Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown'd:
It may perhaps, upon the whole, rank as high as the

The choral dirge that mourns some chieftain brave,
following ode by Collins on the Popular Superstitions
of the Highlands of Scotland; but to a higher place it

When ev'ry shrieking maid her bosom beat,

And strew'd with choicest herbs his scented grave; has surely no claim.

Or whether sitting in the shepherd's sbiel (H),

Thou hear'st some sounding tale of war’s alarms,
HOME, thou return’st from Thames, whose Naiads long When, at the bugle's call, with fire and steel,
Have scen thee ling'ring with a fond delay,

The sturdy clans pour'd forth their brawny * swarms, * bonj.
Mid those soft friends, whose heart some future day, And hostile brothers met to prove each other's arms.
Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song,

Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth (G)

'Tis thine to sing how framing hideous spells,
Whom, long en dear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's side; In Sky's lone isle the gifted wizzard-scert,

siter Together let us wish him lasting truth,

Lodg'd in the winery cave with Fate's fell spear (1),
And joy untainted with his destip'd bride.

Or in the depths of Ui-t's dark forest dwells :
Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast

How they whose sight such dreary dreams engross,
My short-liv'd bliss, forget my social name ; With their own visions oft astonishid droop,
But think, far off, how, on the southern coast,

When, o'er the wat'ry strath, or quas gi noss,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame!

They see the gliding ghosts unbodied I troop. | embodied. * whose. Fresb to that soil thou turn’st, where * ev'ry vale Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,

Shall prompt the poet, and his soug demand : Their destin'd $ glance some fated youth descry, Śpiercing
To thee tby copious subjects ne'er shall fail ;

Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour sten,
Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, And rosy health, shall soon lamented die.
And paint wbat all believe who own thy genial land. For them the viewless fornis of air obey;

Their bidding beed, and at their beck repair.
There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill;

They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
'Tis tancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet; And heartless, oft like moody madness, sture

Where still, 'tis said, the Fairy people meet, To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.
Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.

There, each trim lass, that skims the milky store, To monarchs dear (K), some hundred miles astray,
To the swart tribes their creamy bowl allots ;

Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal blow!
By night they sip it round the cottage-door,

The seer in Sky shriek'd as the blood did flow
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.

When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay!


pasture is fine.

(G) A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins.
(H) A summer hut, built in the high part of the mountains, to tend their flocks in the warm season, when the
(1) Waiting in wintery cave bis wavward fits.

(K) of this beautiful ode two copies have been printed : one by Dr Carlyle, from a manuscript which he ac-
knowledges to be mutilated ; another by an editor who seems to hope that a nameless somebody will be believed,
when he declares, that “ he discovered a perfect copy of this admirable ode among some old papers in the concealed
drawers of a bureau left him by a relation.” The preseut age has been already too much amused with pretend-
ed discoveries of poems in the bottoms of old chests, to pay full credit to an assertion of this kind, even though
the scene of discovery be laid in a bureau. As the ode of the anonymous editor differs, however, very little
from that of Dr Carlyle, and as what is affirmed by a GENTLEMAN may be true, though " be chooses not at


or Lyric

of Lyric As Boreas threw his young Aurora (L) forth,

On bin, enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood, Poetry In the first year of the first George's reign,

Shall never look with pity's kind concern,

And battles rag'd in welkin of the North,

But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood
They mourn'd in air, fell, fell rebellion, slain! O’er its drown'd banks, forbidding all return !
And as of late they joy'd in Preston's fight,

Or, if he meditate his wish'd

Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crown'd! To some dim bill that seems uprising near,
They rav'd divining through their second-sight (M), To his faint eye, the grim and grisly sbape,

Pale, red Culloden, where these bopes were drown'd! In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear.
Illustrious William (N)! Britain's guardian name! Meantime the wat'ry surge shall round him rise,

One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke ; Pour'd sudden forth from ev'ry swelling source !
He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame,

What now remains but tears and bopeless sigbs ?
But thou, more glorious, Slavery's

chain hast broke, His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force,
To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke ! And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse!

