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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 kin,

To social-flowing glasses
The
grace

be " Athole's honcft men, “ And Athole's bonnie lassies !"

On fcaring fome WATER-FOWL in LovGH-TURIT,

a wild scene among the Hills of OUGHTERTYRE.

W

HY, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your watry 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 mer
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 billows shock.

Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your fears I trace :

Man, your proud ufurping foc,
Would be lord of all below :
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,
Tyrant stern to all befide.

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 given
A ray direct from pitying Heaven,
Glories in his heart humane
lo creatures for his pleasure Nain.

In these favage, liquid plains, Only known to wandering (wains, Where the mossy riv'let itrays, Far from human haunts and ways ; All on Nature you depend, And life's poor season peaceful spend.

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

Written with a Pencil over the CHIMNE Y-PIECES

in the Parlour of the INN at K EN MORE! TAY MOUTH.

ADMIRIN

DMIRING Nature in her wildeft grace, I hese northern scenes with weary feet I.trace ; O'er many a winding dale and painful fteep, Th'abodes of coreyed grouse and timid sheep, My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Till fam'd Breadalbaine opens to my view.The meeting cliffs cach deep-funk glen divides, The woods, wild-scattered, clothe their ample fides; TH' outstretching lake, imbofomed 'mong the hills, The eye

with wonder and amazement fills ; The Tay meandering sweet in infant pride, 7 he palace rising on his verdant Gde; The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste; The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless hafte ; The arches ftriding o'er the new-born Itream ; The village glittering in the noontide beam

Poetic ardours in my bosom (well,
Lone wandring by the hermit's moffy cell;
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ;
The inceffant roar of headlong tumbling floods.

Here Poesy might wake her Heaven taught lyre, And look through Nature with creative fire;

Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcild,
Misfortune's lightened steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to footh her bitter rankling wounds :
Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward Aretch her

fcan,

And injurd Worth forget and pardon man.

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Written with a PENCIL, ftanding by the Fall of

FYERs, near Loch-Ness.

AMONG

MONG the heathy hills and gagged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mofly Floods ; Till full he dathes on the rocky mounds, W here, through a shapeless breach, his stream re

founds, As high in air the bursting torrents flow, As deep recoiling surges foam below, Prone down the rock the whitening sheet defcende, And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. Dim feen, through rising mifts and ceaseless showers,

he hoary cavern, wide-surrounding lowers. Still thro' the gap the Atruggling river toils, And still below, the horrid caldron boils

DS

On the Birth of a POSTHUMOUS CHILD, born in

peculiar Circumstances of FAMILY-DISTRESS.

WEET

o'meikle love, And ward o'mony a prayer, What heart o' ftane wad thou na move,

Sae helpless, sweet and fair,

November hirples o'er the lea,

Chill, on thy lovely form ;
And gane, alass! the sheltering tree,

Should shield thee frac the storm.

May He who gives the rain to pour,

And wings the blaft to blaw, Protect thee frae the driving shower,

The bitter frost and fnaw.

May He, the friend of woe and want,

Who heal life’s various stounds, Protect and guard the mother plant

And heal her cruel wounds.

But late the flourished, rooted fait,

Fair on the summer morn:
Now, feebly bends fbe, in the blast,

Unsheltered and forlorn,

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