See, from the Caledonian shore, With blooming laurels cover'd o'er, Hail, honour'd heir of David's lyre, What terror sounds through all thy strings When billows upon billows roll, To hush the raging storm to rest, Thou sacred bard, whene'er I rove My humble mansion thou shalt grace, When the returning shades of night Shall warble to my ear, till Sleep's ་ Next comes the charming Casimire ; The bard divinely sings : The heavenly Muse inspir'd his tongue, The heavenly Muse his viol strung, And tun'd the' harmonious strings. See on what full, what rapid gales, Whether 'tis his divine delight With what a wing! to what a height ! He towers and mocks the gazing sight, Lost in the tracts of day! I from afar behold his course, Amaz'd with what a sovereign force Methinks, enkindled by the name Now shoots through all my soul. I feel, I feel the raptures rise, Touching on Zion's sacred brow, O, how they stretch their eager arms In groveling cares and stormy strife What is a diadem, that's tost From hand to hand, now won, now lost, From all terrestrial dregs refin'd My soul shall her sublimest lay Ye heroes, with your blood-stain'd arms, Say, what is Wisdom's queen to me, Or what the god of Wine? I never will profane this hand The sacred boughs to twine. The thyrsus, mentioned by the Doctor in his ode, was a spear twined round with ivy or bay leaves, which the votaries of Bacchus carried about in their hands at his feasts. 'Tis all romance, beneath a thought, How Hercules with lions fought And crush'd the dragon's spires; Alike, their thunderer I despise, In numbers by no vulgar bounds control'd, I'll sound through all the world the' immeasurable praise! But in the moment the Muse is promising great things, her vigour fails, her eyes are dazzled with the divine glories, her pinions flutter, her limbs tremble; she rushes headlong from the skies, falls to the earth, and there lies vanquished, overwhelmed in confusion and silence. Forgive, Reverend Sir, the vain attempt, and kindly accept this poetical fragment, though rude and unpolished, as an expression of that gratitude which has been so long due to your merit. VOTUM, SEU VITA IN TERRIS BEATA. AD VIRUM DIGNISSIMUM JOH. HARTOPPIUM, BARONETTUM. 1702. HARTOPPI eximio stemmate nobilis Venaque ingenii divite, si roges Quem mea Musa beat, Ille mihi felix ter et ampliùs, VOL. II. Et similes superis annos agit Qui sibi sufficiens semper adest sibi.' Inter agros, sylvasque silentes Se musisque suis tranquillâ in pace fruentem Non suæ vulgi favor insolentis O si daretur stamina proprii Atque meum mihi fingere fatum; Non Tyriâ vitiata conchâ. Non aurum, non gemma nitens, nec purpura tela Intertexta forent invidiosa meæ. Longè à triumphis, et sonitu tubæ Longè remotos transigerem dies: Pro meo tecto casa sit, salubres Dura phthisis mala, dura tussis. |