LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 000n3Sa3H3 
 
THE 
 
 HIGHLANDERS, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 
 > 
 

 
 
THE 
 
 HIGHLANDERS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 C^ %, BY 
 
 Mrs. GRANT,. Laggan. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM, 
 Goswell Street; 
 
 nr^i 
 
 FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW, 
 
 1808, 
 
 
RII3. 1 
 
 "7RA". 
 
 Gilt 
 
 7 S- '06 
 
 
 K 
 

 TO 
 
 HER GRACE, 
 
 THE 
 
 DUCHESS OF GORDON, 
 
 THESE POEMS 
 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 HER GRACE'S 
 
 OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR, 
 
 a. a 
 
 A 2 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Introductory Verses 1 
 
 To Mrs. Dunlop, of Duulop 3 
 
 On the Death of Burns 8 
 
 The Highlanders, Part 1 16 
 
 - — Part II 24 
 
 Part III 38 
 
 — Part IV 49 
 
 Part V 69 
 
 Notes on the Highlanders 101 
 
 To Sir James Grant, Baronet 125 
 
 Notes on Ditto 129 
 
 A Ballad founded onFact 131 
 
 Notes on Ditto.. 141 
 
 Sonnet ] 43 
 
 Sonnet 1 43 
 
 Sonnet , , 144 
 
Vlll 
 
 Page 
 
 A familiar Epistle to a Friend 145 
 
 An Epistle to a Friend 156 
 
 Notes on Ditto 162 
 
 Remarks on the Character of Burns l65 
 
 Moome 169 
 
 The Nymph of the Fountain to Charlotte 175 
 
 Answer to a Poetical Epistle from an intimate 
 
 Friend 179 
 
 To His Royal Highness the Duke of York, with 
 
 an Invalid Soldier's Petition 182 
 
 Sent to a Young Nobleman, with a Pair of Gar- 
 ters, wrought by an Highland Woman in the 
 
 101st Year of her Age 186 
 
 To Miss Wallis, with a Sprig of Crimson Heath, 
 which grew on the Summit of a Mountain.. .... 190 
 
 An Ode, on reading one on the same Subject by 
 
 Professor Richardson, of G lasgo w 193 
 
 Answer to a Poetical Apology sent by Professor 
 M'Leod of Glasgow to some Ladies who had 
 
 invited him to an Oyster Feast 1 9$ 
 
 Hymn for the Sons of the Clergy ♦ 203 
 
 
IX 
 
 Page 
 
 To the Memory of a Young Lady who died near 
 Inverness in the 21st Year of her Age, August, 
 1776 - 205 
 
 To a Lady deeply interested in the Subject of the 
 Poem 207 
 
 To Lady Clan, who insisted on the Author's writ- 
 ing a Poem on meeting, by appointment, with 
 her and three other Ladies at an Inn on the 
 Road betwixt Perth and Laggan 213 
 
 Ode to Hygeia : — Addressed to the late Mrs. Wil- 
 liam Sprott, Edinburgh.— Spring 1 779 223 
 
 To Miss Dunbar of Boath 227 
 
 Inscription for a Garden Seat. — Sacred to the 
 Remembrance of a beloved Friend, Miss A. 
 O****, 1774. 230 
 
 On reading Manuscript Poems by a Young Lady, 
 not in the Manner but in the Spirit of Collins.. 232 
 
 Written in one of the Duke of Atholl's Walks at 
 Blair, after making a clandestine Entrance 
 through the River Tilt.— Summer 1796 234 
 
 Peaceful Shades.. „ 237 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
 FROM THE GAELIC. 
 
 Page 
 
 Preliminary Letter to Robert Arbuthnot, Esq. 
 containing Observations on the Authenticity of 
 
 Ossian's Poems 241 
 
 Morduth ; — A Fragment, translated from the 
 
 Gaelic: in Two Books 265 
 
 Notes on Ditto 287 
 
 The Aged Bard's Wish ,. 289 
 
 Notes on Ditto , 297 
 
 Glossary to Ditto 299 
 
ALPHABETICAL INDEX 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIRST LINES OF THE POEMS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Awful and stern the rugged entrance low'rs.... 148 
 
 All hail ! ye frowning terrors of my way.... 148 
 
 Awak'd to thought matur'd by age 207 
 
 Come, then, explore with me each winding glen... 25 
 Com'st thou with swift wing in thy strength, O 
 
 wind! 266 
 
 Dear peaceful cottage, o'er whose humble thatch 144 
 Dear Beatrice, with pleasure I read your kind letter 145 
 
 Dear Lady Clan, you well may know 213 
 
 Daughter of exercise and calm content , 223 
 
 Far to the North the howling tempest drove...... 15 
 
 Fair daughter of that fleeting race . . . , 1/5 
 
 From the recesses of this wild domain 182 
 
 Go, artless records of a life obscure 
 
 Hear, princely youth, th' unletter'd rustic Muse.. 186 
 
XII 
 
 Page 
 How bless'd those olive plants that grew 203 
 
 Helen, by every sympathy allied 227 
 
 In vain my eyelids seek repose...,. 171 
 
 Muse, that lov'st the lonely mountain 190 
 
 Now, hark ! what loud tumultuous joys resound.. 38 
 
 Now Winter pours his terrors o'er the plain 49 
 
 Oh ! soft and sweet the evening sun 131 
 
 Oh ! lay me by yon peaceful stream 289 
 
 Sacred to thee and friendly love 230 
 
 The vanquish'd Prince, for safety forc'd to fly 70 
 
 Though long by fate's severe decree remov'd 156 
 
 While on the meadowy banks of Spey 125 
 
 What adverse fate awaits the tuneful train ! 8 
 
 What voice awakes the soul-afflicting theme ? 193 
 
 WhenFiNGAL dwelt in windy halls 198 
 
 What sound of woe from yonder grove 205 
 
 When Thomson's harp, of charming tone 232 
 
 Vallesia, whose illustrious blood 3 
 
 Yes, even amid these wilds forlorn 179 
 
 Your jealous walls, great Duke, in vain 234 
 
 Ye peaceful shades, that guard my dear lov'd home 237 
 
INTRODUCTORY VERSES. 
 
 Griefs sharpest thorn hard pressing on my breast, 
 I strive with wakeful melody to cheer 
 The sullen gloom, sweet Philomel, like thee. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 Go, artless records of a life obscure, 
 Memorials dear of loves and friendships past, 
 Of blameless minds from strife and envy pure; 
 Go, scatter'd by Affliction's bitter blast, 
 And tell the proud, the busy, and the gay, 
 How rural peace consumes the quiet day. 
 
 Oh ye, whom sad remembrance loves to trace, 
 Look down complacent from your seats above, 
 Regard with soft compassion's melting grace 
 The simple offering of surviving love : 
 For, while I fondly think ye hover near, 
 Your whisper'd melody I seem to hear, 
 
 6 
 
2 
 
 Ye dear companions in life's thorny way, 
 
 Who see your modest virtues here display'd, 
 
 Forgive, for well you know th' unstudied lay 
 
 Was only meant to soothe the lonely shade. 
 
 But, when the rude thorn wounds the songsters breast, 
 
 The lengthened strains of woe betray her secret nest. 
 
ADDRESSED TO 
 
 MRS. DUNLOP OF DUNLOP: 
 
 ON READING 
 
 BURNS 7 S LETTERS 
 
 TO THAT LADY. 
 
 Thy liberal heart, and judging eye, 
 
 The flower unheeded shall descry. gray. 
 
 Vallesia*, whose illustrious blood, 
 
 Deriv'd from chiefs of mighty name, 
 Who long their country's barrier stood, 
 
 Still glows with honour's purest flame : 
 
 Oh, long may life's declining ray 
 
 On thee with mildest radiance shine, 
 And selfish prayers protract the day 
 
 That bears thee hence to joys divine! 
 
 * This Lady is representative of that family, from which 
 Sir William Wallace derived his origin. 
 
For thee, awakes each tuneful tyre, 
 Each guardian virtue hovers round, 
 
 The " voice of Coila" leads the choir, 
 And Coila's hills return the sound ! 
 
 Sweet voice, that first awak'd thy ear, 
 When languor spread its thickest gloom, 
 
 Sweet hills, whose echoes lov'd to bear 
 His wood-notes to Vallesia's dome. 
 
 Though cold the hand that wak'd the lyre, 
 And mute the voice that tun'd the lay ; 
 
 That spark of pure celestial fire, 
 
 That warnTd the strain, shall ne'er decay. 
 
 While Wealth and Power, with cold regard, 
 Beheld the Muse's darling Son! 
 
 He wak'd that lay : — his best reward, 
 The smile of nature — and thy own, 
 
 'Twas thine, in Fortune's lowest vale 
 The crush'd, neglected flower to spy, 
 
 And bid its fragrant sweets exhale, 
 And latent beauties charm the eye. 
 
 Nor only to the poet's lay, 
 
 Hast deign'd with kind regard to bend, 
 But through life's short and stormy day, 
 
 Coiisol'd him with the name of Friend: 
 
That name, bis best and dearest boast, 
 Whene'er his erring steps would stray, 
 
 Rever'd, belov'd, and honoured most, 
 Recaird him back to wisdom's way. 
 
 And when the wounds of Anguish bled, 
 Thy kindness dropt the healing balm; 
 
 And when the storm of Passion fled, 
 Thy counsel breath'd the sacred calm. 
 
 And when Misfortune's tempest lowYd, 
 Thy kind assisting hand was near ; 
 
 And when Remorse its sorrows pour'd, 
 'Twas thine to wipe the bitter tear. 
 
 Thou knew'st, well read in wisdom's lore, 
 What failings with our virtues blend; 
 
 Than truth and honour sought no more, 
 Nor vainly hop'd a faultless friend. 
 
 For this, the Muse that sings unknown 
 
 Shall strew 7 thy evening path with flow r ers ; 
 
 And halcyon Peace her olive crown 
 Shall hang on thy sequester'd bowers. 
 
 For this from India's bright domains 
 Thy sons the blood-stahfd laurel bring, 
 
 For this again their native plains, 
 With loud acclaim triumphant ring! 
 
While in thy kind maternal shade 
 
 We see another Wallace* rise, 
 Whose early steps, to honour led, 
 
 His country views with kindling eyes : 
 
 And while his deep indented spears 
 
 Protect her thistle's hallow'd stem ; 
 And while her rampant lion rears 
 
 To guard the British diadem : 
 
 And while a Scottish pulse beats high, 
 
 Accordant to her hero's name, 
 And while in Valours ardent eye 
 
 Oppression wakes th' indignant flame : 
 
 And while, through all her winding vales 
 
 Sad Scotia for her poet mourns, 
 And far as Britain's conquering sails 
 
 Extends the deathless name of Burns: 
 
 And while kind Friendship's generous breast 
 
 Swells with the tide of sympathy, 
 Or suns declining gild the west, 
 
 Vallesia's name shall never die! 
 
 * Alluding to a most promising grandson who bears that 
 
 
When wealth and pride, without a name. 
 Are swept to drear oblivion's gloom, 
 
 The Muse's never-dying flame 
 Shall kindle odours on thy tomb. 
 
 There, Praise shall purest incense breathe, 
 And Fancy fairest garlands twine, 
 
 And Caledonia bless the wreath 
 That decks Vallesia's simple shrine. 
 
ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF BURNS. 
 
 So may some gentle Muse 
 
 With lucky words favour my destin'd urn ; 
 
 And as he passes, turn, 
 
 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 What adverse fate awaits the tuneful train! 
 Has Otway died, and Spenser liv'd, in vain? 
 In vain has Collins, Fancy's pensive child, 
 Pour'd his lone plaints by Arurts windings wild ? 
 And Savage, on misfortune's bosom bred, 
 Bar'd to the howling storm his houseless head ? 
 Who gentle Shenstone's fate can hear unmov'd, 
 By virtue, elegance, and genius lov'd? 
 Yet, pensive wand'ring o'er his native plain, 
 His plaints confess'd he lov'd the Muse in vain. 
 
 
won — > 
 
 9 
 
 Chill penury invades his favourite bower, 
 Blasts every scene, and withers every flower; 
 His warning Muse to Prudence turn'd her strain, 
 But Prudence sings to thoughtless bards in vain; 
 Still restless Fancy drives them headlong on 
 With dreams of wealth, and friends, and laurels won- 
 On Ruin's brink they sleep, and wake undone ! 
 
 And see where Caledonia's Genius mourns, 
 And plants the holly round the grave of Burns ! 
 But late, " its polished leaves and berries red 
 " Play'd graceful round the rural Poet's head;" 
 And while with manly force and native fire 
 He wak'd the genuine Caledonian lyre, 
 Tweed's severing flood exulting heard her tell, 
 Not Roman wreaths the holly could excel; 
 Not Tiber s stream, along Campania's plain, 
 More pleas'd, convey 'd the gay Horatian strain, 
 Than bonny Doon, or fairy-haunted Ayre, 
 That wont his rustic melody to share, 
 Resound along their banks the pleasing theme,. 
 Sweet as their murmurs, copious as their stream : 
 And Ramsay, once the Horace of the North, 
 Who charm'd with varied strains the listening Forth, 
 Bequeath'd to him the shrewd peculiar art 
 To satire nameless graces to impart, 
 To wield her weapons with such sportive ease, 
 That, while they wound, they dazzle and they please : 
 B2 
 
10 
 
 But when he sung to the attentive plain 
 
 The humble virtues of the Patriarch Swain, 
 
 His evening worship, and his social meal, 
 
 And all a parent's pious heart can feel ; 
 
 To genuine worth we bow submissive down, 
 
 And wish the Cottar's* lowly shed our own: 
 
 With fond regard our native land we view, 
 
 Its cluster'd hamlets, and its mountains blue, 
 
 Our " virtuous populace," a nobler boast 
 
 Than all the wealth of either India's coast. 
 
 Yet while our hearts with admiration burn, 
 
 Too soon we learn that " Man was made to mourn." 
 
 The independent wish, the taste refin'd, 
 
 Bright energies of the superior mind, 
 
 And Feeling's generous pangs, and Fancy's glow, 
 
 And all that liberal Nature could bestow, 
 
 To him profusely given, yet given in vain ; 
 
 Misfortune aids and points the stings of pain. 
 
 How bless'd, when wand 'ring by his native Ayr, 
 He woo'd " the willing Muse," unknown to care! 
 But when fond admiration spread his name, 
 A candidate for fortune and for fame, 
 In evil hour he left the tranquil shade 
 Where Youth and Love with Hope and Fancy play'd ; 
 Yet rainbow colours gild the novel scene, 
 Deceitful fortune sweetly smil'd like Jean ; 
 
 • Cottar for Cottager. 
 
 « 
 
 
II 
 
 Now courted oft by the licentious gay 
 With them through devious paths behold him stray ; 
 The opening rose conceals the latent thorn, 
 Convivial hours prolong'd awake the morn, 
 Even Reason's sacred pow'r is drown'd in wine. 
 And Genius lays her wreath on Folly's shrine ; 
 Too sure, alas ! the world's unfeeling train 
 Corrupt the simple manners of the swain ; 
 The blushing Muse indignant scorns his lays, 
 And Fortune frowns, and honest fame decays, 
 Till low on earth he lays his sorrowing head, 
 And sinks untimely midst the vulgar dead! 
 
 Yet while for him, belov'd, admir'd in vain, 
 Thus fond Regret pours forth her plaintive strain. 
 While Fancy, Feeling, Taste, their griefs rehearse, 
 And deck with artless tears his mournful hearse, 
 See Cunning, Dullness, Ignorance, and Pride, 
 Exulting o'er his grave in triumph ride, 
 And boast, " though Genius, Humour, Wit agree/' 
 Cold selfish Prudence far excels the three ; 
 Nor think, while groveling on the earth they go, 
 How few can mount so high to fall so low. 
 Thus Vandals, Goths, and Huns, exulting come, 
 T" insult the ruins of majestic Rome. 
 But ye who honour genius — sacred beam! 
 From holy light a bright ethereal gleam, 
 Ye whom his happier verse has taught to glow, 
 Now to his ashes pay the debt you owe, 
 
12 
 
 Draw Pity's veil o'er his concluding scene, 
 
 And let the stream of bounty flow for Jean ! 
 
 The mourning matron and her infant train 
 
 Will own you did not love the Muse in vain, 
 
 While Sympathy with liberal hand appears, 
 
 To aid the Orphan's wants, and dry the Widow's tears ! 
 
THE 
 
 HIGHLANDERS: 
 
 OR 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY AND MANNERS: 
 
 WITH SOME 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON EMIGRATION. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING THE AUTHOR'S RECOVERY FROM A 
 LONG ILLNESS, IN SPRING 1795. 
 
 IN FIVE PARTS, 
 

THE HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 A R G U M E N T. 
 
 Complaints of Languor and Solitude, rendered more melancholy by 
 the gloomy season. Return of Spring. Restored Health. Con- 
 sequent joy and gratulation. Aspect of Nature on ike late 
 appearance of Spring in the Northern Climate. Disappointment 
 and concern at the Depopulation of the neighbouring glens. 
 Apostrophe to the Spirit of Malvina. Parallel betwixt the 
 degenerate race succee ing the Fingalian Heroes, and the me- 
 chanical and frigid people who replace the Highlanders, driven 
 to emigrate. Contrast betwixt that Life in which the frame is 
 enervated by Sloth and Luxury, and the mind unhinged by vi- 
 sionary systems of Philosophy ; — and that wherein the Contem- 
 plation of Nature, and early habits of Piety, have produced 
 Patience, Fortitude, and every manly Virtue: — Exemplified 
 in the opposite characters, and illustrated by two correspondent 
 similies, the Swallow and the Lark. The Author solicits the 
 attention of the Reader to a picture of deep and peculiar distress* 
 
 Where Winter lingering chills the lap of May. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Far to the North the howling tempest drove. 
 Light od'rous buds perfum'd the birchen grove, 
 The primrose, iris, and the daisy pied, 
 With bashful sweets bedeck'd the mountain's side; 
 
16 
 
 And even from bogs with chilly moisture drown'd, 
 Our hardy myrtle scattered fragrance round *: 
 Nature in happier climes lookVl fresh and gay, 
 And sternly smil'd even on the banks of Spey. 
 
 Hid from the solar beam and living breeze, 
 Stretch'd on the languid couch of dire disease, 
 By turns in listless torpor stretch'd I Jay, 
 Or pin'd the agonizing hours away: 
 u How long must I in storms and sickness mourn > 
 " Oh when will health on zephyrs wings return? 
 " When shall I sit upon yon green hill's brow, 
 " To view fresh verdure deck the vales below? 
 " When shall my heart its grateful raptures bring, 
 " To join the general symphony of spring? 
 " No more shall selfish cares my soul employ, 
 " But the kind throb reverb 'rate kindred joy: 
 " Youth's generous fervours kindle in my mind, 
 " And the wide wish that grasps the human kind. 
 " How long must I in storms and sickness mourn? 
 " Oh when will health, and light, and spring return?" 
 
 Again, with balmy breath the western gale 
 Wakes the mild verdure of the shelter'd vale, 
 While health, and light, and spring, return once more: 
 But who, alas ! can Spring's delights restore ? 
 Since social joys and cheerful toils are dead, 
 And all the train of mountain virtues fled ; 
 
 * See note 1. on Part I. 
 
17 
 
 Which, like our native firs, aspiring, bold, 
 
 Love the bleak heights, and scorn the fertile mould. 
 
 Daughter of Toscar ! who by Lutha's streams 
 Oft met thy warlike spouse in mournful dreams : 
 Malvina! come in all thy pensive charms, 
 Stretch from thy robe of mist thy snowy arms ; 
 Lift thy slow-rolling eyes, whose azure beams 
 So oft of old were quench'd in sorrow's streams ; 
 When sons of little men, an abject race, 
 Appear'd in thy departed hero's place: 
 Tell in what secret cave, or whispering shade, 
 Thy harp of sadly-pleasing sound is laid, 
 (Whose plaintive tones, so sweet to Ossian's ear, 
 The child of sorrow still delights to hear,) 
 That my bold hand may wake its strings again, 
 And teach the mountain echoes to complain : 
 While to each dusky heath, and woody dell, 
 The Genius of the mountains bids farewell. 
 
 Now, where the dappl'd fawns and bounding roes 
 Were wont their sprightly gambols to disclose, 
 Slow r wand'ring sheep gaze round with vacant eye, 
 While sullen rocks return their plaintive cry : 
 Pensive and slow I climb the mountain brow, 
 To view each social hamlet's mutual plough * ; 
 To see the cluster'd cottages around, 
 Where tranquil peace and rural joy were found; 
 
 * See note %. on Part I, 
 
18 
 
 Where gentle manners, piety sincere, 
 
 " The sympathies of love and friendship dear ;* 
 Fancy and music bless'd each humble cot, 
 Each heart endearing to the native spot ; 
 While at the frugal meal the blue smokes rise * 
 Like grateful incense to the fav'ring skies ; 
 For, here the beauties of one smiling day, 
 Whole months of lowering gloom and storms repay. 
 While Spring with soft hand scatters fragrance round, 
 Devotion, gratitude, and joy abound; 
 And more delight expands th' untutor'd heart, 
 Than pomp or luxury could e'er impart. 
 In vain my eyes the lengthening vale explore, 
 From hillocks green the blue smokes rise no more : 
 e - No more at evening hour the hamlets round," 
 The voice of joy and melody resound ; 
 No more the maids with plaintive ditties old, 
 And warbl'd love-tales soothe the musky fold ; 
 Or guardian-spirits hovering round in air 
 Attend the village-patriarch's simple pray'r, 
 Where breathes the native soul devoid of art, 
 The genuine language of the grateful heart : 
 No more the pibroch wakes the martial strain, 
 No more the clan's proud standard waves amain, 
 No more in pensive mood the gifted seer 
 Beholds the joyous nuptial train appear; 
 
 * See note 3. on Part I. 
 
19 
 
 Or sees the funeral pomp approaching slow, 
 
 Or hears through the still air the shrieks of future woe : 
 
 No more the bard, whom native genius fires, 
 
 (Celestial flame, that heaven-ward still aspires,) 
 
 Bids patriot valour in full glory blaze, 
 
 Or consecrates departed worth with praise. 
 
 Thus brave Montrose was sung, and great 
 Argyle : 
 The gentle Chieftain of the mysty isle, 
 Snatch'd in the bloom of opening worth away, 
 Thus lives — the theme of many a plaintive lay *; 
 Which still his honour'd memory shall prolong ; 
 So young Marcellus lives in Virgil's song. 
 Say, banish 'd masters of the tuneful art, 
 Who sway with latent pow'r the willing heart, 
 Where are you now ? across th' Atlantic's roar 
 Do your sad eyes your native hills explore ? 
 Or homeward do you strain your aching view, 
 Where restless waves each other still pursue ? 
 Where angry billows meet with frowning skies, 
 Till fancy's self recoils, and vision dies : 
 Or, bending o'er the prow, your mournful strain 
 Mix with the murmurs of the boundless main, 
 Where sinking surges equal cadence keep, 
 While misty showers around you seem to weep ; 
 
 * See note 4. on Part I. 
 
20 
 
 Or wakes the harp the well-known notes of woe, 
 That wont along the funeral path to flow, 
 That, while our vanish'd comforts we deplore, 
 Repeats emphatic, " They return no more *." 
 Go, hapless bards, and sing in other lands 
 Your country's praise to charm her exifd bands ; 
 And soothe each drooping mind with thoughts of 
 
 home, 
 While hopeless through the pathless wilds they roam. 
 But wherefore exil'd ? while afar they rove, 
 Still glow their filial breasts with patriot love : 
 The thoughts of home still aching at their heart, 
 While distance only aggravates the smart. 
 Did not their hard hands earn with patient toil 
 Their scanty pittance from the rugged soil ? 
 And did not blameless morals add a grace 
 To simple manners, in the untaught race ? 
 Uncouth and wild these manners may appear, 
 And even these virtues savage and austere, 
 To those vain tribes who, indolently gay, 
 Know but to dream and trifle life away ; 
 Who on soft Luxury's velvet lap reclin'd, 
 Shrink from each bold exertion of the mind , 
 Whose unbrac'd languid frame, dissolved in ease, 
 Recoils and shivers at th* autumnal breeze. 
 
 * See note 5. on Part I, 
 
m 
 
 When winter rides terrific on the blasts 
 
 They shrink to covert till the storm be past ; 
 
 Nay, when soft April's wat'ry smile appears, 
 
 The gale that from the primrose shakes the tears, 
 
 Too rudely breathes for them — although its power 
 
 Wounds not the texture of the silken flower : 
 
 Born in the sun's enlivening beams to play, 
 
 Like sportive insects of a summer day, 
 
 Say, how should they fatigue and danger brave, 
 
 Or climb the rocky steep, or mount the wintry wave? 
 
 " These tasks befit tiie rugged sons of toil," 
 Cries speculative Pride with scornful smile, 
 " While they in ignorance and darkness grope, 
 " And labour on, and talk of faith and hope; 
 " Far nobler labours aid us to extol 
 " The task of minds, the labour of the soul. 
 f To trace French novelists with steady gaze, 
 P Through sentiment's inexplicable maze; 
 " Whose evanescent meaning caught meanwhile, 
 w Shall add new graces to enrich our style ; 
 " New systems of philosophy be shown, 
 " With happier art in language all our own; 
 " New modes, new governments, new laws, new light, 
 " Shall put all superstition's train to flight; 
 " And revelation's tiembling, dubious ray, 
 " No more its faint, uncertain beams display ; 
 " But knowledge flash with such resplendent blaze, 
 c That maddening crowds grow giddy while they gaze. 
 
