TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

CHARLES, LORD KINNAIRD.

AN EPISTLE.

Primoque a cæde ferarum

Incaluisse putem maculatum sanguine ferrum.
Ovid.

How soft the bliss on Tay's sweet winding stream,
To taste the breeze that cools the sultry gleam?
Where woods embow'ring with projected head,
Infold the subject river in their shade!
Now pleas'd I wander by its flow'ry side;
Now gently sail along its silver tide;
Now hear the feather'd concerts in the wood;
Or mark the natives of the happy flood!
Along the surface how they dart with joy,
Or rise deluded to the fatal fly!
With pain I see the cruel sport renew'd,
The silver Salmon's scales deform'd with blood;
I mourn the arts the fish to fate beguil'd,
How much he suffer'd, and how well he toil'd!
See on the grass the captive pants for breath,
Till some rude hand bequeath the stroke of death!
Oh barbarous pleasure! oh deceitful skill,
That joys in murder, and betrays to kill!
Here if we break-my lord, I am sorry for't,
I love the scene-but I detest the sport.

If smaller objects may with great compare,
So have I seen a stripling eye the fair!
Survey the fly unconscious of his fate,
And swallow down the charms of a coquette;
The dart well struck, away the novice runs,
And thinks, by flight, captivity he shuns;
Fix'd in his heart the barb destructive plays,
And holds him though he turns a thousand ways;
His struggles but perplex the artful fold,
For if the girl has wit-the line will hold.

Bless'd was the time, oh had that bliss remain'd! When Nature's fruits the lengthen'd life sustain'd; Ere hate was known, or in his brother's blood His cursed hands the wretched Cain embru'd; But through the happy grove, serene and mild, Man walk'd with man,- -and all creation smil'd! But now that peaceful scene is vanish'd far, What wide destruction? what domestic war! We waste for riot the devoted ball, And learned luxury is blind to all! New arts of slaughter daily must be known, And millions bleed for the caprice of one!

Nor yet content-with what at home remains, We spoil the groves, and fright the peaceful plains; Nor the weak deer, nor unoffending hares, Nor yet the feather'd tribes, our fury spares; All, all must perish by our cruel hand, And Nature mourn the curse of our command! Such is the passion, which inspires your breast, To make eternal war on bird or beast; Each day the net, or hook, or gun prepare, And thus unpeople water, earth, and air!

Nor dogs, nor guns should fright my peaceful grove,
There free the birds should sing, the sylvans rove!
Should unmolested Nature's gifts enjoy,
Enchant my ear, or entertain my eye;
And, in my small inclosure, guarded find
A shelter from the malice of mankind!

Oh then, my lord, advis'd forbear in time,
Nor stain your goodness with this needless crime!
Forgive the Muse, if fondly led astray,
By zeal for nature, she has lost her way;
Her end was honest, though her speech be free,
So far the just similitude of thee!

Let others drag the cumb'rous loads of state, Where the gay trappings but augment the weight! Taste you, my lord, in your paternal field, The native sweets that peace and freedom yield; Behold each year your golden harvests rise, Or blooming planting lengthen round your eyes! While beauty, with her own celestial smile, Rewards each care, and softens ev'ry toil; Bless'd in your little house, and little grove, Happy yourself,-and happy in your love; Defy all foreign troubles would invade ye, Receive your rents well paid:-and kiss my lady!

TO SERENA.

AN EPISTLE.

Dic mihi, Urania! tanto cur tempore differs Pierio meritam serto redimire Serenam?

Claud.

RESUME, Urania! the celestial lyre,
Propitious Muse, the favour'd numbers fire!
If real worth thy guardian care employs,
Let the full notes in due proportion rise;
While bright Serena bends her gentle ear,
And what the goddess dictates deigns to hear:
To noblest minds the love of verse belongs,
And virtue is the theme of lasting songs!

The ways of Heav'n are hid from human view:
A proof of this was strongly giv'n in you!
Could Fortune's gifts secure establish'd rest,
You had the lot of happiness possess'd;
Could truth maintain the conquests Beauty won,
Your triumphs wou'd have been eclips'd by none;
Could Love o'er subject hearts his sway retain,
Your constancy had fix'd the lasting chain;
Yet vain were all your comfort to insure,
Below no bliss, that man can taste, is pure?
If souls (as eastern sages say) above
Are pair'd in equal bonds of life and love?!
Yours in its downward passage chanc'd tɔ stray,
And miss'd its kind associate by the way!

