TO ROMANCE.

I.

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.

2.

And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams

Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Where every nymph a goddess seems,

i.

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.

3.

And must we own thee, but a name, And from thy hall of clouds descend? i. Where every girl · --[MS. Newstead.]

Nor find a Sylph in every dame,
A Pylades1 in every friend?

But leave, at once, thy realms of air1
To mingling bands of fairy elves;
Confess that woman's false as fair,

And friends have feeling for-themselves?

4.

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!

5.

Romance! disgusted with deceit,

Far from thy motley court I fly,
Where Affectation holds her seat,
And sickly Sensibility;

i. But quit at once thy realms of air
Thy mingling-MS. Newstead.]

1. It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to posterity as remarkable instances of attachments, which in all probability never existed beyond the imagination of the poet, or the page of an historian, or modern novelist.

Whose silly tears can never flow

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

To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine.

6.

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.

7.

Ye genial Nymphs, whose ready tears
On all occasions swiftly flow;

Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears,

With fancied flames and phrenzy 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.

8.

Adieu, fond race! a long adieu!
The hour of fate is hovering nigh;

i. Auspicious bards [MS. Newstead.]

E'en now the gulf appears in view,

Where unlamented you must lie: "
Oblivion's blackening lake is seen,

Convuls'd by gales you cannot weather,
Where you, and eke your gentle queen,
Alas! must perish altogether.

THE DEATH OF CALMAR AND ORLA.1

AN IMITATION OF MACPHERSON'S "OSSIAN." 2

DEAR are the days of youth! Age dwells on their remembrance through the mist of time. In the twilight he recalls the sunny hours of morn. He lifts his spear

with trembling hand. "Not thus feebly did I raise the steel before my fathers!" Past is the race of heroes! But their fame rises on the harp; their souls ride on the wings of the wind; they hear the sound through the sighs of the storm, and rejoice in their hall of clouds. Such is Calmar. The grey stone marks his narrow house. He looks down from eddying tempests: he rolls his form in the whirlwind, and hovers on the blast of the mountain.

i. Where you are doomed in death to lie.-[MS. Newstead.] 1. [The MS. is preserved at Newstead.]

2. It may be necessary to observe, that the story, though considerably varied in the catastrophe, is taken from "Nisus and Euryalus," of which episode a translation is already given in the present volume [see pp. 151-168].

VOL. I.

N

In Morven dwelt the Chief; a beam of war to Fingal. His steps in the field were marked in blood. Lochlin's sons had fled before his angry spear; but mild was the eye of Calmar; soft was the flow of his yellow locks: they streamed like the meteor of the night. No maid was the sigh of his soul: his thoughts were given to friendship, to dark-haired Orla, destroyer of heroes! Equal were their swords in battle; but fierce was the pride of Orla :-gentle alone to Calmar. Together they dwelt in the cave of Oithona.

ii.

From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue waves. Erin's sons fell beneath his might. Fingal roused his chiefs to combat. Their ships cover the ocean! Their hosts throng on the green hills. They come to the aid of Erin.

iii.

Night rose in clouds. Darkness veils the armies. But the blazing oaks gleam through the valley. The sons of Lochlin slept: their dreams were of blood. They lift the spear in thought, and Fingal flies. Not so the Host of Morven. To watch was the post of Orla. Calmar stood by his side. Their spears were in their hands. Fingal called his chiefs: they stood around.

The king was in the midst.

Grey were his locks, but strong was the arm of the king. Age withered not his powers. "Sons of Morven," said the hero, "to-morrow

we meet the foe. But where is Cuthullin, the shield of