22 
 
 " Such are our triumphs, while at ease reclin'd, 
 " With active force the comprehensive mind 
 " Breaks custom's chains and prejudice's ties, 
 " And wide in sportive curves unbounded flies/' 
 
 Thus have I seen, in some long shining day, 
 The Swallow kind their sportive gambols play; 
 They roam'd excursive through the boundless air, 
 Sporting with wanton wing, now here, now there; 
 And twittering on with inharmonious mirth, 
 Each surface skimm'd, yet scorn'd to touch the earth : 
 Nor heav'n-ward strove on wing sublime to rise , 
 But chas'd with eager haste the summer flies ; 
 Till the chill blasts of the first wintry day 
 To darkness drove the flutterers and their prey. 
 Such be your fate — ye silken sons of ease, 
 Whom hardships terrify, and trifles please. 
 Be mine to watch the blush of early dawn, 
 And thoughtful muse along the dewy lawn, 
 Where the sweet Lark w ith cheerful ardour springs, 
 Shakes the cold night-drops from her russet wings; 
 With music's raptures cheers the vaulted sky, 
 And wakens all the feather'd minstrelsy; 
 Then stooping to her dewy nest again, 
 With grateful joy renews the charming strain. 
 
 Thus from his native glen, when fore'd to roam, 
 Some Alpine peasant joyous hails his home ; 
 Delighted hovering o'er the spot obscure, 
 Where useful toils are mix'd with pleasures pure ; 
 
23 
 
 While his fond eyes explore the low retreat, 
 He feels his glowing heart tumultuous beat; 
 And views with more delight his humble shed, 
 Than all the scenes where pomp and pleasure tread, 
 
 Will you, ye proud and gay, attend awhile, 
 To homely truths rehearsed in homely style ; 
 And hear a rustic Muse those truths impart, 
 From the full sources of the swelling heart ? 
 No strains of measured harmony shall here 
 With meretricious tinkle soothe your ear ; 
 Nor art ambitious snatch exotic flow'rs 
 From eastern groves, or soft Italia's bow'rs ; 
 Be mine to raise, without disguise or art, 
 The British song, and touch the British heart. 
 To scenes of heartfelt sorrow turn your eye, 
 Unlock' the sacred source of sympathy ; 
 Nor let to Afric's wilds Compassion roam, 
 W T hile modest Anguish weeps unseen at home. 
 
 END OF PART I. 
 
THE HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 ARGUM ENT. 
 
 Character of the Mountaineers, with a sketch of the leading causes 
 zvhich produced and still preserve that peculiar Character, in 
 which a manly Simplicity is blended zvith a degree of Sentiment, 
 and gentleness of Manners, seldom to be found in the lower 
 class of any other country ; and which seems so intimately con- 
 nected with their language and manner of life, that they gene- 
 rally lose it, when incorporated with any other class of people* 
 Rural occupations described as carried on by different members 
 of the same family. The domestic Group assembled in the 
 Evening, rehearse to each other the Toils, Adventures, Visions, 
 and Contemplations of the Day. Enthusiastic feeling excited 
 by the simple pathos of artless narrative or unstudied composi- 
 tion — contrasted with the apathy common among those in whom 
 much intercourse with the world has blunted the finer feel- 
 ings ^-^illustrated by a comparison. Evening Worship. Early 
 rising. Devout Aspirations. Respect paid to an old peasant, 
 who generally presides by tacit consent in every hamlet, and 
 holds his power by the double right of superior wisdom and ex- 
 perience, and is called, by way of pre-eminence, n'Dunadh, or 
 the Man. A younger person in the same little circle, generally 
 admired by the rest for some talent, such as Humour, Musical 
 Powers, or a faculty of Rhyming, fyc. No hamlet without 
 
25 
 
 some Widow, who is in a great measure supported, and saved 
 from the disgrace of a mendicant life, by the little society ; she 
 is usually childless, for the Highlanders, eminent for filial 
 piety, always strive to support their aged parents* 
 
 Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court ? 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Come, then, explore with me each winding glen, 
 Far from the no sy haunts of busy men ; 
 Let us with stedfast eye attentive trace 
 The local habits of the Celtic race; 
 Renown'd even in those old heroic times, 
 That live in Ossian's songs, and Runic rhymes; 
 When ardent Valour calFd his children forth, 
 And glory lightened through the beaming North: 
 Whose hardy sons that twilight age adorn, 
 Like the quick splendours of the Boreal morn, 
 FilFd with amaze and awe the world's dread kings, 
 And bade their eagles stoop with flagging wings. 
 Come, trace with curious search what secret cause 
 Each native's heart with strong attraction draws, 
 c 
 
26 
 
 Though wealth in happier lands her stores unlock, 
 
 To cling with fervour to his native rock : 
 
 Why lonely mountains, dark with russet heath 
 
 And rushing streams, and narrow vales beneath ; 
 
 With more delight his wand'ring eye detain, 
 
 Than Forth's rich banks, or Lothian's fertile plain: 
 
 The many-colour'd herd, his wealth and pride, 
 
 Like deer, through wastes extended, wand'ring wide; 
 
 And sportive goats, a bold aspiring flock, 
 
 High on the ridge of yon aerial rock; 
 
 More self-importance to his mind impart, 
 
 And fill with warmer joys his simple heart, 
 
 Than all the flocks the southern shepherd pens* 
 
 Or the fat herds that graze the Lincoln fens. 
 
 Dear to his heart, those rocks that oft have rung 
 
 With legends which the Celtic muse has sung; 
 
 While all the attentive hamlets round admire 
 
 The deeds gigantic of their common sire : 
 
 The honest pride those noble deeds impart, 
 
 With kind contagion flies from heart to heart. 
 
 And while they hang delighted on the sound, 
 
 The ties of kindred love are doubly bound ; 
 
 And lisping children, youths, and grandsires grey, 
 
 Enamour'd dwell on the exalting lay : 
 
 The long-descended strains their sons inspire, 
 
 To wake new raptures from the melting lyre, 
 
 Bid every sympathetic bosom glow 
 
 With modest triumph, or with virtuous woe: 
 
27 
 
 With fine emotions rudest spirits move, 
 And teach at once to wonder and to love : 
 While glowing tenderness and thought refin'd, 
 Exalt the spirit of the lowly hind. 
 
 In other lands, where abject peasants toil, 
 To gain rich products from the cultur'd soil ; 
 W 7 here grovelling interest draws each sordid plan, 
 And all things feel improvement's aid but man : 
 To plod in dull mechanic sort their lot, 
 And vegetate upon the self-same spot : 
 Through the dull year's unvarying circle round, 
 The self-same fields their cares and projects bound. 
 No common toils have they, nor liberal views, 
 Alternate ease, nor " rapture for the niuse;" 
 No leisure intervals to soothe their care, 
 Save the gross pastimes of a village-fair : 
 Extinct in these the spirit fierce and bold 
 Thatblaz'd through all the Scottish ranks of old; 
 Extinct the vital spark of energy, 
 That bids the soul claim kindred with the sky. 
 
 Far to the North, where Scotia's Alps arise, 
 And shroud their white heads in the misty skies; 
 In peopled straths *, where winding streams prolong 
 Their course familiar in the Celtic song: 
 Or where the narrow wooded glens display 
 Thejr verdant bosoms opening to the day, 
 
 * See note No. 6. 
 
 , 
 
28 
 
 And each his tributary torrent pours, 
 
 To swell the midland river's copious stores : 
 
 While near their confluence stand the mouldering seats 
 
 Where ancient Chieftains rul'd those green retreats, 
 
 And faithful Clans delighted to obey 
 
 The kind behests of patriarchal sway ; 
 
 The social tribes branched out on every side, 
 
 The pleasures and the toils of life divide ; 
 
 And long experienc'd in the ages gone, 
 
 Peculiar toils and pleasures all their own. 
 
 Here all is open as the ambient sky, 
 Nor fence, nor wall, obstructs the wandering eye t 
 Each hamlet's flocks and herds, a mutual charge, 
 That wander up the mountain's side at large; 
 Alternate claim the rustic's daily care; 
 And thus each various rural toil they share. 
 
 The lesser Children guide the bleating lambs, 
 When wean'd and forc'd to quit their tim'rous dams ; 
 The more advanc'd the sportive kidlings guide. 
 Where rocks o'erhang the torrent's dashing pride. 
 The little Maiden, whose unsteady hand 
 Can scarce the distaff's yielding weight command, 
 Is by her careful mother taught to cull 
 From whitest curling fleeces, silky wool ; 
 Her flowing tresses decks with garlands gay, 
 Then spins beside her playful calves the day. 
 The Youth, whose cheek the manly down o'erspfeads 
 Wide o'er the hills the stronger cattle leads : 
 
29 
 
 While milky mothers lowing o'er the land, 
 With plaintive cries their absent young demand, 
 
 The careful Father forms the hamlet's fold, 
 Or else with patient labour turns the mould ; 
 And watchful leaning o'er the faithful share, 
 The small domain divides with frugal care; 
 And free from cautious doubts and selfish fears, 
 They reap their portion of the ripen'd ears. 
 Thus, while they sow and reap the mutual field, 
 And each to each by turns is wont to yield ; 
 With one consent they trace the general plan, 
 And blended interests form the social man : 
 Hence gradual ties of kind endearment flow, 
 Hence bland address and courteous actions grow; 
 And hence th' unstudied manners of the swain. 
 The graces of a gentler mind explain. 
 
 When the declining sun withdraws his fires, 
 And slowly from the mountain-top retires; 
 When echoes whisper to the evening gale, 
 And shadows dim the visionary vale : 
 When cattle slumber in the peaceful fold, 
 And clouds in wild fantastic shapes are roll'd ; 
 The scattered family delighted meet, 
 And with complacent smile each other greet. 
 All day, from deep recesses of the woods, 
 From shelving rocks, or secret winding floods, 
 Each individual strives to bring a share 
 To aid their household wants^or help their frugal fare. 
 
so 
 
 The boastful Boy, caught by his feeble hook, 
 
 Displays the scaly tenants of the brook: 
 
 The Goat-herds in their osier baskets bring 
 
 The wholesome herbs on airy cliffs that spring ; 
 
 The alder bark that gives the sable dye, 
 
 Or buds of heath that with the saffron vie ; 
 
 While moss, that wont on aged rocks to grow, 
 
 Shall make the various woof with purple glow: 
 
 The housewife pleas'd the varied gifts beholds, 
 
 While hope anticipates the checker'd folds; 
 
 And colours of the home-made drapery, 
 
 Pride of her heart, and pleasure of her eye. 
 
 The cumbrous burden see the Father bear, 
 
 Of pliant birch, or smooth-grain'd juniper; 
 
 To form the roof that shields the humble dome, 
 
 " Where every wandering stranger finds a home f 
 
 Or frame the seemly vessels that contain 
 
 The milky store which from their flocks they drain ; 
 
 For here scarce known the sordid arts of trade, 
 
 They seek no gross mechanic's frigid aid : 
 
 Tho' mean the dwelling thus uncouthly rear'd, 
 
 Tis still by kindly gratitude endear'd: 
 
 While each his neighbour aids with cordial smile, 
 
 To build, like laboring ants, the rustic pile. 
 
 The household stuff their simple wants demand, 
 
 Is fashion d by th' ingenious owner's hand: 
 
 The knife, the axe, the auger, and the fire, 
 
 The only tools that aid th' inventive sire. 
 
31 
 
 From courtly domes on marble columns borne* 
 Let not the artist view their works with scorn; 
 Till he another cot produce to view, 
 By means as simple, and with tools as few. 
 
 The wish'd Repast the weary inmates cheers, 
 And kindness now on every face appears ; 
 Well pleas'd to meet in comfort, and display 
 The mix'd adventures of the various day. 
 What bounding deer and fluttering game they trac'd, 
 What hunter met them on the moory waste ; 
 What straying cattle from th' adjacent strath, 
 They careful turn'd into the homeward path : 
 Or tell what rude and new-invented lay, 
 With soothing cadence lull'd their tedious day; 
 Th* unearthly voice, deep sounding thro* the wood,. 
 Or vision wild of mournful solitude^ 
 That brings the long-lost brother back again 
 From Quebec's gates, or sad Cullodem's plain: 
 By turns in wonder wrapt, or chill'd with fear T 
 Or sunk in woe, th' attentive audience hear ; 
 And each impression which their words impart, 
 Sinks with deep interest on the artless heart : 
 Not all the magic cunning of the scene, 
 Though Siddons self in sorrow's pomp be seen, 
 Can wake emotions in the callous mind, 
 Vers'd in the crooked science of mankind,. 
 So soft, so strong, so warm, as here are known, 
 Where modest Nature works, and works alone. 
 
32 
 
 The vivid portion of celestial fire 
 
 Which bids the energetic soul aspire, 
 
 Like the clear flames that light the frozen zone, 
 
 Blown by the fav'ring breath of heaven alone, 
 
 More brightly blazes, more intensely glows, 
 
 Than where slow art her languid aid bestows. 
 
 Now all the household with due reverence kneel, 
 While in emphatic phrase with fervent zeal, 
 The Parent Swain pours out his ardent pray'r, 
 For the dear objects of his tend'rest care; 
 Or else, by humble gratitude inspir'd, 
 His swelling heart with holy transport fir'd, 
 Presents his praise — an Evening Sacrifice, 
 Sincere and welcome to the approving skies. 
 Thus blessing heaven, and by each other blest, 
 They drown their toils in sweet oblivious rest. 
 
 When, on his eastern throne the Sun appears, 
 From Nature's mantle green to dry the tears, 
 With cheerful haste to meet his beams they rise, 
 And pay aguin their homage to the skies *; 
 Then greet the hamlet Sage with due esteem, 
 Whose wise behest an oracle they deem : 
 Ev'n Nature's artless children thus we find, 
 A rude unconscious homage pay to mind. 
 Then, why at Fortune's vain distinctions low'r ? 
 Since Wisdom still in every state is Pow'r. 
 
 * See note No. 7, 
 
33 
 
 When Probity arid Wisdom both combine, 
 Tis indefeasible and right divine : 
 While all beneath the secret influence bow, 
 And wait suspended the decision slow. 
 
 Thus Grecian chiefs with mute attention heard , 
 When hoary Nestor spoke, by all rever'd. 
 
 In every hamlet some experiene'd Sire, 
 Whose worth and wisdom all the rest admire, 
 Known to each track where deer are wont to range, 
 And vers'd in every planetary change ; 
 Why meteors glare, or wand'ring comets blaze, 
 And which propitious, which unlucky days; 
 Directs what time to yoke the mutual plough, 
 And when to feed the weakly flocks below ; 
 Or when the larger cattle forth to guide, 
 Where fresher herbage decks the mountain's side; 
 What dreadful judgments wait on broken vows, 
 How conscious guilt low'rs on the murderer's brows ; 
 How voices whispering thro* the gloomy wood, 
 Or groaning caves, make known the man of blood: 
 How fields are blighted, or how cattle die, 
 To punish secret fraud, or perjury : 
 Or how red lightning scath'd the vassal's head, 
 Who shew'd the way his outlaw 'd chieftain fled; 
 He tells at large, — while every hearer's sense 
 Is ravish'd by his copious eloquence : 
 In each debate he gives the casting vote, 
 And his wise sayings all repeat by rote, 
 c 2 
 
34 
 
 Much does each hamlet boast its sage's skill. 
 To draw the severing bounds 'twixt good and ill : 
 And much indeed his knowledge is extoll'd, 
 In local history, and tradition old. 
 
 Thus, though he holds pre-eminence, as fit, 
 The circle also boasts its Bard or Wit. 
 Some * Genius, who by Nature taught to sing, 
 Responsive warbles to the trembling string : 
 Each theme, by turns, th' attentive audience warms, 
 The smile of beauty, or the clash of arms ; 
 Or grottos, woods, and shaded vales are shown, 
 Description, such as Thomson's self might own : 
 Like him, the bard, without the aid of art, 
 Awakes the fine emotions of the heart : 
 Like him, can every " tenderness infuse/' 
 And teach to love the " humanizing muse :" 
 Or else some Youth, who smiles and wounds by turns, 
 With all the poignant humour of a Burns, 
 Bids sportive mirth and pleasantry abound, 
 And scatters Ridicule's light darts around ; 
 With the shrewd glance of quick inspection keen, 
 Detects the vain, the selfish, and the mean; 
 Drags vice and folly to the public eye, 
 And points them out to grinning obloquy : 
 Not even the worthy are from fear exempt,, 
 Such is the general horror of contempt. 
 
 See note No. 8. 
 
35 
 
 Besides th' ingenious Youth and sapient Sire, 
 One darling object all the rest admire : 
 Some blushing Maid, whose sweet, tho' simple charms, 
 In many an artless bosom wake alarms ; 
 Whom all the young with secret joy behold, 
 With looks of kind complacence all the old ; 
 See, with dishevelled locks she moves along, 
 The theme of many a wildly-warbFd song: 
 i\nd many a quaint similitude is sought, 
 Through all the boundless wilderness of thought, 
 To paint the graces of th' excelling fair : 
 The glossy burnish of her shining hair, 
 Is like the soft harp's many-sounding strings 
 To which the bard the deeds of heroes sings; 
 Like stars that shed sweet influence from the skies, 
 The beamy lustre of her downcast eyes ; 
 The downy cannach * of the wat'ry moors, 
 Whose shining tufts the shepherd-boy allures; 
 Which, when the Summer's sultry heats prevail, 
 Sheds its light plumage on th' inconstant gale : 
 Even such, so silky soft, so dazzling white, 
 Her modest bosom seems, retired from sight. 
 The tufted berries rich in crimson glow, 
 That on the mountain-ash conspicuous grow 7 , 
 Seem a fit image of the deepening red, 
 With which the conscious fair-one's cheek is spread : 
 
 * See note No. 9. 
 
36 
 
 While emulous her neighbour-swains declare 
 No other virgin can with her compare; 
 And challenge all the neighbouring hamlets round. 
 To show a maid with such perfections crown'd. 
 
 Where yonder ridgy mountains bound the scene^ 
 The narrow op'ning glens that intervene 
 Still shelter in some lowly nook obscure, 
 One poorer than the rest — where all are poor; 
 Some widow 7 d Matron, hopeless of relief, 
 Who to her secret breast confines her grief; 
 Dejected sighs the wint'ry night away, 
 And lonely muses all the summer day : 
 Her gallant sons, who smit with honour's charms. 
 Pursued the phantom Fame thro* war's alarms, 
 Return no more ;— stretch'd on Hindostan's plain, 
 Or sunk beneath th' unfathomable main ; 
 In vain her eyes the wat'ry waste explore, 
 For heroes — fated to return no more! 
 Let others bless the morning's red'ning beam, 
 Foe to her peace — it breaks th' illusive dream 
 That, in their prime of manly bloom confest, 
 Restor'd the long-lost warriors to her breast ; 
 And as they strove, with smiles of filial love, 
 Their widow 'd parent's anguish to remove, 
 Through her small casement broke th' intrusive day> 
 And chac'd the pleasing images away ! 
 No time can e'er her banish'd joys restore, 
 For ah ! a heart once broken, heals no more. 
 
37 
 
 The dewy beams that gleam from pity's eye, 
 The " still small voice" of sacred sympathy, 
 In vain the mourner's sorrows would beguile, 
 Or steal from weary woe one languid smile; 
 Yet what they can they do, — the scanty store, 
 So often open'd for the wandering poor, 
 To her each cottager complacent deals, 
 While the kind glance the melting heart reveals ; 
 And still, when evening streaks the west with gold, 
 The milky tribute from the lowing fold 
 With cheerful haste officious children bring, 
 And every smiling flow'r that decks the Spring: 
 Ah ! little know the fond attentive train, 
 That spring and flow'rets smile for her in vain: 
 Yet hence they learn to reverence modest woe, 
 And of their little all a part bestow. 
 
 Let those, to wealth and proud distinction born, 
 With the cold glance of insolence and scorn 
 Regard the suppliant wretch, — and harshly grieve 
 The bleeding heart their bounty would relieve. 
 Far different these ;— while from a bounteous heart 
 With the poor sufferer they divide a part : 
 Humbly they own, that all they have is given 
 A boon precarious from indulgent heaven ; 
 And the next blighted crop, or frosty spring, 
 Themselves to equal indigence may bring, 
 
 END OF PART II. 
 
THE HIGHLANDERS, 
 
 PART III. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The removal to the Mountain Shealings f when the true Pastoral 
 Life commences ; and a Scene of vacant leisure^ diversified by 
 Music, Poetry , and Rural Sports, is ope?ied to the people. 
 Return from the Shealings, ^Autumn. Tokens of an early 
 Winter, Wattled Barns, ' All Saints or Hallow Even, Rural 
 Dancing, Grace and Agility in that exercise native to High- 
 landers, 
 
 Forms or customs had not shackl'd Man, 
 But wild in woods the noble Savage ran. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 Now hark! what loud, tumultuous joys resound, 
 From all the echoing rocks and valleys round; 
 And hear! the sage oraculous declare, 
 >Tis time the summer-flitting to prepare: 
 
39 
 
 The summer -flitting ! youths delighted cry, 
 The summer-flitting! lisping babes reply *. 
 Now all is haste, and cheerful bustle round, 
 To reach the wilds, with plenteous herbage crown'd , 
 
 Thus when assembled storks prepare to. fly, 
 When Niltjs leaves his slimy borders dry, 
 The prudent leaders first consult with care, 
 Then all the younger followers mount the air : 
 Their figur'd flight with due precision steer, 
 While hope exulting heads the gay career. 
 
 When dappl'd grey first streaks the eastern sky, 
 With quick dispatch the cottage-matrons vie, 
 Who first shall load the steeds that lead the way, 
 And wheels and vessels in due order lay. 
 Then in collected numbers duly rang'd 
 With lighten'd hearts, to care and fear estrang'd, 
 The train proceed, — and first the motley herd* 
 For greater strength, or agile force preferr d, 
 Lead on, — the milky mothers following near, 
 Their sportive young behold with matron fear : 
 Then come the bleating kind with plaintive cry, 
 And children overjoyed, they know not why ; 
 And mothers, smiling on the guiltless race, 
 Or clasping infants in their fond embrace. 
 
 * It is a season of rapturous freedom and variety to die 
 children, who are always delighted at its return 3 which is in- 
 deed very much the case with the people in general, 
 
40 
 
 High on the mountain's side, or in the wood, 
 Where Nature reigns in savage solitude; 
 Or deep enibosom'd in some narrow glen, 
 Where coy Retirement shuns the haunts of men, 
 The shelter'd bothy s * rise to shield the train, 
 Who joy to view their summer-haunts again; 
 For here again the Sylvan Age returns, 
 Nor man the curse of ceaseless labour mourns : 
 Fair Freedom walks abroad, unties her zone, 
 And joys to see the landscape all her own. 
 
 Thrown careless on the slope — see vacant Ease 
 Bask in the sun, or court the cooling breeze; 
 And musing Fancy y by some brook reclin'd, 
 In language clothe the murmurs of the wind; 
 Or frame to vocal reeds the native lay, 
 Or form of mountain flowers the chaplet gay. 
 See Sport, with Exercise and Health combin'd, 
 In happy union, fleeter than the wind, 
 Thro' pathless wastes the sprightly game pursue, 
 " Oft out of reach, but never out of view :* 
 While eager Hope impetuous grasps the prize, 
 And Ardour lightens in the hunter's eyes. 
 At length, exulting o'er their trembling spoil, 
 They see the dun deer fall to crown their toil. 
 
 * Bothy is a provincial phrase, signifying a booth or slight 
 building, applied to the huts in the shealings. 
 
41 
 
 And when calm evening bathes the flow'rs in dew, 
 And bids the thrush his mellow note renew, 
 With answering music maidens pour the lay, 
 And drain the listening kine at close of day : 
 Delighted Echoes spread the cheerful strains, 
 And rapt Attention holds the silent swains : 
 But holds not long — from every thicket round 
 Young voices mix'd in cheerful chorus sound. 
 Each lone recess the wand'ring tribes explore, 
 Aud now return exulting with their store 
 Of berries *, that in rich luxuriance spread, 
 O'er the dark heath their crimson lustre shed ; 
 Or trailing o'er the rocky fragments side, 
 The glossy foliage spreads its verdant pride ; 
 While raspberries richly flavour'd, climb on high, 
 And bask in all the radiance of the sky ; 
 Or brambles, on the brook's wild margin spread, 
 With jetty lustre deck their pebbly bed : 
 Where with coy wing the Ptarmigan retires, 
 And high beyond the rolling mist aspires, 
 In safest solitude and purest air, 
 To rear her young with fond maternal care f : 
 
 * Wortle-berries and Cran-berries abound very much in 
 those districts where the peasants retire in summer. Their 
 vivid colours and glossy leaves make a beautiful variety among 
 the productions of the mountains. 
 
 t On the tops of the highest mountains, far above all human 
 haunts, the Ptarmigan nestles, and the White Hare breeds. 
 
42 
 
 And mountain Hares, white as the drifted snow* 
 Ascend, while fear and danger pant below ; 
 Or, where the Eagle darts his vigorous flight 
 From cliffs sublime, to trace the realms of light ; 
 A fruit there grows, to fertile plains unknown, 
 Whose beauties deck the sterile rock alone *; 
 The creeping plant, low on the stony ground, 
 Spreads like some lonely gem its radiance round : 
 The topaz and the ruby here display 
 Their blended lustre to the eye of day : 
 Twas thus Hesperian gardens bloom'd of old, 
 Where Dragons watch'd the vegetable gold. 
 
