STROPHE II.

Yet tho' dark Ruin's raven sway
Hath swept thy hour of pomp away,
Tho' Superstition's bleak and cowering wing

Thy shadowy throne with gloomy pride o'erspread,
We yet may ask, if chance our footsteps bring,
To mourn thy triumphs lost, thy glories fled,
Where Tully's lips thy senates mov'd,
Where Horace tun'd the lyre he lov'd,
Or Mantua's Swan, in Cæsar's happier day,
Swell'd with unruffled plume its past'ral lay,
Where Julius fell, and chaste Lucretia pour'd
Her agonizing soul on Honour's beamy sword!

ANTISTROPHE II.

But lo! from Asia's hills afar
Descends a long continued train,
Is it the bickering march of war,

That throngs with troops the tented plain?
No thunders rive the withering air,
Nor helm, nor panoply is there,
With pensive pace, a pilgrim band,
To fair Medina's distant strand,

And Mecca's hallow'd fanes devout they pour,
From Carmel's cliff, from Tartan Caspia's shore
Tyre's golden gates, Sabaea's balmy bloom,
And kiss with holy joy the dark Usurper's tomb.

EPODE IL

Lift high the swelling strain,
And loftier notes prepare,

For see, where Albion quits the westering tide:
So leaves the lord of beasts his lair,

So shakes the terrours of his golden mane:
Queen of the Isles! fair Honour's bloomy bride
I know thee now-I know each craggy seat,
Faith's firmest throne, and Freedom's best retreat;
I know the heroes of thy patriot line,

I know each raptur'd bard, each sage divine:

Whether thy Shakespeare's thunders roll,
Or Otway charms the subject soul,
Or Newton kens the milky way,
Or Milton drinks the gales of day.
What tho' around thy native mound
The frowns of Danger widely spread,
Tho' billows scowl, and tempests howl,
And hover o'er thy fearless head;

Still may'st thou urge thine empire o'er the main, Nor hurl thy vollied fires, nor lift the lance in vain!

SOBRINO.

EPIGRAM.

FROM THE FRENCH OF GOMBAULD.

By showering wealth and titles splendid

On thee! the basest of the bad!

It seems that Fortune sure intended

To drive insulted Virtue mad,

R. A. D.

My si raise the Lani, peaks good of his name, Es meretes mort us Jounties proclaim: 1) Gast, meir Creator, 'er ail creatures raise

The song i mansgang, the cucus of praise !

Though na ʼn m man's gut, Goi maigns on his throne,
Pa ne y lo toaster geac Author is known :
The word seams a morte is Maker to show,
Jill Jove Nos is mags zerfected below.

ww, ime, water, earth, sky,

Ja migut if God the most High:

* MaiÒW?mi, when clouds veil his form,

M. Shits a the sun-beam, or frowns in the storm.

bige supreme, by wisdom divine,
his earth with gracious design:
ard, and insect, his providence reigns,
..t created, whose love still sustains.

Cast work, with reason endued,
arough sin, by grace was renew'd:
Crator, let man ever raise
anksgiving, the chorus of praise!

VERSES,

ADDRESSED TO A LADY OF QUALITY

WITH A DRAWING OF LUNCARTY IN PERTHSHIRE, THE SCENE OF THE WARLIKE ATCHIEVEMENTS OF HER ANCESTORS.

BY R. CARLYLE.

THESE Classic margins of the silver Tay
First saw the prowess of the godlike Hay*;
Here with his gallant stripling sons he stood,
While flow'd around him streams of Danish blood.

The battle of Luncarty was fought in the tenth century be tween the Scats and Danes, soon after the latter invaded Scotland, in the reign of Kenneth the third King of Scotland. The Scots waited for the Danes after their landing, on the plains of Luncarty four miles above Perth, when a bloody battle ensued, at which the Scots were giving way on all sides. Hay, a peasant, accompanied by two of his sons, saw what was likely to be the issue of the day, and, armed with only such weapons as his occupation furnished him with, by the force of his valeur, courage, and heroic behaviour, he was not only instrumental in stemming' the tide of the battle, but his prowess so animated the retiring troops of the Scots, that they rallied, repulsed, and effectually obliged the Danes to retire in great disorder to their ships, which lay at anchor at the mouth of the Tay. As soon as Kenneth heard of the gallant atchievement of the heroic peasant, he created

Hail land beloved! thy plains produced a man,
Who" march'd in freedom's cause, and led the van;"
Whose arm uplifted broke th' invading band,
While Independence blessed his native land;
Oh I could kneel and kiss the sacred soil,
Which grew prolific from the Heroe's toil;
Which nerv'd the sinewy giant arm, that broke,
The wretched bondage of a foreign yoke,
And sav'd his country when around her pour'd
The savage legions of a race abhorr❜d.
And as amid these wrecks of time I trace,
With pilgrim footsteps, this respected place,
Which saw the splendid actions of your sire,
Actions succeeding ages still admire ;
By airy beings spoke methinks I hear,
These sounds celestial, warble in my ear:
"Oh may the noble lineage thus begun,
"Increase in splendor by each virtuous son;

And may each beauteous daughter still unite,
"An Angel's goodness, with the Hero's might;
"And as old Time advances, may the name
"Still bloom immortal, in the fields of Fame!"

him Earl of Erroll, and gave him as much land as a Falcon flex over before he alighted. The flight of the bird happened to be over the rich plain of Gowrie, commonly called the garden of Scotland. From an origin so truly noble are descended the families of the Earls of Erroll and Kinnoul and the Marquis of Tweedale; and if true benevolence, exalted dignity, and personal beauty, any way distinguish the human character, the descend ants of so noble a progenitor prove themselves not only ennobled by the King of Scotland but by the King of Kings.