it proper to mention that while I was hastily executing a work, written for a temporary purpose, and on passing events, the task was most cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of Lord President Blair and Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished characters I had not only to regret persons whose lives were most important to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured my entrance upon active life; and, I may add, with melancholy pride, who permitted my more advanced age to claim no common share in their friendship. Under such interruptions, the following verses, which my best and happiest efforts must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appearance of negligence and incoherence, which, in other circumstances, I might have been able to remove. EDINBURGH, June 24, 1811. THE VISION OF DON RODERICK INTRODUCTION I LIVES there a strain whose sounds of mounting fire May rise distinguished o'er the din of war; Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star? Such, WELLINGTON, might reach thee from afar, Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range; Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, All as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet-change, That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge! II Yes! such a strain, with all o'erpowering measure, Might melodize with each tumultuous sound, Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure, That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around; The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crowned, The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan, The shout of captives from their chains unbound, The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan, A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. III But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day, Timid and raptureless, can we repay The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land, While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty handHow much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band! IV Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast The friends of Scottish freedom found repose; Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest, Returning from the field of vanquished foes; Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung; What time their hymn of victory arose, And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung,1 And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch. sung? 1 See Note 105. V O, if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say,' When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, Like trumpet-jubilee or harp's wild sway; If ye can echo such triumphant lay, Then lend the note to him has loved you long! Who pious gathered each tradition grey, That floats your solitary wastes along, And with affection vain gave them new voice in song. VI For not till now, how oft soe'er the task Of truant verse hath lightened graver care, They came unsought for, if applauses came; Immortal be the verse! - forgot the poet's name! VII Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost: 'Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre, Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, Like the light flickering of a cottage fire; If to such task presumptuous thou aspire Seek not from us the meed to warrior due: Age after age has gathered son to sire, Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew, Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. VIII 'Decayed our old traditionary lore, Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing, And rugged deeds recount in rugged line Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. IX 'No! search romantic lands, where the near Sun Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, Where the rude villager, his labour done, In verse spontaneous chants some favoured name,2 Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, Her eye of diamond and her locks of jet, 1 See Note 106. 2 See Note 107. |