These, too, thou'lt sing ! for well thy magic muse For him in vain bis anxious wife shall wait,
Can to the topmost heav'n of grandeur soar !

Or wander forth to meet bim on his way ;
Or stoop to wail tbe swain that is no more!

For bim in vain, at to-fall of the day,
Ah, homely swains ! your homeward steps ne'er lose ; His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate!

Let not dank Will (o) mislead you to the heath : Ab, ne'er shall he return ! Alone, if night
Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake,

Her travellid limbs in broken slumbers steep!
He glows, to draw you downward to your death, With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite
In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake!

Sball visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep:
What though far off, from some dark dell espied, Then he, perhaps, with moist and wat'ry hand,

His glimm'ring mazes cheer th' excursive sight, Shall fondly seem to press ber shudd'ring ebeek,
Yet tuin, ye wand'rers, turn your steps aside,

And with his blue-swoln face betore her stand,
Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light;

And, shiv'ring cold, these piteous accents speak :
For watchful, lurking, 'mid th' unrustling reed, “ Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue,
At those mirk hours the wily monster lies,

“ At dawn or dusk, industrious as before ;
And listens oft to lear the passing steed,

“ Nor e'er of me one * helpless thought rene", * haplesa. And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes,

“ While I lie welt'ring on the ozier'd shore, Ifchance his savage wrath may some weak wretch surprise. " Druwu'd by the kelpie'st wrath, nor e'er shall aid t the water VII.


[thee mort !” i nd. Ah, luckless swain, n'er all unblest, indeed!

Unbounded is thy range ; with varied skill I

1 styles Whom late bewilderd in the dank, dark fen,

Thy nuse may, like those feath'ry tribes which spring, Far from hi- locks, and smoking hamlet, then! From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing * his way. To that dark spot * where hums the sedgy weed. Round ibe moist marge of each cold hebrid isle, ward fate

Tor shall lead.

present to publish his name," we have inserted into our work the copy which pretends to be perfeet, nothing at
the bottom or margin of the page the different readings of Dr Carlyle's edition. In the Doctor's manuscript,
which appeared to have been nothing more than the prima cura, or first shetch of the poem, the fifth stanza and
half of the sixth were wanting; and to give a continued context, he prevailed with Mi MKenzie, the ingenious
author of the Man of Feeling, to fill up the chasm. This be did by the following beautiful lines, which we can-
not belp thinking much niore happy than those which occupy their place in the copy said to be perfect :
“ Or on some bellying rock that shades the deep, O'er the dire whirlpool, that in ocean's waste,

They view the lurid signs that cross the sky, Draws instant down whate'er devoted thing
Where in the west the brooding tempests lie;

The falling brerze within its stach hath plac'd.
And hear their first, faint, rustling pennons sweep. The distant seaman bears, and flies with trembling haste.
Or in the arched cave, where deep and dark
The broad anbroken billows heave and swell,

Or if on land the fiend exerts bis

In horrid musings wrapt, they sit to mark

Silent lie broods o'er quicksand, beg, or fen,
The lab'ring moon; or list the nightly yell

Far from the shelt'ring roof and haunts of

men, Of that dread spirit, whose gigantic form

When witched darkness shuts the

The seer's entranced eye can well survey,

And shrouds each star that wont to cheer the night;
Throngh the dim air who guides the driving storm, Or if the drifted now perplex the way,

And points the wretched burk its destin'd prey. With treach'rous gleain he lures the fated wight
Or him who hovers on his flagging wing,

And leads him flound'ring on and' quite astray.”
(1) By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first appearance of the northern ligtits, which is com.
monly said to have happened about the year 1715.

(M) Second-sight is the term that is used for the divination of the Highlanders.
(N) The late duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the battle of Culloden.

