ODE

TO THE RUINS OF PALMYRA.

WRITTEN IN THE VICINITY. 1781.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

ILLUSTRIOUS Scene! tho' EGYPT pour
Her marbles, and the PARIAN shore,
To swell thy antient pride;
Still ow'st thou to the lyre of taste,
And sculpture's charms, that, o'er the waste,
Thy throne shall time deride!

How priz'd thy roofs, with ivy strown!
Thy broken arches! columns, prone!
Thy coins, remov'd from day!
These bear ZENOBIA'S godlike face,
And, where his genius rul'd, we trace
The critic's verdant bay!

Fir'd at LONGINUS' letter'd fame,
Th' enthusiast feels the Attic flame
Which lights this classic pile:
To snatch one relic of his art,
Nor, without beauty's smile, depart,
He braves ARABIAN guile!

For lo! amid the cypress grove,
Where stood a temple rear'd to Love,
A tented town appears!

And, where those useless ducts convey'd
The stream, to feed the cool cascade,
A line of hostile spears!

Yet, scite renown'd! from those, who seek
Thy glory, tho' with pennons weak,
The lurking pest with-hold:
With mercy tinge the ARAB's creed,
That pilgrims oft may wake the reed,
Whence WOOD thy wonders told!

LINES,

LEFT ON THE BROKEN HARPSICHORD OF A
DECEASED SISTER. 1769.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

WHY sleep the sounds which struck my listening ear,
When angels lean'd, in Fancy's eye, to hear
A new Cecilia touch thy trembling strings,
And warble praises of the King of kings?

Alas! no more shall music wake thy frame,
Cold are those hands that gave thy music fame!

Mute is that voice, which charm'd the enraptur'd throng,
And match'd thy harmony with sacred song!
Nor thou, neglected instrument! repine,-
No other touch could make thy notes divine:
Emblem of her, whose loss the Nine deplore,
The Muse shall claim thee, but no Muse restore!

PARAPHRASTIC HYMN.

Roм. ch. vii. v. 19.

"The good that I would, I do not; but the

evil which I would not, that I do."

Video meliora, proboque

Deteriora sequor.—TER.

V.

Hear me, O Heaven! for thou hast power
To quell my wild desires;
O quench, for thy Messiah's sake,
My soul's unhallow'd fires!

VI.

Restore me to thy love! and let
Thy wisdom rule my heart!
Thy Spirit can to me, tho' weak,
Resisting power impart.

GLASGUENSIS.

IMPROMPTU

ON READING

DR. CLAKE'S TRAVELS TO THE HOLY LAND.

BY T. PARK, ESQ.

WELL may our eyes suffuse with sacred dew,

Well may our souls with veneration thrill,
Cana, the mount, and Calvary to view,
The plain of Esdraelon and Sion's hill!

Yet is it not near Salem to have trod,

Or of her temples to display the chart,
Can draw the Christian nearer to his God;
That "holy land" must be-a pious heart!

THE STRID.

WRITTEN AT BOLTON ABBEY, NOV. 18, 1812.

"In the deep solitude of the woods betwixt Bolton and Barden, three miles up the river from the abbey, the Wharf suddenly "contracts itself to a rocky channel, little more than four feet "wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with a rapidity "proportioned to its confinement. This place was formerly, as it "is yet called, the Strid, from a feat often exercised by persons "with more agility than prudence, who stride from brink to brink, "regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step.

"The priory at Embsay, four miles east of Bolton, was founded "by William de Meschines and Cecilia his wife, in the year 1121, " and continued there about thirty-three years, when it is said by "tradition to have been translated to Bolton, on the following "account.

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"The founders were now dead, and had left a daughter Adeliza, "who adopted her mother's name, Romille; and was married to "William Fitz Duncan, nephew to David king of Scotland. They "had issue a son, commonly called the Boy of Egremond, (one of his grandfather's Baronies, where he was probably born) who, 'surviving an elder brother, became the last hope of the family. "This youth having one day, in coursing, inconsiderately at"tempted to bound, with a greyhound in his leash, and fastened "to his thigh, over the chasm; the animal hung back, and drew "his unfortunate master into the torrent. His afflicted parents, on this occasion, removed the seat of the priory to Bolton, the "nearest eligible spot to the place where the accident happened."

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PAST are gay Summer's smiles: the wreaths of May
Have faded, Wharf, along thy sylvan shore:
No more the wild-rose blossoms on the spray;
Sad looks the leafless elm, and hawthorn hoar.

* Author of the Elegy written at Kirkstall Abbey. P. R. vol. vii. p. 59.