How faucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
In flaming fummer-pride,
Dry-withering, wafte my foamy ftreams,

And drink my crystal tide.

The lightly-jumping, glowrin trouts,
That thro' my waters play,

If, in their random, wanton fpouts,
They near the margin ftray;

If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
I'm fcorching up fo fhallow,
They're left the whitening ftanes amang,

In gasping death to wallow.

Laft day I grat wi' fpite and teen,

As Poet B**** came by,

That, to a Bard, I should be seen
Wi' half my channel dry:
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,
Even as I was he fhor'd me;

But,

But had I in my glory been,

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks,
In twisting ftrength I rin;

There, high my boiling torrent fmokes,
Wild-roaring o'er a linn :
Enjoying large each fpring and well

As Nature gave them me,

I am, altho' I fay't mysel,
Worth gaun a mile to fee.

Would then my noble mafter please
To grant my highest wishes,

He'll fhade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,
And bonnie spreading bushes.

Delighted doubly then, my Lord,
You'll wander on my banks,

And liften mony a grateful bird

Return you tuneful thanks.

The fober laverock, warbl ng wild,

Shall to the skies afpire;

The gowdfpink, Mufic's gayeft child,

Shall fweetly join the choir:

The blackbird ftrong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis mild and mellow;
The robin penfive Autumn chear,
In all her locks of yellow :

This too, a covert fhall enfure,

To fhield them from the ftorm;
And coward maukin fleep fecure,
Low in her graffy form :

Here shall the shepherd make his feat,
To weave his crown of flow'rs ;
Or find a fhelt'ring, fafe retreat,
From prone-defcending fhow'rs.

And

And here, by fweet endearing ftealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,

Defpifing worlds with all their wealth
As empty idle care :

The flow'rs fhall 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 mufing bard may ftray,
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 dashing stream,
Hoarse-fwelling on the breeze.

Let

Let lofty firs, and afhes cool,

My lowly banks o'erspread,

And view, deep-bending in the pool,
Their fhadows' wat❜ry bed:

Let fragrant birks in woodbines dreft
My craggy cliffs adorn;

And, for the little fongfter's neft,
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 focial-flowing glaffes,

The grace be" Athole's honeft men,

"And Athole's bonnie laffes !"

On