(0) A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lanthorn, &c. It
hovers in the air over marshy and fepny places..

of day,


Or crop,

p. 237. and

[ocr errors]

Or Lyric To that haar pile (P) which still its ruin shows : How have I trembl'd, when, at Tancred's stroke, of Lyric l'oetry. In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found,

Its gusliing blood the gaping cypress pour’d,

Whose bones the delver with his spade uptbrows, When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,
And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd ground! And the wild blast upheav'd the vanish'd sword !
Or, thither (R), where beneath the show'ry west,

How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive wind,
The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid : To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung!
Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest,

Prevailing poet whose undoubting mind,
No slaves revere them, and no wars in vade : Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung!
Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour,

Hence, at each sound, imagination glows !
The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here! (s)
And forth the monarchs stalk with sov'reign pow'r Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows!

In pageant robes ; and, wreath'd with sheeny gold, Melting it flows, pure, murm’ring *, strong, and clear, * numer-
And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold. And fills the impassion'd heart, and wins th’ harmonious ous.


But, ob ! o'er all, forget not Kilda's race,

AU hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail!
On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides, Ye splendid + friths and lakes, which, far away,

+ spacious.

Three ri.
Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides.

Are by smooth Annan [ fillid, or past’ral Tay 1,
Go! just as they, their blameless manners trace! Or Don's romantic springs, at distance, hail !

Then to my ear transmit some gentle song,

The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread
Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain,

Your lowly glens *, o'erhung with spreading broom ; * valleys.
Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, Or o'er your stretching heaths, by fancy led,
And all their prospect but the wintry main.

Oro’ér your mountains creep, in au ful gloom! (1)
With sparing temp’rance at the needful time, Then will I dress once more the faded bow'r,
They drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest,

Where Jonson (u) sat in Drummond's classict shade;+ social.
Along th' Atlantic rock, undreading, climb,

from Tiviotdale, each lyric flow'r,

the wi* See Bird. And of its eggs despoil the solan's nest *.

And mourn, on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's laid I dowed catching, Thus, blest in primal innocence, they live, Meantime, ye pow'rs that on the plains wbich bore

maid: Pelicanus, Suffic'd, and happy with that frugal fare

The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains (x), attend !
Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give.
Where'er Home duells f, on hill, or lowly moor,

he dweli. Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare ;

To him I lovst ll
, your kind protection lend,

I lose,
Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there! And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my absent

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

Dr Johnson, in bis life of Collins, informs us, that
For not alone they touch the village breast,

Dr Warton and his brother, wbo bad seen this ode in
But fill'd in elder time th' historic page.

the author's possession, thought it superior to his other
There, Shakespeare's sell, withevery garland crown'd, works. The taste of the Wartons will hardly be ques.
Flew to those fiery climes his fancy sheen (R), tioned: but we are not sure that the following Ode to
In musing hour; his wayward sisters found,

the Passions has much less merit, though it be merit of
And with their terrors dress'd the magic scene. -a different kind, than the Ode on the Superstitions of

From them he song, when, ’mid his bold design, the Highlands :
Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast !
The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line,

When Music, heav'nly maid, was young,
Thro’ the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass’d.

While yet in early Greece she sung,
Proceed! nor quit the tales, which, simply told, The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Could once so well my answ'ring bosom pierce ; Throng'd around ber magic cell,

Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colours bold, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
The native legends of thy land rehearse ;

Possest beyond the Muse's painting ;
To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy pow'rful verse. By turns they felt the glowing mind

Disturbid, delighted, rais’d, refin'd.
In scenes like these, which, daring to depart

Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
From sober truth, are still to nature true,

Fill?d with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
And call forth fresh delight to fancy's view,

From the supporting myrtles round
Th'heroic muse employ'd her Tasso's art !

They spatch'd her instruments of sound :

And (P) One of the Hebrides is called the Isle of Pigmies, where it is reported, that several miniature bones of the human species have been dug up in the ruins of a chapel there.

(a) Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where many of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings, are said
to be interred.

(R) This line wanting in Dr Carlyle's edition.
(s) This line wanting in Dr Carlyle's edition.
(T) This line wanting in Dr Carlyle's edition.

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

(x) Barrow, it seems, was at the university of Edinburgh, which is in the county of Lothian.

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »