Flash the keen lightnings from his eyes;
He scorns awhile his bold emprise ;
E'en now he seems, with eager pace,
The consecrated floor to trace,
And ope, from its tremendous gloom,
The treasure of the wondrous tomb :
E'en now he burns in thought to rear,
From its dark bed, the ponderous spear,
Rough with the gore of Pictish kings:
E'en now fond hope his fancy wings,
To poise the monarch's massy blade,
Of magic-temper'd metal made;
And drag to day the dinted shield
That felt the storm of Camlan's field.
O'er the sepulchre profound

E'en now, with arching sculpture crown'd,
He plans the chantry's choral shrine,
The daily dirge, and rites divine.

SONNET.

WRITTEN AFTER SEEING WILTON HOUSE.

FROM Pembroke's princely dome, where mimic Art
Decks with a magic hand the dazzling bowers,
Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,
And breathing forms from the rude marble start,
How to life's humbler scene can I depart!
My breast all glowing from those gorgeous towers, |
In my low cell how cheat the sullen hours!
Vain the complaint: for Fancy can impart
(To Fate superior and to Fortune's doom)
Whate'er adorns the stately storied hall:
She, 'mid the dungeon's solitary gloom,
Can dress the Graces in their Attic pall;
Bid the green landscape's vernal beauty bloom,
And in bright trophies clothe the twilight wall.

THOMAS BLACKLOCK was born at Annan, in Dumfries-shire, where his father was a bricklayer. Before he was six months old, he was totally deprived of sight by the small-pox. From an early age he discovered a fondness for listening to books, especially to those in poetry; and by the kindness of his friends and relations, he acquired a slight acquaintance with the Latin tongue, and with some of the popular English classics. He began also, when very young, to compose verses; and some of these having been shown to Dr. Stevenson, an eminent physician of the Scottish capital, the doctor benevolently took him to Edinburgh, where Blacklock improved his knowledge of Latin, and completed his studies at the university. The publication of his poems excited a general interest in his favour, and Professor Spence, of Oxford, having prefixed to them an account of his life and character, a second edition of them was liberally encouraged in London. In 1759, he was licensed as a preacher of the Scottish church. He soon afterwards married a Miss Johnston, a very worthy, but homely woman; whose beauty, however, he was accustomed to extol with an ecstacy that made his friends regard his blindness as, in one instance, no misfortune. By the patronage of the Earl of Selkirk, he was presented to the living of Kirkcudbright; but in consequence of the violent objections that were made by the parishioners to having a blind man for their clergyman, he resigned the living, and accepted of a small annuity in its stead. With this slender provision, he returned to Edinburgh, and subsisted, for the rest of his life, by taking young

gentlemen as boarders in his house, whom he occasionally assisted in their studies.

He published an interesting article on Blindness in the Encyclopædia Britannica, and a work entitled "Paraclesis, or Consolations of Religion," in two dissertations, the one original, the other translated from a work which has been sometimes ascribed to Cicero, but which is more generally believed to have been written by Vigonius of Padua. He died of a nervous fever, at the age of seventy.

Blacklock was a gentle and social being, bat prone to melancholy; probably more from eonstitution than from the circumstance of his blindness, which he so often and so deeply deplores. From this despondent disposition, he sought refuge in conversation and music. He was a tolerable performer on the flute, and used to carry a flageolet in his pocket, on which he was not displeased to be solicited for a

tune.

His verses are extraordinary for a man blind from his infancy; but Mr. Henry Mackenzie, in his elegant biographical account of him, has certainly over-rated his genius: and when Mr. Spence, of Oxford, submitted Blacklock's de scriptive powers as a problem for metaphysicians to resolve, he attributed to his writings a degree of descriptive strength which they do not possess. Denina carried exaggeration to the utmost when he declared that Blacklock would seem a fable to posterity, as he had been a prodigy to his contemporaries. It is no doubt curious that his memory should have retained so many * In his Discorso della Litteratura.

forms of expression for things which he had never seen; but those who have conversed with intelligent persons who have been blind from their infancy, must have often remarked in them a familiarity of language respecting the objects of

vision which, though not easy to be accounted for, will be found sufficiently common to make the rhymes of Blacklock appear far short of marvellous. Blacklock, on more than one occasion, betrays something like marks of blindness*.

WHILE in my matchless graces wrapt I stand, And touch each feature with a trembling hand; Deign, lovely self! with art and nature's pride, To mix the colours, and the pencil guide.

Self is the grand pursuit of half mankind;
How vast a crowd by self, like me, are blind!
By self the fop in magic colours shown,
Though scorn'd by every eye, delights his own :
When age and wrinkles seize the conqu'ring maid,
Self, not the glass, reflects the flattering shade.
Then, wonder-working self! begin the lay;
Thy charms to others as to me display.

Straight is my person, but of little size;
Lean are my cheeks, and hollow are my eyes :
My youthful down is, like my talents, rare ;
Politely distant stands each single hair.
My voice too rough to charm a lady's ear ;
So smooth a child may listen without fear;
Not form'd in cadence soft and warbling lays,

To soothe the fair through pleasure's wanton ways.
My form so fine, so regular, so new,
My port so manly, and so fresh my hue;

Oft, as I meet the crowd, they laughing say,
"See, see Memento Mori cross the way."
The ravish'd Proserpine at last, we know,
Grew fondly jealous of her sable beau ;
But, thanks to nature! none from me need fly;
One heart the devil could wound-so cannot I.
Yet, though my person fearless may be seen,
There is some danger in my graceful mien :
For, as some vessel toss'd by wind and tide,
Bounds o'er the waves and rocks from side to
In just vibration thus I always move : [side;
This who can view and not be forced to love?
Hail! charming self! by whose propitious aid
My form in all its glory stands display'd:
Be present still; with inspiration kind,
Let the same faithful colours paint the mind.
Like all mankind, with vanity I'm bless'd,
Conscious of wit I never yet possess'd.
To strong desires my heart an easy prey,
Oft feels their force, but never owns their sway.
This hour, perhaps, as death I hate my foe;
The next, I wonder why I should do so.
Though poor, the rich I view with careless eye;
Scorn a vain oath, and hate a serious lie.
I ne'er for satire torture common sense;
Nor show my wit at God's nor man's expense.
Harmless I live, unknowing and unknown;
Wish well to all, and yet do good to none.
Unmerited contempt I hate to bear ;
Yet on my faults, like others, am severe.

Dishonest flames my bosom never fire;
The bad I pity, and the good admire ;
Fond of the Muse, to her devote my days,
And scribble-not for pudding, but for praise.
These careless lines, if any virgin hears,
Perhaps, in pity to my joyless years,
She may consent a generous flame to own;
And I no longer sigh the nights alone.
But should the fair, affected, vain, or nice,
Scream with the fears inspired by frogs or mice;
Cry, "Save us, heaven! a spectre, not a man!"
Her hartshorn snatch or interpose her fan:
If I my tender overture repeat;

Oh! may my vows her kind reception meet!
May she new graces on my form bestow,
And with tall honours dignify my brow!

ODE TO AURORA, ON MELISSA'S BIRTH-DAY.

Of time and nature eldest born,
Emerge, thou rosy-finger'd morn,
Emerge, in purest dress array'd,

And chase from Heaven night's envious shade
That I once more may, pleased, survey,
And hail Melissa's natal day.

Of time and nature eldest born,
Emerge, thou rosy-finger'd morn;
In order at the eastern gate
The Hours to draw thy chariot wait;
Whilst zephyr, on his balmy wings,
Mild nature's fragrant tribute brings,
With odours sweet to strew thy way,
And grace the bland revolving day.

But as thou lead'st the radiant sphere,
That gilds its birth, and marks the year,
And as his stronger glories rise,
Diffused around th' expanded skies,
Till clothed with beams serenely bright,
All Heaven's vast concave flames with light;
So, when, through life's protracted day,
Melissa still pursues her way,
Her virtues with thy splendour vie,
Increasing to the mental eye :
Though less conspicuous, not less dear,
Long may they Bion's prospect cheer;
So shall his heart no more repine,

Bless'd with her rays, though robb'd of thine. [* Blacklock's poetry sleeps secure in undisturbed mediocrity, and Blacklock himself is best remembered from Johnson's reverential look and the influence a letter of his had upon the fate and fortunes of Burns.]