Yet of the kindred partners hip depriv'd,
The faithful passion in your breast surviv'd;
Your tender mind the semblance still explor'd,
The phantom in Murenus' shape ador'd;
Approv'd his vows, and to your yielding heart

The honourable the lady Murray of Stenhope, daughter to the right honourable George Bailie of Jerviswood, esq. late one of the lords commissioners of the treasury.

2 See this beautiful sentiment enlarged upon in Dr. Watts's Horæ Lyricæ.

For soon the dreadful errour you perceiv'd,
And what you felt unwillingly believ'd;
Fond Love, that from his wings was wont to shed
Ambrosial sweets around the nuptial bed;
Flew off averse:-

While dark Suspicion, child of Hell and Night,
Which all things views in a distemper'd light;
Succeeding, gave the colour of your life,
And bid you be a greatly suffering wife!

Virtue's like gold:-the ore's allay'd by earth,
Trouble, like fire, refines the mass to birth;
Tortur'd the more, the metal purer grows,
And seven times try'd with new refulgence glows!
Exults superior to the searching flame,
And rises from affliction into fame!

Feeble o'er gen'rous minds is Fortune's pow'r, She gives no wounds, which reason can't restore! From hence your calmly recollective sight Drew future wisdom, and unbought delight; Firm you beheld the visionary scene, And courts bestow'd their splendid charms in vain! You, like the bee, run each inchantment o'er, And drew instruction from the noxious flow'r; But 'midst the joys you most were pleas'd to prove, In virtuous friendship and parental love; One trial was reserv'd-by Heav'n design'd, To show the temper of your matchless mind!

'Twas night-when mortals to repose incline, And none but demons could intrude on thine; When wild desire durst thy soft peace invade, And stood insulting at thy spotless bed; Urg'd all that rage, or passion could inspire, Death arm'd the wretch's hand, his breast was fire! You, more than Roman, saw the dreadful scene, Nor lost the guard, that always watch'd within! Lucretia suffer'd ;-and Obizzi bled', Your virtue triumph'd,-and the villain fled!

What doubt that goodness is your native choice! We know your country by your tuneful voice! Which list'ning angels may descend to hear, And learn their sacred songs are copied here! As the bright Sun through one unclouded day, Drives o'er the horizon his cheerful ray ; No shadows interpose, no mists appear, Clear he arises, and he sets as clear; So shall thy life, Serena, charm mankind, And teach your sex th' importance of the mind.

3 Lucretia Obizzi, marchioness of Orciano, who was assassinated in her bed, by a ruffian who attempted her chastity, to whose memory the senate of Padua erected a monument, with the following honourable inscription below her bust.

VENERARE. PUDICITIE SIMULACRUM
ET. VICTIMAM

LUCRETIAM.DE.DONDIS. AB.HOROLOGIO

PY ENEE. DE. OBIZZONIBUS
ORCIANI. MARCIONIS UXOREM

HEC.INTER. TENEBRAS. MARITALES. ASSERENS. TADAS
FURIALES.RECENTIS.TARQUINII. FACES

CASTO.CORDE.EXTINXIT

SICQUE.ROMANAM LUCRETIAM.INTEMERATA.GLORIA

VICIT

TANTE.SUE,HEROINÆ.GENEROSIS. MANIBUS
HOC.DICAVIT. MONUMENTUM

CIVITAS. PATAVINA, DECRETO
DIE.310.DECEMBRIS

Ao.1661.

Long may you prove the joys so well you know, The calm delights from solitude that flow; Where reason can its genuine pleasures taste, Enjoy the present-and approve the past; Bless'd is that life, that thus declining wears; Vice laughs an hour,-but virtue smiles for years! Oh! could the Muse th' ambitious strain prolong, Soft as the accents of Myrtillo's song ; Myrtillo, by Apollo's self inspir'd, Mouri'd as belov'd, lamented as admir'd; By ev'ry Muse adorn'd, and virtue bless'd, Of ev'ry grace, of ev'ry charm possess'd; | Near Virgil's sacred tomb Myrtillo dy'd, In life how like! in manners how ally'd! In fate resembling,-and almost in fame, So like the Roman's was the Briton's flame; But too imperfect flow my feeble lays, To speak Myrtillo's merit, or his praise ! Far other honours should adorn his herse, The tribute of his own parental verse; Let pious Haddington, with equal hands, Raise the fair monument his loss demands; For the lov'd youth compose the lasting crown, A patriot need not blush to praise his son !

