72. Ambition nerved yound Allan's hand, 73. Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow: Whose streaming life-blood stains his side? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, The dart has drunk his vital tide. 74. And Mora's eye could Allan move, She bade his wounded pride rebel: Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love, Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell. 75. Lo! see'st thou not a lonely tomb, Which rises o'er a warrior dead! It glimmers through the twilight gloom; 76. Far, distant far, the noble grave, Which held his clan's great ashes, stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 77. What minstrel gray, what hoary bard, But who can strike a murderer's praise? 78. Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, His harp in shuddering chords would break. 79. No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, A dying father's bitter curse, A brother's death-groan echoes there. TO THE DUKE OF D. In looking over my papers, to select a few additional Poems for this second edition, I found the following lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the Summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from H-. They were addressed to a young school-fellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country; however he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a reperusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision. D-R-T! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Exploring every path of Ida's glade, Whom, still, affection taught me to defend, And made me less a tyrant than a friend; Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Bade thee obey, and gave me to command * * At every public school, the junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forms, till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but after a certain period, they command, in turn, those who succeed. Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower When youthful parasites, who bend the knee To wealth, their golden idol,-not to thee! And, even in simple boyhood's opening dawn, Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn: When these declare," that pomp alone should wait "On one by birth predestined to be great; "That books were only meant for drudging fools, "That gallant spirits scorn the common rules ;" Believe them not,—they point the path to shame, And seek to blast the honours of thy name : * Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant; I merely mention, generally, what is too often the weakness of Preceptors. Turn to the few, in Ida's early throng, Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong; None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day, 'Tis not enough, with other Sons of power, |