The subject proposed-State of the Jews in captivityCharacter of Belshazzar-Feast of Baal-Daniel visited by the Angel Gabriel,

THE fall of proud Belshazzar, the return
Of Benjamin, and Judah, captive tribes,

I sing. Spirit of God, who to the eyes
Of holy seers in vision didst reveal
Events far distant; thou who once didst touch
Their lips with heavenly fire, and tune their harps
To strains sublimer than the Tuscan stream
Caught from his Latian bards, or echoed round
The wide Ægean from Ionia's shore,
Inspire my soul; bless'd spirit, aid my song.
The sun full seventy times had pass'd the realm
Of burning Scorpius, and was hastening down
The steep convex of heaven, since Babylon
Received her mourning prisoners. Savage taunts,
And the rude insult of their barbarous lords,
Embitter all their woe. Meanwhile the Law,
Proclaim'd on Horeb's top, neglected lies;
Nor kid, nor evening lamb, nor heifer bleeds,
Nor incense smokes, nor holy Levite claims
Choice fruits, and rich oblations. On the trees,
That o'er the waters bend, their untuned harps,
Harps which their fathers struck to festal hymns,
Hang useless. 'Twas the hill, 'twas Sion's hill,
Which yet Jehovah loved. There once he dwelt;
There stood his temple; there from side to side
The cherub stretch'd his wings, and from the cloud
Beam'd bright celestial radiance. Thence, though
In early childhood to a stranger's land, [driven
Or born sad heirs of slavery, still they cast
An anxious look from Perath's willowy vale,
Toward Jordan, sacred stream; and when the sun
Sunk in the west, with eager eye pursued
His parting beams; and pointed to the place,
Where from their sight the faint horizon hid
Those hills, which round deserted Salem's walls
Stood like a bulwark. And as some tired hart,
Driven by keen hunters o'er the champain wild,
Pants for the running brook, so long the tribes

Of captive Judah for their native clime,
Again to sing the strains of Jesse's son,
Again to raise a temple to their God.

But, oh! what hope, what prospect of return,
While fierce Belshazzar reigns? He, undismay'd
Though hostile banners stream near Babel's towers,
Round his gall'd prisoners binds the griping chain,
And scoffs at Judah's God. Even now a shout
Is heard through every street, and with loud voice
Arioch, an herald tall, proclaims a feast
To Bel, Chaldæan idol; and commands
That when the morrow dawns, soon as is heard
The sound of cornet, dulcimer, and harp,
Sackbut, and psaltery, each knee be bent
Before the mighty dragon. Silent stand
With eyes dejected Solyma's sad sons.
Shall they comply? but will Jehovah then
E'er lead them back to Canaan, pleasant land!
Shall they refuse? but who, oh! who shall check
Belshazzar's waken'd wrath! who shall endure
The burning cauldron, or what lingering death
The tyrant's cruel vengeance may devise!
Thus they irresolute wait the fatal hour.

Now Night invests the pole: wrapt is the wor In awful silence; not a voice is heard, Nor din of arms, nor sound of distant foot, Through the still gloom. Euphrates lulls his war, Which sparkle to the moon's reflected beam; Nor does one sage from Babylon's high towers Descry the planets, or the fix'd, and mark Their distance or their number. Sunk to rest, With all her horrors of the morrow's doom, Lies Sion's captive daughter: sleep, soft sleep, His dusky mantle draws o'er every eye. But not on Daniel's unpillow'd head One opiate dew-drop falls. Much he revolves Dark sentences of old; much pious zeal For great Jehovah's honour fires his soul; And thus, with lifted hands, the prophet cries.

"Father of truth, and mercy, thou whose ar Even from the day when Abraham heard thy Stretch'd o'er thy chosen race, protects us sti

Though now awhile thou suffer us to groan
Beneath a tyrant's yoke; when, gracious Lord,
O when shall we return? O when again
Shall Siloa's banks, and Sion's holy top,
Be vocal with thy name? Said not thy seer,
When seventy tedious moons had twelve times
waned,

We should again be free? Behold, the day
Approaches. God of Israel, hath ought changed
Thine everlasting counsel ? wilt thou leave
Thy people yet in sad captivity,

And join thy prophet with the despised tribe
Of Babel's false diviners? Not to thee,
But to great Bel, Chaldæa's frantic priests
Waft clouds of incense. Soon as morning dawns,
With shouts the noisy revellers will proclaim
The triumph of their God; nor will they cease
To rouse their monarch's rage, should Judah dare
Resist his impious edict. Then, O then,
God of our fathers, rise;
Even before night, whose vaulted arch now shines
With clustering stars, shall visit earth again,
Confound their horrid rites, and show some sign
That yet again thy prisoners shall be free."

and in that day,

He spake, and sudden heard a rushing noise, As when a north-west gale comes hovering round Some cape, the point of spacious continent, Or in the Indian or Pacific main ;