RETIREMENT:

A POEM,

OCCASIONED BY SEEING THE PALACE AND PARK OF YESTER.

Si canimus silvas, silvæ sunt consule dignæ. Virg.

TO THE MOST HONOURABLE

JOHN, MARQUIS AND EARL OF TWEEDDALE, LORD HAY OF TESTER, SC.

ONE OF THE EXTRAORDINARY LORDS OF SESSION IN SCOT

LAND,

THIS ESSAY IS, WITH ALL RESPECT AND GRATITUDE, INSCRIBED,

BY THE AUTHOR.

An me ludit amabilis
Insania? audire videor et pios
Errare per lucos, amœnæ
Quos et aquæ subeunt et auræ.

Horat.

O THOU, who in eternal light, unseen,
Survey'st, distinct, the universal scene!
Whose power, imparted, animates the whole
With vegetation, motion, life, and soul;
Deign to inform the Muse's solemn thought,
To sing the wonders thou alone bast wrought.
And, as through Nature's walks she ravish'd strays,
Instruct her humble reed to sound thy praise!

The right honourable the lord Binning died at Naples, 1752, universally lamented; his father, the right honourable the earl of Haddington, survived him but a short time.

[trees,

Hail, rural views! life's pure unmingled sweets; Long-winding walks, and ever-calm retreats! Where still succeeding charms of various kind Infuse a balmy temperance of mind! Where the mild gale, that murmurs through the The soul from each corroding passion frees; And the smooth stream, that gently glides along, Inspires delight, and aids the Muse's song.

How bless'd are they by all-disposing Heav'n, To whom this fav'rite lot on Earth is giv'n! Where waters flow, or woods their umbrage spread, To taste a bliss, that Fortune can't invade ; Health firm from exercise, with labour ease, Unapprehensive nights, and guiltless days; No sounds of war their downy peace molest, No pleas of law disturb their anxious breast, No dreams of bliss, no false pursuits of gain, No fears of tempests on the faithless main, No envious frowns, no treach'rous smiles of court, Can reach the shelter of so safe a port; Where Innocence and Truth have fix'd their home, And Vice, and Fraud, and Malice dare not come ! O strange effect of self-deceiving art! Surprizing weakness of the cheated heart! All ranks, all nations, own this genuine bliss, Nay, all their pains seem meant to purchase this. The toilsome dangers of destructive war, The ceaseless wranglings of the doubtful bar, The thin refinements of the courtier's brain, The merchant's venture for uncertain gain, To this great object lead,—in this conspire, That wearied nature may at last retire: But life's precarious date perhaps is done, Ere half th' imaginary course is run; Or, by the means, the very end is cross'd, And, when th' enjoyment courts, the taste is lost. The different passions, which our lives employ, Outreach our footsteps, and forbid the joy: Or some inveterate habit's strong disease Infects our age, and interrupts our ease. The feeble veteran, in the silent shades, The sudden tumult of the war invades ; There still the lawyer trifles with the laws, And the judge nods, as when he heard the cause; There, to the antiquated courtier's eyes, Long scenes of pomp, and gay processions rise; And there, when storms, with breath outrageous

roar,

Though safe beyond the reach of Fortune's power, The merchant shrinks, nor thinks his wealth secure.

And yet, sequester'd from the public voice,
This lot has been of old the heroes' choice.
Thus Scipio, foremost of the godlike name,
Despis'd the vain applause of vulgar fame;
More bless'd with Lelius, rang'd the sylvan scene,
Than when he shone the lord of Zama's plain:
Or, when at Carthage, in his blooming pride,
He gave the' Iberian prince his captive-bride.
Nor did this victor of himself disdain

To hear the Muse, and aid a Terence' strain.
Nor need examples of th' historic kind,
To prove this native biass of the mind;
From Cincinnatus and Lucullus, down
To him who greatly left th' imperial crown",
Of chiefs, high-fam'd, the wisest and the best,
Have, full of honour, sought this point of rest;

New Carthage in Spain, now Cartagena, ⚫ The emperor Charles V.

