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NOT IN THE MANNER, BUT IN THE SPIRIT OF

COLLINS,

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

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COLLINS.

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 tribes 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 thElysian 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 haild 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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