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XX.

WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN.

OFT have I caught from fitful breeze

Fragments of far-off melodies,

With ear not coveting the whole,
A part so charmed the pensive soul:
While a dark storm before my sight
Was yielding, on a mountain height
Loose vapours have I watched, that won
Prismatic colours from the sun;

Nor felt a wish that Heaven would show

The image of its perfect bow.

What need, then, of these finished Strains?

Away with counterfeit Remains!

An abbey in its lone recess,

A temple of the wilderness,

Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling

The majesty of honest dealing.

Spirit of Ossian! if imbound

In language thou may'st yet be found,

If aught (intrusted to the pen

Or floating on the tongues of Men,

Albeit shattered and impaired)
Subsist thy dignity to guard,

In concert with memorial claim

Of old grey stone, and high-born name,
That cleaves to rock or pillared cave,

Where moans the blast, or beats the wave,
Let Truth, stern Arbitress of all,
Interpret that Original,

And for presumptuous wrongs atone;
Authentic words be given, or none !

Time is not blind; - yet He, who spares
Pyramid pointing to the Stars,
Hath preyed with ruthless appetite
On all that marked the primal flight

Of the poetic ecstasy

Into the land of mystery.

No tongue is able to rehearse

One measure, Orpheus! of thy verse;
Musæus, stationed with his lyre
Supreme among the Elysian quire,

1

Is, for the dwellers upon earth,

Mute as a Lark ere morning's birth.

Why grieve for these, though passed away
The Music, and extinct the Lay?
When thousands, by severer doom,
Full early to the silent tomb

Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed
From hope and promise, self-betrayed;
The garland withering on their brows;
Stung with remorse for broken vows;

Frantic else how might they rejoice?

And friendless, by their own sad choice.

Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you
I chiefly call, the chosen Few,

Who cast not off the acknowledged guide,
Who faltered not, nor turned aside;
Whose lofty Genius could survive

Privation, under sorrow thrive;

In whom the fiery Muse revered

The symbol of a snow-white beard,
Bedewed with meditative tears

Dropped from the lenient cloud of years.

Brothers in Soul! though distant times, Produced you, nursed in various climes, Ye, when the orb of life had waned, A plenitude of love retained; Hence, while in you each sad regret By corresponding hope was met, Ye lingered among human kind, Sweet voices for the passing wind; Departing sunbeams, loth to stop, Though smiling on the last hill top!

Such to the tender-hearted Maid
Even ere her joys begin to fade;
Such, haply, to the rugged Chief
By Fortune crushed, or tamed by grief;
Appears, on Morven's lonely shore,
Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore,
The Son of Fingal; such was blind
Mæonides of ampler mind;

Such Milton, to the fountain head

Of Glory by Urania led!

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XXI.

VERNAL ODE.

"Rerum Natura tota est nusquam magis quam in minimis. Plin. Nat. Hist.

"

1.

BENEATH the concave of an April sky,

When all the fields with freshest green were dight,
Appeared, in presence of that spiritual eye
That aids or supersedes our grosser sight,

The form and rich habiliments of One

Whose countenance bore resemblance to the sun,

When it reveals, in evening majesty,

Features half lost amid their own pure light.
Poised, like a weary cloud, in middle air

He hung, — then floated with angelic ease

(Softening that bright effulgence by degrees)

Till he had reached a summit sharp and bare,

Where oft the vent'rous heifer drinks the noon-tide breeze.

Upon the apex of that lofty cone

Alighted, there the Stranger stood alone;

Fair as a gorgeous Fabric of the East

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