Classic Poem

BORNE on Fancy's wing along,
High soars the bard's enraptur'd soul:
Round him floats the joy of song,
Round him airs ecstatic roll:
Resistless charm! each swelling vein
Owns the accustom'd flame, and throbs to pour the strain.
Spirit of Ossian!—through the gloom
Of ages deepen'd into night,
See it bursting from the tomb,
O'er it gleams a holy light!
See! it waves its master-hand;
Assembling o'er the heath quick glide the minstrel band.

They wake the sleeping chords!—the magic tone,
(That sooth'd the dying warrior's groan,
That lur'd to sing the latest breath,
And mock'd with smiles the frown of death,)
Ideal, now renews the powerful spell;
The listening Shades, a grisly host,
Spring from the narrow cell,
And hail with lengthen'd shout the' enchanter's might ghost.

Thine too, Cadwallo! whom to save
In vain the heavenly science sued,
Starts from Arvon's rocky grave,
With bloody streams embrued:
Bound in the brotherhood of woe,
The Druid-choir unites, their tears harmonious flow:

Wild as they sweep the aërial lyre,
Arresting fast the passive ear,
Fiercer glows the poet's fire,
O melody belov'd! O art for ever dear!

Ruthless tyrant,—yield to fate:
Nor Folly's scorn, nor Rancour's hate,
Though opening wide the sluice of gore,
Could quench the skill divine, could drown the mystic

Long!—long indeed 'twas mute! thy feeble prey,
Fall'n the hoary minstrel's lay:—
While, sickening o'er the mournful ground,
The conquer'd bands oft turn'd the ear in vain:
No more was heard the soul-inspiring sound—
—But, faster in Despair's sad fetters bound,
Each hung his head amaz'd, and dragg'd the servile chain.

Wintry, thus the storm of war
Froze into sloth the captive mind:
Till growing Freedom burst the icy bar,
And loss'd the arts that hell for ever strove to bind.