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Dread Omnipotence, alone,
Can heal the wound he gave ;
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.
THE HUMBLE PETITION OF
TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE.
My lord, I know your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Your humble slave complain,
In flaming summer-pride,
And drink my crystal tide.
The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts,
That thro' my waters play,
They near the margin stray ;
I'm scorching up so shallow,
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 ;
Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
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 ;
Shall sweetly join the choir :
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 ;
Low in her grassy form:
To weave his crown of flow'rs;
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 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 Oughtertyje.
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,
Th’outstretching lake, imbosomed ’mong the hills,
Poetic ardors in my bosom swell,