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On reading, in a NEWSPAPER, the Death of
AD thy tale, thou idle page
And rueful thy alarms :
From Isabella's arms.
Sweetly deckt with pearly dew
The morning rofe may blow; But cold fucceffive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low.
Fair on Isabella's morn
The sun propitious smil'd;
Succeeding hopes beguild.
Fate often tears the bosom chords
That Nature finest ftrung:
And so that heart was wrung.
Omnipotence alone can heal,
The deadly wound he gave ;
To fcenes beyond the grave.
And fear no withering blaft ; There Isabella's spotless worth
Shall happy be at laft.
RW W A T E R*
NOBLE DUKF OF ATHOLE.
Y Lord, I know, your noble ear
Your humble slave complain.
* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs,
How Taucy Phæbus' scorching beams
In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, wafte my foamy streams,
And drink my crystal tide.
The lightly-jumping, glowrin trouts,
That thro' my waters play,
They near the margin ftray ;
I'm scorching up so shallow,
In gasping death to wallow.
Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
As Poet B**** came by,
Wi' half my channel dry :
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 skelry rocks,
In twisting strength I rin;
Enjoying large cach spring and well
them me, I am, altho' I fay'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' towering trees,
And bonie 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 chear,
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 graffy form:
Here shall the shepherd make his feat,
To wave his crown of Powers ; Or find a sheltering, fafe retreat,
From prone descending showers.
And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,
As empty idle care:
The hour of heaven to grace,
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,
Hoarfe swelling on the breeze.
Let lofiy firs, and ashes cool,
My lowly banks o erspread,
Their shadows' wat ry bed:
My craggy cliffs adorn ;
The close embowering thorn,