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 ruin 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 showery 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 aërial council hold. But O! o'er all, forget not Kilda's race, On whose bleak rocks, which brave the washing tides, Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain; One of the Hebrides is called the isle of Pigmies: 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 Norweg'an kings are interred. Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, 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, There Shakspeare's self, which every garland crown'd, * An aquatic bird, like a goose; on the eggs of which the inhabitants of St. Kilda often subsist. Proceed, in forceful sounds and colour bold, To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful verse. In scenes like these, which, daring to depart From sober truth, are still to Nature true, And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, The heroic Muse employ'd her Tasso's art. How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke, Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour'd! When each live plant, with mortal accents spoke, And the wild blast upheaved the vanish'd sword! How have I sat, when piped the pensive wind, To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung! Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders which he sung! Hence, at each sound, imagination glows! Hence, at each picture, vivid life starts here! Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows! Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and clear, And fills th' impassion'd heart, and wins the harmonious ear! All hail, ye scenes, that o'er my soul prevail! Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away, Are by smooth Annan fill'd, or pastoral Tay,* Or Don's romantic springs, at distance hail! ***Three rivers in Scotland. The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread . And mourn on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's laid! And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my absent friend! * Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to the Scotch poet, Drummond, at his seat of Hawthornden, within 4 miles of Edinburgh. Barrow, it seems, was at Edinburgh University, which is in the county of Lothian. These popular superstitions are enumerated with equal taste and knowledge of the subject. The information is chiefly taken from Martin'sDescription of the Western Islands of Scotland, published 1703.-B. SU LA TOMBA DI FEDELE. [FROM G. B. MARTELLI.] I freschi doni eterei Di Flora e i molli odori Facil tributo ingenuo Su questa tomba erbosa, Il muto cener posa Garzon, Fedel nomato, A cui di vita il tenero Ignota fia quest' urna ; Ma le Sirene eteree Faran l'avello intorno |