A step methinks may pass the stream, So little distant dangers seem; So we mistake the future's face, Ey'd through hope’s deluding glass : As yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air, Which to those who journey near, Barren, brown, and rough appear: Still we tread the same coarse way, The present's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see:
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish Quiet from the soul ;
'Tis thus the busy beat the air;
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, ev'n now, my joys run high, As on the mountain turf I lie; While the wanton zephyr sings, And in the vale perfumes his wings; While the waters murmur deep; While the shepherd charms his sheep;

While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high. -

Be full, ye courts, be great who will ; Search for peace with all your skill: Open wide the lofty door,' .. Seek her on the marble floor: In vain you search, she is not there ; In vain ye search the domes of care! Grass and flow’rs Quiet treads, On the meads and mountain heads, Along with Pleasure close ally'd, Ever by each other's side : And often, by the murm'ring rill, Hears the thrush, while all is still, Within the groves of Grongar Hill.


[Bruce.] Hail, native land! where on the flowery banks Of Leven, Beauty ever-blooming dwells. A wreath of roses, dropping with the dews Of morning, circles her ambrosial locks Loose waving o'er her shoulders: where she treads, Attendant on her steps, the blushing Spring And Summer wait, to raise the various flowers Beneath her footsteps ; while the cheerful birds Carol their joy, and hail her as she comes, Inspiring vernal love and vernal joy.

Attend, Agricola ! who to the noise of public life prefer’st the calmer scenes Of solitude, and sweet domestic bliss ; Joys all thine own! Attend thy poet's strain, Who triumphs in thy friendship, while he paints The pastoral mountains, the poetic streams, Where raptur'd Contemplation leads thy walk, While silent Evening on the plain descends.

* This beautiful expanse of water, which is near twelve miles in circumference, is memorable in history, by the escape of Mary, Queen of Scots, from her confinement in the castle of Lochleven, which is situated on one of the islands near the centre of the lake,

Between two mountains, whose o'erwhelming tops, In their swift course, arrest the bellying clouds, A pleasant valley lies. Upon the south A narrow opening parts the craggy hills, Through which the lake, that beautifies the vale, Pours out its ample waters. Spreading on, And widening by degrees, it stretches porth To the high Ochel, from whose snowy top The streams that feed the lake flow thund'ring down.

The twilight trembles o'er the misty hills,
Twinkling with dews: and whilst the bird of day
Tunes his ethereal note, and wakes the wood-
Bright from the crimson curtains of the morn,
The Sun, appearing in his glory, throws
New robes of beauty over heaven and earth.

O now, while Nature smiles in all her works,
Oft let me trace thy cowslip-cover'd banks,
O Leven! and the landscape measure round.
From gay Kinross, whose stately tufted groves
Nod o'er the lake, transported let mine eye
Wander o'er all the various chequer'd scene,
Of wilds, and fertile fields, and glittering streams,
To ruin'd Arnot; or ascend the height
Of rocky Lomond, where a rivulet pure

Bursts from the ground, and through the crumbled crags
Tinkles amusive. From the mountain's top,
Around me spread, I see the goodly scene.
Inclosures green, that promise to the swain
The future harvest; many-colour'd meads;
Irriguous vales, where cattle lowe: and sheep,
That whiten half the hills; sweet rural farms
Oft interspers’d, the seats of pastoral love
And innocence; with many a spiry dome
Sacred to heav'n, around whose hallow'd walls
Our fathers slumber in the narrow house.
Gay, beauteous villas, bosom’d in the woods,
Like constellations in the starry sky,
Complete the scene. The vales, the vocal hills,
The woods, the waters, and the heart of man,
Send out a general song ; 'tis beauty all .
To poet's eye, and music to his ear.

Nor is the shepherd silent on his hill, His flocks around; nor school-boys, as they creep, Slow-pac'd, tow'rd school; intent, with oaten pipe They wake by turns wild music on the way,

Behold the man of sorrows hail the light! New risen from the bed of pain; where late, Toss'd to and fro upon a couch of thorns,

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