The sailor hears it whistling in his shrouds, And bids it hail. Bright as the summer's noon Shone all the earth. Before the prophet stood Gabriel, seraphic form: graceful his port, Mild was his eye; yet such as might command Reverence, and sacred awe, by purest love Soften'd, but not impair'd. In waving curls O'er his arch'd neck his golden tresses hung; And on his shoulders two broad wings were placed, Wings, which when closed, drew up in many a fold, But, when extended to their utmost length, Were twice ten cubits. Two of smaller size Cameshadowing round his feet, with which he trod The elastic air, and walk'd o'er buoyant space, As on firm ground. A tunic braced his limbs, Blanch'd in the fields of light; and round his waist Was clasp'd an azure zone, with lucid stars All studded, like that circle broad which cuts The equator, burning line. The astonish'd seer With low obeisance bow'd his hoary head, While thus in voice benign the cherub spake. "Servant of God, that prayer was not unheard In heaven. I caught it, as before the throne I stood, within the emerald bow, and, mix'd With fragrant incense, offer'd it to him, The white-robed Ancient of eternal days, Even on his golden altar. Forthwith sent To thee, with speed impetuous, swifter far Than travels light's meridian beam, through realms Of space, studded with worlds, which neither thought Of mortal can conceive, nor numbers count, I come, God's messenger. Not twice the morn Shall dawn, ere all the woes which Salem felt Shall fall on Babylon. This, this is he,

Whose streamers now round these devoted towers
Wave to the western wind, whom God hath raised
His instrument of vengeance. Twice hath pass'd
A century, since him the prophet styled
Cyrus, the Lord's anointed. He shall say,
Cities of Judah, rise! He shall command,
And Solyma's unpeopled streets again
Shall throng with busy multitudes. To him
In vision, or in dream, shall God reveal
His secret purpose; or what other way
His power shall mould the victor's ductile will
To execute his promise. One day more
Shall proud Chaldæa triumph. In that day
Let not a knee in Benjamin be bow'd
Save to Jehovah. What though cruel pride
Inflame Belshazzar's soul! what though his wrath
Torments unknown prepare; a sign from Heaven
Shall blast each vain device, a sign obscure,
But terrible. Ask not what; for in that hour
Shall beam celestial knowledge on thy soul,
And thou shalt read the mystic characters
Of dark futurity. Fear not his frown;
But in the sight of his assembled peers
Hurl bold defiance at his throne; and speak
As fits a prophet of the living God.”

He spake, nor ended here; but to the seer
Matters of import high disclosed, which lay
Deep in the womb of time. "And these," he cried,
"Record to distant ages, but conceal
My present errand." Daniel prepared
Obedient answer; but before he spake,
Gabriel had furl'd his wings, and now had reach'd
The middle space 'twixt earth, and highest heaven.

FROM THE SAME.

Procession of the Chaldæans to the Temple of BelusRefusal of the Jews to worship the Idol-Rage of Belshazzar-The hand-writing on the wall of his palaceDaniel's prophecy.

Now Morn, with rosy-colour'd finger, raised
The sable pall, which provident Night had thrown
O'er mortals, and their works, when every street,
Straight or transverse,that towards Euphrates turns
Its sloping path, resounds with festive shouts,
And teems with busy multitudes, which press
With zeal impetuous to the towering fane
Of Bel, Chaldæan Jove; surpassing far
That Doric temple, which the Elean chiefs
Raised to their thunderer from the spoils of war,
Or that Ionic, where the Ephesian bow'd
To Dian, queen of heaven. Eight towers arise,
Each above each, immeasurable height,
A monument at once of eastern pride
And slavish superstition. Round, a scale
Of circling steps entwines the conic pile;
And at the bottom on vast hinges grate
Four brazen gates, towards the four winds of heaven
Placed in the solid square. Hither at once
Come flocking all the sons of Babylon,
Chaldæan or Assyrian; but retire

With humblest awe, while through their marshall'd ranks

Stalks proud Belshazzar. From his shoulders flows
A robe, twice steep'd in rich Sidonian hues,
Whose skirts, embroider'd with meand'ring gold,
Sweep o'er the marble pavement. Round his neck
A broad chain glitters, set with richest gems,
Ruby, and amethyst. The priests come next,
With knives, and lancets arm'd; two thousand sheep
And twice two thousand lambs stand bleating round,
Their hungry god's repast six loaded wains
With wine, and frankincense, and finest flour,
Move slowly. Then advance a gallant band,
Provincial rulers, counsellors and chiefs,
Judges and princes: from their essenced hair
Steam rich perfumes, exhaled from flower or herb,
Assyrian spices: last, the common train
Of humbler citizens. A linen vest

Enfolds their limbs; o'er which a robe of wool
Is clasp'd, while yet a third hangs white as snow,
Even to their sandal'd feet: a signet each,
Each bears a polish'd staff, on whose smooth top
In bold relief some well-carved emblem stands,
Bird, fruit, or flower. Determined, though dismay'd,
Judaea's mourning prisoners close the rear.

