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And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair, Despising worlds with all their wealth
As empty idle care: The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms
The hour of heav'n to grace, And birks extend their fragrant arms
To screen the dear embrace,
Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
Some musing bard may stray,
And misty mountain, grey;
Mild-chequering thro' the trees,
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
My lowly banks o'erspread,
Their shadows' wat'ry bed !
My craggy cliffs adorn;
The close embow'ring thorn.
So may old Scotia's darling hope,
Your little angel band,
Their honour'd native land!
To social-flowing glasses,
And Athole's bonnie lasses !"
ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL
A wild scene among the hills of Oughtertyre.
Why, ye tenants of the lake,
Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. Man, your proud usurping foe, Would be lord of all below: Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, Tyrant stern to all beside.
The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
In these savage, liquid plains,
Or, if man's superior might
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL
Over the chimney-piece, in the parlour of the
Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth.
Admiring nature in her wildest grace,
Poetic ardors in my bosom swell,
Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyrę,
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL,
Standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch-Ness.
Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 'Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream re.
sounds. As high in air the bursting torrents flow, As deep recoiling surges foam below, Prone down the rock the whitening sheet de.
scends, And viewless echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless
ON THE BIRTH
OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,
Born in peculiar circumstances of family distress.
Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,
And ward o'mony a pray’r,
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair.
November hirples o'er the lea,
Chill, on thy lovely form ;
Should shield thee f'rae the storm.
May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw, Protect thee frae the driving show'r,
The bitter frost and snaw.
May he, the friend of woe and want,
Who heals life's various stounds, Protect and guard the mother plant,
And heal her cruel wounds.
But late she flourish'd, rooted fast,
Fair on the summer morn:
Unshelter'd and forlorn.
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unscath'd by ruffian hand!
Arise to deck our land.