Ha! what forms, with port sublime,
Glide along in sullen mood,
Scorning all the threats of time,

High above Misfortune's flood.

They seize their harps, they strike the lyre
With rapid hand, with freedom's fire.
Obedient Nature hears the lofty sound,

And Snowdon's airy cliffs the heavenly strains resound.

In pomp of state, behold they wait,

With arms outstretch'd, and aspects kind,
To snatch on high to yonder sky,

The child of Fancy left behind:

Forgot the woes of Cambria's fatal day,

By rapture's blaze impell'd, they swell the artless lav.
But ah' in vain they strive to soothe,
With gentle arts, the tort'ring hours;
Adversity, with rankling tooth,

Her baleful gifts profusely pours.

Behold she comes, the fiend forlorn,

Array'd in Horror's settled gloom;
She strews the briar and prickly thorn,

And triumphs in th' infernal doom.

With frantic fury and insatiate rage

She gnaws the throbbing breast and blasts the glow

ing page.

No more the soft Æolian flute ‡

Breathes through the heart the melting strain

The powers of Harmony are mute

And leave the once-delightful plain ;

With heavy wing, I see them beat the air,

Damp'd by the leaden hand of comfortless Despair.

*The Bara, an Ode.

↑ Hymn to Adver-ity.
The Progress of Poesv.

Yet stay, O! stay, celestial pow'rs,
And with a hand of kind regard
Dispel the boistʼrous storm that lours
Destructive on the fav'rite bard ;

O watch with me his last expiring breath,

And snatch him from the arms of dark, oblivious death.

Hark! the Fatal Sisters* join,

And with Horror's mutt'ring sounds,

Weave the tissue of his line,

While the dreadful spell resounds.

Hail, ye midnight sisters, hail!
Drive the shuttle swift along;
Let your secret charms prevail
O'er the valiant and the strong.

'O'er the glory of the land,

O'er the innocent and gay,

O'er the Muse's tuneful band

Weave the fun'ral web of Gray.'

"Tis done, 'tis done-the iron hand of pain,
With ruthless fury and corrosive force,
Racks every joint, and seizes every vein:
He sinks, he groans, he falls a lifeless corse.

Thus fades the flow'r nipp'd by the frozen gale,
Though once so sweet, so iovely to the eye:
Thus the tall oaks, when boist'rous storms assail,
Torn from the earth, a mighty ruin lie.

Ye sacred sisters of the plaintive verse,
Now let the stream of fond affection flow;
O pay your tribute o'er the slow-drawn hearse,
With all the manly dignity of woe.

The Fatal Sisters, an Ode.

Oft when the curfew tolls its parting knell

With solemn pause yon Church-yard's gloom survey,
While Sorrow's sighs and tears of Pity tell
How just the moral of the Poet's lay."

O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise,
Oft let the pilgrim drop a silent tear:
Oft let the shepherd's tender accents rise,
Big with the sweets of each revolving year;
Till prostrate Time adore his deathless name,
Fix'd on the solid base of adamantine fame.

EPITAPH

ON

MR. GRAY'S MONUMENT

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

By Mr. Mason.

No more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd reigns;
To Britain let the nations homage pay!
She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray.

• Klegy in a Country Church-yard.

THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

JAMES BEATTIE, L. L. D.