XVIII.

But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art,

This hallowed ground forbear!
Remember COLIN's dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.

ΑΝ

IMITATION

OF THE

PROPHECY OF NEREUS.

A

From HORACE, Book III. Ode XXV.

Dicam infigne, recens, adhuc

Indictum ore alio. Non fecus in jugis

Exfomnis fiupet Evias,

Hebrum profpiciens, & nive candidam

Thracen, ac pede barbaro

Luftratam Rhodopen.

[By the Same.]

S Mar his round one morning took,

HOR.

(Whom fome call earl, and fome call duke)

And his new brethren of the blade,

Shiv'ring with fear and frost, furvey'd,

On

On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy
An aged wizard fix foot high,

With briftled hair, and visage blighted,
Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and fecond-fighted.

The grizly fage in thought profound

Beheld the chief with back fo round,
Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro
O'er his paternal hills of snow,
And into these tremendous fpeeches
Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Into what ills betray'd by thee,

This ancient kingdom do I fee!
Her realms un-peopled and forlorn!
Wae's me! that ever thou wert born!
Proud English loons (our clans o'ercome)
On Scottish pads shall amble home;
I see them drest in bonnets blue,
(The spoils of thy rebellious crew.)
I fee the target, caft away,

And chequer'd plad become their prey,
The chequer'd plad to make a gown
For many a lafs in London town.

In vain the hungry mountaineers
Come forth in all their warlike geers,
The fhield, the piftol, durk, and dagger,
In which they daily wont to swagger,
And oft have fally'd out to pillage
The hen-roofts of fome peaceful village,

Or, while their neighbours were asleep,
Have carry'd off a low-land sheep.

What boots thy high-born host of beggars,
Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors,
With Popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians,
And Forster's troops of ragamuffins ?

In vain thy lads around thee bandy,
Inflam'd with bagpipe and with brandy.
Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty,
With heart fo true, and voice fo rusty
(A loyal foul) thy troops affright,
While hoarfely he demands the fight?
Doft thou not gen'rous Ilay dread,
The braveft hand, the wifeft head?
Undaunted do'st thou hear th' alarms
Of hoary Athol fheath'd in arms?

Douglas, who draws his lineage down
From thanes and peers of high renown,
Fiery, and young, and uncontrol'd,
With knights and fquires, and baron's bold,
(His noble houfhold-band) advances,
And on his milk-white courfer prances.
Thee Forfar to the combat dares,
Grown swarthy in Iberian wars:
And Monroe kindled into rage
Sow'rly defies thee to engage;
He'll rout thy foot, though ne'er fo many,
And horfe to boot-if thou hadst any.

But

But fee Argyle with watchful eyes, Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies! Couch'd like a lion in thy way,

He waits to fpring upon his prey;

While like a herd of tim'rous deer
Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Led by their doughty gen'ral's fkill,
From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
Is this thy haughty promife pay'd
That to the Chevalier was made,
When thou didst oaths and duty barter,
For dukedom, gen'ralfhip, and garter?
Three moons thy Jemmy fhall command,
With highland feepter in his hand,
Too good for his pretended birth.

Then down fhall fall the king of Perth.
"Tis fo decreed: for GEORGE fhall reign,
And traitors be forfworn in vain.
Heav'n fhall for ever on him smile,
And bless him still with an Argyle.
While thou, purfu'd by vengeful foes,
Condemn'd to barren rocks and fnows,
And hinder'd paffing Inverlocky,

Shall burn thy clan, and curfe poor Jocky.

то

Sir GODFREY KNELLER at his COUNTRY SEAT.

T

[By the Same.]

O Whitton's fhades, and Hounslow's airy plain,

Thou, KNELLER, tak'ft thy fummer flights in vain,

In vain thy wish gives all thy rural hours
To the fair villa, and well-order'd bowers;
To court thy pencil early at thy gates,
Ambition knocks, and fleeting beauty waits;
The boastful mufe of others fame so sure,
Implores thy aid to make her own secure :
The great, the fair, and (if ought nobler be,
Ought more belov'd) the arts folicit thee.

How can't thou hope to fly the world, in vain
From Europe fever'd by the circling main:
Sought by the kings of every distant land,
And every heroe worthy of thy hand:
Haft thou forgot that mighty Bourbon fear'd,
He ftill was mortal, till thy draught appear'd;
That Cofmo chofe thy glowing form to place,
Amidst her mafters of the Lombard race.

See