"She'd touch the callous mind, unus'd to feel, / With savage virtue, and the lawless zeal"
— Grant [née MacVicar], Anne (1755-1838)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by C. Whittingham ... for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme [etc.]
Date
1808
Metaphor
"She'd touch the callous mind, unus'd to feel, / With savage virtue, and the lawless zeal"
Metaphor in Context
Forgive, ye valiant dead! ye kindred shades!
That glide with heroes through Elysian glades,
The muse whose trembling hands entwine the wreath,
Whose mournful eyes retrace the paths of death:
So fast ye crowd upon her dazzled view,
Like sun-beams on a cypress wet with dew:
She sinks, o'ercome, unequal to relate
Your loyal zeal, or your disastrous fate.
Yet ere oblivion's leaden gates be clos'd
On humble worth, in life's low vale repos'd,
She'd touch the callous mind, unus'd to feel,
With savage virtue, and the lawless zeal
Of the bold Brothers in their darksome grove,
Whose steps licentious wont at ease to rove;
Who live like Nature's commoners at large,
Obey no master, and attend no charge,
But wander through the grassy glens at will,
Nor ask what owner rear'd the beeves they kill,
Then drag their prey home to their ample cave,
O'er whose dark entrance trembling aspins wave;
And in whose deep recess to soothe repose,
A weeping rill, with tinkling murmur flows:
Returning from the chase or prosp'rous spoil,
'Twas here they hid the fruits of all their toil;
Yet aw'd by jealous fear, no stranger guest
E'er view'd their secret haunt, or shar'd their feast.
That glide with heroes through Elysian glades,
The muse whose trembling hands entwine the wreath,
Whose mournful eyes retrace the paths of death:
So fast ye crowd upon her dazzled view,
Like sun-beams on a cypress wet with dew:
She sinks, o'ercome, unequal to relate
Your loyal zeal, or your disastrous fate.
Yet ere oblivion's leaden gates be clos'd
On humble worth, in life's low vale repos'd,
She'd touch the callous mind, unus'd to feel,
With savage virtue, and the lawless zeal
Of the bold Brothers in their darksome grove,
Whose steps licentious wont at ease to rove;
Who live like Nature's commoners at large,
Obey no master, and attend no charge,
But wander through the grassy glens at will,
Nor ask what owner rear'd the beeves they kill,
Then drag their prey home to their ample cave,
O'er whose dark entrance trembling aspins wave;
And in whose deep recess to soothe repose,
A weeping rill, with tinkling murmur flows:
Returning from the chase or prosp'rous spoil,
'Twas here they hid the fruits of all their toil;
Yet aw'd by jealous fear, no stranger guest
E'er view'd their secret haunt, or shar'd their feast.
Categories
Provenance
Searching in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
04/20/2005