Have laid, well-pleas'd, the weight of glory down,
And wish'd to call this span of life their own.
Happy for him, had Cæsar done the same,
Nor lost his life to gain a dubious fame.

This future ease, which all so fond pursue,
Is justly to heroic virtue due.

For cities modell'd, and for nations freed,
Or tyrants quell'd, be this the glorious meed!
No sordid passions wound the gen'rous breast,
No cankers lurk to taint their future rest;
With thoughts humane their kindly bosom glows;
These lead them gently to their life's repose,
While honour's beams, with mild reflexion sweet,
Play round their steps, and gild their soft retreat:
So, through the course of one unclouded day,
The Sun serenely marks his radiant way,
By soft degrees, to the horizon bends,
And, rob'd in purple majesty, descends.

Illustrious peer, whose fair unblemish'd youth,
Improv'd by wisdom, and adorn'd with truth,
Already has such noble fruits brought forth,
And gives such hopes of still succeeding worth;
Oh deign thy condescending ear to bend !
An exil'd Muse's humble strains attend.
If Yester's charms her numbers can display,
To you belongs to judge her fond essay;
If to her theme her lays proportion bear,
Th' attempt, she hopes, will not offend your ear.
Safe in the bosom of a sylvan scene',
Amidst projecting shades of varied green,
Like some fair matron-form in cypress veil'd,
In solitude sweet Yester lies conceal'd;
Plain, but majestic, with proportion'd height,
Equal it rises to the ravish'd sight.
Judgment, with taste, inspires the true design,
And all the different parts harmonious join
Without confusion :-wond'rous pow'r of art!
That gives its proper grace to every part,
And, from the whole arrangement well-combin'd,
Calls out a master-beauty of the kind.

Nor only outward is this order seen, The same simplicity obtains within; No gaudy ornaments the eye betray, No affectation leads the taste astray; A modest grandeur dignifies the whole, Thy palace, Tweeddale, represents thy soul. Its disposition shows the owner's state, Where all is finish'd, chaste, correct, and great! Full, in the front, an ample circle lies, Where trees on trees in soft succession rise! A blooming round!—where verdure ever new Spreads the fair amphitheatre to view. While, in the intermediate space below, The brooks clear waves in calm procession flow, High o'er the banks, their lovely fragrant shade The native rose and twining woodbine spread; With mingling beauties bless the charming bound, And waft united fragrance all around!

Behind, the fair-dispos'd parterre is seen, With flow'rs adorn'd, and slopes of lively green; A crystal fountain in the centre plays, And mitigates the Sun's intemp'rate rays. Four statues, equal, rise on every hand, Divide the circuit, and the space command;

Here dark'ning shades exclude the blaze of light;
There, open walks, when day declines, invite;
Thick spreading trees defend the space around,
And shed a solemn stillness o'er the ground.
In these the feather'd nations of the grove
Enjoy their freedom, and pursue their love;
Amidst the friendly boughs, in choirs rejoice,
And pay for their protection with their voice.

A neighb'ring structure's' well-intended care
Invites those plants that shun our northern air;
Protected, here the myrtle-buds may bloom,
Or the fair orange shed its rich perfume;
Secure from cold, Hesperia's sweets may rise,
Charm the bless'd sense, and strike the ravish'd
eyes!

