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Dread Omnipotence, alone,

Can heal the wound he gave ;
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes

To scenes beyond the grave.

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,

And fear no withering blast ; There Isabella's spotless worth

Shall happy be at last.




My lord, I know your noble ear

Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear

Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phæbus' scorching beams,

In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,

And drink my crystal tide.

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts,

That thro' my waters play,
If, in their random, wanton spouts,

They near the margin stray ;
If, hapless chance! they linger lang,

I'm scorching up so shallow,
They're left the whitening stanes amang,

In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,

As poet B**** came by,

* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly pieturesque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.

Fhat, to a bard I should be seen

Wi' half my channel dry: A panegyric rhyme, I ween,

Even as I was, he shor'd me But had I in my glory been,

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks,

In twisting strength I rin ;
There, high my boiling torrent smokes,

Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
Enjoying large each spring and well

As nature gave them me, I am, altho' I say't mysel,

Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please

To grant my highest wishes, He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, .

And bonnie spreading bushes. Delighted doubly then, my lord,

You'll wander on my banks, And listen mony a grateful bird

Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober laverock, warbling wild,

Shall to the skies aspire ;
The gowdspink, music's gayest child,

Shall sweetly join the choir :
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,

The mavis mild and mellow; The robin pensive autumn cheer,

In all her locks of yellow :

This, too, a covert shall ensure,

To shield them from the storm ;
And coward maukin sleep secure,

Low in her grassy form:
Here shall the shepherd make his seat,

To weave his crown of flow'rs;
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat,

From prone descending show'rs.


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 eye the smoking, dewy lawn,

And misty mountain, grey;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,

Mild-chequering thro' the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,

My lowly banks o'erspread,
And view, deep-bending in the pool,

Their shadows' wat’ry bed!
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest

My craggy cliffs adorn;
And, for the little songster's nest,

The close embow'ring thorn.

So may old Scotia's darling hope,

Your little angel band,
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop

Their honour'd native land!
So may thro’ Albion's farthest ken,

To social-flowing glasses,
The grace be—“ Athole's honest men,

And Athole's bonnie lasses !"



A wild scene among the hills of Oughtertyje.

Why, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your wat’ry haunt forsake?
Tell me, fellow.creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free:
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,
Busy feed, or wanton lave;
Or, beneath the sheltering rock,
Bide the surging billow's shock.

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,
Marking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels.
But man, to whom alone is giv'n
A ray direct from pitying heav'n,
Glories in his heart humane
And creatures for his pleasare slain.

In these savage, liquid plains,
Only known to wand'ring swains,
Where the mossy riv'let strays,
Far from human haunts and ways ;
All on nature you depend,
And life's poor season peaceful spendi.

Or, if man's superior might
Dare invade your native right,
On the lofty ether borne,
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn,
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other springs ;
And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his slave.


Over the chimney-piece, in the parlour of the

Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth.

Admiring nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I traces
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th’abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
'Till fan’d Breadalbane opens to my view.-
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample

sides ;

Th’outstretching lake, imbosomed ’mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ;
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride,
The palace rising on his verdant side ;
The lawns wood-fring'd in nature's native taste ;
The hillocks dropt in nature's careless haste ;
The arches striding o’er the new-born stream;
The village, glittering in the noontide beam-


Poetic ardors in my bosom swell,
Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy oell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ;
Th’incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods

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