And now the unfolded gates on every side
Admit the splendid train, and to their eyes
A scene of rich magnificence display,
Censers, and cups, and vases, nicely wrought
In gold, with pearls and glittering gems inlaid,
The furniture of Baal. An altar stands
Of vast dimensions near the central stone,
On which the god's high-priest strews frankincense,
In weight a thousand talents. There he drags
The struggling elders of the flock; while near,
Stretch'd on a smaller plate of unmix'd gold,
Bleed the reluctant lambs. The ascending smoke,
Impregnate with perfumes, fills all the air.

These rites perform'd, his votaries all advance Where stands their idol; to compare with whom That earth-born crew, which scaled the walls of heaven,

Or that vast champion of Philistia's host,
Whom in the vale of Elah David slew
Unarm'd, were 'minish'd to a span. In height
Twice twenty feet he rises from the ground;
And every massy limb, and every joint,
Is carved in due proportion. Not one mine,
Though branching out in many a vein of gold,
Sufficed for this huge column. Him the priests
Had swept, and burnish'd, and perfumed with oils,
Essential odours. Now the sign is given,
And forthwith strains of mixed melody
Proclaim their molten thunderer; cornet, flute,
Harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, unite
In loud triumphal hymn, and all at once
The King, the nations, and the languages
Fall prostrate on the ground. But not a head,
But not one head in all thy faithful bands,
O Judah, bows. As when the full-orb'd moon,
What time the reaper chants his harvest song,
Rises behind some horizontal hill,

Flaming with reddest fire; still, as she moves,
The tints all soften, and a yellower light
Gleams through the ridges of a purple cloud:
At length, when midnight holds her silent reign,
Changed to a silver white, she holds her lamp
O'er the belated traveller; so thy face,
Belshazzar, from the crimson glow of rage,
Shifting through all the various hues between,
Settles into a wan and bloodless pale.

Thine eyeballs glare with fire. "Now by great Bel,”
Incensed, exclaims the monarch, "soon as mora
Again shall dawn, my vengeance shall be pour'd
On every head of their detested race."

He spake, and left the fane with hasty step, Indignant. Him a thousand lords attend, The minions of his court. And now they reach The stately palace. In a spacious hall, From whose high roof seven sparkling lustres hang, Round the perpetual board high sofas ranged Receive the gallant chiefs. The floor is spread With carpets, work'd in Babylonia's looms, Exquisite art; rich vessels carved in gold, In silver, and in ivory, beam with gems. 'Midst these is placed whate'er of massy plate, Or holy ornament, Nebassar brought From Sion's ransack'd temple; lamps, and cups, And bowls, now sparkling with the richest growth Of Eastern vineyards. On the table smokes All that can rouse the languid appetite, Barbaric luxury. Soft minstrels round Chant songs of triumph to symphonious harps. Propt on a golden couch Belshazzar lies, While on each side fair slaves of Syrian race By turns solicit with some amorous tale The monarch's melting heart. "Fill me," he cries, "That largest bowl, with which the Jewish slaves Once deck'd the altar of their vanquish'd God. Never again shall this capacious gold Receive their victims' blood. Henceforth the kings Of Babylon, oft as this feast returns, Shall crown it with rich wine, nectarious draught Fill high the foaming goblet; rise, my friends; And as I quaff the cup, with loud acclaim Thrice hail to Bel." They rose; when all at once Such sound was heard, as when the roaring winds Burst from their cave, and with impetuous rage Sweep o'er the Caspian or the Chronian deep. O'er the devoted walls the gate of heaven Thunder'd, an hideous peal; and, lo! a cloud Came darkening all the banquet, whence appear'd A hand (if hand it were, or airy form, Compound of light and shade) on the adverse wall Tracing strange characters. Belshazzar saw, And trembled: from his lips the goblet fell : He look'd again; perhaps it was a dream; Thrice, four times did he look; and every time Still plainer did the mystic lines appear, Indelible. Forthwith he summons all The wise Chaldæans, who by night consult The starry sigus, and in each planet read The dark decrees of fate. Silent they stand; Vain are their boasted charms. With eager sof