On scaring fome WATER-FOWL in LOCHTURIT, a wild fcene among the HILLS of OUGHTERTYRE.

WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your wat'ry haunt forfake?
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why

At my prefence thus you fly?
Why disturb your focial 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 furging billow's fhock.

Confcious, blushing for our race,
Soon, too foon, your fears I trace.
Man, your proud ufurping 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 breaft no pity dwells,
Strong Neceffity 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 flain.

In

In these favage, liquid plains,
Only known to wand'ring swains,
Where the moffy riv'let ftrays,

Far from human haunts and ways;
All on Nature you depend,

And life's poor feafon peaceful spend.

Or, if man's fuperior might
Dare invade your native right,
On the lofty ether borne,

Man with all his pow'rs you fcorn;
Swiftly feek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other fprings;
And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his flave.

Written

Written with a PENCIL over the CHIMNEYPIECE, in the PARLOUR of the INN at KenMORE, TAYMOUTH.

ADMIRING Nature in her wildeft grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
My favage journey, curious, I pursue,
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view.-
The meeting cliffs each deep-funk glen di-

vides,

The woods, wild-fcatter'd, clothe their ample

fides;

Th'

Th' outftretching lake, imbofomed 'mong the

hills,

The eye with wonder and amazement fills;
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride,
The palace rifing on his verdant fide;
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native

taste;

The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless hafte; The arches ftriding o'er the new-born stream; The village glittering in the noontide beam

*

Poetic ardors in my bofom fwell,

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's moffy cell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods;
Th' inceffant roar of headlong tumbling
floods-

* *

Here Poefy might wake her heav'n-taught

lyre,

And look through Nature with creative fire;

Here,