 All these, and more beside, of names unknown, 
 Has Nature o'er the wilds profusely strown : 
 And vent'rous children wide the waste explore, 
 And to the Arrie bring the various store f. 
 While bolder youth pursue the feather'd game, 
 Of various plumage, and as various name : 
 And adding what the finny tribes afford, 
 With unbought viands load the simple board ; 
 Where milky draughts refresh the happy train, 
 And each lives o'er th' excursive day again : 
 
 * The natives call this fruit Eyrekkan, which is of the size 
 and form of a large Strawberry, and not unpleasant to the 
 taste 3 it is of incomparable beauty, being almost transparent, 
 and of the most glowing colours, from all the variations of 
 scarlet, shading off into a bright, and then paler yellow. 
 
 t Arrie is a name in some districts given to the shealings* 
 
43 
 
 While mirth's loud carol every care beguiles, 
 And guiltless loves, that play in artless smiles ; 
 And aged swains, that talk of battles old, 
 And wonders new by ancient seers foretold ; 
 And matrons, who the busy spindle ply, 
 Till evening's warning star is mounted high ; 
 Thus comes with speed unmark'd the hour of rest, 
 That hour to peace and innocence so blest ; 
 How sweet to slumber on the bed of heath, 
 Whose purple blossoms health and vigour breathe ! 
 How sweet to dream of heavenly melody, 
 And wake to hear it warbling thro' the sky ! 
 While larks ascending tune their matin lays, 
 And scatter darkness with the notes of praise. 
 
 Thus while successive days new pleasures bring* 
 Gay Summer hastes away on blithsome wing : 
 But now, when equal days and nights draw near, 
 And pensive Autumn mild, of sober cheer ; 
 When clustering nuts are changing into brown, 
 When from the nest the plover's young is flown, 
 When nimble moor-powts scatter o'er the heath, 
 And hear in every blast the licenced death : 
 When round the lonely hamlet's green domain, 
 The grass in fresh luxuriance springs again ; 
 When flowery herbage richly clothes the mead, 
 And corn shot up, supplies the past'ral reed; 
 Then from the Summer-sheals their course they bend, 
 And with reluctant leisure slow descend. 
 
44 
 
 How cheap the pleasures of the simple mind t 
 Unknown to joys that Fashion calls refin'd : 
 What fine, what slender and unconscious ties, 
 To hold the kind ingenuous heart, suffice. 
 The wide, wild haunts, where nature lonely reigns, 
 Unwilling they forsake, to seek the plains ; 
 Yet when they see the dear familiar spot, 
 Where each descries his lov'd, his native cot, 
 Well pleas'd they hail the Genius of the plain, 
 And joy to meet their household-gods again : 
 Though penury and ceaseless toil await, 
 They resolutely brave the storms of fate, 
 And see fair Hope's eternal lamp display 
 The gloomy path that leads to endless day. 
 
 Now Autumn lifts her head, with plenty crown'd^ 
 The breezes wave her yellow locks around, 
 The purest azure decks her sky serene, 
 And mild Dejection marks her pensive mien: 
 Now lonely Meditation walks abroad, 
 Through all his bounteous works to trace her God : 
 Now Labour plies his task, with smiling cheer, 
 To reap the produce of the ripen'd year; 
 And sportive glee, and talk, and social toil, 
 The patient reaper's weary task beguile, 
 And songs, according to the reaper's stroke, 
 Brisk emulation o'er the field provoke: 
 The ancient swains attentive wait behind, 
 With patient care the yellow sheaves to bind ; 
 
45 
 
 Or else, with long-liv'd prudence, chide the while, 
 Where, lur'd by Beauty's soft attractive smile, 
 Some Youth who plies his task beside the fair, 
 Whose artless charms his simple heart ensnare, 
 With stroke unequal reaps ; while on the ground '■ 
 The broken ears are careless scattered round : 
 In vain the fond Enthusiast ye reprove, 
 For when did Prudence ever dwell with Love ? 
 Triumphant Love, who scorning Wisdom's rules, 
 Exulting sees the wise become his fools. 
 
 Now dark October comes, obscur'd with rain, 
 And low'ring threats the plenty of the plain; 
 For Winter here, too oft with boisterous form, 
 Comes early riding on the howling storm ; % 
 
 And oft with rude and chilly hand is found. 
 To scatter Autumn's heavy locks around. 
 
 High on these mountains Boreas dwells alone, 
 While icy terrors gird his frozen throne : 
 When Sister-Seasons dance the graceful round, 
 Wliere Harmony appears with order erown'd ; 
 In fury oft he mounts his airy car, 
 His blustering heralds sound the notes of war ; 
 And while those changing seasons fair advance, 
 Spreads wild confusion through the mazy dance. 
 Hence Winter here oft breaks the mystic ring, 
 And chills the blooms that deck the breast of Spring] 
 Or rages fierce among unwither'd leaves, 
 And shakes from Autumn's bounteous lap the sheaves. 
 
46 
 
 Hence aged swains, by slow experience taught* 
 When heavy clouds appear with moisture fraught, 
 And bending willows hang their dripping heads, 
 And turbid rivers rise beyond their beds, 
 And mountain-cataracts, of dingy brown, 
 With brawling rage o'er broken rocks come down ; 
 And plenteous fruit, with early ripeness red, 
 In crimson tufts bedeck the witch-elm's head ; 
 And numerous hips, with ripen'd scarlet glow, 
 And frosty gales, in ruddy evenings blow ; — 
 Direct, in haste, to lead the new- shorn grain, 
 From the dank moisture of the wat'ry plain 
 To rocky heights, where frequent breezes blow, 
 And sun-beams with redoubled ardour glow. 
 
 Now young and old from every quarter come, 
 To share the cheerful task of leading home ; 
 Here, studious of the clime, they form with care 
 The wattled barn that courts th' enlivening air, 
 Lest the fresh sap their labour render vain, 
 Fermenting through the scarcely-ripen'd grain : 
 The sons of Art, who art alone esteem, 
 These, marks of savage indolence may deem ; 
 But sage Experience, Wisdom's eldest child, 
 When nurs'd bj Nature 'midst th' untutor'd wild, 
 Though small her bounds appear, and short her view, 
 Yet in these narrow .bounds her steps are true : 
 Nor let rash Speculation's letter'd pride, 
 O erturn her modest works with daring stride. 
 
47 
 
 Now comes the day to Superstition * dear, 
 When frosty mists foretel the closing year, 
 Hallow'd and reverenced in the elder time, 
 Sacred to every saint, of every clime ; 
 When aerial tribes in joyful freedom stray, 
 Or hover round the church-yard's lonely way; 
 Or o'er the annual mystic rites preside, 
 And form of air the vision ry bride: 
 In joyful groups the rustics then appear, 
 To crown the finish'd labours of the year, 
 And bid the rural genius come along, 
 With dance, and sport, and revelry and song: 
 Then native Music wakes in sprightly strains, 
 Which gay according motion best explains : 
 Fastidious Elegance, in scornful guise, 
 Perhaps th* unpolish'd measure may despise ; 
 But here, where infants lisp in tuneful lays, 
 And Melody her untaught charms displays; 
 The dancers bound with wild peculiar grace, 
 And sound thro' all its raptur'd mazes irace; 
 Nor awkward step, nor rude ungainly mien, 
 Through all the glad assemblage can be seen : 
 But with decorous air, and sprightly ease, 
 Even critic taste the agile dancers please. 
 Cameleon Fashion's self, whose varying hue, 
 Assumes the likeness of each object new* 
 
 * See note No. 10. 
 
48 
 
 Returns, to copy motion's artless grace, 
 Even from the wildest of the mountain race, 
 And with decisive voice her votaries calls, 
 To ape with air constraint the rural balls! 
 The nymph that wont to trace the source of Tay f 
 Or lead the sprightly danc& by rapid Spey, 
 With conscious triumph smiles aside to see, 
 This " faint reflection of the rural glee f 
 Short pleasure languid imitation feels, 
 While polish'd courtiers pant in active reels. 
 
 END OF PART III, 
 
THE HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 ARGU M ENT. 
 
 Winter, Social Evenings. Little or no zvorJc done in that season 
 in the Highlands. Hazardous intercourse with other Straths in 
 search of strayed cattle. Hospitality exercised- Friendship 
 promoted. Courage, Fortitude, and Patience strengthened, 
 A spirit of bold adventure and strong Attachment cherished by 
 their peculiar modes of Life; — Exemplified in the Episode of 
 Farquhar. Singular View from Corryarric. Beauties of Loch~ 
 Ness, which, never freezing in Winter, is the haunt of all hinds 
 of Aquatic Birds, Glendoe, Sun-rise on Loch-Ness described* 
 Urquhart Castle. Glenmoriston. Fyers. Return of Farquhar* 
 Devastation of the Country after the year 1745. 
 
 A thousand fantasies 
 
 Begin to throng into my memory, 
 
 Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, 
 
 And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 
 
 On sands, and shores, and desart wildernesses. 
 
 These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 
 
 The virtuous mind that ever walks attended 
 
 By a strong siding champion — Conscience, 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Now Winter pours his terrors o'er the plain, 
 And icy barriers close the wild domain, 
 D 
 
50 
 
 From the fierce North the sweeping blast descends, 
 And drifted snow in wild confusion blends; 
 The Mountain-Cataract, whose thundering sound 
 Made echoes tremble in their caves around, 
 Now dashing with diminish'd majesty, 
 In frozen state suspended seems on high ; 
 While in the midst a small contracted stream 
 Tinkles like rills that lull the shepherd's dream. 
 The River crusted o'er, and hid in snow, 
 Unfaithful tempts the traveller below ; 
 While pools and boiling springs, unsafe beneath, 
 Betray th' unwary to the snares of death. 
 
 How awful now appears Night's silent reign ! 
 Where lofty mountains bound the solemn scene. 
 While Nature, wrapt in chilly bright disguise, 
 And sunk in deep repose, unconscious lies * ; 
 And through the pure cerulean vault above, 
 In lucid order constellations move : 
 The milky- way, conspicuous glows on high. 
 Redoubled lustre sparkles through the sky ; 
 And rapid splendours, from the dark-blue North, 
 In streams of brightness pour incessant forth ; 
 While crusted mountain- snows reflect the light, 
 And radiance decks the sable brows of night. 
 
 Now, though their herds excite their anxious care, 
 Tir'd Labour slumbers with the shining share : 
 
 * See note No. 11. 
 
51 
 
 Short while they ply the flail, the scanty corn, 
 
 Dealt out with frugal care, employs the morn : 
 
 But social glee, around the cheerful hearth, 
 
 Lets loose the careless soul of rural mirth : 
 
 Bright burns the hearth, th' enlivening torches blaze * 
 
 The pipes awake the notes of former days : 
 
 Again they feel their ancient spirit rise, 
 
 And courage fires, or pity melts their eyes, 
 
 As love or war alternate swells the sound, 
 
 And hearts dilate, and bosoms glow around: 
 
 Yet even while frost comes bitter on the breeze, 
 
 Not all their nights are spent in social ease. 
 
 Some bolder spirits of the hardy race, 
 
 O'er snow- clad mountains wake the dangerous chase ; 
 
 And some advent'rous youths, with fearless mind, 
 
 All thoughts of ease and safety leave behind, 
 
 The pathless wilds for wandering steers explore, 
 
 Climb the steep rock where nestling Falcons soar, 
 
 And heights by human feet untrod before f. 
 
 There, danger threats in every hideous form, 
 
 There groans the Genius of the gathering storm ; 
 
 And solitude forlorn, and frantic fear, 
 
 And howling blasts, and echoing caves are there. 
 
 Yet adamantine souls, and iron forms, 
 
 Hard brac'd by toil, and nurst among the storms, 
 
 Whom pleasure ne'er could melt, or terror freeze, 
 
 Can trace undaunted even such scenes as these ; 
 
 * See note No. 12. t See note No. 13. 
 
 i 
 
52 
 
 Amidst the rattling bail erect their head, 
 And view serene the dwelling of the dead. 
 Where chiefs, who bore of old a mighty name, 
 In four grey stones concentre all their fame ; 
 Where sleeps the hunter on the hill of heath, 
 By fancy pictured in the misty wreath, 
 Dim hovering o'er the narrow bed of death. 
 Yet when the wearied storm has spent its wrath, 
 Patient he still explores th' adjacent Strath : 
 By the pale moon he tracks the famish'd hare, 
 Who seeks among the cots her scanty fare : 
 At length, a distant light his steps invites, 
 To share the wonted hospitable rites ; 
 Where plenteous cheer, and welcome's r enial smiles, 
 In simple guise the wanderers care beguiles ; 
 The timely aid, the long-remember'd feast, 
 Are deep upon the stranger's mind impress'd, 
 And hope and gratitude distend his breast. 
 Deep in a narrow vale, unknown to song, 
 Where Maeshy leads her lucid stream along *, 
 Then turns, as if unwilling to forsake 
 The peaceful bosom of her parent lake, 
 While her pure streams the polish'd pebbles show, 
 That through the native crystal shine below ; 
 Upon her flow'ry banks there dwelt a Swain, 
 Who liv'd a stranger to the cultur'd plain : 
 
 * See note No. 14. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
53 
 
 He mov'd with active ease, and artless grace, 
 
 And manly spirit brighten'd in his face. . 
 
 Fair on his cheek appeared youth's mantling glow, 
 
 While lines of stedfast thought had mark'd his brow ; 
 
 Alone, superior in the sylvan reign, 
 
 'Twas his to lead the life that poets feign, 
 
 Amidst luxuriant fruits, and crystal springs, 
 
 " Where the free soul looks down to pity kings *." 
 
 Yet while through woods and mountains wont to rove, 
 
 The pious youth excell'd in filial love; 
 
 For his lov'd parents, and their duteous race, 
 
 He search'd the flood, or urg'd the venturous chase : 
 
 And while o'er distant moors he lov'd to roam, 
 
 The fruit of all his toils enrich'd their home : 
 
 For them the deer resigned his ample hide, 
 
 For them th' enamell'd roes4heir beauteous pride, 
 
 The otter's costly fur, the dappled fawn, 
 
 The leveret wounded in the dewy dawn : 
 
 No sylvan game their Farquhar's pow'r withstood, 
 
 Who reign'd despotic o'er the pathless wood. 
 
 But see ! where Winter iierce, array'd in storms, 
 With early fury Nature's face deforms ; 
 And pours his snows with wild unwonted haste, 
 Ere scatter'd herds are brought from ev'ry waste, 
 Where they through summer months unheeded rang'd, 
 Or left the district to their home estrang'd. 
 
 * See note No. 15* 
 
54 
 
 Now Farquhar ceas'd thro' gloomy woods to roam> 
 
 And hastening downwards, sought his peaceful home, 
 
 The kindred smile, the dear paternal cot: 
 
 But while through new-falln snows he hail'd the spot. 
 
 His father with unwonted sternness cried, — 
 
 " While heedless you traverse the forest wide, 
 
 " Our little all, those heifers and those steers, 
 
 " Rear'd as a stock for our declining years, 
 
 " Your unregarded charge, have wander'd far, 
 
 " Where ridgy rocks the dangerous access bar ,; 
 
 " Or in the western Corry's depth profound, 
 
 " Where blasts in fatal eddies circle round * : 
 
 " While sylvan sports your vigorous youth engage, 
 
 " Must penury and sorrow cloud our age." 
 
 The generous youth heart-chill d with anguish stood, 
 
 The " light forsook his eyes, his cheeks the blood," 
 
 Cold through his breast the new sensation came, 
 
 A stranger yet to censure or to shame ; 
 
 Turning, he cried, " I go, where to the west 
 
 " Declining suns in Ocean's bosom rest: 
 
 u I g°? y our wand'ring heifers to explore, 
 
 '« To find them, or, alas! return no more." 
 
 In sorrow thus he spoke, then turning round, 
 
 His variegated vest succinctly bound: 
 
 Array'd for speed, he westward bends his way* 
 
 While low the wintry sun forsakes the day : 
 
 * See note No. 16. 
 
55 
 
 His dog, the fleetest of the hunter kind, 
 Oft with reluctant wonder looks behind : 
 Then patient mounts the rock, and urges on, 
 Till the last glimpse of lingering day was gone. 
 
 Now wide and wild the dreary prospect shows 
 Where stars with glimmering light illume the snows, 
 Through fleecy clouds a dubious lustre spread, 
 Where Carry arte rears his lofty head : 
 Deep at his feet the dismal Corry lies, } 
 
 Where dwells a spirit, hid from human eye% C 
 
 Whose magic art the fatal blast unties * : 3 
 
 The fatal blast, incessant whirling round, 
 With horror fills the cavity profound : 
 The Demon, in the whirling drift disguis'd, 
 Has oft th' unweeting stranger here surpris'd ; 
 And many a grave is seen with fox-glove crown'd, 
 When spring appears, with dewy locks unbound; 
 And many a plaintive ghost sad fancy forms, 
 And hears their hollow shriek amidst the storms. 
 Here Farqtjh ar paus'd, look'd back, and shuddering 
 
 saw 
 His faithful dog first shrink in silent awe, 
 Then, howling, trembling, fly with quicken'd pace, 
 To warn his master from the fatal place. 
 " Shall I too fly, (he cried) or tru^t the Pow'r 
 " Who guards us in the dark and silent hour? 
 
 * See note No. 17, 
 
56 
 
 ** From whom commission'd blasts have leave to fly? 
 " Or sleep within the curtains of the sky. 
 " Strong in his strength these horrors I explore, 
 " By him protected, Farouhar fears no more." 
 His plaid in ample folds around him cast, 
 The vent'rous youth ascends the steep in haste; 
 Loud from the Corry's depth arose the wind* 
 Unmov'd he heard the yelling blast behind, 
 And flying from the grim pursuit of death, 
 No backward look retraced the dangerous path, 
 Now high above the rolling clouds he goes, 
 Where clearer starlight brightens whiter snows; 
 Sublime on Corryaric's height he stood, 
 And all the wide horizon wond'ring view'd*; 
 Through the pure air, where vision unconfin'd 
 Still ranges like the quick creative mind ; 
 Saw where the sun, from ocean's fluid breast, 
 Begins his radiant progress in the East ; 
 And where with milder majesty he shines, 
 When in the western wave his light declines : 
 Saw the long vista, where midst candy 'd snows 
 The mighty depths of Ness appear unfroze f. 
 Majestic lake ! which rocky mountains bound, 
 Or steepy heights, with yew and holly crown'd; 
 Fed by thy tepid breath, each bordering tree 
 Still with reflected verdure shines in thee; 
 
 * See note No. 18. t See note No. 19. 
 
57 
 
 While wide the wintry blast in fury roves, 
 And strips the graceful foliage from the groves, 
 And when each neighbouring lake is chilFd to stone, 
 Warmth, health, and beauty, dwell with thee alone : 
 There birds disport, bedeck'd with plumage gay, 
 And snowy swans their stately pride display. 
 The ruthless tyrant of the frozen year, 
 Repeird, retiring, shuns thy bosom clear; 
 Where downward skies are seen in azure dress'd, 
 Like heav n's own image, in the guiltless breast. 
 
 And now the moon in cloudless splendour rose, 
 Where lofty Alps their snowy tops disclose : 
 And the wild Garrie, midst his ridgy zone, 
 To her pale beams an icy mirror shone : 
 There Moidart's hills in clustering groups appear, 
 And Aonich's slow ascent and piny summit here; 
 Knoidart's wild rocks in shapeless forms were seen, 
 And Oich with softer beauties deck'd the scene : 
 A while entranc'd, in solemn awe he gaz'd, 
 Then to the skies his raptur'd eyes he rais'd : 
 " And why (said he) should coward fears control, 
 " Or doubts desponding, sink the guiltless soul ? 
 u The hand which bade those lofty summits rise, 
 " And with those living splendours deck'd the skies, 
 " Which move obedient to his dread command, — 
 " I dwell beneath the shadow of that hand/' 
 
 Then downwards to the sheltering glen he hies, 
 And close beneath the tangling thicket lies, 
 D 2 
 
58 
 
 Which o'er the rocky cavity was spread, 
 Where wither'd leaves collected form'd his bed r 
 Exhausted nature sunk in sleep profound, 
 And peaceful visions lightly hover 'd round. 
 
 Now bleak and dim the chilly morn arose, 
 And keen the North wind swept the glossy snows, 
 The blast loud rushing through the withered oak, 
 Arous'dhis dog, and Farquhak, starting woke: 
 Forlorn and sad, he cast his eyes around, 
 But in his view no living object found ; 
 Nor track, save to a gloomy cavern near, 
 Where the false fox's bloody steps appear : 
 Resolv'd, he turns, intent to trace the way 
 From whence the nightly robber bore his prey ; 
 For well he knew, at this inclement hour 
 No wand'ring flocks were subject to his pow'r; 
 But from some cot perhaps not far away, 
 He slunk insidious with his helpless prey. 
 Forward with eager speed again he goes, 
 And traces up th' ascent tli* ensanguined snows ; 
 Eastward he bends, till weak, and spent with toil, 
 He sees the new-faH'n snow his steps beguile ; 
 The buried track no longer leads him on, 
 And strength, and fortitude, and hope, are gone. 
 The flaky torrent now conceals the sun, 
 And hunger faint to dim his sight begun ; 
 Cheerless he turns, to seek the friendly shade 
 Where verdant hollies rose, amidst a glade ; 
 
59 
 
 But wondring starts, to see a lovely form 
 Who in the self-same shelter shunn'd the storm ; 
 In youth's first bloom, and deck'd with matchless^ 
 grace, f 
 
 The morning's orient hues adorn'd her face : C 
 
 He gaz'd, nor thought the maid of mortal race. J 
 The snow-clad stranger gentle Moraig saw, 
 And blushing turn d, and shrunk with timid awe. 
 The beauteous vision Farquhar still survey 'd, 
 And softly thus in suppliant accents said : 
 " Fair wanderer of the wood, if deck'd in light 
 u An airy spirit only cheats my sight ; 
 " Or if a sister of the earth you come, 
 u No longer let me here bewilder'd roam ; 
 " But to some peaceful harbour guide my path, 
 " Weary and faint, beneath the tempest's wrath 
 " I sink unpitied in the grasp of death." 
 ' Stranger ! in evil hour you come,' she cries, 
 And lifts with soft concern her modest eyes : 
 * A helpless maid, unaided and alone, 
 ' Perplex'd I wander here through paths unknown : 
 1 An ewe last evening from our sheep-cot stray'd, 
 ' In search of her I trace the lonelv glade/ 
 a Vain search! (cries Farquhar) for along the wood 
 " I track'd the guileful fox by marks of blood ; 
 ** But what are they, who leave those toils severe 
 " To female softness, and to maiden fear? 
 
 : 
 
60 
 
 " Daughter of Beauty, say, -what heart of stone 
 " Could bid thee trace those frozen wilds alone?" 
 
 * Hast thou not heard/ she faintly said, through sighs^ 
 The big tears trembling in her lovely eyes, 
 
 ' How, to assert the Stuart's ancient claim, 
 ' To Moi dart's wilds a youthful Hero came *? 
 6 To join his cause, in arms my kindred rose, 
 ' And while they pour fierce vengeance on his foes, 
 
 * Forlorn and sad we tend their wonted care, 
 e And manly toils and dangers learn to bear : 
 
 i With me our mother anxious tends the flocks, 
 ' My grandsire pensive shakes his silvery locks • 
 1 While gloomy presages his mind engage, 
 
 * The trance of foresight, or the dream of age : 
 i But come, however fate decides our lot, 
 
 * And ban'sh cold and hunger in our cot/ 
 The pitying maid, impatient, hastes before, 
 Again with wonder Farquhar views her o'er; 
 Her auburn locks with azure fillet bound, 
 
 Her snowy neck luxuriant shaded round ; 
 Like some fair huntress of the times of old, 
 Whom, rapt in vision, gifted seers behold : 
 So Farquhar wond'ring sees the lovely form 
 Smooth gliding, light him through the thickening storm. 
 
 * It was in Moidart that the Prince, who made the rash 
 attempt in 1745, which proved so fatal to his followers, first 
 jet up his standard. 
 
61 
 
 Glendoe, in high Schicuman's breast repos'd, 
 With streaming birch and hazel shades inclos'd *, 
 Receiv'd the pair ; where pendent o'er the lake 
 The aspin trembles, and the osiers shake. 
 While evening wraps the hills in shadows pale, 
 The careful matron spreads her frugal meal ; . 
 The younger children crowding round the fire, 
 Sadly their absent father's fate inquire : 
 The grandsire, narrative, recounts the wars, 
 Talks o'er the fatal pass, and shews his scars, 
 When sudden, like two wandering beams of light, 
 The youthful pair came full upon their sight. 
 The fire burns clear, the kindling torches blaze, 
 All eyes with new delight impatient gaze ; 
 " Sweet Moraig, sister dear !" with fondness wild, 
 The children cry, through tears the mother smil'd ; 
 " Why lonely wandering through the drifted snow, 
 u Where gloomy Tarfes enchanted waters flow f ? 
 " She cries, does Moraig tempt the haunted path, 
 " Where lurking witchcraft spreads the snares of death ? 
 " And who is this young wanderer of the chace, 
 '* Whose looks bespeak some high- descended race ; 
 " Who o'er these pathless wilds, unus'd to roam, 
 " With kindly care thus deigns to guide thee home ?* 
 With downcast eyes the modest youth replied, 
 " An humble swain, to no high race allied, 
 
 * See note No. 20. f See note No. 21. 
 
62 
 
 " In hopeless search of wandering steers I come, 
 
 " By pity thus conducted to your home, — 
 
 u In my dim view imperfect objects swim, 
 
 u An icy torpor chills each weary limb : 
 
 " Too late, alas ! my rashness I deplore, 
 
 " Doom'd to behold my pleasant home no more! " 
 
 Unfinish'd accents falter'd on his tongue, 
 
 And through his ears delusive murmurs rung; 
 
 The aged peasant saw youth's roses fade, 
 
 And propt the fainting swain with kindly aid : 
 
 With patient care the matron chafes him o'er, 
 
 While gradual warmth she labours to restore, 
 
 To bring the needful cordials Moraig flies, 
 
 With soft compassion melting in her eyes *. 
 
