Whose long progression leads to Deity. Can mortal strength presume to soar on high ! Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm'd with tears, Such glory bear !-for lo, the shadows fly From Nature's face; confusion disappears, And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears! "In the deep windings of the grove, no more The hag obscene and grisly phantom dwell; Nor in the fall of mountain stream, or roar Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell; No wizard mutters the tremendous spell, Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon; Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell, To ease of fancied pangs the labouring moon, Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of noon. "Many a long lingering year, in lonely isle, Stunn'd with the eternal turbulence of waves, 'And even where Nature loads the teeming plain With the full pomp of vegetable store, Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane: Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore, Stretch their enormous gloom; which to explore Even fancy trembles in her sprightliest mood; For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore, Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood, Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every flood. "Twas from Philosophy man learn'd to tame The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed. Lo, from the echoing axe and thunder ing flame, Poison and plague, and yelling rage are fled! The waters bursting from their slimy bed, Bring health and melody to every vale; And, from the breezy main and moun tain's head, Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale, Lo, with dim eyes, that never learn'd To fan their glowing charms, invite the A while, and turn aside Death's level dart, Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire, And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart, And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart. "Nor less to regulate man's moral frame Science exerts her all-composing sway. Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey, Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they? Flee to the shade of Academus' grove, Where cares molest not, discord melts away In harmony, and the pure passions prove How sweet the words of Truth, breathed from the lips of Love. "What cannot Art and Industry perform, When Science plans the progress of their toil? They smile at penury, disease, and storm; And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil. When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage Order transforms to anarchy and spoil, Deep-versed in man the philosophic sage Prepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage. "'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind, From situation, temper, soil, and clime Explored, a nation's various powers can bind, And various orders, in one form sublime Of polity, that, 'midst the wrecks of time, Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear Th'assault of foreign or domestic crime, While public faith and public love sincere, And industry and law, maintain their sway severe." [POETRY: ITS INFLUENCE AND DELIGHT.] But she, who set on fire his infant heart, And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shared And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art, Still claim th' enthusiast's fond and first regard. From Nature's beauties, variously compared And variously combined, he learns to frame Those forms of bright perfection, which the bard, While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame, Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame. O late, with cumbersome, though pompous show, Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface, Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now To his experienced eye a modest grace Presents, where ornament the second place Holds, to intrinsic worth and just de sign Subservient still. Simplicity apace Tempers his rage; he owns her charm divine, And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy line. Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains) What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole, When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains His deep majestic melody 'gan roll : Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul, How the red current throbb'd his veins along, When, like Pelides, bold beyond control, Without art graceful, without effort strong, Homer raised high to Heaven the loud, th' impetuous song. And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain, He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn, He, whom each virtue fired, each grace refined, Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind! He sleeps in dust. Ah, how shall I pursue My theme? To heart-consuming grief resigned, Here on his recent grave I fix my view, And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu ! Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled? head, Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go? No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers : Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. Warbling at will through each har- 'Tis meet that I should mourn : flow forth monious maze, Was taught to modulate the artful strain, I fain would sing :-But ah! I strive in vain. Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound. With trembling step, to join yon weep ing train, afresh, my tears! TO MR ALEXANDER ROSS. I haste, where gleams funereal glare To ape our guid plain country folks around, And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound. Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn, The soft amusement of the vacant mind! Oh, mayst thou ne'er gang clung1 or And say, Pox take her! Oh, may the roupe ne'er roust thy weason! 3 May thrist thy thrapple never gizzen !4 But bottled ale, in mony a dizen, Aye lade thy gantry! And fouth o' vivres, 5 a' in season, Plenish thy pantry! Lang may thy stevin fill with glee Whase sangs enamour Ilk lass, and teach wi' melody The rocks to yamour.8 Ye shak your head; but, o' my fegs,9 Ye've set auld Scota 10 on her legs, Lang had she lien, wi' beffs and flegs " Yet we right couthily might settle On this side Forth. The devil pay them with a pettle,2 That slight the North. Our country leed 3 is far frae barren, For sense and smergh;6 In kittle times, when faes are yarring, We're no thought ergh.7 Oh, bonny are our green-sward hows, Where through the birks the burny rows,8 And the bee bums, and the ox lows, And saft winds rusle, And shepherd-lads on sunny knows, Blaw the blythe fusle !9 'Tis true, we Norlans manna fa', To eat sae nice, or gang sae bra',10 As they that come from far-awa'; Yet sma's our skaith; Bumbazed 12 and dizzie; We've peace (and that's well worth it a') Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs, Our fine new-fangle sparks, I grant ye, To quench her drouth; They guide her like a canker'd13 aunty, For, frae the cottar to the laird, We a' rin South. ALEXANDER GEDDES was the son of | he entered the Scots College at Paris, a small farmer in the parish of Rutheven, in Banffshire, where he was born in 1737. His parents were Roman Catholics. Geddes received his early education at a village school, and the first book for which he showed a special partiality was the ordinary English Bible, the historical portions of which he is said to have committed to memory by the time he had reached his eleventh year. About this time the Laird, or proprietor of Arradowl, the estate to which his father's farm belonged, generously admitted young Geddes to share the instructions of a tutor which he kept for the education of his family, and afterwards got him into a free seminary for the training of young Roman Catholics for the Church. At the age twenty-one I Pets of the Muses. where, in addition to Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, he learned French, Spanish, German, and Dutch, besides divinity and Biblical criticism. His early love of the Bible seemed to increase with his ability to investigate and compare it in the original languages; and the idea of a new translation of it appears to have occupied his thoughts before his training was completed. In 1764, he returned to Scotland, and was appointed as a priest in the district round Dundee ; but on the invitation of the Earl of Traquair, he, in 1765, became private chaplain in the Earl's family, where he had every facility for continuing his studies. An unforeseen, though not unnatural cause, however, rendered his quitting the pleasant banks |