And wakes the fire decay'd 14; The tree resounds above him. The stream roars down the rock. He waits the rising moon To lead him to his home. Ghosts ride on the storm to-night ". Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind 17, 14 And wakes the fire decayed.] "Et sopitos suscitat ignes." Æn. v. 743. As holy zeal inspires, He rakes hot embers and renews the fires. DRYDEN. 15 He stops the chinks with heath] In MACPHERSON's Cave. Some village maid with apron full Brings fuel to the homely flame; I see the smoky columns roll, And through the chinky hut the beam. 16 Ghosts ride on the storm to-night.] From a modern idea in the Nightpiece. And ghastly horror rides the air. 17 Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind.] MACPHERSON'S Hunter. While a soft voice invades my trembling ear- 18 Their songs are of other worlds.] Par. Lost, viii. 175. And again, v. 568. How last unfold The secrets of another world, perhaps Not lawful to reveal. Are decayed. His wet dogs smoke around him. He fills the chinks with heath. Loud roar two mountain streams which meet beside his booth. Sad on the side of a hill the wandering shepherd sits. The tree resounds above him. The stream roars down the rock. He waits for the rising moon to guide him to his home. Ghosts ride on the storm to-night. Sweet is their voice between the squalls of wind. Their songs are of other worlds. Imitated in the Verses on an Officer killed before Quebec. Unfold the secrets of your world to me, Tell what thou art, and what I soon shall be. "The oddest thing is, that every one of them (the five bards and the chieftain) sees ghosts, more or less. The idea that struck and surprised me most, is the following. One of them, describing a storm of wind and rain, says, Ghosts ride on the tempest to-night. Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind. Did you never observe, (while rocking winds are piping loud) that pause, as the gust is recollecting itself, and rising upon the ear in a shrill and plaintive note, like the swell of an Æolian harp? I do assure you there is nothing in the world so like the voice of a spirit. Thomson had an ear sometimes: he was not deaf to this; and has described it gloriously, but given it another different turn, and of more horror. I cannot repeat the lines it is in his Winter." GRAY'S Works, iv. 60. : The imitation of Milton seems to have startled Gray. The passage in THOMSON'S Winter, to which Macpherson has in fact given a different turn, has already been quoted. Then too, they say, through all the burden'd air, Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant sighs, That uttered by the demon of the night, Warn the devoted wretch of woe and death. But it is amusing to observe the enthusiasm with which the Fragments were received by one of our best poets, to whom the internal evidence (a tissue of imitations) appeared so strong, that he was resolved," he says, "to believe them genuine, in spite of the Devil and the Kirk of Scotfand." Id. 59. The rain is past. The dry winds blow. Cold drops fall from the roof. But the shower gathers again 19. Night is stormy, dismal, dark; Receive me, my friends, from the night, THIRD BARD. THE winds still sound between the hills, And groan on the riven rocks: The firs fall from their place on high. The turfy hut is torn 20. The clouds divided fly o'er the sky, And shew the burning stars 21. The meteor (token of death) Flies sparkling through the gloom. It rests on the hills, it burns.---I see the fern, The dark rock, and fallen oak. What dead is that in his shroud, Beneath the tree by the stream? The boat is brimful in the cove; 19 The rain is past. The dry winds blow. Cold drops fall from the roof. But the shower gathers again.] Il Penseroso, 120. While rocking winds are piping loud; Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill; The rain is past. The dry wind blows. windows flap. Cold drops fall from the roof. Streams roar, and I see the starry sky. But the shower gathers again. The west is gloomy and dark. Night is stormy and dismal; receive me, my friends, from night. THIRD BARD. THE wind still sounds between the hills; and whistles through the grass of the rock. The firs fall from their place. The turfy hut is torn. The clouds, divided, fly over the sky, and shew the burning stars. The meteor, token of death! flies sparkling through the gloom. It rests on the hill. I see the withered fern, the dark browed rock, the fallen oak. that in his shroud beneath the tree, by the stream? Who is The wayes dark-tumble on the lake, and lash its rocky sides., Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves. Gray had very nearly detected the nature of the internal evidence. 20 The firs fall from their place on high. The turfy hut is torn.] THOMSON'S Winter. Low waves the rooted forest, vexed, and sheds Keen fastening, shakes them to the solid base. 21 The clouds divided fly o'er the sky, And shew the burning stars.] The same passage continued. With stars, swift gliding, sweep along the sky. The oars on the rocky tide. And eyes the rolling stream 22: She saw his boat, when it was light, on the lake. Is this his broken boat on the shore? Are these his groans on the wind 23 ? Hark! the hail rattles around, The flakes of snow descend. The tops of the hills are white. The stormy winds abate. Various is night and cold; Receive me, my friends, from the night. FOURTH BARD. NIGHT is calm and fair; Blue, starry, and settled is night. The winds, with the clouds, are gone ; They descend behind the hill. The moon is up on the mountains; Trees glister; streams shine on the rocks. Bright rolls the settling lake 24; 22 Sad sits a maid beneath a rock, And eyes the rolling stream.] The same imagery, the lake, the boat, the oars, and the two lovers, is employed in the Cave, from which this pas sage differs chiefly in the catastrophe. Beside the flood, beneath the rocks, On grassy bank two lovers lean, Bend on each other amorous looks, And seem to laugh, and kiss between. |