 By due attention now the youth restored, 
 
 Sees plenty deck and welcome cheer the board : 
 
 The hoary sire retraces former times, 
 
 Or valiant deeds recounts in rustic rhymes : 
 
 The matron, willing to amuse her guest, 
 
 Tells in what distant glen the cheese she press'd, 
 
 And how the monarch salmon's sportive young, 
 
 Snar'd in the brook, within the roof she hung : 
 
 How frugal care had made the viands last, 
 
 And how they still remain to finish the repast : 
 
 * Moraig is the Chloe oiPhillis of the Gaelic Poets, 
 when they conceal the true name of their mistress, for they 
 never pay the tuneful tribute to an ideal personage. 
 
63 
 
 Fair Moraig softly moves with silent care, 
 And pours the draught that crowns their simple fare. 
 Now social talk and song deceive their woes, 
 Till wearied Nature lulls them in repose. 
 
 The Genius of the storm his wrath forbore, 
 And 1 av'd among the leafless woods no more : 
 Calm silence brooded o'er the long dark night, 
 Till from the East arose the wish'd for light; 
 Now Farquhar, starting from his downy trance, 
 Beheld with joy the new-born day advance ; 
 And bless'd with ardent gratitude the Pow'r 
 Who led him through that dark and dreadful hour ; 
 And pray'd unnumber'd blessings on the fair 
 Who sav'd him from the wanderings of despair. 
 Wrapt in his manly garb of various hue, 
 He sallies forth the novel scene to view. 
 Thy waters, Ness ! all hush'd to tranquil rest, 
 Reflected graces deck'd thy halcyon breast * : 
 There Urqtj hart's ruin'd castle gleam'd afar, 
 Disastrous relic of unhallow'd war ! 
 The last sad shelter of unconquer'd worth, 
 When Edward's iron sceptre bruis'd the North f. 
 The shaded Inver, haunt of social peace, 
 Here bids his streams thy wat'ry stores increase, 
 And proudly boasts of his excelling Fair J, 
 Their simple manners, and ingenuous air : 
 
 * See note No. %% f See note No. 23. 
 
 % Invermoriston, a river at the mouth of which is the seat of 
 
64 
 
 There Fyers with plaintive murmurs soothes his dells, 
 Where wild romantic Melancholy dwells * ; 
 And Tarfe, long wandering, hid in copses green, 
 To pour his tributary wave is seen. 
 
 Now strict inquiring from the swains around, 
 His wandering cattle's haunt young Farouhar found* 
 Deep in the shelter of a gloomy grove, 
 By rocks defended from the storm above, 
 They shunn'd, sequester'd in the narrow vale, 
 The blast tempestuous, and the rattling hail. 
 Clear was the freezing air, and bright the sky, 
 Short was the day, and now the sun grew high; 
 The cattle found, — no lingering can avail, 
 Yet still he feels his wonted spirits fail. 
 Tis wrong to stay, but doubly hard to go, 
 A while he pauses — lost in tender woe : 
 " And shall I, helpless, friendless, leave the maid 
 *' Whose pitying care my feeble steps convey'd? 
 u Whose gentle aid my fainting heart restor'd, 
 " Oh, were I of this lake's fair borders lord ; 
 " Had I the joys of wealth, without its care, 
 u Those joys, that wealth, my lovely maid should share,"' 
 The new sensation swelling in his heart, 
 Inspired the untaught swain with sudden art ; 
 
 an ancient family, whose daughters, now respectable matrons, 
 were justly admired for uncommon beauty, unaffected gentle 
 manners, and every domestic virtue. 
 
 * Sec note No. 24. 
 
65 
 
 And thus in cautious Wisdom's solemn guise, 
 
 To veil his latent purpose Farquhar tries: 
 
 First to the courteous matron bending low, — 
 
 " You, to whose care my rescued life I owe, 
 
 " Whose tender fears your absent friends deplore, 
 
 " May heaven triumphant soon those friends restore ! 
 
 " Yet while their standard flies on Southern plains, 
 
 " To till your fields no manly hand remains ; 
 
 H The coming Spring will soon your cares engage, 
 
 11 With toils unfit for childhood or for age: 
 
 " So short the freezing day, so deep the snow, 
 
 H No cattle o'er the mountain path can go. 
 
 H Warm sheltered in yon busy glen behind, 
 
 " My steers repose, and food and safety find ; 
 
 * But when relenting Spring shall smile a -new, 
 " Again your hospitable hearth I'll view ; 
 
 " And faithful, like a brother or a son, 
 
 * Will till your fields till May's bright days come on; 
 " And while warm life her vital pow'r retains, 
 " And truth, and sense, and memory remains : 
 u Should penury, or sad mischance betide 
 " My friendly hostess, or my gentle guide, 
 u My kindred, mindful of the generous deed, 
 " Shall yield them shelter in the hour of need." 
 The matron, pleas'd, accepts the promis'd aid, 
 In silence meek assents the grateful maid. 
 Serene and peaceful smil'd the shortening day, 
 And Farquhar now unwilling hastes away: 
 
66 
 
 Yet oft he turnd, as inly loth to go, 
 
 And bless'd the gentle inmates of Glendoe. 
 
 Now doubly welcome to his native vale, 
 Of war's alarms he tells th' awakening tale, 
 And keen recounts what all his kindred owe 
 For hospitable rites in fair Glendoe. 
 
 Now all the North grew bright with hostile arms. 
 From every hill resound the loud alarms *, 
 And rumour tells, in shrill discordant tones, 
 Of vanquish'd monarchs, and of tottering thrones. 
 But Farquhar, reckless of the fatal strife, 
 Still pass'd in tranquil shades his blameless life ; 
 And chid the hours, and thought the sun too slow 
 That rose to light him to his lov'd Glendoe. 
 
 Sweet April deck'd with primrose wreath appears, 
 And smiles, like harmless infancy, through tears; 
 When, through the pathless hills, th' adventurous 
 
 swain 
 His Moraig's peaceful dwelling sought again. 
 
 In vain he casts around his searching eyes, -\ 
 
 From every side the smoky columns rise, > 
 
 And savage shouts are heard, and doleful cries ! J 
 While from the mountain's top he views a-far 
 The barbarous traces of unsparing war, 
 Irresolute he stands, to turn, or go, 
 Urg'd by despair to meet the ruthless foe ; 
 
 * See note No. 25. 
 
67 
 
 Resolv'd at last, he seeks the dark retreat 
 
 Where lovely Moraig first he chanc'd to meet, 
 
 In hopes some victim of disastrous fate, 
 
 Hid in those shades, might aught of her relate. 
 
 Her grandsire there, deep sorrowing on the ground, 
 
 With haggard looks, in silent woe he found. 
 
 " Oh tell, good father, tell what wretched lot 
 
 " Befei the blameless inmates of thy cot ; 
 
 u Have they obey'd the victor's stern command, 
 
 " Or fled for succour to some happier land * ?" 
 
 ' Say where, my son, should helpless females go ? 
 
 * A happier land than this they ne'er can know. 
 
 ' They make their bed beneath th' inclement sky* 
 ' And meet with sorrow wheresoe'er they fly : 
 ' Deep in yon secret glen, within those shades, 
 ' Whose privacy no hostile step invades, 
 
 * Where your lost steers avoid the wintry blast, 
 
 * They rest conceal'd, till this dread hour be past : . 
 
 3* My sons, with blood deform 'd, and faint with wounds^ 
 ^ Last night came from ( ulloderis fatal bounds, 
 6 And shelter in a neighbouring cave, while I 
 
 * Th' approach of danger here attend to spy/ 
 
 Now Farquhar's glowing cheek and heaving breast 
 The strong emotions of his soul confess'd : 
 " Come, father, haste to quit this scene of woe, 
 " First to the cave to seek the warriors go; 
 
 * See note No. 26. 
 
68 
 
 " Then let us fly to Moraig's secret glen, 
 " And shun the blood-stain'd haunts of impious men ; 
 " Through dark Glenmarky's woods I know a way, 
 " Impervious to the searching eye of day: 
 " Through that lone path your secret steps Fll guide, 
 " Where plenty dwells on Maeshies grassy side. 
 u Beneath my father's roof my only love 
 " Shall to the aged pair a daughter prove : 
 * Their ancient home, though destined thus to leave, 
 " Let not my gentle Moraig's kindred grieve: 
 " Endear'd by ties of sympathy divine, 
 " Henceforth be gentle Moraig's kindred mine." 
 The wounded warriors, and the sorrowing sage, 
 Now sought the darling comforts of their age : 
 Through tears the matron views her long -lost mate, 
 And all their various tales of woe relate. 
 To go is danger— but 'tis death to stay, 
 Beneath the moon's wan beams they take their way ; 
 With Heaven their trusr, and Farqtjhar for their 
 
 gu^de, 
 They reach the winding Maeshies peaceful side ; 
 There cheer'd by welcome, sooth'd by grateful love, 
 They built their humble dwelling in the grove. 
 
 END OF PART IV. 
 
THE HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Loyalty , Fidelity, and inflexible perseverance of the Highlanders, 
 as exercised towards the unhappy Adventurer, Prince Charles 
 Edward, in 1746. His Wanderings and Escapes. Episode 
 of Captain M'Kenzie. Of the Banditti in the Cave of Glen- 
 moriston. Cruelty of the licenced Soldiery. Patient sufferance 
 of the inhabitants. Wanderings of the Chevalier through Mo- 
 rar and Arisaig, among the Western Isles. Soliloquy, At- 
 tempt to land on Raasay. Narrow escape from a Frigate off 
 South Uist. Concealment in a Cavern there. Episode of 
 Flora Macdonald: She conveys the adventurer in disguise to 
 Sky: She is carried Prisoner to England: Her Conversation 
 with the Sovereign : Dismissal, and return to Sky. Marriage, 
 and Emigration. Reflections on the Character of the Highlan- 
 ders, as it appears in this Narrative. On the corrupting influ- 
 ence which Wealth, Luxury, extensive Commerce, and False 
 Refinement, produce in Society, aided by that species of Lear n- 
 - ing which exhausts itself in exploring what is for ever concealed, 
 and building systems that fall of themselves, before they are 
 Jinished. The importance and necessity, in a country thus en- 
 ervated by luxury, thus lost in frivolous pursuits and vain spe- 
 culations, — to cherish, in whatever remote obscurity they exist, 
 « hardy manly Race, inured to Suffering, fearless of Danger, 
 
 , 
 
70 
 
 and careless of Poverty, to invigorate Society by their Spirit, to 
 defend it by their Courage, and to adorn it with those Virtues 
 that bloom in the shade, but are ready to wither away in the sun- 
 shine of Prosperity. 
 
 , Tis wonderful, 
 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To Loyalty* unlearned; Honour untaught ; 
 Civility not seen from other ; Valour, 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sowM! 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The vanquished Prince, for safety forc'd to fly, 
 Amidst those mountains shunnd each searching eye; 
 No threat of terror, or no splendid bribe, 
 Could warp to treachery the generous tribe : 
 For pleas'd with little, and in hardships try'd, 
 Their wants were all by simple means supplied ; 
 Exertion bold, and feeling strong combined,, 
 Here nurse the noble independent mind. 
 None here fair loyalty or honour sold, 
 To purchase pleasure with unhallow'd gold ; 
 Fearless of pain, yet dreading sore disgrace, 
 Whose sable blot might sully all their race : 
 
 * Royalty in the original. 
 
71 
 
 When Charles an outlaw shrunk in wilds unknown, 
 
 Where long his fathers fill'd an awful throne; 
 
 Though wealth and pow'r combin'd their forces led, 
 
 To point the axe at his devoted head, 
 
 Safe in the truth of his devoted train, 
 
 See! wealth and pow'r combine their force in vain : 
 
 Unhurt he slumbers in his sea-beat cave, 
 
 While round his bed the guiltless billows rave *. 
 
 Though gloomy guards protect the Monarch's gate, 
 
 Distrust and fear around his table wait; 
 
 And anxious doubts disturb his secret soul, 
 
 Of hidden daggers, or the poison'd bowl. 
 
 But far from courts, and their delusive arts, 
 
 How bless'd the Prince who rules o'er honest hearts! 
 
 Unblasted he by treachery's poisonous breath, 
 
 And safely smiling midst the snares of death. 
 
 Oh ! say, what gentle heart, what pitying muse, 
 Can the sad tribute of a tear refuse, 
 To that brave Youth, who in life's early bloom 
 Hid all his opening virtues in the tomb ; 
 Forsook the region of tumultuous strife, 
 And clos'd with pious fraud a blameless life ? 
 Could mildest worth and gentlest graces save, 
 No weeping muses had adorn'd his grave : 
 But noble force and dignity of niind, 
 Despis'd a life in honour's cause resign'd ; 
 
 * See note No. 27. 
 
72 
 
 Let traitor's ashes sleep in sculptur'd urns, 
 
 While thee,bless'd Youth ! thy country's Genius mourns*. 
 
 Forgive, ye valiant dead ! ye kindred shades ! 
 That glide with heroes through Elysian glades, 
 The muse whose trembling hands entwine the wreath, 
 Whose mournful eyes retrace the paths of death : 
 So fast ye crowd upon her dazzled view, 
 Like sun-beams on a cypress wet with dew : 
 She sinks, o'ercome, unequal to relate 
 Your loyal zeal, or your disastrous fate. 
 Yet ere oblivion's leaden gates be clos'd 
 On humble worth, in life's low vale repos'd, 
 She'd touch the callous mind, unus'd to feel, 
 With savage virtue, and the lawless zeal 
 Of the bold Brothers in their darksome grove, 
 Whose steps licentious wont at ease to rove ; 
 W r ho live like Nature's commoners at large, 
 Obey no master, and attend no charge, 
 But wander through the grassy glens at will, 
 Nor ask what owner rear'd the beeves they kill, 
 Then drag their prey home to their ample cave, 
 O'er whose dark entrance trembling aspins wave ; 
 And in whose deep recess to soothe repose, 
 A weeping rill, with tinkling murmur flows : 
 Returning from the chase or prosp'rous spoil, 
 'Twas here they hid the fruits of all their toil : 
 
 * See note No. 28. 
 
73 
 
 Yet aw'd by jealous fear, no stranger guest 
 
 E'er view'd their secret haunt, or shar'd their feast. 
 
 On every side the deathful ambush lay, 
 When fate propitious led the Prince that way; 
 His guide, — a native of the mountains near, 
 Who often with those Outlaws chas'd the deer, 
 And knew their minds, by avarice unstain'd, 
 The price of treachery and blood disdained, — 
 Now forc'd o'er trackless mountains to explore 
 The way by which his Lord should gain the shore; 
 Once more adventures through the snares of death, 
 And trusts his precious charge to savage hunters' 
 
 faith. 
 Oh faith unstain'd ! and truth beyond compare ! 
 With him the produce of the chase they share, 
 With furry spoils they deck'd their cave around, 
 With wholesome cups their liberal board they crown'd, 
 The hostile camp through danger's paths they sought, 
 And to their Roval Guest unwonted dainties brought* • 
 For him the sanguine paths of death they tread, 
 And scorn the mighty price that buys the Wanderer's 
 
 head. 
 One brother daily flanges through the woods, 
 Or snares the tinny tenants of the floods ; 
 And one with watchful care attends to spy * 
 The hostile troops, with scrutinizing eye ; 
 
 * See note'No. 29. 
 E 
 
74 
 
 The third with prompt obedience mark'd his look, 
 And from his eyes commands in silence took. 
 
 Now twenty summer morns beheld renew'd 
 The rage of rapine, and the waste of blood ; 
 The moon as oft, with want and anguish pale, 
 Saw hopeless wanderers trace each dreary vale ; 
 The plaints of orphan woe, and infants' cries, 
 With doleful clamour pierce the pitying skies : 
 The slaughter^ herds bespread th' ensanguind ground, 
 And smoking hamlets lay in ruins round : 
 In dreary wilds, from human dwelling far, 
 The wretched remnants of unsparing war 
 Precarious life with gather d herbs sustain, 
 Or chase the deer and tim'rous fawns in vain; 
 For none dare now the levell'd tube let fly, 
 Whose thund'ring sound might wake some danger nigh ; 
 No voice of joy is heard, no smile is seen, 
 No rural pastime sports along the green ; 
 But sad solicitude, and shuddering fear, • 
 And patient sufferance dwell in silence there ; 
 No hopes of mercy to th' offending train, — 
 Thy worth and wisdom, Forbes, plead in vain *! 
 The royal Exile hears the tale of woe, 
 And tears unwonted now begin to flow : 
 On his fresh cheek youth's rose untimely fades, 
 And livid grief his hollow eye invades ; 
 
 * See note No, 30. 
 
75. 
 
 The cheerful spirit, that still upward soar'd, 
 Nor vanish'd hope, nor regal state deplor d, 
 Now drooping o'er his wretched followers' woes, 
 Abandons light and food, and shuns repose. 
 
 While thus the Prince in silent sorrow mourns, 
 With cautious steps his faithful guide returns; 
 His fear and anguish hides in feeble smiles, 
 And leads the Wanderer to the Western Isles. 
 Ah ! what avails to trace each darksome maze, 
 While watchful centinels beset the ways ; 
 To tell, how high upon some cliffy brow, 
 Whole days he patient view'd the coast below ; 
 Where bands victorious spread the snares of death, 
 Or count the price of his high valu'd breath. 
 In vain each night he strove to reach his bark, 
 While answering watch-fires glimmer'd thro' the dark ; 
 With many a meal of uncouth viands fed, 
 With many a bleak blast whistling round his head, 
 Beset with threatening perils, every hour 
 His life in many a savage native's power : 
 Yet through the vigilance of Avarice past, 
 He reached secure the destin'd bark at last. 
 
 Now soft and slow they raise the cautious oar, 
 And quit with silent care the dang'rous shore : 
 Low in their hollow caves the loud winds sleep, 
 And rest and darkness brooded o'er the deep : 
 Far out to sea they steer'd to shun their foes, 
 Till deck'd with orient red the morn arose ; 
 
76 
 
 Then thus the Prince*: " Thou radiant Orb of 
 
 Light, 
 " At whose first smile recede the shades of night ! 
 u When from the sacred East thy beams arise, 
 " A flood of glory brightens all the skies : 
 " The constellations fade before thy sight, 
 " And ocean rolls his thousand waves in light : 
 " Yet shall not even thy greatness still remain, 
 " Even thou shalt sink beneath the western main, 
 " And leave the darken d earth to mourn thy beams i 
 
 " in vain ! 
 
 " Like thee in beauty, pow'r, and splendour drest, 
 " Our royal lineage sway'd supreme the west; 
 " With awful trident rul'd the circling sea, 
 *\ And quench'd the light of lesser stars, like thee: 
 " Like thee, in dim eclipse conceal'd from sight, 
 " We sink or vanish in the shades of night: 
 " The circling hours shall thy bright beams restore, 
 u And bid fresh morn her roses strew once more; 
 u But we, alas! inglorious from our skies 
 " Are hurl'd to depths profound, no more to rise; 
 " In vain our vanished glories we deplore, 
 " For Fate imperious cries, — return no more ! " 
 Then calmly to the will supreme resign'd, 
 In stern composure he collects his mind ; 
 
 * The six first lines are from Ossian's Hymn to the Snn, 
 the pathos and dignity of which make it so suitable to fallen 
 Majesty. 
 
77 
 
 His sorrows sooth'd with retrospective view, 
 
 And comfort from the woes of exil'd monarchs drew. 
 
 He thought how Charles from Worst er's bloody 
 
 fight 
 Retreating, shunnd in gloomy groves the light, 
 And bred in soft luxurious ease erewhile, 
 Assum'd the weighty axe, and shard the woodman's 
 
 toil: 
 How great Gustavus, deep in mines immurd, 
 Laborious tasks and wretched want endur'd ; 
 While distant glimmering like the polar star, 
 The diadem allures their steps afar : 
 Hope, softly whispering, smooths the brow of care, 
 For who, alas ! can labour and despair? 
 
 The winds tempestuous now began to roar, 
 And danger darkly frown'd along the shore; 
 The mustering thunders threaten in the skies, 
 And livid lightning glaring dims their eyes; 
 Fear, while the boatmen ply the busy oar, 
 Shakes those firm nerves that never shook before. 
 Serene, the Royal Wanderer view'd the scene, 
 And read his peril in their haggard mien : 
 One spent with toil, his stedfast eyes explore, 
 Then from the breathless youth he snatch'd the oar, 
 With patient toil the task unwearied plies, 
 Till the mild evening star arose in calmer skies *. 
 
 * See note No. SI. 
 
78 
 
 Now slept the winds on Ocean's breast serene, 
 
 Reflected stars bedeck'd her mantle green : 
 
 A safer coast they vainly hop'd to view, 
 
 And near high Rasays rocky border drew * ; 
 
 Pale rose the moon upon the placid wave, 
 
 That wont along the rugged bank to rave ; 
 
 And pale, upon a promontory's brow, 
 
 With eyes that anxious search'd the deep below, 
 
 The island Chief in silent sorrow sate, 
 
 Alarm'd and watchful for th' Exile's fate. 
 
 Suspended on their wearied oars they lie, 
 
 And hope to read their welcome in his eye : 
 
 " Belov'd, lamented, fly this fatal place, 
 
 " Though ever faithful to thy honour'd race ! 
 
 " Death in dark ambush waits with treacherous wile, 
 
 M The victor's barks surround this narrow isle : 
 
 " Thy near approach, unhappy Princess known, 
 
 " And watchful thousands seek thy blood alone." 
 
 Now to the distant isle, whose swains obey 
 In plenteous peace Clanronald's gentle sway; 
 Grown weak with want, with ceaseless labour spent, 
 To shun the foe the weary wanderers went : 
 Yet, ere they safely reach the destin'd shore, 
 They see a bark the self-same port explore ; 
 Whose gallant trim and hostile colours shew 
 The proud defiance of a haughty foe: 
 
 * See note No. 32. 
 
79 
 
 With swelling sails she speeds before the wind, 
 And near, and nearer still, she presses on behind. 
 With steady eye the Prince the dariger saw, 
 And round a rocky point he bids them draw : 
 Then lightly springing on the sandy shore, 
 He cries, u Adieu, my generous friends, no more 
 " For me in pain you draw precarious breath, 
 " And struggle through the bloody toils of death : 
 " Here in those hollow cliffs will I abide, 
 " My trust in Heaven, and Providence my guide ; 
 €t Ye try'd in perils, faithful to your charge, 
 %i Now wander safely o'er your seas at large;' 
 He said, and silent sought the dark recess, 
 His parting steps his weeping followers bless. 
 
 In the green centre of the sea-girt isle 
 The Chieftain's dwelling rose, — an ancient pile ; 
 The sylvan virtues lov'd the peaceful dome, 
 There blameless truth and pity found a home : 
 The Chief's fair Consort, and her gentle guest *, 
 'Midst war's rude clamours here in safety rest ; 
 In female tasks consume the lingering hours, 
 And wake the plaintive lute, or form unwithering flow'rs. 
 Now from the shore with speed a stranger came, 
 And thus in secret guise bespoke the dame : 
 " Oh thou, in virtue's gentlest graces drest, 
 " Jf ever soft compassion touch'd thy breast, 
 
 * The guest was Miss Flora Macdonald. 
 
80 
 
 " Let not a royal Sufferer plead in vain ; 
 
 " Hard by a rock that juts into the main, 
 
 " Hid in a darksome grot, he pines away 
 
 " In want and solitude the tedious day : 
 
 " The sad retreat his followers dare not trace, 
 
 <( The hostile pinnace anchors near the place : 
 
 " With hostile troops each neighbouring island swarms, 
 
 " And all th' adjacent plain is bright with arms/' 
 
 With soft concern the gentle dame returns, — 
 
 * Your Master's fate each generous bosom mourns, 
 1 Even those who justly blam'd the rash design, ' 
 
 1 And bade his daring hand the sword resign, 
 4 Lament the rigour of the Victor's hate, 
 ' And deprecate the youthful Hero's fate. 
 
 * Your secret safely lodg'd within my breast, 
 
 '■ Suspend your fears, and leave to Heav'n the rest/ 
 
 Then turning sad, her lovely friend she sought, 
 In whom she safe confided every thought; 
 Who mildly wise, and firm in artless truth 
 With prudent mind, mature in early youth, 
 Pois'd with reflection calm the dubious scale 
 And felt compassion's sinking weight prevail* 
 Withfix'd resolve she said, " My friend, forbear, 
 " Nor thus perplex thy mind with fruitless care ; 
 " Thy Lord in peace obeys the ruling pow'rs, 
 u Then, while this storm of fate impending lours, 
 " From base imputed treason keep him free, 
 " Who hopes his peace and honour safe with thee, 
 
81 
 
 " Nor dread of guiltless blood the sanguine stain; 
 " I'll seek the Exile's cavern by the main, — 
 " If in his cause I should my life resign, 
 " The guilt or danger shall be only mine.*' 
 Fair Flora then, with fortitude serene, 
 And tranquil courage in her modest mien, 
 The viands and the generous wine conveys, 
 And o'er the rocks, as heedless wandering, strays, 
 Bids her attendant maid the shells explore 
 The lessening tide had scatter'd on the shore. 
 Then to the cavern'd rock unseen she steals, 
 And to the hapless Prince obsequious kneels: 
 " Receive, indulgent, from thy suppliant's hand, 
 " The humble aid thy urgent wants demand, 
 " And grant my boon, and trust thy life to me, 
 " From danger's thickening toils to set thee free: 
 " No leisure serves thy perils to relate, 
 " But dark approach the hours with hovering fate." 
 With silent wonder, long the Prince survey'd 
 The beauteous guest, then thus: — ' Heroic maid, 
 1 That com'st in pity to this secret cave, 
 ' Un visited, save by the rolling wave, 
 ' To thy fair faith my wanderings I resign, 
 ' Fraud never harbour'd in a form like thine, 
 1 Nor dark suspicion in a breast like mine.' 
 Now turning, homewards she her steps add rest, 
 With peace and conscious honour in her breast ; 
 E2 
 
 !■ 
 
82 
 
 But when the morn's first beams began to shine, 
 
 And glittering dane'd upon the wrestless brine, 
 
 In female garb the hapless youth array'd, 
 
 She leads disguis'd in semblance of a maid : 
 
 And from the English chief, with specious wile, ' 
 
 Permission seeks to view her native isle : 
 
 To ask with her was quickly to obtain, 
 
 For when did suppliant beauty plead in vain ? 
 
