I glad ascend, and homeward bend my way;
The hut appears with the meridian day.
What scene appears of heart-corroding woe,
The melancholy crowd, solemnly slow,
Support my dead preserver to the grave;
Death sped the blow, which aged sorrow gave.
For me, for me, the senior drew his breath!
For me, for me, the aged sunk in death!
To find me in the grave; I sobbing paid
My tearful tribute to the reverend shade:
At once, love, gratitude, and duty mourn,
My sire, my counsel, in the silent urn.
Now on the eye decay the blissful scenes,
The rough-browed rocks, and all the sloping plains
Delight no more; no chace, no winged fowl,
No goat, no cattle, cheer the mournful soul.
The senior gone, the rural sports decayed,
And love attracts the traveller to the maid.
As when the playful youth delighted views
A thousand flowers, of thousand various hues,
Glow on the murmuring rivulet's farther side;
He dips his foot, and, trembling, backward flies,
Returns again, and lops the blooming toys :
Thus undetermined long I dubious stood,
Then headlong plunged in fortune's sable flood;
Swift bounding forward, I devour the way,
The oaten field and low-roofed hut decay;
The hills step backward, as I onward stride
Along the sharp-spiked rocks and mountains side.
Tay, on thy banks, a courteous host! received,
And balmy rest the nerve of toil relieved.
Soon as the sky with, Sol! thy chariot glows,
Made strong for toil, the wandering traveller goes;
Ceaseless I mete the road, till setting day
Darts parallel to earth a golden ray.
A place there is, where the cerulean main
Glides up 'twixt rocks, and forms an azure plain;
There, there I stood, astonished to survey
The roaring billows on the watery way;
How liquid mountains dash against the shore,
The rough rocks rumble, hoarse the billows roar:
I stretch'd my limbs along the murmuring deep,
And the hoarse billows lull my soul asleep.
His toils, his woes, the hill-born hero sung,
While from their seats the attentive audience hung.
His woes, his toils, as yet they seem to hear;
As yet his accents hang upon the ear,
Though ceased. Swift from his seat Alcanor rose,
Down to his heel the sable mantle flows;
His aged limbs shook with the weight of years,
His fading eyes distil the briny tears:
O valiant youth! your face, the age rejoined,
Recalls my hopeless son unto my mind;
The same his features, and his shape the same,
Thus death untimely wrapt the youthful frame.
Ah me! my son, you treason's victim lay,
While at your side thy consort's charms decay;
While with thy child a matron servant fled;
And friends enquiring thought your memory dead.
But thou, dear object of my aged care,
Whom Heaven designed the sad Alcanor's heir,
By more than mortal led-thee, thee I own,
My joy, my hope, my reviviscent son!
Be still, fond heart! no more Alcanor grieves,
Since in my godlike youth my Allan lives.
The Senior said; and clasped the hero round:
His reverend sire the valiant grandson owned.
Tears flow on tears, and sigh succeeds on sigh,
And either soul melts with the sudden joy;
Swell on the air congratulations round,
And mighty titles round the Hunter sound.
Now, envy fled, the ancient peerage own,
And greatness flashes from the mean unknown.
Thus in the quarry, rough in every part,
The moss-grown marble, till reformed by art,
Unvalued lies, till forming hammers groan,
The halls of greatness shine with Parian stone.
Thus shone the chief amidst the bevied great,
Brighter his fame shone on the arms of state;
With joyful shouts the palace thundered round,
And repercussive walls repel the sound.
Thus lost in distance empty thunders roar,
Or foaming billows lash the sounding shore;
Heard by the midnight travellers as they roam,
And swells the murmur on the silent gloom.
The fair Egidia, as she sat alone,
And silent breathed her sighs in plaintive moan,
Felt noisy shouts invade the trembling car,
Starts from the dream of thought, and looks with fear.
Surprise is painted in her blooming mien,
And care succeeds the soft enamoured pain:
Ah! hapless me! the trembling virgin cries,
The tear half dropping from her azure eyes,
The warrior youth, all by the great envied,
Falls now perhaps a victim to their pride;
O'erpowered, for such of late assailed the ear,
From fields of death, and iron noise of war.
Ophelia there? Come, maid! What means that noise? 55 The hill-born youth departs, the peers rejoice:
My queen! the maid replies; the bowl is crowned,
And with the hero's health the vaulted halls resound.
A sudden stupor every sense pervades,
Upon her cheek the roseate tincture fades ;
In dumb surprise her soul astonished swims;
The downy bed supports her falling limbs :
A sudden qualm of sorrow and surprise
Bound up the tongue, and blocked the gates of voice:
The wakening soul resumes the seat again,
She ceaseless rolls in agonizing pain;
Tossed round her limbs, and furious with despair,
She beat her breast, and tore her golden hair.
Surprise is o'er; the tears begin to flow;
And words expressive of the mighty woe:
Egidia lives! and what she prized is fled !
Come, death! and waft the hapless to the dead.
Come lop this virgin flower, my sable spouse,
And quench the flood-gates of these rushing woes.
Sooth, sooth, O gentle! all my troubled breast;
Within thy arms at last my soul shall rest!
Birth, grandeur, state, farewell, ye empty toys,
Ye curse of life, obstructions of my joys!
O should a shepherdess upon the plain
Bear me, a daughter, to some humble swain;
Not nursed to grandeur, unconfined to state,
The stately youth might love his rural mate!
Clasped in Love's arms, in some low hut reclined,
I'd pour upon his breast my love-sick mind;
With thee, my swain, would bear the wintry cold,
With thee would guard the cattle to the fold;
Through Poverty's cold stream with thee would gain,
And lean-cheek'd Want might puff his blast in vain ;
With thee, with thee would tempt the rugged heath;
With thee would live, with thee would sink in death.
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