In winter's rage, may spring's mild charms restore,
And please us when the fields can please no more.
See, from the depth of the surrounding shade,
An ancient chapel rears its spiry head 10!
Close by the margin of the winding flood,
The Muse pursues that object through the wood;
With awe surveys the marks diffus'd around;
Hail, mansions of the dead! instructive ground!
Here nature's victor spreads his trophies wide,
And mortal dust confounds all human pride.
Receive, my heart, this lesson from the eye,
Hence learn to live, and hence prepare to die.
Here, Tweeddale, in a vault's contracted space,
Lie the remains of thy distinguish'd race!
Like thee, they once this happy bow'r possess'd,
Were crown'd with honours, and with riches bless'd.
With these (late may that loss thy country mourn!)
One day shall rest thy venerable urn:
Let virtue then the span of life employ,
Let goodness minister the noblest joy;
Indulge the soft humanity of mind,
And live the guardian-friend of human-kind!
Turn, Muse, thy steps, and quit the lovely shade",
Explore yon rising hill, and opening glade;
Soon as the summit of the height I gain,
The grateful prospect well rewards the pain.
The palace, there, embosom'd in the leaves,
Like some rich gem deep-set, the eye perceives.
There Lothian's fertile vale at distance lies,
And the long landscape mingles with the skies.
Below, the brook in mazes wanders round,
And sports delightful through the flow'ry ground.
Here the bleak hills, irregular, and rough,
Appear, as foils, to set these beauties off.
Fair, to the left, a soft ascent is seen,
With thickets spread, and rows of rising green,
Where Nature claims supreme the sov'reign part,
Yet leaves some touches to her handmaid, Art.
The peaceful deer, and little wanton fawns,
Sport in the shades, or range along the lawns;
Some, basking, lie beneath the genial gleam,
Some court the coolness of the friendly stream.
See yon large stag!-his spreading branches rear'd,
Stalks proudly forward, and commands the herd!
Th' obedient flock to all his motions bend,
Move as he walks, and, as he stops, attend;
Beneath his watchful eye directed tread,
Explore the covert, or enjoy the mead.

Fair harmless creatures, whom no fears annoy,
To whom kind Nature lends a waste of joy!

Who taste secure the utmost bliss ye can,
Nor feel the cares of self-tormenting man.

Ah! quit not, Muse, too soon, th' inchanted

scene,

Unnumber'd beauties yet remain unseen!
As once, of old, by smooth Clitumnus' side,
Sol's milk-white heifers rang'd the pastures wide,
Whose spotless forms, with rosy garlands gay,
Were victims worthy of the god of day:
So here, preserv'd, the snowy race 12 remains,
And wanders, unconfin'd, these happy plains;
The lordly bull exulting roams alone,
And boasts the sylvan empire all his own.

Steep o'er the brook, abandon'd and defac'd,
An ancient castle 13 stands deform'd and waste!
Of old, perhaps, within whose friendly gate,
Repos'd from toil, the weary trav'ller sate;
Or the night-wand'ring pilgrim, led astray,
Here found a shelter till the dawn of day;
The stranger hospitable rites receiv'd,
The rich were honour'd and the poor reliev'd:
Now trees o'ergrown the ruin'd walls embrace,
While the winds murmur through the hollow space!
Along the wind-rock'd tow'r the ivy creeps,
And the brown ruin trembles o'er the deeps!
So Time, with ceaseless rage, relentless preys
On all the trophies human art can raise.
In vain we fame to faithless marble trust,
In vain to brass consign distinguish'd dust,
He eats th' inscription, and consumes the bust!
His undermining hands the pile displace,
He heaves the column from its solid base!
By him triumphal arches naked glare,
And ample theatres are mix'd with air ;
Ev'n pyramids, that claim duration most,
Shrink from their height, and hasten to be lost!
The eyes, with pain, deserted Athens see,
| And what Palmyra is 4,-Versailles may be.
But, homeward, now returning to the right,
Through soft vicissitudes of shade and light",
Which to the setting Sun declining lie,
Fair Nature's rich embroidery to the eye!
A winding path, with thickest umbrage spread,
Does to the centre of the forest lead:
Here num'rous vistas crowd upon the sight,
And every termination gives delight;
Some rural object still presents to view,
A grove, a village, or the mountain blue!
See from the brake the lonely pheasant fly,
Mark his rich plumage, and his scarlet eye!
Look how the peacock, there, his pride displays,
And spreads the lustre of his varied blaze.
Hark, what enliv'ning sounds the heart inspire!
How the woods eccho to the tuneful quire!
What mingling harmony diffuses round?
What endless measures of responsive sound!
The jocund tribes in gay confusion play,
Dart cross the walks, and shoot from spray to spray:
But most the turtle, on yon top-most bough,
Detains the ear with her harmonious coo;
Pensive she sits, without her mate unblest,
And murmurs out the anguish of her breast;

12 Wild white cows.

13 The old castle of Yester, the seat of the Giffords, anciently lords Yester.

14 For the ruins of Palmyra, see the Philosophical Transactions, Vol. III.

16 The wood.