 The gazing troops, th' intrepid maid admire, 
 
 Nor less her bold attendant's strange attire ; 
 
 The haughty measured step, the lofty grace, 
 
 And air unsuited to a female face : 
 
 For in-born dignity but stoops with pain, 
 
 And veils the proud superior soul in vain. 
 
 Now in the pinnace plac'd the western gales 
 Obsequious crowd, to fill the Wonderer's sails : 
 Across the waves with winged speed they flew, 
 And soon the misty isle appears to view. 
 Hail ! favour'd isle, where bards inspir'd prolong 
 To ages yet unborn th' undying song *, 
 And ancient faith, and unstain'd loyalty, 
 And truth sincere, and friendship dwell in thee ; 
 Here, when dark midnight lull'd the world to rest, 
 Safe, in her kindly home, she lodg'd her guest ; 
 Her pious motlier, with a matron's care, 
 Attends the due refection to prepare : 
 
 * See note No. 33. 
 
83 
 
 While studious of each hospitable rite, 
 
 Her Lord with cheerful converse cheats the night : 
 
 And when grey morning rose, the royal guest 
 
 Finds on a downy couch unwonted rest; 
 
 Now first at ease his weary limbs repos'd, 
 
 Since sad Culloden's bloody evening clos'd! 
 
 But who can tell what farther perils wait, 
 
 Or who his future wanderings can relate ? 
 
 Or who shall the exalted meed assign 
 
 To worth, above such humble praise as mine ? 
 
 Ambition, sordid interest, servile fear, 
 
 That rule the world, could find no vot'ry here : 
 
 Then how shall any claim superior praise, 
 
 When all alike deserve th' immortal bays ? 
 
 When pride first threw the rebel angels down, 
 
 One stedfast Abdiel kept his faith alone : 
 
 But when the Stuart line resign d to fate, 
 
 One only traitor bore his country's hate. 
 
 Yet ere the pitying Muse shall sadly close 
 The weary tale of wanderiqgs and of woes; 
 Where virtue shines through dark misfortune bright, 
 Like dim-seen stars in a tempestuous night, 
 Let not kind sympathy suspended wait 
 The sequel of th' intrepid maiden's fate. 
 
 By kindred virtues led, a generous Youth 
 To Flora long had vow'd his plighted truth *; 
 
 * See note No. 34. 
 
S4 
 
 In childhood's paths together they had stray'd, 
 
 Together life's gay morning views survey 'd, 
 
 Together that plain path of duty trod, 
 
 That leads through Nature's love to love of God; 
 
 And now but waited till the stormy blast 
 
 Of civil rage and noisy tumult past, 
 
 To sanctify those vows, long seal'd above", 
 
 And tie the sacred bond of nuptial love. 
 
 But see ! what toils ungentle minds prepare, 
 
 The innocent and lovely to ensnare : 
 
 When the stern Chief that led the Brftish host, 
 
 Learnt how the Prince escap'd the fatal coast, 
 
 How female stratagem, and female truth, 
 
 With guiltless art had sav'd the hapless youth, 
 
 Enrag'd he cries, u A ready victim led, 
 
 " Low on the scaffold let her guilty head 
 
 " Atone the forfeit life her arts have sav'd, 
 
 " And pacify the pow'r her crime 1ms brav'd." 
 
 Stern and unfeeling guards the fair-one bore 
 
 All unprotected to the sea-beat shore ; 
 
 No unavailing plaints, no female cries 
 
 Are heard, — she silent lifts her streaming eyes, 
 
 And inly to the guardian pov/rs above 
 
 Commends her spotless fame, her hapless Love. 
 
 Through inland moors, he roam'd with careless aiiri, 
 
 And seem'd all day to chase the flying game; 
 
 But oft he turn'd his sorrowing eyes with pain, 
 
 When loud along the border of the main, 
 
85 
 
 Where ruthless foes on board their pris'ners bear, 
 Resound the direful yellings of despair. 
 The victims bore their fate with steady mind, 
 The cries arose from those they left behind. 
 
 Ah ! when the lofty vessel left the shore, 
 And o'er the seas his heart's rich treasure bore, 
 How little did the wretched Lover know 
 How great his portion of the general woe ! 
 But when mild eve in glowing purple drest, 
 Smil'd on the lingering twilight of the west, 
 He went to tell his Flora all his grief, 
 And find in social sympathy relief. 
 But why should words endeavour to explain 
 What eloquence herself would speak in vain,— 
 The pangs that rent the hopeless Lover's breast, 
 When all the fatal truth appeared confest. 
 
 High on a rock, where from the cavern'd shore. 
 Hoarse echoes murmur, while the billows roar, 
 The live-long night he trac % d the parting sail, 
 Or pour'd his sorrows to the midnight gale, 
 Till morning rose in wonted beauty bright, 
 And the lone mourner sicken'd at the sight. 
 
 Now fav 'ring breezes blow along the shore, 
 The sailors hail the English coast once more; 
 In summer radiance drest, majestic Thames, 
 The haunt of commerce and the pride of streams, 
 Receives the vessel, while her banks around, 
 And cultur'd plains, with stately villas crown'd, 
 
86 
 
 And London 9 s glories rising thick to view, 
 
 To Flora's eyes present a prospect new: 
 
 The novel pomp undazzl'd she. surveys, 
 
 While to her native isle sad fancy strays ; 
 
 And sees, where misty mountains prop the skies, 
 
 The wild magnificence of Nature rise ; 
 
 And feels no novel scenes a charm impart, 
 
 To soothe the anguish that consumes the heart. 
 
 Yet, while the canker wastes the bud unseen, 
 
 In pensive peace she drest her placid mien ; 
 
 The dignity of conscious honour wears, 
 
 And slanderous taunts with patient sufferance bears. 
 
 The ancient Judge, by long experience wise, 
 
 With wonder hears her modest firm replies ; 
 
 And partial, to the Sovereign's ear convey'd 
 
 The just applause due to the dauntless Maid *. 
 
 The Monarch, still to honour's dictates true, 
 
 Nor mean revenge nor cruel purpose knew ; 
 
 But, long misled by faction's treacherous art, 
 
 As yet he reign'd not in the general heart; 
 
 To fury's gripe resign'd th' imperial sword, 
 
 Nor heard when pity's feeble voice implor'd ; 
 
 Nor knew, exalted on a distant throne, 
 
 How delegated pow'r made mis'ry groan : 
 
 He bids his messengers the captive bring, — 
 
 Submissive in the presence of the king, 
 
 * See note No. 35. 
 
87 
 
 With downcast eyes the blushing captive stands, 
 And waits in silence for his dread commands. 
 u Presumptuous damsel, say, what secret cause 
 " Has made thee dare the rigour of our laws ? 
 " When thus an outlaw'd traitor sought the shore ? 
 " To stain our peaceful realm with native gore ; 
 " Did frantic love, or rash ambition, say, 
 " To treason's paths delude thee thus away ? 
 " That forfeit life thy folly bade thee save, 
 " For thee now opens an untimely grave," 
 
 * Dread Sir/ the maid replied in humble guise, 
 With truth's pure spirit brightening in her eyes, 
 
 No motive base my fearless mind could move, 
 ' Nor mad ambition, nor presumtuous love ; 
 
 * My kindred, peaceful subjects to your reign, 
 
 * Against your pow'r have drawn no sword in vain : 
 ' Yet through the years our country's records trace, 
 
 * Our ancestors obey'd the exil'd race; 
 
 ' And when they yielded to the frown of fate, 
 
 * W T e mourn'd their hopeless fall from regal state. 
 ' To loyalty by pious precepts led, 
 
 1 We ever sacred held th' anointed head ; 
 
 1 And thought each branch of that long-hallow'd line 
 
 * A partial sharer of the " right divine/' 
 
 * But, if the mighty hand that rules the ball, 
 1 And bids the heirs of empires rise or fall, 
 
 1 To you, dread Sire, the bitter cup had given, 
 1 From regal pomp to wretched exile driven; 
 
88 
 
 i If cast a suppliant on my native plain, 
 
 You never should have sought my aid in vain ; 
 ' Nor should a Stuart prince have ever*said 
 4 That treacherous Flora royal blood betray'd */ 
 
 The thoughtful Monarch, pausing, view'd the fair, 
 Her chasten' d graces, and ingenuous air, 
 And sigh'd to think, how often civil strife 
 Drags blameless victims from the shades of life, 
 And with blind rage, unknowing to relent, 
 Involves the guilty and the innocent : 
 He bids the judge the guileless maid release, 
 And let her seek her native isle in peace. 
 
 Now rumour talks of Flora's charms around, 
 Those artless charms, with matchless virtues crown'd, 
 Whose native force subdu'd the rage of pow'r, — 
 And Flora reigns the fashion of the hour ; 
 The gaze of wonder now, at Flora's gate 
 Attendants see, and glittering chariots wait; 
 While noble dames, with costly gay attire, 
 Would deck the graceful form which all admire : 
 In vain ! from those she scorns to borrow aid, 
 But veils her beauties in the highland plaid ; 
 And drest in garb of homely tartan, wears 
 The livery of the tribe whose name she bears; 
 And mindful of her absent faithful swain, 
 Preserves the simple manners of the plain f. 
 
 * See note No. 30. t See note No. 37. 
 
:> 
 
 89 
 
 Her future consort now to Thules shore 
 Sees pitying Heaven his faithful bride restore, 
 With every opening grace of artless youth, 
 With every charm of tenderness and truth, 
 With meek simplicity's unpractis'd look, 
 And eyes that Nature's genuine language spoke : 
 Her noble mind superior in distress, 
 No rigour e'er could move or fear depress ; 
 Nor could prosperity's vain smiles elate' 
 The soul that bore serene the frowns of fate : 
 The generous Youth, with sacred transport fir'd, 
 No higher bliss, nor happier state desir'd ; 
 On wealth and splendour look'd with pity down, 
 And blest his fate when Flora was his own. 
 
 Now many a happy year had slid away, 
 Since Hymen smii'd upon their bridal day. 
 Alike, as mother, mistress, friend, or wife, 
 Fair Flora shone the grace of private life : 
 With latent wisdom and endearing art, 
 She stretch'd her blameless empire o'er the heart; 
 Her happy household rul'd with gentle sway, 
 And made it their first pleasure to obey. 
 Belov'd and reverenc'd in his native place, 
 Obey'd and honour'd by a duteous race, 
 Blest in his Flora, by his neighbours blest, 
 The worthiest of his generous tribe confest, — 
 Her consort long in peaceful plenty dwelt, 
 And oft to want his liberal bounty dealt *. 
 • See note No. 38. 
 
90 
 
 Their blooming Chief, whom in life's smiling morn, 
 All nature's wealth, and learning's stores adorn; 
 With worth's fair promise fed their raptur'd eyes, 
 But ah ! too early sought his native skies ! 
 Belov'd in vain, — for him in doleful strains 
 The Genius of the misty isle complains; 
 For him his Clan with ceaseless sorrow mourn, 
 And wreathe with purple heath his Roman urn *• 
 
 Another Lord arose, whose early youth 
 Was wasted in the soft luxurious South, 
 Whence prudent lore and maxims sage he drew, 
 And frigid notions, and opinions new : 
 He scorn'd the rustic grandeur of the plain, 
 The hospitable hall, the vassal train, 
 And distant kindred widely branching round, 
 Still to the parent tree by fond attachment bound. 
 Tis thus the stranger, who astonish'd roves 
 Among the lofty shades of Indian groves, 
 Deep in the centre sees with dumb surprise 
 The native Fig in solemn grandeur rise ; 
 Its mighty head, in leafy pomp displayed, 
 Appears th' acknowledged monarch of the shade ; 
 Its verdant arms, that wide extend around, 
 Low bending downward seek their native ground : 
 
 * Sir James Macdonald, formerly mentioned. In the 
 many Gaelic poems in which the death of this amiable youth 
 is lamented, it is considered as a severe aggravation of the loss 
 of the Clan, that their Chieftain was buried at Rome, a place 
 eo remote that his countrymen could not even visit his grave. 
 
91 
 
 There, in the kindly soil again they root, 
 And up once more the vigorous saplings shoot ; 
 Their parent plant they both adorn and aid, 
 Protect its stem, and send abroad its shade, 
 Till spread in massy pyramidal form, 
 Itself a grove, it scorns th' assaulting storm; 
 However far the lessening branches spread, 
 They conscious draw their support from the head : 
 However high the tow'ring head may grow, 
 Well pleas'd he sees his offspring thrive below. 
 Thus Clans around their kindred Chief were spread. 
 And hVd and flourished in their common head. 
 
 But other views and systems now arose, 
 Their honour's friends became their interest's foes ; 
 The fine-spun kindred ties no longer draw, 
 Even local habits yield to rig'rous law *. 
 The active youth by manly spirit led, 
 Who wont to range the wastes with heath o'erspread, 
 And send death's message with unerring aim, 
 To reach the flying or the bounding game; 
 No longer arm'd the sylvan haunts explore, 
 And thunder from the fatal tube no more : 
 
 * A certain degree of emigration must needs take place, 
 where the natives multiply very fast, and inhabit a barren 
 country ; but this, which to a people of simple manners and 
 warm affections is a great, though necessary evil, was much 
 augmented in the islands by the causes here alluded to. 
 
m 
 
 No missile weapons, bright with silver, grace 
 The long-descended sons of generous race ; 
 The broad-sword glittering with a twofold blade, 
 With apt device, and costly work inlaid : 
 The dirk, in sheath adorn'd with curious art, 
 And worn suspended near the owner's heart : 
 The bossy buckler, rich in studied pride, 
 That turn'd of old the jav'lin's point aside ; 
 No longer now, when war has ceas'd to storm, 
 With gallant grace bedeck the warrior's form ; 
 While his firm step, bold chest, and martial air, 
 The daring of a dauntless mind declare : 
 These, when no manly feats their lords employ, 
 Were wont to glitter in the hall of joy : 
 Still prompt for use, and ready at their call, 
 In gleaming pride suspended on the wall ; 
 While the loud pibroch nYd the generous breast 
 With deeds of heroes sung at every feast : 
 Now silent, cloth'd with dust, the pibroch sleeps, 
 Forlorn the hoary bard in silence weeps ; 
 And dark with rust, the arms from sight exil'd, 
 Are in some lone recess unheeded pil'd ; 
 Lest memory, still to thoughtful sorrow true, 
 Revive their sleeping anguish at the view. 
 Thus, when the mother in life's smiling morn, 
 From her fond arms beholds her darling torn. 
 The sad attendants hide its fav'rite toys, 
 That wake remembrance of departed joys. 
 
 
93 
 
 The home-spun garb, that, bright with various dyes, 
 Was wont to please the simple native's eyes ; 
 Checkered with dusky hues, and changing green, 
 To steal upon the watchful deer unseen : 
 Or form in folds, with easy grace display'd 
 In simple drapery, the belted plaid ; 
 By the long lapse of years habitual grown, 
 Endur'd the rigid law's forbidding frown *. 
 Despoil'd of arms, in foreign habits clad, 
 Listless the drooping natives wander'd sad : 
 The savage fox now left his gloomy den, 
 And fearless rush'd into the haunts of men; 
 No tie to love the alter'd land remain'd, 
 Where beasts were free, and free-born men restrain'df; 
 And sordid chiefs, with cold averted eye, 
 Regard the claims of hoar antiquity, 
 And drive the.followers whom their fathers fed 
 To seek in distant realms precarious bread : 
 Unus'd to imposts new, or customs strange, 
 Now through the mourning island all is change. 
 Thus, when upon some promontory's height, 
 
 | Where sheltering rocks and cavities invite, 
 The nestling sea-fowl find a peaceful home, 
 No happier land can tempt their flight to roam ; 
 Though with tempestuous fury arm'd, the storm 
 
 * The rocks assail, or circling seas deform, 
 
 * See note No. 59, i See note No. 40. 
 
} 
 
 94 
 
 For ages on the self-same cliff they rest, 
 Yet if some eye profane, or foot unblest, 
 With bold intrusion should disturb their nest, 
 Wild with impetuous wing they wheel, they fly, 
 In screaming circles scatter through the sky ; 
 Borne on the winds, explore the distant main, 
 Nor ever view their native rock again. 
 
 Thus from their dear-lov'd isle the natives fly, 
 Their loud laments thus fill the pitying sky; 
 And Flora, gentlest of a generous kind, 
 Scorns to remain in selfish ease behind, 
 While her lov'd followers and friends explore 
 Some lone retreat beyond th' Atlantic shore : 
 Her lord approving, favours the design, 
 Their long-lov'd haunts reluctant they resign. 
 
 When first they felt the swelling billows roll, 
 Twas like the pang that frees the parting.soul ; 
 And when the dusky isle was lost to view, 
 Thick answering sobs forbade the faint adieu. 
 The world of waters mingles with the skies, 
 And Scotia hides for ever from their eyes *. 
 
 And shall they on that far Lethean shore 
 Oblivious rest, to memory dear no more ? 
 
 * Since writing the above, the anthor has been informed 
 that Kingsborough joined the Royal standard in the Ame- 
 rican war, in consequence of which he returned home; and 
 that he and Flora both died in the Isle of Sky not many 
 years ago. 
 
 i 
 
95 
 
 Shall none with social sympathy lament 
 
 Unblemish'd worth, to'hopeless exile sent? 
 
 When vain pursuits the polish'd mind engage, 
 
 Gay fashion's caprice, or false pleasure's rage ; 
 
 While sunk in thoughtless ease, supine they loll, 
 
 And luxury enfeebles all the soul ; 
 
 When minds high destin'd for celestial aims, 
 
 Waste all their useless strength on studious games ; 
 
 Or weave the cob-web veil of sophistry, 
 
 To cheat with flimsy art the mental eye : 
 
 Or scheme the visionary system fair, 
 
 Trick'd out in rain- bow hues, and built on air, 
 
 Which, when the fabric is to use assign'd, 
 
 Melts from the touch, and leaves no trace behind : 
 
 Or when her venal sons low interest draws 
 
 To any party, and to every cause; 
 
 When false refinements endless wants create, 
 
 And each aspires at some superior state : 
 
 W T hen honour, conscience, truth are cheaply sold, 
 
 And none deny th' omnipotence of gold, 
 
 Impiety to wild disorder leads, 
 
 And through the mass fermenting frenzy spreads :- 
 
 Say, when such pleasures and pursuits engage 
 
 Th* enervate sons of a degenerate age ; 
 
 Is it a time to banish from our coast 
 
 The few who uncorrupted manners boast? 
 
 Though strangers they to wisdom's fair pretence, 
 
 Wrapt, in the tissued robe of eloquence; 
 
96 
 
 Abstracted reasoning, subtilties refin'd, 
 That through a trackless maze delude the mind : 
 A few hVd principles alone they boast, 
 To steer their way along life's dangerous coast ; 
 But drawn from sacred truth's unerring source, 
 Those still maintain their unabated force ; 
 And while their pow'r unshaken they retain, 
 Gold shines, and pow'r allures, and pleasure smiles in 
 vain. 
 When Nature's children, by simplicity 
 Are nurst and taught, oh Truth divine, by thee : 
 To Fortitude through early hardships bred, 
 And at Frugality's plain table fed ; 
 And tutor'd by the humanising muse, 
 To purer pleasures, and to nobler views ; 
 Not fashion can pervert, or fears control 
 The settled purpose of the stedfast soul; 
 While the fair prospect of immortal joys 
 To shining baubles sinks earth's brightest toys. 
 Will such as these break through superior ties, 
 For ease they slight, or splendour they despise ? 
 Or haply in their childhood, often led 
 To watch their flock on some high mountain's 
 
 head, 
 In patient solitude the live-long day, 
 The wild majestic scenes around survey, 
 Such scenes as wont to nourish thought sublime, 
 And lift the soul beyond the reign of time; 
 
97 
 
 O'er all the mind a holy calm diffuse, 
 
 Exalt the fancy, and inspire the muse: — 
 
 Will they in lucre's paths ignobly bend, 
 
 And for the dross they do not need, contend > 
 
 Or, taught so soon to feed on serious thought, 
 
 With light amusement's specious snares be caught? 
 
 Or can voluptuous indolence beguile 
 
 The youth with sinews early strung by toil? 
 
 Who often, lighted by the morning star, 
 
 Before the dawn awake the sylvan war ; 
 
 Or with amphibious courage leave the shore, 
 
 And over hidden rocks the finny tribes explore. 
 
 To those, so us'd to surfer and to dare, 
 
 No terrors threaten in the front of war ; 
 
 The very worst the sons of ease can feel, 
 
 The toilsome march, hard bed, or scanty meal; 
 
 Calmly they view with an unalter'd eye, 
 
 And should the battle rage — they can but die; 
 
 An often hazarded unvalued life 
 
 They can but nobly lose in martial strife. 
 
 When Athens, by the arts she nurst adorn'd, 
 The plain stern virtues of Laconia scorn'd, 
 When wealth, of endless woes the guilty cause, 
 Her state corrupted, and relax'd her laws, 
 And freedom to unbounded licence grown, 
 Had ancient rights and due restraints o'erthrown ; 
 When softening arts and luxury's increase 
 Made valour droop even in her native Greece; 
 
 f 
 
98 
 
 TV intrepid sons of fearless poverty 
 Made Persian kings in wild amazement fly; 
 Bade Athens, sunk in conscious shame, behold 
 Their Spartan iron conquer Persian gold; 
 And, faithful to each dear and hallow'd tie, 
 Preserve the sacred flame of liberty. 
 
 Now, Chiefs and Senators — ye patriot band ! 
 Born to illume, protect, and bless the land; 
 While the loose furies rage in other climes, 
 And Nature sickens at her children's crimes; 
 While Gallia pours profuse the purple flood, 
 And stains her lilies with her Monarch's blood ; 
 Encircle like an adamantine zone 
 The hallow'd altar and the honour'd throne; 
 And let your banners, rais'd aloft, reveal 
 The blended interests of the general weal : 
 Draw close those ties, so fine and yet so strong, 
 That gently lead the willing soul along, 
 Nor crush beneath oppression's iron rod 
 The kindred image of the parent God ; 
 Nor think that rigour's galling chains can bind 
 The native force of the superior mind. 
 'Twas not from such the glowing ardour rose 
 That followers drew to Wallace and Montrose. 
 Brethren in martial toils— affection fond, 
 Kind twisting round each heart the lasting bond ; 
 
99 
 
 Like that wide chain, which, when creation rose, 
 Did all the mighty Maker's works inclose, 
 Whose closing ties celestial voices sung, 
 While all the answering constellations rung, 
 Which joins the worlds below to those above 
 With golden links, and angels call it — LOVE! 
 
 END OF THE HIGHLANDERS. 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON 
 
 THE HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Our hardy myrtle scatter'' d fragrance round, P. 16. 
 
 This plant, which the natives call Rhoit, resembles the 
 myrtle in its aromatic smell, though it is unlike it in its leaves. 
 It abounds in boggy places, and produces in rich sheltered 
 spots a berry resembling the bilberry, but of a larger size and 
 finer flavour. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 To view each social hamlet's mutual plough. P. 17. 
 
 What the Highlanders call 'm Balli, is a conjunct farm 
 generally occupied by eight families, living together in a kind 
 of scattered hamlet ; of these, four join together about a plough, 
 each furnishing a horse, and all their rural toils are carried on 
 in the same social manner. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 While at the frugal meal the blue smokes rise. P. 18. 
 
 This is a provincial phrase peculiar to the North, and very 
 emphatic as it is used there ; they say, '* He was a good man, 
 * for he could see from his door a hundred smokes rise on Ins 
 
102 
 
 " own ground." And again, " He cannot thrive, for he put 
 " out fifty smokes in one morning;" signifying the removal of 
 so many tenants. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 Thus lives — the theme of many a plaintive lay. P. 19. 
 
 Sir James Macdonald, a young Chief, greatly beloved, 
 and much lamented by his people. He died at Rome in the 
 25 th year of his age. 
 
 No. 5. 
 
 Repeats emphatic, " They return no more." P. 20. 
 
 There is a plaintive air which the Highlanders always play 
 on the bagpipes at funerals or on other mournful occasions, 
 which when heard out of Scotland, affects a Highlander much 
 in the same way as " Rauz de Vaches" does a Swiss. The 
 words " Ha pill, ha pill, ha pill, mi tuillidh," signify, " We re- 
 tu p, return, return, no more." The Author has heard it 
 played to two parties of emigrants marching towards the sea. 
 
 No. 6. 
 
 In peopled straths, where winding streams prolong. P. 27. 
 
