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ODE ON ÆOLUS'S HARP.*

ETHEREAL race, inhabitants of air,

Who hymn your God ainid the secret grave; Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,

And raise majestic strains, ur melt in love. Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid,

With what soft woe they thrill the lover's heart ! Sure from the hand of some unhappy naid,

Who dy'd of love, these sweet complainings part. But, hark! that strain was of a graver tone,

On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws; Or he the sacred bard, t who sat alone

In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the song which Zion's children sung,

When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint; And to such sadly solemn notes are strung

Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint. Methinks I hear the full celestial choir,

Through heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise; Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire

To swell the lofty hymn, from praise to praise. Let me, ye wandering spirits of the wind,

Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string, Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd,

For till you cease, my muse forgets to sing.

HYMN ON SOLITUDE.
Hail, mildly pleasing solitude,
Companion of the wise and good,
But, from whose holy, piercing eye,
The herd of fools and villains fly.

Oh! how I love with thee to walk,

And listen to thy whisper'd talk, * Æolus's Harp is a musical instrument, which plays with the wind, invented by Mr. Oswald; its properties are fully described in the Castle of Indolence.

+ Jeremiah.

Which innocence and truth imparts,
And melts the most obdurate hearts.

A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every shape you please.
Now wrapt in some mysterious dream,
A lone philosopher you seemn;
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you sweep the vaulted sky.
A shepherd next, you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain.
A lover now, with all the grace
Of that sweet passion in your face:
Then, calm'd to friendship, you assume
The gentle-looking Harford's blooni,
As, with her Musidora, she
(Her Musidora fond of thee)
Amid the long withdrawing vale,
Awakes the rival'd nightingale.

Thine is the balmy breath of morn,
Just as the dew-bent rose is born;
And while meridian fervors beat,
Thine is the woodland dumb retreat;
But chief, when evening scenes decay,
And the faint landskip swims away,
Thine is the doubtful soft decline,
And that best hour of musing thine.

Descending angels bless thy train,
The virtues of the sage, and swain ;
Plain innocence in white array'd,
Before thee lifts her fearless head:
Religion's beams around thee shine,
And cheer thy glooms with light divine:
About thee sports sweet liberty;
And wrapt Urania sings to thee.

Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell !
And in thy deep recesses dwell;
Perhaps from Norwood's oak-clad hill,
When meditation has her fill,
I just may cast my careless eyes
Where London's spiry turrets rise,
Think of its crimes, its cares, its pain,
Then shield me in the woods again.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. AIKMAN

THE PAINTER.*

From a MS. in the collection of the Eurl of Buchan.

Oh could I draw, my friend, thy genuine mind,
Just, as the living forms by thee design'd,
Of Raphael's figures none should fairer shine,
Nor Titian's colours longer last than mine.
A mind in wisdom old, in lenience young,
From fervent truth where every virtue sprung;
Where all was real, modest, plain, sincere;
Worth above show, and goodness unsevere.
View'd round and round, as lucid diamonds throw
Still as you turn them a revolving glow;
So did his mind reflect with secret ray,
In various virtues, heav'n's internal day,
Whether in high discourse it soar'd sublime,
And sprung impatient o'er the bounds of time,
Or wand'ring nature through with raptur'd eye,
Ador'd the hand that turn'd yon azure sky:
Whether to social life he bent his thought,
And the right poise of mingling passions sought,
Gay converse bless'd ; or in the thoughtful grove
Bid the heart open every source of love;
New varying lights still set before your eyes
The just, the good, the social, or the wise.
For such a death who can, who would, refuse
The friend a tear, a verse the mournful muse?
Yet pay we just acknowledgment to Heaven,
Though snatch'd so soon, that Aikman ere was given.
A friend, when dead, is lut remov'd from sight,
Hid in the lustre of eternal light :

* Mr. Aikman died at London, on the 7th of June, O. S. 173), from whence his remains were sent to Scotland, and in:erred in the Gray-Friars church-yard, close by those of his only son, who had been buried only a few months before.

Oft with the mind he wonted converse keeps
In the lone walk, or when the body sleeps
Lets in a wand'ring ray, and all elate
Wings and attracts her to another state ;*
And when the parting storms of life are o'er,
May yet rejoin him on a happier shore.
As those we love decay, we die in part,
String after string is sever'd from the heart;
Till loosen'd life at last—but breathing clay,
Without one pang, is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
Whose eyes have wept o'er ev'ry friend laid low,
Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to death,
And dying, all he can resign is breath.

SON G.

O Thou, whose tender serious eyes
Expressive speak the mind I love;
The gentle azure of the skies,
The pensive shadows of the grove:
O mix their beauteous beams with mine,
And let us change our hearts;
Let all their sweetness on me shine,
Pour'd through my soul be all their darts.
Ah! tis too much! I cannot bear
At once so soft, so keen, a ray:
In pity, then, my lovely fair,
O turn these killing eyes away!
But what avails it to conceal
One charm, where nought but charms we seed
Their lustre then again reveal,
And let me, Myra, die of thee.

* This and the three preceding lines, are not in the MS. Of Mrs. Forbes Aikman.

MALLE T.

O, David MALLET, whose real name was Malloch, we know little, till he made himself conspicuous by his talents. He was born about the beginning of the last century, and was probably a native of Perthshire, though neither his birth-place nor the condition of his parents are mentioned. It appears that he received some part of his school education at Aberdeen, and that he afterwards studied at the university of Edinburgh..

About this time, he exercised the office of tutor in the family of Mr. Horne of Dreghorn ; and having evinced a taste for poetry, he attracted some notice, as a young man of promising talents.

In consequence of his good behaviour, he was rex commended, about 1727, aş tụtor to the two younger sons of the duke of Montrose ; and bidding adieu to his pative country, he proceeded to Winchester, where the family then resided. In this situation, he had an opr portunity of improving his talents, and extending hiş acquaintance ; and when his pupils removed with their parents to London, for the winter, Mallet's sphere of action was enlarged, and he attempted dramatic poetry, . and gained considerable applause.

Having attended his pupils on the fashionable tour of the continent, and his services being no longer wanted, he obtained the appointment of Under Secretary from the Prince of Wales, with a salary of 2001. a-year, and associated with wits, statesmen, and nobles on terms of respectable and just equality.

In 1741 he married Miss Estlob, a lady of great beauty and merit. Six years after, he published “ Amyn

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