Till æther mingles in one general blaze.
Hark, how the tuneful dwellers of the air
In one grand chorus hail the purple dawn
And sing their matins to the God of day!
With loudest notes in social troops combin'd,
The blackbirds tell their ecstacy of joy;
In softer strains the redbreast joins the song;
And grateful music greets the blooming Spring:
But chief the warbling mimic* of the woods
With ever changing note renews his lay,
And echoes back the concert of the grove.

But see from southern climes, with patient flight, The swift-wing'd swallows come; for many a league In their long voyage thro' the air upborne. Rejoicing now they wheel along the plain In mazy circles, now upon the stream They skim and lightly brush the curling wave; Now borne aloft they join the gen❜ral choir, And sportive twitt'rings fill the liquid air.

Nor these alone Spring's genial influence prove; All nature owns his pow'r; all nature smiles. Now are the fields in gayest mantles drest Of sprightly green: the woods again are seen With all their long lost leafy honours crown'd. The tawny oak in dark brown pomp appears, And soars majestic o'er the less'ning grove: The next in grandeur, but at distance next, Its early foliage the blue poplar bears; The nodding pine waves graceful to the breeze;

* The Mocking-bird.

And midst the sylvan scene of dusky hue
The beauteous' dogwood spreads its whitening bloom.
Now scatter'd o'er the earth with hand profuse
The painted works of Flora's pencil rise,
With vivid hues to shine the garden's pride,
Or breathe their fragrance thro' the woody wild.
Here lilacs put their purple clusters forth,
There hyacinths a grateful scent diffuse
And Iris' rival spreads her thousand dyes.
On the sequester'd riv'let's mossy brink
The modest vi'let grows; contemn'd the seats
Of pompous pride magnificently vain.

†But why delay's the rose? why yet deny
Her wish'd for presence to the smiling year?
Haste then, O haste, thou sweetly blushing flow'r,
Haste and afford us thy nectareous sweets.
No more stern Boreas rules the troubled sky;
No more the wat'ry clouds o'erwhelm the plain;
But gentle zephyrs wait with anxious care
To fan thy bosom in their wanton play.

O let me now my wand'ring steps direct To where the orchard sheds a sweet perfume, Or where the sweetbriar grows, or where the scent Of od'rous sassafras extends around,

To catch their fragrance floating on the gale.
If here I stop, or if my steps advance,
Still wheresoe'er I turn new charms appear,
New graces in each tree, each shrub arise,
Created by the enliv'ning pow'r of Spring.

* The tulip.

†This passage, respecting the rose, is translated from Casimire.

Κ

TRANSLATION

OF DR. JORTIN'S EPITAPH ON HIS CAT.

THE vigour of my days now past,
And sickness úrging sore,
I, gentlest puss, am forc'd at last
To seek the Stygian shore.

With smiles Proserpine, awful queen, Thus greets her trembling guest, "Enjoy Elysian day serene, "Enjoy eternal rest."

But, Empress of this silent shade!
If I deserve thy care,

Grant me one night to leave the dead
And range the upper air.

That while I prompt my master's dream These words my faith may prove, "Thee e'en beyond the doleful stream, "Thy faithful cat shall love."

VERSIFICATIONS OF OSSIAN.

OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.

From the poem of Carthon.

O THOU that revolvest resplendent on high,
As round as the shield of my fathers in war!
Whence, O Sun, are thy beams which illumine the

sky,

What sources eternal thy glories prepare?

Thou comest abroad and awakest the day,
In the awful effulgence of majesty drest:
At thy presence the dim twinkling stars fade away,
Cold and pale sinks the moon in the wave of the

west.

But thou thyself rollest for ever alone: What companion for thee in thy course shall we find,

The oaks of the mountains by storms are o'erthrown; The mountains themselves to decay are consign'd;

The swell of the ocean decreases again;

The moon hides her horn and is dark in the sky; But thou, thou alone, dost unalter'd remain,

For ever rejoicing in glory on high.

When the skies with the loud rattling thunder resound, And the dark low'ring day the fierce tempests deform,

From thy clouds thou look'st forth while thy glory around

Thou sheddest, and smiling deridest the storm.

But Ossian no more shall thy brightness behold, Vain to him are the splendors thy face which invest, Whether morn on the clouds spreads thy tresses of

gold,

Or thy last trembling beam gilds the gates of the

west.

And perhaps thou like me art allotted to die,

The light of thy beams shall ere day be withdrawn, 'Midst thy clouds thou in darkness inglorious shalt

lie,

Nor heed the importunate calls of the dawn.

Exult then, O Sun, in the strength of thy days;

Dark and cheerless is age as the moon's feeble light, When thro' the black clouds stream her pale gleam

ing rays,

And mist wraps the tops of the mountains in night,

When o'er the wide heath the chill north winds blow strong,

Nor aught does the course of their fury restrain; The wandering traveller hastes cheerless along,

And shrinks from the blast in the midst of the plain.