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ODE ON ÆOLUS'S HARP.* ETHEREAL race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your God ainid the secret grove; Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,
And raise majestic strains, ur melt in love. Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid,
With what soft woe they thrill the lover's heart ! Sure from the hand of some unhappy naid,
Who dy'd of love, these sweet complainings part. But, hark! that strain was of a graver tone,
On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws; Or he the sacred bard, t who sat alone
In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the
which Zion's children sung, When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint; And to such sadly solemn notes are strung
Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint. Methinks I hear the full celestial choir,
Through heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise; Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire
To swell the lofty hymn, from praise to praise. Let me, ye wandering spirits of the wind,
Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string, Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd,
For till you cease, my muse forgets to sing.
HYMN ON SOLITUDE.
Oh! how I love with thee to walk,
And listen to thy whisper'd talk, * Æolus's Harp is a musical instrument, which plays with the wind, invented by Mr. Oswald; its properties are fully described in the Castle of Indolence.
Which innocence and truth imparts,
A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
face: Then, calm’d to friendship, you assume The gentle-looking Harford's blooni, As, with her Musidora, she (Her Musidora fond of thee) Amid the long withdrawing vale, Awakes the rival'd nightingale.
Thine is the balmy breath of morn,
Descending angels bless thy train,
Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell !
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. AIKMAN
THE PAINTER. *
From a MS. in the collection of the Eurl of Buchan.
Ou could I draw, my friend, thy genuine mind,
* Mr. Aikman died at London, on the 7th of June, O. S. 173), from whence his remains were sent to Scotland, and inrerred in the Gray-Friars church-yard, close by those of his only son, who had been buried only a few months before.
Oft with the mind he wonted converse keeps
O thou, whose tender serious eyes
This and the three preceding lines, are not in the MS. of Mrs. Forbes Aikman.
M ALLE T.
Or David Mallet, whose real name was Malloch, we know little, till he made himself conspicuous by his talents. He was born about the beginning of the last century, and was probably a native of Perthshire, though neither his birth-place nor the condition of his parents are mentioned. It appears that he received some part of his school education at Aberdeen, and that he afterwards studied at the university of Edinburgh.
About this time, he exercised the office of tutor in the family of Mr. Horne of Dreghorn; and having evinced a taste for poetry, he attracted some potice, as a young man of promising talents.
In consequence of his good behaviour, he was recommended, about 1727, as tụtor to the two younger sons of the duke of Montrose ; and bidding adieu to his pative country, he proceeded to Winchester, where the family then resided. In this situation, he had an op portunity of improving his talents, and extending his acquaintance; and when his pupils removed with their parents to London, for the winter, Mallet's sphere of action was enlarged, and he attempted dramatic poetry, and gained considerable applause.
Having attended his pupils on the fashionable tour of the continent, and his services being no longer wanted, he obtained the appointment of Under Secretary from the Prince of Wales, with a salary of 2001. a-year, and associated with wits, statesmen, and nobles on terms of respectable and just equality.
In 1741 he married Miss Estlob, a lady of great beauty and merit. Six years after, he published " Amyn