Thou chronicle of crimes! I read no more- For I am one who willingly would love His fellow kind. O gentle Poesy,
Receive me from the court's polluted scenes, From dungeon horrors, from the fields of war, Receive me to your haunts,-that I may nurse My nature's better feelings, for my soul Sickens at man's misdeeds!
She stood before me in her majesty,
Clio, the strong-eyed Muse. Upon her brow Sate a calm anger. Go-young man, she cried, Sigh among myrtle bowers, and let thy soul Effuse itself in strains so sorrowful sweet, That love-sick Maids may weep upon thy page In most delicious sorrow. Oh shame! shame! Was it for this I waken'd thy young mind?
Was it for this I made thy swelling heart Throb at the deeds of Greece, and thy boy's eye So kindle when that glorious Spartan died? Boy boy deceive me not! what if the tale Of murder'd millions strike a chilling pang, What if Tiberius in his island stews,
And Philip at his beads, alike inspire
Strong anger and contempt; hast thou not risen With nobler feelings? with a deeper love For Freedom? Yes-most righteously thy soul Loathes the black history of human crimes And human misery! let that spirit fill
Thy song, and it shall teach thee boy! to raise Strains such as Cato might have deign'd to hear, As Sidney in his hall of bliss may love.
GORTHMUND,
A TALE, in the Manner of OSSIAN.
"Rise ye warriors! lo the dewdrops "Glitter on the Thistle's beard, "See the gold-tress'd Son of Morning
Rise ye warriors! danger threatens ; "Short the respite sleep affords"Quit, oh quit your mossy couches, "Hasten to the strife of swords.
66 Rushing like a mountain torrent, "Lo! the Mercians press around; "Grasp your javelins, strike your bucklers, "Soon the foe shall bite the ground.
"Ceas'd the conflict, Hela's Altar
Shall be red with Saxon gore."
Hush'd was the song of Bards. From tent to tent, Like the hoarse voice of far-off thunder, spread An hollow murmur. Instant at the call
Up rose the Danish Host, and round their Chief, Gorthmund, the Son of black-hair'd Ceolwolf, Impatient throng'd. Ten thousand brazen helms Gave their majestic plumage to the gale, The lances glitter'd like the starry train, That silent thro' the dark expanse of night In pathless orbits wheel. Amidst the Van, Gorthmund the mighty Ruler, foremost march'd;
* Reafan, or the Magic Banner, contained the figure of a Raven. Several miraculous Powers of Divination were attributed to this Bird; if it clapped its wings before à battle, the Danes imagined success would attend their arms; but if it hung down its head, it was a sure presage of their defeat. The Symbol of Woden, the
Tall as an oak in Arden's forest, slow As are the minutes of impatience, firm As Inistores proud rocks. In plates of steel His limbs were cased; a towering helm conceal'd His jetty ringlets; on his visage sate
A frown of horror; his emblazon'd shield Bore Hela's sacred symbol; from his loins, By golden chains attach'd, a falchion hung, Clotted with hostile gore. The next in rank ́Was eagle-eyed Ceaulin, he, whose Sire, High-soul'd Lachollan, put to coward flight Moric's vast Host, what time the Sun, enthron'd In noontide splendor, on a sudden veil'd
His glory in a robe of blood, and shades Of night hung brooding o'er the deathful plain. Others there were inferior though in rank,
In valour equal, Centwin of the hill, Swift as a falling meteor; Tenyan; Ceormund sternly-terrible, who led A chosen band of archers to the fight; Delward, the Son of Hubba; and Cathegor Of the dark Lake; Heroes, whose glorious deeds Would ask an hundred tongues to celebrate.
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