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NOT IN THE MANNER, BUT IN THE SPIRIT OF

COLLINS.

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" Deep in

yon bed of whispering reeds Thy airy harp shall now be laid ; 66 That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds, May love thro' life the soothing shade."

COLLINS.

66

WHEN THOMSON's harp of charming tone
Giv'n to the favour'd bard alone,
(Its tuneful master snatch'd away),
'Midst whispering reeds impervious lay ;
The winds awak'd its mournful swell,
The wood-nymphs join'd, the solemn knell.
Her yellow locks mild Autumn tore,
Wild Winter mourn'd in mantle hoar.

Sweet Spring in weeping buds was drest,
And Summer rent her flow'ry vest ;
Sad Nature caught th' Æolian strain,
And bade it echo thro' the plain;
And Fate proclaim'd, no daring hand
Should Thomson's sacred harp command:
While Collins sooth'd the mourners round,
With magic lyre of dulcet sound :
But when the Bard by Arun's stream,
Indulg'd each sadly tender theme,
And with enchantment wild combin'd,
The countless “ shadowy trịbes of mind ;"
Or wept o'er valour's early tomb,
Bedeck'd with wreaths of freshest bloom ;
Or bade the pictur’d passions rise,
In fancy'd forms to human eyes,-
The fair creation rose confest,
And dazzled reason sunk opprest :
No more he feels the Muse inspire,
In slumber lay the magic lyre ;
Again he lifts his languid eyes,
To wake its strain in vain he tries;
Then ere he sought th’ Elysian plain,
Resign'd the magic lyre to JANE !

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Your jealous walls, great Duke; in vain

All access would refuse;
What walls can Highland steps restrain ?

What bars keep out the Muse ? Where'er I go I bring with me " That mountain-nymph, sweet LIBERTY !"

Would you engross each breathing sweet

Yon violet banks exhale ?
Or trees with od’rous blooms replete,
That scent th' enamour'd gale:

Alike they smile on you and me,
Like Nature and sweet Liberty !

While pleasure's fleeting form you trace

In Mona's distant isle,
And leave forlorn your native place

Where rural beauties smile :
Congenial see them smile for me,
Then do not grudge my Liberty.

Eneas pass’d with branch of gold

The gloomy gates below: And silver branches, I am told,

Can smooth your porter's brow; But wand'ring Highland folks like me, Can seldom purchase Liberty.

While musing by the Tilt I stood,

And view'd its wand'ring tide, Uprose a Naiad from the flood,

And beckoning, shew'd its side : I took the kindly hint with glee, And scrambled hard for Liberty.

Beneath the bridge's bending arch

My vent'rous steps she led,
Till by yon ancient weeping larch

I laid my wearied head:
While birds methought on every tree
Rejoicing hail'd my Liberty !

The leaden gods above the gate

Aghast with wonder stood, Olympian Jove, his vixen mate,

And all the heathen brood : Bravo! cried thievish MERCURY, 'Tis right to steal sweet Liberty !

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