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Her lark's loved warblings; does aught Untouched, unbreathed upon.

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Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown

Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown?

Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche

happy quest,

Thrice

If from a golden perch of aspen spray
(October's workmanship to rival May)
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast
This moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,
Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest.

VI.

THE Pibroch's note, discountenanced or The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy mute; Of quaint apparel for a haif-spoilt boy; The target mouldering like ungathered fruit;

The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head

All speak of manners withering to the root, And some old honours, too, and passions high:

Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range

Among the conquests of civility,
Survives imagination-to the change
Superior? Help to virtue does it give?
If not, O Mortals, better cease to live!

VII.

COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE.

Share with their sculptured fellows, that, THIS Land of Rainbows, spanning glens

green-grown,

Copy their beauty more and more, and preach,

Though mute, of all things blending into

one

V.

THE TROSSACHS.

THERE'S not a nook within this solemn Pass,

But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,

That Life is but a tale of morning grass, Withered at eve. From scenes of art that chase

That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes

Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,

whose walls,

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Where Fancy entertains becoming guests; While native song the heroic Past recalls. Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught, The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide

Her trophies, Fancy crouch; - the course of pride

Has been diverted, other lessons taught, That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear Where the all-conquering Roman feared to

than glass

tread.

VIII.
EAGLES.

COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE, IN THE
BAY OF OBAN.

Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look
This way or that, or give it even a thought
More than by smoothest pathway may be
brought

Into a vacant mind. Can written book
Teach what they learn? Up, hardy Moun-
taineer!

And guide the Bard, ambitious to be one
Of Nature's privy council, as thou art,
On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and
To what dread Power He delegates his part
On earth, who works in the heaven of
heavens, alone.

hear

DISHONOURED Rock and Ruin! that, by law
Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred
Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.
Vexed is he, and screams aloud. The last
I saw
[awe
Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with
Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort
paired,
[guard.
From a bold headland, their loved aery's
Flew high above Atlantic waves, to draw
Light from the fountain of the setting sun.
Such was this Prisoner once; and, when THE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED

his plumes

The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on,
In spirit, for a moment, he resumes
His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live
free,

His power, his beauty, and his majesty.

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XI.

MANSION, AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE,
NEAR KILLIN.

WELL sang the Bard who called the Grave,

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SEE what gay wild flowers deck this earthbuilt Cot,

Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may,

Shines in the greeting of the Sun's first ray Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot. The limpid mountain rill avoids it not; And why shouldst thou? If rightly trained and bred,

Humanity is humble,-finds no spot Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread.

The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof,

Undressed the pathway leading to the door; But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor; Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong-proof,

Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer,

Belike less happy.-Stand no more aloof!

XIV.

THE BROWNIE.

[Upon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some remains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode of a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the Clan of Macfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the shore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these particulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the appellation of "The Brownie." The following Sonnet is a sequel to the Brownie's Cell, p. 156.]

"How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad;

Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell
How he was found, cold as an icicle,
Under an arch of that forlorn abode ;

Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood

Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try

Privation's worst extremities, and die
With no one near save the omnipresent God.
Verily so to live was an awful choice-
A choice that wears the aspect of a doom;
But in the mould of mercy all is cast
For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice ;
And this forgotten Taper to the last
Drove from itself, we trust, all frightfulgloom.

XV.

TO THE PLANET VENUS, AN EVENING STAR.

COMPOSED AT LOCH LOMOND.

THOUGH joy attend thee orient at the birth
Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most
To watch thy course when Day-light, fled
from earth,

In the grey sky hath left his lingering ghost,
Perplexed as if between a splendour lost
And splendour slowly mustering. Since the
Sun,

The absolute, the world-absorbing One,
Relinquished half his empire to the host
Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star,
Holy as princely, who that looks on thee
Touching, as now, in thy humility
The mountain borders of this seat of care,
Can question that thy countenance is bright,
Celestial Power, as much with love as light?

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XVII.

PICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LION'S DEN

AT HAMILTON PALACE.

