As Boreas threw his young Aurora* forth, They mourn'd in air, fell, fell rebellion slain? Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crown'd! They rav'd! divining, through their second sight.t * By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first appearance of the northern lights, which happened about the year 1715; at least, it is most highly probable, from this peculiar circumstance, that no ancient writer whatever has taken any notice of them, nor even any one modern, previous to the above period. + Second sight is the term that is used for the di vination of the Highlanders. Thence each betakes him to his several toil; Nor cease their labours till the dawn descry Their hated impious work, and reddens all the sky. Nor wilt thou leave for other bards to sing, The ruthless spirit of the angry flood; How, at grey eve, in fell and crafty mood, O'er fen and lake he shakes his foggy wind: Or when the curfew with his sullen note, Unchains, to roam the earth, each elfin sprite, Like some drear lamp, from out the quaggy moat, The fiend shines forth, to lure th' incautious wight." Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were drown'd! Illustrious William !t Britain's guardian name! One William sav'd us from a tyrant's stroke; He, for a sceptre, gain'd heroic fame, But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast broke, To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's yoke! These, too, thoul't sing! for well thy magic muse He glows, to draw you downward to your death, In his bewitch'd, low, marshy, willow brake! What though far off, from some dark dell espied, His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sight, Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside, Nor trust the guidance of that faithless 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. Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed! + The lete duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the battle of Culloden. A fiery meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern, &c. it Movers in the air over marshy and fenny places. On him, enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood, Shall never look with Pity's kind concern, But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood To some dim hill, that seems uprising near, Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, Pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source! What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthful force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse ! For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate! And, shivering 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 helpless thought renew, "While I lie weltering on the osier'd shore, Drown'd by the Kelpie's* wrath, nor e'er shall aid thee more!" *The water fiend. Unbounded is thy range; with varied skill Thy muse may, like those feathery tribes which spring From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, To that hoar pile* which still its ruins shows: In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found, Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, And culls them, wond'ring, 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 solemn hour, The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power, In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold. And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold. But, oh, 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 wintry main. * 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. + Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are interred. With sparing temperance, at the needful time, They drain the scented 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 shallow soil, and bleak and bare; Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there! Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest; For not alone they touch the village breast, But fill'd, in elder time, th' historic page. There, Shakspeare's self, with every garland crown'd, Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, 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 pass'd. Proceed! nor quit the tales which, simply toil, Could once so well my answering bosom pierce; Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colour bold, The native legends of thy land rehearse; To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy pow'rful verse. In scenes like these, which, darting to depart An aquatic bird like a goose, on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly subsist. |