Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind When in the lap of Peace reclined When Fancy roved at large, nor Care Nor cold Distrust alarmed, His simple youth had harmed. 'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee From heart sincere, and warm, and free, Ah why did Fate his steps decoy In stormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy! O take the wanderer home. Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine Whence the scared owl on pinions gray Breaks from the rustling boughs, To more profound repose. O, while to thee the woodland pours And balmy from the bank of flowers The zephyr breathes along; Let no rude sound invade from far, No vagrant foot be nigh, No ray from Grandeur's gilded car But if some pilgrim through the glade 1 Thy hallowed bowers explore, O guard from harm his hoary head, And listen to his lore; For he of joys divine shall tell, That wean from earthly woe, And triumph o'er the mighty spell That chains his heart below. For me, no more the path invites Ambition loves to tread; No more I climb those toilsome heights, By guileful Hope misled; Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more To Mirth's enlivening strain; For present pleasure soon is o'er, And all the past is vain,' THE HERMIT. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 'Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky, She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; Kind nature the embryo blossom will save. But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn! 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shad Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 'O pity, great Father of Light,' then I cried, 'Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee; Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and froin darkness thou only canst free!' And darkness and doubt are now flying away, No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.' JAMES MACPHERSON, whose fame rests entirely upon his translation of the poems of Ossian, was born at Kingussie, a village near Perth, in 1738. Being intended for the church he received the necessary education at Aberdeen; but immediately after he left the university he took charge of the school at Ruthven, near his native place, whence he, however, soon removed, to become tutor in the family of Mr. Graham, of Balgowan. While attending his pupil, afterwards Lord Lynedoch, at the spa of Moffat, he became acquainted with Home, the author of ' Douglas,' to whom he showed what he represented as the translations of some fragments of ancient Gaelic poetry, which he said was still floating in the Highlands. He stated that it was one of the favorite amusements of his countrymen to listen to the tales and compositions of their ancient bards; and he described these fragments as full of pathos and poetical imagery. This statement was so plausible that the patronage of Dr. Blair, Lord Kames, and others, was immediately secured, and Macpherson published a small volume of sixty pages, entitled Fragments of Ancient Poetry; translated from the Gaelic or Erse Language. The publication attracted universal attention; and a subscription was immediately made to enable Macpherson to make a tour of the Highlands to collect other pieces. His journey proved so highly successful that, in 1772, he presented to the world Fingal, an Ancient Epic Poem, in Six Books; and in the following year Temora, another epic poem, in eight books. The success of these publications was immense; but the merits of the works were so fully investigated when we were examining the early poetry of the Island, that any farther notice of them would here be superfluous. From these translations Macpherson is represented to have realized no less than twelve hundred pounds. In 1764, he accompanied Governor Johnston to Pensacola, as his secretary; but having quarrelled with his patron, he returned to England, settled in London, and became one of the literary supporters of the administration. He published some historical works, was a copious pamphleteer, and, in 1773, sent forth a translation of the Iliad, in the same style of poetical prose, as Ossian. This last performance was a complete failure, and served only as a source of ridicule and personal opprobrium to the translator. As a politician Macpherson was more successful; and a pamphlet of his in defence of American taxation, and another on the opposition in parliament, in 1779, were much applauded. He now obtained a seat in parliament as representative for the borough of Camelford; but with all his ambition and political zeal, it does not appear that he ever attempted to speak in the House of Commons. In 1789, having realized a handsome fortune, he purchased the property of Raitts, in his native parish, changed the name to the more euphonious and sounding one of Belleville, and built upon it a splendid residence, in the style of an Italian villa, in which he hoped to spend an old age of ease and dignity. He enjoyed his splendor, however, for but a brief period; as his death occurred on the seventeenth of February, 1796. When Macpherson had not the original poems of Ossian to depend upon, he was but a very indifferent poet. Besides the works already mentioned, he produced, in early life, an heroic poem, in six cantos, entitled The Highlander, which is so miserable a production, as to be entirely beneath criticism. He also published several minor pieces, of which the following alone exhibits any poetical fancy: THE CAVE. The wind is up, the field is bare, With blessed Content has chose to dwell. Behold! it opens to my sight, Dark in the rock, beside the flood; Dry fern around obstructs the light; Reflected in the lake, I see The downward mountains and the skies, The goats that on the hill arise. The gray-cloaked herd drives on the cow; A freckled pointer scours the brow; Curved o'er the ruin of an oak, Some rural maid, with apron full, I see the smoky columns roll, And, through the chinky hut, the beam. Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss, Two well-met hunters talk at ease; Three panting dogs beside repose; One bleeding deer is stretched on grass A lake at distance spreads to sight, One tree bends o'er the naked walls; By intervals a fragment falls, As blows the blast along the sky. The rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide An angler, bending o'er the tide, Hangs from the boat the insidious wood. Beside the flood, beneath the rocks, On grassy bank, two lovers lean; The wind is rustling in the oak; They seem to hear the tread of feet; But see! the gray mist from the lake Dark storms the murmuring forests shake, To Damon's homely hut I fly; I see it smoking on the plain; When storms are past and fair the sky, MICHAEL BRUCE, a young and lamented Scottish poet, of rich promise, was the son of an humble weaver, and was born at Kinnesswood, in the county of Kinross, on the twenty-seventh of March, 1746. The dreariest poverty and obscurity hung over the poet's infancy, but his father was a good and pious man, and trained all his children to a knowledge of their letters, and a deep sense of religious duty. In the summer months Michael was put out to herd cattle; and though his education was retarded by this employment, his training, as a poet, was greatly benefitted; as it afforded him an opportunity of communion with nature, amidst scenery that overlooked Lochleven and its fine old ruined castle. When he had arrived at the age of fifteen, he was judged fit for college; and as a relation of his father died just at this period, and left him a legacy of about eleven hundred pounds sterling, the old man piously devoted it to the education of his favorite son. The poet, accordingly, proceeded to Edinburgh, and was enrolled a student of the university. Here he soon became distinguished for his proficiency in general learning, and for his excellence in poetry. Having been three sessions at college, supported by his parents and some kind friends and neighbors, Bruce engaged to teach a school at Gairney Bridge, where he received, for his labors, about eleven pounds per annum ! He afterwards removed to Forest Hill, near Alloa, and there taught for some time with no better success. His school-room was low-roofed and damp, and the poor youth, confined for five or six hours a-day in this unwholesome atmosphere, depressed by poverty and disappointment, soon lost both health and spirits. He wrote his poem of Lochleven at Forest Hill, but was at length forced to return to his father's cottage, which he never after left. A pulmonary complaint had settled on him, and he was in the last stage of consumption. With death full in view, he wrote his Ode to Spring, by far |