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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 eye the smoking, dewy lawn,

And misty mountain, grey ;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,

Mild-chequering thro’ the trees,
Rave to my darkly dalhing stream,

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,

My lowly banks o'erspread,
And view, deep-bending in the pool,

Their shadows' wat’ry bed:
Let fragrant birks in woodbines dreft

My craggy cliffs adorn;
And, for the little songster's nest,

The close embow'ring thorn.

So may, Old Scotia’s darling hope,

Your little angel band
Spring, like their father's, up to prop

Their honour'd native land!
So may thro' Albion's fartheft ken,

To social-flowing glasses,
The grace be-"Athole's honest men,

" And Athole's bonnie lafles !”

On

On scaring fome WATER-Fowl in Loch

TURIT, a wild scene among the Hills of OUGHTERTYRE.

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WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your wat’ry haunt forsake ?
Tell
me,

fellow-creatures, why
At my prefence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free:
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,
Bufy feed, or wanton lave;

Or,

Or, beneath the sheltering rock,
Bide the surging billow's shock.

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,
Only known to wand'ring swains,
Where the mosfy riv'let strays,
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 pow'rs you scorn;
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other springs ;
And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his flave.

Written

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