 Strath is an expression peculiar to the Highlands, to the 
 North Highlands chiefly; it forms that natural division of the 
 country, which was highly favourable both to the union of 
 those little societies called Clans, and to the separation of 
 those miniature nations from each other ; for there was a vari- 
 ation of character, style, and even dress, betwixt every two 
 straths. In the centre of Scotland are certain high mountains, 
 such as Corryaric, Benevis, &c. which rise betwixt the eastern 
 and western coasts, and from which the rivers descending into 
 the opposite seas, originate. From these centrical mountains, 
 which run from south to north, descend others in connected 
 
103 
 
 chains, running parallel to each other, towards the east and 
 west seas, and losing themselves gradually in the flat country, 
 or at the sea side. The openings between these parallel 
 mountains are called Straths, and form distinct districts, 
 generally watered by considerable rivers, as Strath-Tay, 
 Strathern, Strathspey, Strathmore, Stratherick, Strath-Glas 7 
 &c. These are in general ruled by some nobleman, or great 
 personage, who is Lord Paramount, as it were. The smaller 
 proprietors commonly live at the mouth of a glen or narrow 
 valley, in the openings between the distinct mountains which 
 form these lateral chains. Through these glens run tributary 
 streams that flew into the main river ; and it is at the conflu- 
 ence of these little rivers with the larger, that the seats of the 
 Chieftains are generally erected ; while their respective clans 
 inhabit the valley behind. Thus the very face of the country, 
 and the natural divisions of it, serve to cherish that social 
 spirit, and those strongly-attached little communities, which 
 nourish all the peculiarities of this singular race of people. 
 
 No. 7. 
 
 And pay again their homage to the skies. P. 32. 
 
 The Highlanders naturally incline much to piety. In the 
 parish where this was written, though most of the old people 
 are totally illiterate, they generally pray most regularly and 
 fervently in a social manner in their families morning and 
 evening. 
 
 No. 8. 
 Some Genius, who by nature taught to sing. P. 34. 
 
 A talent for poetical composition in their own language is 
 so prevalent among the Highlanders, that notwithstanding 
 many alterations in their customs, tending to damp the poeti- 
 cal fire, there is no death or other change in the neighbour- 
 hood, attended with any particular circumstances, that is not 
 sung and celebrated, not only by those who are accounted 
 
104 
 
 poets, but by many others who are only moved by some 
 interesting occurrence, to a temporary fit of enthusiasm. 
 They talk of it as a thing hereditary and constitutional. The 
 families of Keppcch and Glencoe, for instance, were all born 
 poets ; some excelled and some did not ; but they all had a 
 portion of this airy inheritance. The impulse, it would appear, 
 is in some cases irresistible ; there is an old man in the Author's 
 neighbourhood, who seems to reverence the sacred impulse 
 highly, for he will on no account set it to sale. It is a com- 
 mon thing to request one of these gifted bards to decorate the 
 memory of the departed, or sing the praises of youths who go 
 abroad, and whose friends wish to have a tuneful testimonial 
 of their merits ; and though no stipulation is made, a reward 
 is as it were gratuitously given, to preserve the dignity of the 
 giver, and the delicacy of the receiver. The disinterested 
 poet above mentioned, however, whose compositions (gene- 
 rally plaintive ones) have always a religious or moral tendency^ 
 never composes in compliance with any one's request, nor 
 gains any patrons by his poetry ; for he faithfully records the 
 faults as well as virtues of the subjects of his verse. He and 
 all his neighbours say, it would be very impolitic in him to 
 compose for reward; because he never produced a poem but 
 the birth of it was immediately followed by the death of one 
 of his cattle ! Eeing questioned why he composed at all at 
 such a risk, his answer was, that he does it very seldom, and 
 never but when forced by an irresistible impulse, for the 
 benefit and warning of his neighbours. He seems to inherit 
 Cassandra's mantle, and in some degree her hard destiny. 
 
 No. 9. 
 
 The downy cannach of the wat'ry moors. P. 35. 
 
 Cannach is the Gaelic name of a plant common in moory 
 ground, without leaf or lateral outslioot of any kind, consisting 
 merely of a slender stem supporting a silky tuft, beautifully 
 white, and of glossy brightness;— these, lightly waving in 
 
105 
 
 great quantities over the dusky moors, serve the Highland 
 poets as faithfully as lilies do those of other countries, for a 
 figure to describe the soft elegance of a fair complexion ; 
 their common simile for the glow of health or youthful bloom, 
 is neither so apt nor so elegant ; it is invariably the berries of 
 the mountain ash. Perhaps nothing in Oriental or other 
 composition can exceed the copious luxuriance of those num- 
 berless epithets, which a genuine bard uses to describe the 
 hair of his mistress. It would appear that a fine head of hair 
 was a most prevailing charm, by the room it occupies in all 
 descriptions of beauty. It seems to us a very bold figure, 
 when an Eastern Monarch compares the hair of his espoused 
 to a flock of goats. What shall we think of the imagination of 
 a Northern lover, who describes the beautiful disorder in the 
 tresses of his beloved, by saying they were all wrestling 
 (cleachdachj with each other, and that they resembled the 
 strings of the harp, gold rings enlinked together, or sunbeams, 
 with numberless other fanciful images ? The eye-brows, and 
 above all, the long eye-lashes, that add so much softness to 
 the expression of fine eyes, are the subject of frequent and 
 minute description. They have numberless phrases of peculiar 
 delicacy and import, to denote the expression of the general 
 character or particular emotions of the mind, in the counte- 
 nance ; and that harmony of speech and motion that adds 
 such grace to the attractions of beauty. Their language is 
 indeed richer than ours in this respect, and has more both of 
 force and variety in its epithet. This ckcumstance, while it 
 renders their poetry more difficult to translate, affords, at the 
 same time, strong evidence of a delicacy of sentiment and mi- 
 nute nicety of observation, which might be thought incompa- 
 tible either with the state of society, or the place in society 
 occupied by these rustic poets; but of this more hereafter, for 
 the benefit of such as love to catch a feature 
 
 " Of that all-gracious goddess, Nature ;" 
 for it is those only whom remarks like these can interest, 
 F 2 
 
106 
 
 No. 10. 
 Now comes the day to Superstition dear, P. 47. 
 
 It is always about Hallowmas that the Harvest-home is cele- 
 brated, when the peasants commonly dance the whole night 
 long. This they do not only with agility, but with a grace 
 and ease astonishing for people in their condition. The fact 
 is, they are all fond of dancing, and much accustomed to it; 
 they have generally a natural ear for music, and their uncon- 
 strained manner of life gives a certain pliancy to all their 
 motions. 
 
 No. 11. 
 And sunk in deep repose, unconscious lies, P. 50. 
 
 To a mind apt to be affected by natural appearances, there 
 is something awful, impressive, and even exalting, in a winter- 
 scene, during the clear moon, or even starlight, of these re- 
 gions ; where the purity of the air, and the reflection from so 
 many lofty mountains flittering with crusted snow, add a 
 kind of solemn splendour to the stillness of midnight. 
 
 No. 12. 
 Bright burns the hearth, th? enlivening torches blaze. P. 51. 
 
 The moors abound in large logs of fir, which, having lain 
 covered with earth for time immemorial, are extremely dry 
 and inflammable. This the Highlanders dig up and divide 
 into small splits. A bunch of these is called a torch. They 
 spend the evening sociably in each other's cottages; and 
 when a stranger comes in, the compliment is, immediately to 
 kindle up the torches, which are burnt on a flat stone project- 
 ing from the wall. Music, singing, and reciting long narrative 
 poems, are the amusements of their winter evenings. 
 
10? 
 
 No. 13. 
 
 And heights by human feet untrod before. P. 51. 
 
 Going from strath to strath during the short stormy days, 
 and over hills inaccessible to other people, often produces 
 adventures somewhat similar to that here narrated, to the 
 great promotion of hospitality and mutual kindness. It is 
 astonishing how cheap a Highlander sets his life, when his 
 cattle are at stake ; yet it would not square with their notions 
 of morality, to run the same risk for an equivalent sum of 
 money. 
 
 No. 14. 
 Where Maeshy leads her lucid stream along. P. 52. 
 
 Maeshy is a small river discharging itself into the Spey, 
 about four miles from Loch Laggan, after gliding through a 
 narrow sequestered valley, equally pleasant and romantic. 
 The river is remarkable for the clearness of its waters, and for 
 the equal size and fine polish of its pebbles. 
 
 No. 15. 
 u Where the free soul looks down to pity kings.* 9 P. 53. 
 
 Near the water of Maeshy, on the banks of Loch Laggan, 
 stands a wood about six miles long, now fast decaying, said to 
 be the only remains of the famous Sylva Caledonia, which ex- 
 tended from Dunkeld to the extremity of Ross-shire. On two 
 small wooded islands in the lake are ruins of buildings said to 
 be the ancient hunting seats of the Scottish kings, when driven 
 by the Picts to reside at Dunkeld. What favours the suppo- 
 sition of their having chosen this secluded spot for their sum- 
 mer retreat is, that the celebrated parallel roads in Glen Roy^ 
 which could scarcely have been meant for the amusement of 
 a subject, are very near the west end of the lake. 
 
108 
 
 No. 16. 
 
 " Where blasts in fatal eddies circle round." P. 54. 
 
 Corry is a Gaelic word used to denote a kind of circular 
 cavity or bason, in the bosom, as one may call it, of a high 
 mountain. This Corry is generally intersected by numerous 
 small gullies, which convey the melted snow, or the moisture 
 distilled by the clouds on the mountain-tops, to the centre, 
 whence different rivulets have their source. In winter, snow 
 lies very deep in these Corries, and the winds whirl about in 
 them with singular force and velocity. In summer they are 
 fertile in grass and herbage ; but being situate in lofty seques- 
 tered mountain*, only frequented by herdsmen in the grazing 
 season, they are in general very little known. 
 
 No. 17. 
 Whose magic art the fatal blast unties, P. 55. 
 
 The Corry, lying on the frequented pass over the steep 
 mountain of Corryaric, has often proved fatal to travellers, 
 and is held in a kind of superstitious horror by the natives. 
 Whether approached from the south or north side, there are 
 more than ten miles of uninhabited country to pass before one 
 reaches it, so that the solitary traveller is deprived of all 
 chance of help. Even since the formation of the military 
 road, scarce a spring has passed without one or more falling 
 victims to the cold or fatigue in this spot. The very year 
 after the road was opened, eleven soldiers perished altogether, 
 and many at different times since. This greatly added to the 
 terror of the country people, who supposed the Corry to be 
 ii h ibited by a spirit, that raised a kind of eddy wind, which 
 bewildered and stupified travellers, who, when they sat down 
 to indulge the propensity to sleep, the usual consequence of 
 extreme cold and fatigue, generally slept their last. These 
 accidents happening much about the same spot, confirmed 
 
109 
 
 the idea that they were owing to supernatural agency. With- 
 in these few years, however, poles have been placed at proper 
 distances, which keep up the traveller's spirits, by ascer- 
 taining the distance and the path. The power of the spirit 
 has now fallen into utter discredit. 
 
 No. 18. 
 And all the wide horizon womVring vieivd. P. 56. 
 
 It can scarcely be conceived how various, sublime, and ex- 
 tensive, the prospect from the top of the Corry appears, or 
 what a placid awe it diffuses over the mind. Every thing is 
 so serene, so solemn, so unearthly, it awakes quite a new train 
 of reflections and feelings ; — it is a place where a mere usurer 
 could not add up fractions, nor a mere gamester calculate 
 chances. There philanthropy would be exalted into piety, 
 and piety kindled into enthusiasm. In a clear day one can 
 distinguish the east sea, from whence the sun seems to rise ; 
 and the west, illumined by his declining light. Loch Ness, 
 which, from the great extent of its water at once commanded 
 by the eye, from its lightness, purity, and salutary effects, and 
 from the singular majesty of its boundaries, may be accounted 
 the prince of Scottish lakes, stretches in full vista east from 
 the foot of the mountain. To the west, in a district remote, 
 wild, and scarcely accessible, appears Loch Garrie, one side 
 of which, woody, savage, and gloomy, seems adapted only for 
 the hunter; the other, gradually rising, smooth and verdant, 
 forms quite a pastoral scene. Knoidart and Moidart, with 
 their broken and fantastic groups of dark-blue aerial moun- 
 tains, rise on the distant view like far-seen islands, emerging 
 from the sea. Oich, a most beautiful piece of water, sur- 
 rounded by sylvan scenery, and adorned with wooded islands, 
 near Invergarric House, (ills the intermediate space; and to 
 the north is seen the tedious ascent of Aonich, with a glimpse 
 of the fine forests of Glenmoriston. These are the most pro- 
 
110 
 
 minent objects over which the eye wanders from the summit 
 of this singular mountain; the country on each side declines 
 so gradually towards the sea, that one is not conscious of its 
 great height till the clouds are observed rolling in volumes 
 below. 
 
 No. 19. 
 
 TJie mighty depths of Ness appear unfroze. P. 56. 
 
 The scepticism of Dr. Johnson, with regard to a fact so 
 well authenticated, and easily ascertained, was very unworthy 
 of such a mind as his. At Fort Augustus, he could have been 
 informed by all the inhabitants, that in the severest frost there 
 is not a particle of ice even on the shallow edges of the lake. 
 
 No. 20. 
 With streaming birch and hazel shades inclosed. P. 61. 
 
 Glendoe, of all Highland Bhallis the most sweetly rural and 
 wildly romantic, lies just on the left hand as the traveller as- 
 cends the mountain Schicuman, by the military road, about 
 two miles from Fort Augustus, from whence it is seen half hid 
 in groves, like a hanging garden on the sides of the mountain, 
 declining towards Loch Ness. That brave and worthy cha- 
 racter, General Fraser, who was killed at Saratoga in 
 Burgoyne's expedition, was born and passed the early part 
 of his life in Glendoe; and his brother has been heard to say, 
 that the first distinction he ever obtained, was, being praised 
 by the rustics, because he, a gentleman's son, would drive out 
 his father's cattle barefoot, when the severity of the weather 
 was such, that their plebeian children would not go out with- 
 out shoes. 
 
 No. 21. 
 " Where gloomy Tarfe's enchanted waters flow" P. 61. 
 
 The steep banks cf Tarfe are all overhung with hazel. 
 Nuts are better and more abundant there than in any part 
 
Ill 
 
 of Scotland. This often leads people to wander on its banks, 
 and has been the occasion of some fatal accidents, which have 
 given rise to dismal tales of witchcraft. These the old people 
 pretend to credit, to keep the young ones from venturing too 
 near the craggy steeps. 
 
 No. 22. 
 Reflected graces decked thy halcyon breast. P. 63. 
 
 If description could do justice to some of the most sublime 
 and beautiful views in nature, the Author would endeavour to 
 convey some idea of the splendid beauty of Loch Ness, as she 
 has often beheld it at the western extremity about four o'clock 
 in a calm May morning, from a beautiful garden, rich with 
 blossoms, and sparkling with dew-drops. — Suppose, then, a 
 watery vista, where you have an uninterrupted view for 
 twenty-four miles, to the eastern extremity of the lake, bor- 
 dered with mountains and rocks, often wooded to the water- 
 edge, reflecting their verdure in the smoothest and brightest 
 of all mirrors : Suppose this superb mirror all at once reflect- 
 ing a glowing rose-colour ; then the golden lustre spreading 
 over the sky, till the lake actually appeared one large expanse 
 of fluid gold, bordered with shades of soft and solemn tints of 
 various green. 
 
 No. 23. 
 When Edward's iron sceptre hruis'd the North. P. 63, 
 
 The ruined castle of Urquhart, considerable remains of 
 which still appear, stands on a point projecting into Loch Ness. 
 It is consecrated by the veneration of all true Scots, for being 
 the last fortress in Scotland that held out agaiust Edward 
 the First. The governor was called Forbes ; he and the 
 garrison, it is said, were put to death for their sturdy resist- 
 ance. His son, a boy of fourteen years, escaped, and was 
 founder of one of the most considerable families of that name. 
 
112 
 
 No. 24. 
 Where wild romantic Melancholy dwells. P. 64. 
 
 Fyers, situated at the mouth of the river of that name, so 
 well known for its cataract, is a sweet sheltered spot, to 
 which Nature has been very favourable ; but the overhanging 
 woods, the low situation of the house, encircled and over- 
 looked by rocks, the hoarse clamour of the fall, and the 
 mournful dashing of the lake along its shore, diffuse over the 
 place a peaceful, yet affecting gloom, almost peculiar to 
 itself. 
 
 No. 25. 
 From every hill resound the loud alarms. P. 66. 
 
 At this enlightened period, which is indeed " Dark with 
 " excessive bright," the Author can scarcely be supposed to 
 have gleaned so negligently in the plentiful harvest of know- 
 ledge, as to be ignorant of the contempt in which the old 
 absurd notion of indefeasible right is held. It is supposed 
 there is not one descendant of those who suffered in the cause 
 here alluded to, but is long since convinced that the preserva- 
 tion of our present happy constitution, the boast of Britons 
 and the wonder of the world, was owing to the failure of 
 that rash unhappy project. But now, when this truth is so 
 fully established, and so generally acknowledged, that it re- 
 quires neither pious frauds, nor impious detractions, to main- 
 tain it ; when our rulers have long since generously pitied the 
 sufferings, rewarded the merits, and restored the property, of 
 those heirs of misfortune: — Such facts afford pretty clear evi- 
 dence, that they too could discern the lustre of private vir- 
 tue and integrity, through the mists of political error, and 
 could view, with compassionate admiration, 
 
 " A brave man struggling with the storms of fate, 
 " Even though his timely fall preserv'd the state." 
 
113 
 
 No. 26. 
 
 u Or fled for succour to some happier land" P. 67. 
 
 When the veil of death has long covered the unfortunate, 
 and the storm of party animosity subsided, people are judged 
 as they shall be hereafter, by their intentions. Adhering to 
 that rule, we must esteem the sufferer, and detest even that 
 cruelty which was said to be exerted for our eventual advan- 
 tage, as if indeed there could be any advantage drawn from 
 insulting the fallen, robbing the poor, and destroying the un- 
 resisting, in whose warm and upright hearts a little timely 
 lenity would have produced endless gratitude; and whose 
 loyalty might have been brought, by that means, to change 
 its object without abating its force. The strong holds of 
 what was called Jacobite prejudice are now so destroyed by 
 time, forlorn, and untenanted, that, like other ruins, they only 
 serve to vary a prospect, or adorn a description. Considering 
 by what pillars of fortitude they were supported, and by what 
 capitals of honour and gallantry those columns were embel- 
 lished, one might think a view of such ruins well worth pre- 
 serving. Behold it then faithfully, though not amply deline- 
 ated, in the sequel of the poem. 
 
 No. 27. 
 While round his bed the guiltless billoivs rave. P. 71. 
 
 The wanderings, sufferings, and escapes of Prince Charles, 
 have been so often and so truly recounted, that it is unneces- 
 sary to detail them minutely here, especially as they would 
 encumber and perplex the narrative with names of places and 
 persons " unmeet for verse.'' Donald Macdonald Gle- 
 naladale, for instance, who guided the Prince through 
 Knoidart and Arisaig, and many other places more dismal 
 than " Fables yet have feigned, or fear conceived," shewed 
 as much fortitude, courage, and perseverance, on that occasion, 
 as any hero ancient or modern; yet his name would greatly 
 
114 
 
 derange the structure of a heroic verse. So would those of 
 the three magnanimous thieves, who were of the Macdonalds 
 in Glenmoriston. They were living within these last twenty - 
 six years; and for some time after the event here commemo- 
 rated, often received small remittances, though it was never 
 ascertained from whence. 
 
 No. 28. 
 While thee, blest Youth ! thy country's Genius mourns. P. 72. 
 
 Captain Mackenzie, whose Christian name arid family 
 have escaped the Author's memory, was a citizen of Edin- 
 burgh. His character was amiable, his manners uncommonly 
 gentle, and his appearance prepossessing. He was just about 
 the Prince's age, and had a strong but handsome resemblance 
 to him ; he was greatly attached to the Prince, and the only 
 one of his Scots adherents, it is said, with whom he indulged a 
 familiar intimacy ; for his cheerfulness covered a great degree 
 of reserve, probably occasioned by his having been bred in 
 the habit of srspectmg and avoiding so many. Captain 
 Mackenzie irad been so active, and was so well known, that 
 he was conscious he had little chance for his life, if taken. 
 When the Prince dwelt safely with the thieves, this unhappy 
 youth was wandering about near Fort Augustus, with a small 
 party of the defeated army. The whole country in that vici- 
 nity had parties of royalists dispersed through it, breathing 
 rapine and slaughter ; but their eagerness to apprehend the 
 Prince, for whom so high a rrward was offered, afforded the 
 means of escape to several of the lower class. Captain Mac. 
 kenzie and his followers, however, were overtaken by a 
 larger party of enemies; some of them fled at first sight of 
 their pursuers, while others threw down their arms, in hopes 
 of mercy. The Captain, by their eagerness to take him alive, 
 understood they mistook him for his master; he stood on the 
 defensive with all the obstinacy of despair : this confirmed 
 their conjectures, and they shot him, to make sure of the re- 
 
115 
 
 ward for his head. He cried out, expiring, " Villains, you 
 " have killed your Prince \" hoping, no doubt, to slacken 
 their pursuit after him whom he personated. His head was 
 cut off and brought in triumph to the camp, where there were 
 great rejoicings on the occasicn, till some prisoners, who knew 
 Captain Mackenzie, recognised his head. 
 
 No. 29. 
 And to their Royal Guest unwonted dainties brought. P. 73. 
 
 One of these brothers went every day into the English 
 camp to procure wheaten bread, and had the address to get 
 the newspapers from the officer's servants. Considering gin- 
 gerbread as the greatest possible dainty, he always brought 
 abundance of it to his Royal Guest. He made a pretence of 
 selling fish in the camp, and regularly heard proclaimed on 
 the drum-head, in English and Gaelic, the reward of 30,0001. 
 offered by Government for the head of the Adventurer. 
 
 No. 30. 
 TJiy worth and wisdom, Forbes, plead in vain! P. 74. 
 
 Forbes of Culloden, then President of the Court of Ses- 
 sion ; a man so revered for his wisdom, and beloved for his 
 virtue, that his personal influence was beyond belief in such 
 times as these ; by dint of that influence, he prevented the 
 northern tribes from rising en masse, as they were much in- 
 clined to do. He wrote circular letters, with great judgment 
 and address, to all the heads of families on the Prince's land- 
 ing, pointing out to those who could neither comprehend nor 
 attend to sound political argument, the inefficacy of their 
 force and preparation, and the certain failure of an enterprise 
 so rash and ill conducted. These, joined to his succeeding 
 efforts, broke the force of the confederacy, and divided its 
 councils. His liberality in supporting the royal cause injured 
 
116 
 
 his fortune; and the contemptuous coolness with which he 
 was treated by the Young Conqueror, who could not brook 
 the idea of sharing his merit with any one, broke his spirit: — 
 and what completed his disgust was, that his lenient counsels, 
 in the hour of success, were despised and neglected ; many 
 being put to death for whom he interceded. He might be 
 justly included in the number of those patriots, who 
 
 u Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find 
 H Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind. " 
 
 No. 31. 
 Till the mild evening star arose in calmer skies. P, 77. 
 
 When they left the main land, they durst not steer immedi- 
 ately for Sky, where they knew there was a ship-of-war at 
 anchor, and that every landing-place was guarded by armed 
 boats. During their wanderings on the sea that day, they were 
 overtaken by a storm ; the rowers being quite worn out, the 
 Prince relieved them by turns ; and when the storm subsided 
 sung and amused them by endeavouring to learn Gaelic songs. 
 In his wanderings subsequent to this period, he made a sur- 
 prising progress in that language, and, except on some occa- 
 sions, where he was overcome by accounts of the violent deaths 
 of his most faithful followers, he was not only patient, but 
 cheerful. 
 
 No. 32. 
 And near high Rasay's rocky border drew. P. 78. 
 
