THE PASSIONS. (Represented as persons playing on Musical Instruments.) First FEAR his hand, its skill to try, Next ANGER rush'd; his eyes on fire, With woful measures wan DESPAIR But thou, O HOPE, with eyes so fair, Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still, through all the song; A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And HOPE, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung;-but, with a frown, REVENGE impatient rose: He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down; And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to naught were fix'd; Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; And now it courted Love, now raving, call'd on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew such inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung. Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best; They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.-COLLINS. TELL'S SPEECH. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! How huge you are! how mighty and how free! Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, Once scaling yonder peak, Of measuring the ample range beneath, The death that threaten'd him-I could not shoot- And let him soar away! Heavens, with what pride I used I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along, As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wished me there-the thought that mine was free Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, KNOWLES. DEATH OF MARMION. Fast as shaft can fly, Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread, Lord Marmion's steed rushed by. Soon after, up the hill there rode His hand still strained the broken brand, They doffed his casque, he felt free air, "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! Redeem my pennon,- charge again! That shout shall ne'er be heard again!- Tunstall lies dead upon the field; His life-blood stains the spotless shield: Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, Must I hid twice?-hence, varlets! fly! The war that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, A light on Marmion's visage spread, With dying hand above his head, And shouted "Victory!" "Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion. SCOTT. AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. All hail! thou noble land, Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shores; For thou, with magic might, Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright The genius of our clime, With their conch the kindred league shall proclaim O'er the main our naval line, Like the milky-way, shall shine Bright in fame! Though ages long have passed Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravell'd seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! And shall we not proclaim That blood of honest fame, While the language free and bold How the vault of Heaven rung, When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; While this, with reverence meet, Ten thousand echoes greet. From rock to rock repeat Round our coast: While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts, Between let ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the sun: Yet, still from either beach, The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, "We are one!" WASHINGTON ALLSTON. |