Let other streams rejoice to roar Channels by rocky torrents torn, And last, to fix our wandering eyes, From foul usurping vapours free! 'Twere glorious now his side to climb, Boldly to scale his top sublime, And thence My Muse, these flights forbear, Nor with wild raptures tire the fair. JANE ELLIOT THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking, Lasses a-lilting, before the dawn of day; But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning; At bughts in the morning nae blythe lads are scorning; Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing, In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, At e'en, in the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay. We'll hear nae more lilting at our ewe-milking, CHARLES CHURCHILL FROM THE ROSCIAD [QUIN, THE ACTOR] His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll, Nor less he pleased when, on some surly plan, FROM THE GHOST [DR. JOHNSON] Pomposo, insolent and loud, Sacred through all the realm of wit, Who, proudly seized of learning's throne, JAMES MACPHERSON ["TRANSLATIONS" FROM "OSSIAN, THE SON OF FINGAL"] FROM FINGAL, AN EPIC POEM [FINGAL'S ROMANTIC GENEROSITY TOWARD HIS CAPTIVE ENEMY] 'King of Lochlin,' said Fingal, 'thy blood flows in the veins of thy foe. Our fathers met in battle, because they loved the strife of spears. But often did they feast in the hall, and send round the joy of the shell. Let thy face brighten with gladness, and thine ear delight in the harp. Dreadful as the storm of thine ocean, thou hast poured thy valour forth; thy voice has been like the voice of thousands when they engage in war. Raise, to-morrow, raise thy white sails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca! Bright as the beam of noon, she comes on my mournful soul. I have seen thy tears for the fair one. I spared thee in the halls of Starno, when my sword was red with slaughter, when my eye was full of tears for the maid. Or dost thou choose the fight? The combat which thy fathers gave to Trenmor is thine! that thou mayest depart renowned, like the sun setting in the west!' 'King of the race of Morven !' said the chief of resounding Lochlin, 'never will Swaran fight with thee, first of a thousand heroes! I have seen thee in the halls of Starno: few were thy years beyond my own. When shall I, I said to my soul, lift the spear like the noble Fingal? We have fought heretofore, O warrior, on the side of the shaggy Malmor; after my waves had carried me to thy halls, and the feast of a thousand shells was spread. Let the bards send his name who overcame to future years, for noble was the strife of Malmour! But many of the ships of Lochlin have lost their youths on Lena. Take these, thou king of Morven, and be the friend of Swaran! When thy sons shall come to Gormal, the feast of shells shall be spread, and the combat offered on the vale.' 'Nor ship,' replied the king, 'shall Fingal take, nor land of many hills. The desert is enough to me, with all its deer and woods. Rise on thy waves again, thou noble friend of Agandecca! Spread thy white sails to the beam of the morning; return to the echoing hills of Gormal.' 'Blest be thy soul, thou king of shells,' said Swaran of the dark-brown shield. 'In peace thou art the gale of spring. In war, the mountain-storm. Take now my hand in friendship, king of echoing Selma! Let thy bards mourn those who fell. Let Erin give the sons of Lochlin to earth. Raise high the mossy stones of their fame: that the children of the north hereafter may behold the place where their fathers fought. The hunter may say, when he leans on a mossy tomb, here Fingal and Swaran fought, the heroes of other years. Thus hereafter shall he say, and our fame shall last for ever!' 'Swaran,' said the king of hills, 'to-day our fame is greatest. We shall pass away like a dream. No sound will remain in our fields of war. Our tombs will be lost in the heath. The hunter shall not know the place of our rest. Our names may be heard in song. What avails it when our strength hath ceased? O Ossian, Carril, and |