 On this day of imminent danger and severe labour, their 
 little store of food and liquor was destroyed by sea-water ; 
 they hoped for a sate retreat the ensuing night in Rasay ; but 
 the laird or his brother, on perceiving their approach by moon- 
 light, warned them from the landing-place, and carried them 
 some bread, wine, and brandy, through the surf at the risk of 
 
117 
 
 his life, informing them at the same time that Rasay, as well 
 as Sky, was entirely occupied by the royal forces. They 
 were thus obliged to set out again, and in the morning were 
 chased by one of the king's cutters into South Uist, an island 
 belonging to the Clanronald family : they were so closely fol- 
 lowed, that the Royal Fugitive found it necessary, where a 
 rocky point intercepted the view of his pursuers, to spring on 
 shore, and conceal himself in a cavity among the rocks. The 
 boatmen pretended ignorance of the English language, and 
 were dismissed as wandering fishermen. One of them found 
 means, the next day, to convey information of the Prince's 
 landing to the lady of the place, who, though she wished not 
 to intermeddle, shrunk from the idea of his being apprehended 
 on her domain. In this dilemma she was relieved by the calm 
 resolution of Miss Flora Macdonald, then her guest, who 
 undertook, of herself, and by herself, to supply him with food, 
 and convey him off the island, which was done precisely as 
 narrated in the poem. She, to elude the curiosity of the 
 soldiers, took a maid with her, and at the ebbing of the tide 
 wandered on the shore in search of shells &c. When the 
 maid, who was ignorant of her intention, was busied at some 
 distance, she stole into the cavern with food and wine to the 
 Prince, and appeared again without being missed. She at- 
 tired him in a female dress, and with great deliberation re- 
 quested a pass for herself and an Irish maid, whom she feigned 
 to have brought over for her mother, to teach the spinning of 
 fine yarn. This artifice was necessary to account for the un- 
 couth, outlandish appearance of the Prince, whose size and 
 figure very ill suited his assumed character. On their arrival 
 at Sky on the Sunday afternoon, they were met by Miss Flo- 
 ra's step-father, Macdonald of Kingsburgh, a man of sin- 
 gular worth and integrity, who, when let into the secret by his 
 daughter, set earnestly about co-operating with her ; and not 
 thinking it safe, on a day when so many people were abroad, 
 to march such a strange figure on the public road, he went to 
 
 i 
 
118 
 
 an adjoining seat belonging to the Chieftain, then occupied by 
 his widow, Lady Margaret Macdonald, and two sons, 
 minors, and begged a night's refuge for his guest, merely on 
 principles of humanity. The Lady burst into a passionate 
 lamentation, representing how dreadful it would be to her to 
 have him seized while under her protection ; or, on the other 
 hand, to have the matter heard of afterwards, and her family 
 disgraced for concealing such a guest. Kingsburgh then 
 determined to take him at all hazards to his own house : they 
 had to go two miles, and a crowd of people returning from 
 church, took the same road. Flora and her attendant pre- 
 ceded, and Kingsburgh fell back a little to share the con- 
 versation, and divide the attention of his fellow-travellers. 
 He found them all engaged on one common topic, the awkward 
 strides and uncouth appearance of the Irish maid. He told 
 them it was a shameful thing, immediate ly after hearing the 
 word of God, to spend their time in conversation so idle and 
 sinful, as commenting on the defects or peculiarities of their 
 neighbours : the well-meaning rustics were abashed and silent, 
 and the maid walked on peaceably. They rested by the sea- 
 side till all the family were in bed,3vhen they introduced their 
 guest to the dining-room, and Kingsburgh summoned his 
 wife to attend him. She was in great concern, not knowing, 
 as she said, how to appear before Majesty. Upon being intro- 
 duced, she knelt with much reverence, and was raised and 
 saluted by her guest. She heard, with great concern, how he 
 had lived for some time past ; went and dressed a neat supper, 
 at which she attended standing, while Kingsburgh was pre- 
 vailed on to sit. At day-light the Prince retired to a com- 
 fortable bed, provided for him in a private apartment ; there 
 he slept all day, and when he rose, his hostess folded his sheets 
 and put them in a drawer, that she might preserve them to be 
 buried in. He set off that night in a different disguise : the 
 circumstances of his having been concealed in that family, and 
 of his female dress, were however traced out 3 in consequence 
 
119 
 
 of which Flora and her father-in-law were seized and carried 
 prisoners, with many others, on board a frigate then lying in 
 the road, and taken to London, in order to be tried for mispri- 
 sion of treason. 
 
 No. 33. 
 To ages yet unborn tlC undying song. P. 82. 
 
 The Isle of Sky stiU retains, in some degree, its ancient pre- 
 eminence above the rest of the Hebrides ; it is the native re- 
 gion of Gaelic music and poetry. The inhabitants held their 
 land on very easy terms; the surrounding sea poured all its 
 riches upon their coasts, and even foreign luxuries, from the 
 frequent passage of Dutch and Danish vessels through their 
 straits, were obtained at an easier rate than in most other 
 places. They had a succession of very learned and intelligent 
 clergy among them, one of whom, Dr. Macpherson, father 
 to the present Sir John, was the first who threw light upon 
 Gaelic antiquities. It is singular enough, that the Sky gentle- 
 men, though more enlightened and informed than almost any 
 set of people of their own rank, did not often acquire much 
 taste for the English classics. Having early cultivated a poe- 
 tical taste at home, that taste, formed on the simple and sub- 
 lime models of Ossian, and the poets of his remote age, was 
 gratiiied at college chiefly by the perusal of the Greek and 
 Roman poets. Milton was the only English poet they set 
 any value on; they read and quoted Latin all their life after 
 being at college ; but, instead of studying English poetry, re- 
 turned with a heightened relish to the admiration of their own. 
 Hence the latter Gaelic songs in the Isle of Sky abound with 
 classical allusions. Hector, Helen, Juno, and Venus, are 
 there most familiarly used, 
 
 " To point a moral, or adorn a tale.'' 
 
120 
 
 No. 34. 
 
 To Flora long had voufd his plighted truth. P. 83. 
 
 Flora Macdonald, who was a young woman of singular 
 good sense and excellent principles, added to these advan- 
 tages a genteel figure, mild pleasing countenance, great self- 
 command, and soft decorous manners. She was the daughter 
 of a respectable gentleman in the island of South Uist; who 
 dying very young, his widow, in Flora's infancy, married 
 Macdonald of Kingsburgh, who had one son by a former 
 marriage. These young people, as they grew up, contracted 
 an attachment to each other, and were in a manner betrothed 
 at the time she was carried away prisoner. 
 
 No. 35. 
 Tliejust applause dud to the dauntless Maid. P. 86. 
 
 Flora, on this trying occasion, behaved with astonishing 
 composure and propriety; for she had death in immediate 
 prospect, and did not indulge a hope of escaping. Kings- 
 burgh, her fellow sufferer, was asked afterwards if he did not 
 feel a very lively pleasure in being relieved from the terrors 
 of death, and restored to a family in which he was known to 
 be singularly happy. He said, no ; he was not in the least 
 elated ; the bitterness of death was over with hiin ; he had 
 divorced his mind from its dearest earthly ties, made every 
 preparation for his change, and was quite resigned, in full 
 hope of the divine aid to support it like a Christian. He had 
 brought himself to consider lengthened life as merely pro- 
 tracted sin and suffering, and could hardly hope again to pre- 
 pare himself for death at full leisure, in possession of all his 
 faculties. 
 
121 
 
 No. 36. 
 Tliat treacherous Flora royal blood betray' d. P. 88. 
 
 It was truly in consequence of such a conversation as is here 
 recited, that Flora and her associates were discharged ; and 
 from the greatness of mind shewn by the Monarch on this oc- 
 casion, there is room to conclude, that had not the royal ear 
 been engrossed by inhuman and unwise counsellors, the over- 
 strained rigour of that juncture would not have been permit- 
 ted to stain the annals of a reign otherwise glorious. 
 
 No. 3?. 
 Preserves the simple manners of the plain. P. 88. 
 
 It is a fact, that during the time Flora staid in London af- 
 ter her discharge, she received distinguished attentions from 
 the discontented party; every day carriages waited at her 
 door with invitations from ladies of distinction, who loaded 
 her with civilities and presents. She is said also to have had 
 very advantageous offers of marriage, and to have been much 
 admired in her own circle. Determined however to assume 
 no new character, incompatible with that to which she was re- 
 solved to return, she, with the finest linen and most valuable 
 trinkets, always preserved a characteristic and national form 
 of dress ; she wore the Highland plaid, adjusted in the modest 
 and becoming form then usual among Scottish ladies ; and her 
 gown, though the finest of the kind to be had, was invariably 
 tartan. During the remainder of her life she received a pen- 
 sion from some of the leaders of the declining faction in 
 England. 
 
 No. 38. 
 
 And oft to want his liberal bounty dealt. P. 89. 
 
 Flora was very happily married, and made an excellent 
 wife and mother. Some of her descendants, worthy of their 
 
122 
 
 parents, are still alive. Kingsburgh was a man of great 
 worth and spirit, but affected a liberal and showy style of liv- 
 ing, rather beyond his circumstances, though these were very 
 easy ; this concurred, with other causes alluded to in the poem, 
 to induce the family to emigrate to America in the year 1776. 
 
 No. 39- 
 Endur'd the rigid law' s forbidding frown. P. 93. 
 
 Nothing could depress the Highlanders more than the ima- 
 gined policy of depriving them of a national habit which they 
 greatly preferred to any other, and found better adapted to 
 the purposes of hunting, climbing the mountains, fishing, and 
 above all, sleeping out in the heaths, which they often did, 
 wrapped in the plaid, the colours of which were so well suited 
 to the woods and dusky verdure of their high grounds, that 
 they could come very near their game unperceived. They 
 shewed great fancy and taste, both in disposing the colours, 
 and adjusting the form of this variegated drapery; it was the 
 manufacture of their women, and the distinction of their clans, 
 each having had a sett, (as they styled it,) of tartan peculiarly 
 their own. 
 
 No. 40. 
 
 Where beasts were free, and free-born men restrained. P. 93. 
 
 The horror and dismay, the dejection and languor, which 
 the disarming act spread through the Highlands, are inconceiv- 
 able. All the lower class had arms which they used occasion- 
 ally ; but costly, well finished, and high polished arms, formed 
 part of a gentleman's dress, without which he never stirred 
 from home. They were at once his ornament and defence j 
 and when they did not adorn his person, they decorated his 
 
123 
 
 house, where his own amis, those of his ancestors, the musical 
 instruments they had played on, and the strange birds or ani- 
 mals they had killed and stuffed, constituted the chief orna- 
 mental furniture. With these arms too they always visited 
 their friends ; and as their way lay across moors and mountains, 
 they seldom came to a house without bringing game of their 
 own killing. After the disarming act, this resource, a very 
 fruitful one in these countries, was cut off. The deer then 
 grew so numerous and familiar, that they eat up the poor peo- 
 ple's crops in the night; and the foxes multiplied so as to 
 threaten the total destruction of their flocks. Arms indeed 
 are necessary in these wastes, not only to protect the natives 
 from wild beasts, but to assist them in supporting themselves. 
 
TO 
 
 SIR JAMES GRANT, BARONET. 
 
 The man of bounties, loving and belov'd. 
 
 HOMER'S ODYSSEY. 
 
 While on the meadowy banks of Spey, 
 Slow steals along the rural muse, 
 
 And sees the bordering flowers display 
 Their native sweets and vernal hues: 
 
 And while she casts her pensive view 
 Where bold Craigillachy aspires, 
 
 Now deck'd with heath-bells fresh with dew, 
 Where blaz'd of old the warning fires * : 
 
 With glowing heart and trembling hand 
 She strives to wake the plausive lay ; 
 
 And wide o'er all her native land 
 The voice of grateful truth convey, 
 
 * See note No. 1, 
 
126 
 
 And while she consecrates the strain, 
 To worth beyond her humble praise, 
 
 The genius of thy native plain 
 Will smile indulgent on her lays. 
 
 Oh, form'd to prove each feeling dear 
 That heightens joy and sweetens care,— • 
 
 The tender Parent, Friend sincere, 
 The Consort bless'd beyond compare ; 
 
 The Patriot Chief, who dwells belov'd 
 Among the race his fathers sway'd ; 
 
 Who, long his country's friend approved, 
 Retires in peace to bless the shade. 
 
 Who when the dreadful blast of war 
 With horror fill'd the regions round, 
 
 His willing people call'd from far, 
 
 With wakening pipe of martial sound : 
 
 The valiant clan, on every side, 
 
 With sudden, warlike ardour burns ; 
 
 And views those long-lov'd homes with pride, 
 Whose loss no exil'd native mourns. 
 
 From every mountain, strath, and glen, 
 The rustic warriors crowded round ; 
 
 The Chief who rules the hearts of men 
 In safety dwells, with honour crown'd. 
 
12? 
 
 " For thee (they cried) dear native earth, 
 81 We gladly dare the battle's roar; 
 
 " Our kindred ties, our sacred hearth, 
 " Returning peace will soon restore. 
 
 * No ruthless, mercenary swains 
 " Shall ever quench our social fires ; 
 
 " Our labour on our narrow plains 
 
 " Shall feed our babes and hoary sires *, 
 
 " And when each tender pledge we leave, 
 " Our parent Chief, with guardian care, 
 
 " Shall soothe their woes, their wants relieve, 
 And save the mourners from despair f." 
 
 Beneath his mild paternal sway, 
 The power of cultivation smiles, 
 
 And swelling, proud, impetuous Spey 
 Rejoices, while the peasant toils : 
 
 To see his banks on every side 
 With crowding population teem, 
 
 And cultur'd fields their yellow pride 
 Reflecting in his copious stream. 
 
 * See note No. 2, t See note No. 3. 
 
128 
 
 Well pleas'd he wanders near the dome 
 
 Where every milder virtue dwells; 
 Where all the gentler graces bloom, 
 
 And Painting speaks and Music swells. 
 
 When frosts untimely checked the spring, 
 
 And blasting mildews hover'd o'er. 
 And cheerful Labour ceas'd to sing, 
 
 And Plenty deck'd the plains no more : 
 
 To Grant she gave her teeming horn , 
 
 Well pleas'd he pour'd the bounteous store, 
 
 And Want no longer wept forlorn, 
 
 And fruitless Labour mourn'd no more. 
 
 To Woe, while Pity yields relief, 
 
 While Truth adorns the plausive lay, 
 Our vows shall bless the Patriarch Chief 
 
 Who rules the grateful banks of Spey. 
 
 * Alluding to an ample provision made for the lower class 
 of his country, during the hard winter 1800. 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 POEM 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 
 SIR JAMES GRANT, BARONET. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Wliere blaz'd of old the warning fires. P. 125. 
 
 Craigillachy is a solitary mountain that overlooks the en- 
 trance to Strathspey, and has been considered for ages past 
 as a kind of rallying point to the clan that inhabit it. On any 
 sudden invasion of the Norwegians on the eastern coast, a 
 fire kindled on some mountain near the sea, was instantly 
 seen in Strathspey, and answered by another on Craigillachy, 
 and that by another on Craigoiv in Badenoch; so that the in- 
 telligence was in this manner often transmitted from the east 
 sea to the west in three hours. By means of this simple tele- 
 graph, the whole country was up in an instant, to resist inva- 
 sion. Craigillachy is the war-ciy of the clan Grant, and even 
 within these few years, if one of them was borne down or in- 
 jured in any popular tumult at a fair or public concourse out 
 of his own country, he cried aloud Craigillachy, and every per- 
 son within hearing, allied by descent or marriage to the clan, 
 flew to his rescue. The motto of the clan is ? " Standfast 
 Craigillachy," 
 
 G 2 
 
130 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 " Shall feed our babes and hoary sires" P. 127. 
 
 Quenching the fire is a most emphatic phrase in the High- 
 lands, and never heard without a thrill of horror ; it signifies 
 not only the removing of cottagers attached to the soil by long 
 possession, but quenching fires to kindle them no more, that 
 is, depopulating districts once inhabited. It is easy to judge 
 how much those who never quenched a fire must be venerated 
 and beloved. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 " And save the mourners from despair" P. 127. 
 
 The Chief here alluded to is said at one time to have sup- 
 ported at his own expence lour hundred women and children, 
 belonging to such individuals in his regiments as were unable 
 to leave any provision for their maintenance. 
 
BALLAD, 
 
 Gentle lady, may thy grave 
 Peace and quiet ever have; 
 After this thy travel sore, 
 Sweet rest seize thee evermore, 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Oh, soft and sweet the evening sun 
 
 Was gleaming o'er the meadows green, 
 The ploughman's weary task was done , 
 And peaceful was the scene. 
 
 I musing wander'd o'er yon height 
 
 " Where broom bloom'd fair to view ;" 
 
 Whose yellow blossoms gaily show'd 
 O'er violets darkly blue. 
 
 * See note No. 1. 
 
132 
 
 A little higher up I spy'd 
 
 A roofless castle grey, 
 Where rooks and daws in clam'rous crowds 
 
 Retir'd at close of day *. 
 
 A fenceless garden's sad remains, 
 
 All ruin'd and decay 'd, 
 And trees, whose branches scorch'd by fire 
 
 Refused both fruit and shade. 
 
 Two shrubs in vernal pride remain'd, 
 
 Fenc'd by their native thorn, 
 And bore the fragrant milk-white rose 
 
 By York's proud faction borne. 
 
 There, seated by a ruind tow'r, 
 
 An ancient dame I view'd, 
 Who with a pensive, tranquil sigh 
 
 Survey *d the fragments rude f. 
 
 1 And why, untouched by wasting time, 
 
 ' Did that fair pile give way? 
 ' And who are you that lonely mourn 
 
 ' The stately towr's decay? 
 
 * See note No. 2. t See note No. 3. 
 
133 
 
 ' And why does still that cherish'd rose 
 
 ' 'Midst desolation bloom ? 
 1 And in this lonely waste forlorn, 
 
 c Diffuse its soft perfume?' 
 
 "Oh, long must I unpitied mourn, 
 " Where mouldering tow'rs decay ; 
 
 " Fierce were the flames that scorch'd their walls, 
 " And fatal was the day. 
 
 " And long must tears in silence shed, 
 
 " Bedew that rose so fair; 
 " Twas planted in the dawn of hope, 
 
 " For royal brows to wear. 
 
 " My master was a Chief renown'd 
 
 " In manhood's active prime; 
 " My lady was for ev'ry worth 
 
 " Unequall'd in her time. 
 
 " Her father was a wily lord, 
 
 " Well skhTd in dangerous art, 
 " (But truth, and love, and goodness fiU'd 
 " His daughter's gentle heart.) 
 
 u With crafty lore he led our Chief 
 
 " A hopeless cause to join ; 
 " To seat on Britain's throne a Prince 
 
 " Of Stuart's hapless line. 
 
134 
 
 " See where the vollying bolt of heaven 
 
 " Yon blasted oak has torn; 
 " Shall weeping dews, or genial springs, 
 
 " Those boughs with leaves adorn ? 
 
 " Or have you seen the lofty flow'r, 
 
 " That turns to meet the sun ; 
 " And did it spread its yellow leaves 
 
 " When his bright course was run ? 
 
 " They strove to plant the wither'd oak, 
 
 " And water'd it with gore : 
 " They spread the tender leaves of hope 
 
 " When fortune smil'd no more. 
 
 " How short, how gay, how bright the smile, 
 " That cheer'd their morning ray ! 
 
 " How dark, how cold, how loud the storm, 
 " That raging clos'd their day. 
 
 " On Gladsmuir's heath a comet's blaze 
 
 " Deceiv'd their dazzled sight ; 
 " On bieak Culloderis bloody moor, 
 
 " It sunk in endless night. 
 
 " Why should I tell what noble blood 
 
 " The sable scaffold stain'd ? 
 " Why should I tell what generous hearts 
 
 " Ignoble fate disdain'd ? 
 
135 
 
 " I see thy dim and dewy eyes, 
 
 " And spare thy aching heart ; 
 " For in my various tale of woe 
 
 " Thy kindred bore a part. 
 
 " When to the forest's deep retreats 
 " My outlaw 'd master fled; 
 
 " While vengeance took a deadly aim 
 " At his devoted head : 
 
 " The ruthless Duke's fell mandate came, 
 
 " And ruin spread around : 
 " Our Chieftain's halls were wrapt in flames, 
 
 " With flames the turrets crown'd. 
 
 " High on yon rock, that to the North 
 
 " Erects its aged head, 
 " Hard by the screaming goshawk's nest 
 
 " He made his pendent bed. 
 
 " 'Twas from yon trembling aspin's boughs 
 
 " That wave so high in air, 
 " He saw the wasting flames ascend, 
 
 "In silent stern despair. 
 
 " But fury shook his manly frame, 
 " And sorrow wrung his heart, 
 
 " When from the crashing roof he saw 
 " The burning rafters part. 
 
136 
 
 " On yon bleak hill that fronts the North, 
 
 *' My lady sat forlorn ; 
 " In fear she left her home, to shun 
 
 " The lawless soldier's scorn. 
 
 " With meek and silent awe she sat, 
 
 " And piously resigned ; 
 " Fierce blaz'd her castle through the gloom, 
 
 " Loud blew the eastern wind. 
 
 " Oh lady, shun the chilling blasts 
 " That pierce thy tender form: 
 
 " Oh shun this dreary sight of woe, 
 " And shun the midnight storm. *." 
 
 " The lady wip'd her streaming eyes, 
 " And rais'd her drooping head;" 
 
 " Ah! where can I a shelter find?" 
 " In broken words she said f 
 
 " The owl that 'plains from yonder wood 
 
 " May slumber in her nest; 
 " The fox that howls from yonder hill, 
 
 " Within his cave may rest; 
 
 * The lady sat most part of the night on an opposite hill 
 viewing the conflagration. 
 
137 
 
 " But I, alas ! without a home, 
 " Must brave the chilling air : 
 
 11 My friends are fall'n beneath the sword 
 " That never knew to spare. 
 
 " The fire devour'd ray father's halls, 
 " Stern vengeance drank his blood ; 
 
 v And loudly on my consort calls 
 " To swell the purple flood. 
 
 " And can I seek a sheltering roof, 
 
 " Or social comfort taste, 
 " While he a lonely alien shrinks, 
 
 " Hid in the dreary waste?" 
 
 " Blow higher winds, blaze fiercer flames, 
 
 " Rise o'er thy limits Spey ; 
 " No stronger pang my heart can feel 
 
 " At nature's last decay/' 
 
 " Successive summer suns beheld 
 " My lady's withering prime ; 
 
 u But on her lord no sun e'er shone 
 " In his cold native clime. 
 
 u In gloomy caves he past the day, 
 
 " And by the taper's light 
 " Consum'd the lonely studious hours, 
 
 " And hop'd the coming night: 
 
138 
 
 " Then, when the world in slumber lay, 
 " Through midnight darkness stole, 
 
 " And in my lady's faithful breast 
 " Repos'd his sorrowing soul : 
 
 " Or, fondly gazing while he slept, 
 
 " Hung o'er his infant son ; 
 " And lingering, blest th' unconscious babe 
 
 " Till glimmering dawn begun : 
 
 " Or., when the live-long winter night 
 " Had lull'd the spies of pow'r, 
 
 " 'Midst faithful friends a gleam of joy 
 " Shone on the social hour. 
 
 t( With eager search the watchful bands 
 
 " His secret haunts explor'd ; 
 " And many a faithful vassal knew 
 
 " The caves that hid their lord*. 
 
 " At last, with sad reluctant sighs, 
 
 u He left the British strand : 
 " And sore my lady wept to leave 
 
 " Her darling son on land. 
 
 * See note No. 4, 
 
139 
 
 f Upon the sea-beat coast of France 
 " We dwelt in mournful guise ; 
 
 " And saw afar, like hovering clouds, 
 " Our native land arise. 
 
 ¥ Not long upon that alien shore 
 " My banish'd master pin'd; 
 
 *' With silent grief we saw his corpse 
 " To common earth consign'd. 
 
 (i No pibroch led the loud lament, 
 " No funeral train appear'd ; 
 
 f No bards, with songs of mighty deeds 
 " The hopeless mourners cheer'd *. 
 
 <c When midnight wore her sable robe, 
 " W T e dug his humble grave ; 
 
 " Where fair Narcissus droops its head, 
 And darkest poppies wave. 
 
 " We strew'd the tomb with rosemary, 
 " We water'd it with tears; 
 
 " And bade the Scottish thistle round 
 " Erect his warlike spears. 
 
 * See note No. 5. 
 
140 
 
 44 And soon we left the fatal spot, 
 " And sought our native shore; 
 
 M And soon my lady blest her son, 
 u And clasp'd her o'er and o'er." 
 
 " On thee, my son, (she fondly cried) 
 
 " May happier planets shine; 
 " And may'st thou never live to brook 
 
 - ' A fate so hard as mine : 
 
 " And may'st thou heir thy father's worth, 
 
 " But not his hapless doom ; 
 " To honour and thy country true, 
 
 " May'st thou his rights resume. 
 
 " And when my weary eyes shall close, 
 u By death's long slumber blest, 
 
 " Beside my dear-lov'd, long-lost home, 
 " For ever let me rest." 
 
 " She spoke, and died — in yonder grave 
 
 " Her dear remains are laid : 
 " Let never impious murmur rise 
 
 " To grieve her hovering shade I" 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 FOUNDED ON FACT* 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 The amiable and unfortunate lady, the subj ect of this poem, 
 was the daughter of a nobleman who suffered death in conse- 
 quence of having secretly abetted the rebellion of 1745. 
 Her consequent afflictions are here recited with no exaggera- 
 tion, no alteration of fact, and very little poetical decoration; 
 the narrative is given just as the Author received it, at such a 
 place, at such a time, in such a manner, and from such a per- 
 son, as is here faithfully delineated. 
 
 No. 2. 
 Retired at close of day, P. 132. 
 
 Workmen being now employed in demolishing the ruin, in 
 order to erect a new fabric in the same place, suggested the 
 idea of endeavouring to " Snatch a portion of those acts from 
 fete." 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Survey* d the fragments rude. P. 132. 
 
 The faithful adherent who delivered this narration, and 
 spent fifty years and upwards in the service of this family, 
 (by the younger branches of which she was regarded with 
 
142 
 
 filial veneration) died about four years since, and was buried 
 beside her lady, at the foot ot the eminence on which the 
 ruin stood. 
 
 No. 4. 
 The caves that hid their lord. P. 138. 
 
 It is a singular fact, but well ascertained, that this Chief, 
 before escaping to France, remained nine years in his native 
 strath, concealed in different places, though all that time a 
 company of soldiers were quartered in the country to discover 
 his haunts, and were so diligent in the search of him, that they 
 have been known at midnight to surround a house where he 
 was enjoying himself with his friends ; and to enter at a door 
 while he escaped from a window. His haunts were known 
 to near a hundred people j though he never left them in day- 
 light. Many of his adherents had caves dug for him in woods 
 adjacent to their houses. His consort lived in a small house 
 adjoining the ruined castle, where there was a concealment 
 in the wall, to which he retreated upon any alarm during the 
 stolen visits he paid to his family. Several of the caves dug 
 for his concealment still remain. He was a man of good na- 
 tural parts, and during this recess from the world, he made 
 considerable literary attainments. 
 
 No. 5. 
 
 u The hopeless mourners cheer'd. P. 139. 
 