AMID a fertile region green with wood
And fresh with rivers, well doth it become
The Ducal Owner, in his Palace-home
To naturalise this tawny Lion brood;
Children of Art, that claim strange brother-
hood,

Couched in their Den, with those that roam at large

Over the burning wilderness, and charge
The wind with terror while they roar for food.
But these are satiate, and a stillness drear
Calls into life a more enduring fear;
Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave
Daunt him-if his Companions, now be-
drowsed

Yawning and listless, were by hunger roused:
Man placed him here, and God, he knows,

can save.

XVIII.

THE AVON (a feeder of the Annan). AVON-a precious, an immortal name! Yet is it one that other Rivulets bear Like this unheard-of, and their channels wear Like this contented, though unknown to Fame:

For great and sacred is the modest claim Of streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow;

And ne'er did genius slight them, as they go, Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame.

But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears,

Anguish, and death: full oft where innocent blood

Has mixed its current with the limpid flood, Her heaven-offending trophies Glory rears; Never for like distinction may the good Shrink from thy name, pure Rill, with unpleased ears!

XIX.

SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMI-
NENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST.

THE forest huge of ancient Caledon
Is but a name, nor more is Inglewood,
That swept from hill to hill, from flood to
flood:

On her last thorn the nightly Moon has shone;

Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be

none,

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[On the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there stands a pillar with the following inscription:

This pillar was erected, in the year 1656, by Anne Countess Dowager of Pembroke, &c., for a memorial of her last parting with her pious mother, Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on the 2nd of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of 47. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2nd day of April for ever, upon the stone table placed hard by. Laus Deo !"]

WHILE the Poor gather round, till the end

of time

May this bright flower of Charity display Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day;

Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime Nor will the Muse condemn, or treat with Lovelier-transplanted from heaven s purest clime!

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No more the end is sudden and abrupt,
Abrupt-as without preconceived design
Was the beginning, yet the several Lays
Have moved in order, to each other bound
By a continuous and acknowledged tie
Though unapparent, like those Shapes
distinct

That yet survive ensculptured on the walls
Of Palace, or of Temple, 'mid the wreck
Of famed Persepolis; each following each,
As might beseem a stately embassy,
In set array; these bearing in their hands
Ensign of civil power, weapon of war,
Or gift, to be presented at the Throne
Of the Great King; and others, as they go
In priestly vest, with holy offerings charged,
Or leading victims drest for sacrifice,

Scorn

Our ministration, humble but sincere,
That from a threshold loved by every Muse
Its impulse took - that sorrow-stricken
door,

Whence, as a current from its fountainhead,

Our thoughts have issued, and our feelings flowed,

Receiving, willingly or not, fresh strength From kindred sources; while around us sighed

(Life's three first seasons having passed away)

Leaf-scattering winds, and hoar-frost sprinklings fell,

Foretaste of winter, on the moorland heights;

And every day brought with it tidings new Of rash change, ominous for the public weal.

Hence, if dejection have too oft encroached Upon that sweet and tender melancholy Which may itself be cherished and

caressed

More than enough, a fault so natural, Even with the young the hopeful or the gay, For prompt forgiveness will not sue in vain.

THE HIGHLAND BROACH. IF to Tradition faith be due,

And echoes from old verse speak true,

Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore
Glad tidings to Iona's shore,
No common light of nature blessed
The mountain region of the west,
A land where gentle manners ruled
O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled,
That raised, for centuries, a bar
Impervious to the tide of war ;
Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain
Where haughty Force had striven in vain,
And, 'mid the works of skilful hands,
By wanderers brought from foreign lands
And various climes, was not unknown
The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown ;
The Fibula, whose shape, I ween,
Still in the Highland Broach is seen,
The silver Broach of massy frame,
Worn at the breast of some grave Dame
On road or path, or at the door
Of fern-thatched Hut on heathy moor:
But delicate of yore its mould,
And the material finest gold;

LL

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