« AnteriorContinuar »
And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,
As empty idle care :
The hour of heav'n 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,
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 lafles !”
On scaring fome WATER-Fowl in Loch
TURIT, a wild scene among the Hills of OUGHTERTYRE.
WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
Or, beneath the sheltering rock,
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 ftern 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 giv'n A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, Glories in his heart humane And creatures for his pleasure slain.
In these savage, liquid plains,
Or, if man's superior might