 He died near Boulogne, as far as the Author recollects, and 
 was buried on account of his close adherence to the Protes- 
 tant faith, in his own garden: this was a great additional 
 grief to his friends. Highlanders holding the rights of sepul- 
 ture in high veneration, which indeed is always the case! 
 where people are eminent for filial piety : luxury looks neither 
 backward nor forward, but merely dwells on the present, and 
 centres in self. 
 
it 
 
 143 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Awful and stern the rugged entrance low'rs 
 
 That leads to Caledonia's last retreats, 
 Where oft in days of yore, contending powers 
 
 On the dark threshold shone in dreadful feats: 
 Where deep and dark the Garrie foams below, 
 
 Erewhile with hostile gore her sanguine course 
 Distain'd, hoarse thund'ring bore the tale of woe 
 
 To lands far distant from her gloomy source : 
 Here oft contending chiefs, in ireful mood, 
 
 Bade civil discord rage, like pent up tire : 
 Here gallant clans, profuse of generous blood, 
 
 Indignant, slow, from Nassau's troops retire: 
 Here, oft at eve, their shadowy forms are seen 
 Like mist slow gliding o'er the mountains green. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 All hail ! ye frowning terrors of my way, 
 
 Rude Grampian mountains ! crown'd with lasting 
 snow, 
 No flow'ry vales, or plains with verdure gay, 
 
 Could bid my soul with purer joy o'er flow. 
 Barriers of holy freedom ! your stern brow 
 
 With guardian frown o'erlooks her last retreat, 
 When tyrant rapine roam'd the plains below, 
 
 Among your winding glens she found a seat 
 
144 
 
 Beyond those dark defiles, thy narrow vale, 
 
 Green Laggan ! soon shall cheer my weary sight *. 
 
 Young voices sounding on the mountain gale, 
 Shall fill this anxious bosom with delight, 
 
 While ruddy innocence with raptur'd smile 
 
 Shall cling to this fond heart, by absence torn ere- 
 while ! 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Dear, peaceful cottage ! o'er whose humble thatch 
 
 The dewy moss has velvet verdure spread ; 
 Once more, with tremlous hands thy ready latch 
 
 I lift, and to thy lintel bow my head. 
 Dear are thy inmates ! beauty's roseate smile f, 
 
 And eye soft melting hail my wislfd return, — 
 Loud clamours infant joy : around meanwhile 
 
 Maturer breasts with silent rapture burn. 
 Within these narrow bounds I reign secure, 
 
 And duteous love and prompt obedience find : 
 Nor sigh to view my destiny obscure, 
 
 (Where all is lowly, but each owner's mind 
 Content), if pilgrims passing by our cell, 
 Say, " with her sister Peace there Virtue loves to 
 dwell r 
 
 * The name of the parish in which the Author lived, one of 
 the wildest and most remote districts in Scotland. 
 
 t Alluding to a young lady of uncommon beauty and ele- 
 gance of person and mind, who then resided in the family. 
 
 I 
 
FAMILIAR EPISTLE 
 
 TO 
 
 A FRIEND. 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1795. 
 
 The hours that we have spent, 
 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 
 For parting us* 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Dear Beatrice, with pleasure I read your kind 
 
 letter ; 
 On the subject, methinks, there could scarce be a 
 
 better : 
 How vivid the scenes it recall'd to my view, 
 And how lively it waken'd remembrance anew ! 
 Yet our souls are so crusted with housewifely moss, 
 That Fancy's bright ftirnace yields nothing but dross: 
 
146 
 
 Surrounded with balling, and squalling, and prattle, 
 With handmaids unhandy, and gossipping tattle, 
 Cut ringers to bandage, and stockings to darn, 
 And labyrinths endless of ill-manag'd yarn, 
 Through whose windings Daedalean bewilder' d we 
 
 wander, 
 Like draggle-tail'd nymphs of the mazy Meander, 
 Till at length, like the Hero of Macedon, tir'd 
 Of the slow perseverance untwisting required, 
 We brandish our scissars, resolved on the spot, 
 Since we cannot unravel, to cut through the knot. 
 
 Blest vicars of England! how happy your wives ! 
 Though devoted to pudding and plain work their lives, 
 Though quotations and homilies forced to endure, 
 While fumes of tobacco their graces obscure ; 
 Though their quiet be disturbed with the nursery's 
 
 noise, 
 Though their girls should be hoydens, or dunces their 
 
 boys, 
 With the tangling of yarn they are never perplex'd, 
 More difficult to clear than his Reverence's text. 
 While with labour incessant our toils we renew, 
 To furnish fine linen, and purple and blue, 
 Such a series of self-same minute occupation 
 Yields nothing, you'll own, to enliven narration; 
 And as for the friend of all poets, Invention, 
 'Tis a thing, of late years, I scarce think of or men- 
 tion: 
 
14? 
 
 Or of useful inventions alone make my boast, 
 Such as saving potatoes and turnips from frost; 
 Or repulsing whole armies of mice from my cheese ; 
 Or plucking the quills without paining the geese. 
 
 What a change on the scene and the actors appears? 
 'Tis now but a dozen and odd of short years, 
 Since when we, and the season, and fancy were young, 
 On Tarfes * flowery banks our gay whimsies we sung, 
 Regardless of profit, and hopeless of fame, 
 Yet heedless of censure, and fearless of blame, 
 We travers'd the vale, or we haunted the grove, 
 As free as the birds that were chanting above ; 
 Where the fair face of Nature was bright with a smile, 
 Enraptured in silence we gaz'd for a while; 
 Then as clear and as artless resounded our lays, 
 iVs the sky or the stream we endeavour'd to praise ; 
 While strains of delight the pure pleasures impart 
 That thriird through each bosom, and glow'd in each 
 4 heart ; 
 
 But when from the east, with dun vapours o'ercast, 
 Came horrors bestriding the bleak howling blast; 
 When rude echoing rocks with brown cataracts foain'd, 
 And bewildered in mist the sad traveller roani'd ; 
 
 * Tarfe is a beautiful little river which descends from the 
 Corryaric; and, after winding among rocky caverns, through 
 a narrow wooded glen of the same name, discharges itself into 
 Lochness at Fort-Augustus, 
 
148 
 
 When to part us, loud storms and deep gullies con- 
 
 spir'd, 
 And sublime meditation to garrats retir'd; 
 To the workings of fancy to give a relief, 
 We sat ourselves down to imagine some grief, 
 Till we conjur'd up phantoms so solemn and sad> 
 As, if they had lasted, would make us half mad; 
 Then in strains so affecting we pour'd the soft ditty* 
 As mov'd both the rocks and their echoes to pity : 
 And to prove it, each note of the soul-moving strain 
 In more sonorous sounds was returned back again ; 
 And we, silly souls, were so proud of our parts, 
 When we thought that our pathos had reach'd their 
 
 hard hearts ! 
 But when grave looking Hymen had kindl'd his torch, 
 With a pure lambent flame that would glow but not 
 
 scorch, 
 The Muses, who plain humble virtues revere, 
 Were affrighted to look on his brow so austere; 
 The cottage so humble, or sanctified dome, 
 For the revels of fancy afforded no room ; 
 And the lyre and the garland, were forc'd to give place 
 To duties domestic, and records of grace: 
 Then farewell lllysus, adieu Hippocrene, 
 The vales of Arcadia and Tempe so green ; 
 To the hills of Judea we now must draw near, 
 King Lemuel's good mother's wise maxims to hear. 
 
149 
 
 And strive to leave none of the duties undone 
 Which the matron prescribe for the spouse of her son; 
 For my own part, I labour'd and strove with my might 
 To do all that the proverbs applauded as right : 
 Fine coverings I made that with tapestry vied, 
 And with heather and madder my fleeces I dy'd, 
 While the sun shone I still made the most of his light, 
 And my candle most faithfully burnt through the 
 
 night ; 
 And while that and large fires through the winter did 
 
 glow, 
 Not a farthing my household would care for the snow : 
 Their plaids, hose, and garters, with scarlet adorn d, 
 Chill December they braved, and its rigours they 
 
 scorn'd ; 
 Yet these were not all my pretensions to claim 
 Of a matron industrious and virtuous the name ; 
 My mate (can you doubt it?) was known in the gates, 
 Among seniors, and elders, and men of estates: 
 I made him a coat of a grave solemn hue, 
 Two threads they were black, and the other two blue; 
 So warm, and so clerical, comely and cheap, 
 'Twas a proof both of thrift and contrivance so deep; 
 His cravats of muslin were spun by my hands, 
 I knit all his stockings and stitch'd all his bands; 
 Till the neighbours all swore by St. Bridget herself, 
 Such a wife was worth titles, and beauty, and pelf. 
 
150 
 
 Quite dead and extinct all poetical fire, 
 
 At the foot of the cradle conceal'd lay my lyre ; 
 
 What witchcraft had alter'd its form I ne'er knew, 
 
 But by some means or other a whistle it grew ; 
 
 The brats in succession all jingled its bells, 
 
 While its music to them the piano excels : 
 
 But when slowly and surely the cold hand of time 
 
 Had stole my complexion, and wither'd my prime, 
 
 Resolv'd for a while to respire at my ease, 
 
 In Clydesdale I courted the soft western breeze ; 
 
 Whose fresh breathing whispers my languor could 
 
 soothe, 
 With visions of fancy, and dreams of my youth. 
 While slowly retracing my dear native Clyde, 
 And reviewing my visage, so chang'd, in its tide, 
 As sad and reluctant I strove to retire, 
 To my grasp was presented my trusty old lyre, — 
 I snatch'd it, I strumm'd it, and thruinm'd it again, 
 But strove to awaken its music in vain ; 
 So rusty the wire, so enfeebled my hand, 
 A while in suspence and dumb wonder I stand: 
 Thus it happened they say, to Ulysses of old, 
 When twenty long years of sad absence had roll'd, 
 To his Ithaca forced in disguise to resort, 
 When the suitors with uproar were filling his court ; 
 He set his foot forward, and bending his brow, 
 With a dignified air he demanded his bow ; 
 
151 
 
 With joy-mingled sorrow review'd his old friend, 
 And three times essay'd the tough crescent to bend, 
 Till the string to his efforts resounded so sharp, 
 Some thought it a swallow and some an old harp. — 
 Thus awkward and faint were my efforts at first, 
 But I rais'd the note higher whenever I durst: 
 To Friendship and Truth I exalted the lay, 
 And homewards with music begiuTd the long way ; 
 And now since beyond any doubt it appears, 
 From duties discharg'd through a series of years, 
 That nor peace nor industry are banish'd the cell 
 Where in ease and retirement the Muse loves to 
 
 dwell ; 
 Once more let us try to awaken the strain, 
 So friendly to sorrow, so sothing to pain! 
 The blessings weVe tasted let's carefully rate, 
 And be just to kind Nature, aud grateful to Fate ; 
 Thus wisely employing the last closing strain, 
 We shall not have liv'd or have warbled in vain. 
 Were the foot-path of life to be travell'd anew, 
 When we calmly look back with a serious review, 
 For noisy applause or for tinsel parade, 
 Would we part with sweet Peace that delights in the 
 
 shade? 
 Or blame the kind harbour, remote and obscure, 
 Where our minds were kept tranquil, our hearts were 
 
 kept pure? 
 
152 
 
 While with streamers all flying, and wide-swelling 
 
 sails, 
 Toss'd high on the billows, the sport of the gales, 
 The Muse's fair daughters triumphant were borne 
 Till the public applause was converted to scorn ; 
 For by vanity guided, so wildly they steer'd, 
 Or by caprice directed, so frequently veer'd ; 
 Creation's proud Masters observ'd with a sneer, 
 That like comets eccentric forsaking their sphere, 
 Their brightness so gaz'd at, would never produce, 
 
 Or pleasure, or profit, or comfort, or use. 
 ****** an( j ****** t j lus s h one f or a (J a y ? 
 
 How prais'd was each period ! how flatter'd each lay ! 
 
 Till a crop so luxuriant arising of pride, 
 
 Affectation, and fifty new follies beside, 
 
 The duties and joys of the mother and wife, 
 
 The nameless soft comforts of calm private life, 
 
 Fell victims together at Vanity's shrine, 
 
 For who could endure to exist and not shine ! 
 
 Macaulay, of Stuarts had tore up the graves, 
 To prove half of them fools, and the other half knaves, 
 And sully'd the mitre and spatter'd the gown, 
 And flatter'd the mob and insulted the Crown ; 
 Then insensibly shrunk to a faction's blind tool, 
 And discover'd too late they had made her their fool. 
 
 With virtues, and graces, and beauties beside, 
 The delight of her friends, of her country the pride, 
 
153 
 
 Say, who could to ******* their suffrage refuse, 
 
 Or who not be charm'd with her chaste classic Muse ? 
 
 To the passion for liberty giving loose rein, 
 
 At length she flew off to carouse on the Seine; 
 
 And growing inebriate while quaffing the draught, 
 
 Equality's new-fangled doctrines she taught ; 
 
 And murder and sacrilege calmly survey'd; 
 
 In the new Pandemonium those demons had made ; 
 
 Seine's blood-crirnson'd waters with apathy ey'd, 
 
 While the glories of old father Thames she decried. 
 
 Now with equals in misery hid in some hole, 
 
 Her body a prison confining her soul, 
 
 From the freedom of Gallia how fain would she fly, 
 
 To the freedom which genius shall taste in the sky ! 
 
 No longer pursue those fond lovers of fame, 
 
 Nor envy the honours and trophies they claim ; 
 
 No further excursive to speculate roam, 
 
 But fix our attention and pleasure at home : 
 
 Why regret, when celebrity proves such a curse, 
 
 The cares of the mother and toils of the nurse : 
 
 While the nurse finds delight in sweet infancy's 
 
 smiles, 
 And hope the fond mother's long trouble beguiles. 
 (i But why these quick feelings, or why this nice 
 
 ear, 
 " Or musical accents, if no one must hear? 
 " Why blossoms of fancy all scatter'd to waste, 
 ** The glow sympathetic, or pleasures of taste ? — " 
 H 2 
 
154 
 
 Ask why in the mountains the flow Vet should blow, 
 
 Which none but the hermit is destin'd to know ? 
 
 Why the wild woods re-echo with melody clear, 
 
 Which none but the hunter is destin'd to hear? 
 
 When often enjoyed and but seldom they're shewn, 
 
 Our riches and pleasures are truly our own: 
 
 The milk-maid that carols her wild native airs 
 
 To solace her labours, and lighten her cares, 
 
 Feels ar pleasure more genuine and free from alloy, 
 
 Than Catley or Mara could ever enjoy : 
 
 Who, while their divisions they warbled aloud, 
 
 Depended for joy on the praise of the crowd; 
 
 Then blest be the lyre, ever sacred its strain, 
 
 In the regions of bliss let it waken again : 
 
 When the kind hand of Nature has fitted its strings, 
 
 And the dictates of truth and of virtue it sings, 
 
 As softly and sweetly it touches the mind, 
 
 As iEoLUs' harp when Vis mov'd by the wind; 
 
 Untainted by art were the notes it has sung, 
 
 It has cheer'd our decline, and has charm'd us when 
 
 young; 
 And when useful employments demanded our prime, 
 Our leisure it soothed without wasting our time : 
 And when all our sorrows and toils shall be o'er, 
 Its music perhaps may delight us once more ; 
 When swelling to concords more rich and sublime, 
 It may rise beyond earth, and may live beyond time. 
 
155 
 
 The blossoms I once so admir'd and caress'd, 
 
 That cheer 'd my fond heart till they dy'd on my 
 
 breast, 
 Which my tears that fell frequent, like soft silent rain, 
 Could not waken to life and new fragrance again : 
 There, again, in new sweetness and beauty shall 
 
 bloom, 
 And the evergreen plain with fresh odours perfume ; 
 Perhaps while exalted their graces shall rise, 
 Again their dear verdure shall gladden my eyes ! 
 When the season of fear and of sorrow is o'er, 
 And our tears and our songs are remember'd no 
 
 more ! 
 
AN 
 
 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Here youth's free spirit, innocently gay, 
 Enjoy' d the most that innocence can give; 
 Those wholesome sweets that border Virtue's way, 
 Those cooling fruits, that we may taste and live ! 
 
 SHENSTONE. 
 
 The Family whose modest but genuine worth is here cele- 
 brated, were remarkable for firmness of principle, simplicity 
 of manners, and very great delicacy, both of sentiment and 
 feeling. The tender harmony in which they lived, and high 
 veneration for their parents, were also among their distin- 
 guishing features. 
 
 Though long by fate's austere decree remov'd 
 
 From scenes still pleasing, and from friends still lov'd, 
 
 I see low sheltered in my humble shed 
 
 The stormy gloom invest the mountain's head, 
 
 Shake solid rocks, with snows eternal crown'd, 
 
 Or bid a hundred torrents dash around ; 
 
157 
 
 Inur'd by habit, and a length of time, 
 
 To look well pleas' d on Nature's dread sublime; 
 
 Though smiling comfort warms her in my cot, 
 
 Still pilgrim fancy seeks my native spot ; 
 
 The fond attachments of my early youth, 
 
 Blest season of ingenuous warmth and truth ; 
 
 Affections void of interest or of art, 
 
 Still twist their silken ties around my heart ; 
 
 Nor shall that heart forego those tender ties 
 
 Till death's long slumber close my weary eyes. 
 
 Still fancy hovering on unwearied wing, 
 On Cart's green banks sees native flow'rets spring ; 
 Or from the hazel copse the blackbird hears, 
 Whose mellow notes his brooding consort cheers ; 
 Or hears the hollow'd rock resound the din, 
 Where Cart descends on Willy Wilkie's linn *; 
 Or stops where Willy Wilkie f wont to rave, 
 When in his lowly dwelling in the cave, 
 Imperious death, deaf to his pray'rs and vows,* 
 Laid his cold hands on Willy Wilkie's spouse; 
 While Willy, wild with frantic sorrow, swore, 
 Ne'er to review his habitation more ; 
 But through the world with pilgrim steps to rove, 
 And like a turtle mourn his parted love ! 
 
 * A linn in Scotland means a water-fall, 
 t See note No. 1. 
 
158 
 
 While Tom and I with gaping sorrow stood, 
 And with compassion's tears increas'd the flood ! 
 Yet ere the moon had three times fill'd her horn, 
 The sun shone bright on Willy's bridal morn! 
 
 Dear recollection ! trace those early days, 
 Ere known the toils of life's perplexing maze, 
 When friendship led to Bogtowns tranquil grove, 
 Where every milder virtue wont to rove; 
 Where Innocence and Joy together play'd, 
 Like sister cherubs in the peaceful shade : 
 There meek simplicity, with artless mien, 
 Loose-robed in snowy vestments waik'd the green ; 
 There sportive humour, Nature's harmless child, 
 With stingless mirth the languid hours beguil'd ; 
 And soft humanity, and worth sincere, 
 With glowing heart and melting eyes were there ; 
 Thou too wert there, my kind, my guardian friend, 
 In whose pure mind those kindred graces blend, 
 Though early sorrow, like an envious shade, 
 Obscur'd thy spirit, and thy bloom decay'd * : 
 Yet stern affliction, with more soften'd grace, 
 And stronger meaning mark'd thy pensive face, 
 And taught each speaking feature how to move 
 The secret springs of pity and of love. 
 Thus wet with Morning's tears the dewy rose, 
 With head declin'd, in modest beauty glows: 
 
 * Alluding to the death of her much loved brother. 
 
■ 159 
 
 Admiring thus we view some flow'ret bloom, 
 
 That sheds its fragrance o'er the silent tomb : 
 
 Pleas'd I retrac'd lov'd Bogtown's opening glades, 
 
 Oh ! that my Muse could consecrate these shades ! 
 
 Blest be their memory, who in happier days 
 
 " Oft made them vocal with their Maker's praise;" 
 
 From the strong heavings of his ardent breast, 
 
 By zeal and tender sorrow half suppress'd, 
 
 Oft have I heard thy pious father's prayer 
 
 The meltings of his fervent soul declare ; 
 
 Oft seen his eyes with grateful transports shine, 
 
 Fir'd by the blest records of love divine, 
 
 When the mild lustre of their azure beams 
 
 Was quench'd by sacred Pity's silent streams, 
 
 Benignant Sanctity appear'd to view 
 
 In fairer form than Raphael ever drew. 
 
 His was the placid brow, the vivid smile 
 
 That spoke the open heart, devoid of guile : 
 
 The worthy partner * of his blameless life, 
 
 In tender union, void of anxious strife, 
 
 Saw years elapse amidst a duteous race, 
 
 Who strove their parent's spotless paths to trace, 
 
 And still those years, that stole away their youth, 
 
 Increas'd their store of tenderness and truth. — 
 
 * See note No. 2. 
 
160 
 
 May blessings crown, and memory mark the day 
 
 That saw them now retrace their pleasing way *, 
 
 Where tottering tow'rs o'erlook the cultur'd plain, 
 
 To Bogtown's venerable haunts again ! 
 
 Well-pleas'd my Charlotte told the welcome tale, 
 
 Well-pleas'd I heard it in my distant vale — 
 
 Methought I saw the Genius of the place, 
 
 Array'd in rustic robes with decent grace, 
 
 Smiling through tears, his aged arms extend 
 
 To bless and welcome every well-known Friend ; 
 
 The pleasing scene while glowing fancy drew, 
 
 Reviving images rush'd thick to view — 
 
 The mouldering castle lifts its ivy'd brow,. 
 
 Reflected in the wandering Cart below ; 
 
 Near its gray walls, again, methinks I see, 
 
 Ciipp'd into formal shape, that ancient tree 
 
 Whence royal Mary, with affrighted eye, 
 
 Beheld her banners drop, her forces fly, 
 
 And headlong fled to hide her fatal charms 
 
 In a false, treacherous rival's cruel arms ! 
 
 Fair Forms, in virtue's paths that early -trode, 
 
 Who sleep long since beneath the grassy sod, 
 
 The strong creative power restores to view 
 
 In youth's first prime, with beauty ever new,— 
 
 * Particular circumstances had induced the family to quit 
 their patrimonial seat, and to live in town for some years, to 
 the great regret of their friends in the country. 
 
161 
 
 And Agnes, whose large heart has never known 
 
 One wish that center'd in herself alone : — 
 
 Maxwell, with open mind, from art as free 
 
 As the sweet smiles of guiltless infancy — 
 
 And Mary Maxwell, who amid these bowers 
 
 Oft tended with delight her opening flowers ; 
 
 And oft with me in tuneless concert sung 
 
 Till through the shades discordant echoes rung. 
 
 Nor yet are John Macutcheon's psalms forgot, 
 
 That filled with sacred melody his cot ; 
 
 And faithful memory still retains the names 
 
 Of Anderson the laird, and uncle James; 
 
 And often pleas'd recals the uncouth phrase 
 
 Of Jamie Dick * and valiant Johnny Straes*, 
 
 Or at her wheel hears Jenny sing aloud, 
 
 Resolv'd to wed whene'er she spun her shroud \. 
 
 * See note No. 3. t See note No. 4. 
 
ON AN 
 
 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 No. l. 
 
 Or stops where Willy Wilkie wont to rave. P. 158. 
 
 Willy Wilkie, though the Child of Nature, is not the 
 child of Fancy ; for aught the Author knows to the contrary, 
 he still lives, and loves his second wife with the same tender- 
 ness he shewed towards his first, whose death, which happened 
 in consequence of a disorder he called the ext erics, affected 
 him, and Tom, and the Author precisely as described in the 
 poem, which takes no poetical liberties with Willy's cha- 
 racter. As all readers under twenty must be greatly inte- 
 rested in the scene of a passion, so tender and so lasting, be 
 it known, that though Willy and his wife dwelt in a cave, it 
 was not one contrived for the purpose of a romantic retreat ; 
 it neither resembled the grot of Cal\pso, nor the hermitage 
 at Taymouth, but was exceedingly like a recess in the front of 
 a woody bank, intended for a fulling-mill, and had been so em- 
 ployed formerly, to the great scandal and annoyance of all the 
 water-nymphs and wood-nymphs in the vicinity* 
 
 No. 2. 
 The worthy partner of his blameless life. P. 160. 
 
 This lady was the representative of an ancient and respect- 
 able family, who were eminent for that species of sanctity 
 
16.3 
 
 consecrated by the prejudices of the times, and suffered much 
 for adhering to the Covenanters, when under persecution ; 
 their property was in consequence diminished by advantages 
 taken of their rigid principles, in vexatious lawsuits. 
 
 The pleasing remembrance of some happy summers spent in 
 early youth in this scene of tranquil satisfaction, produced 
 these poetical recollections, as they may be justly called. 
 Memory makes no selections; in those retrospections of the 
 most innocent and pleasurable period of life, incidents and 
 characters, serious, pathetic, and ludicrous, rush mingled on 
 the mind. In a composition meant for the public eye, incon- 
 gruous images should certainly not be mixed together ; it is 
 needless to say that this effusion was never meant to be seen 
 by any but those to whom it was addressed, and to whom all 
 was obvious that must be obscure to a common reader. This 
 fault might be corrected by expunging all the lower dramatis 
 fersonce and their concerns. But then there are some uncom- 
 mon readers, whose love of Nature and native feeling so far 
 predominate over critical refinement, that they will rather see 
 the domestic muse in undress, surrounded by her dear locali- 
 ties, and with all her imperfections on her head, than with 
 that degree of superadded polish, which would at best make 
 her appear like a rustic in holiday attire: let this apology 
 stand for all past and future localities and rusticities ; so shall 
 the untaught Muse " Fit audience find, though few." 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Of Jamie Dick, and valiant Johnny Straes. P. 162. 
 
 Jamie Dick was a most learned and pious tailor, who for 
 forty years perambulated the parish of Cathcart ; he was a 
 choice repository of ancient traditions, and could tell every 
 shot the dragoons fired at the Covenanters ; he spoke pure 
 broad Scotch, and was master of all its peculiar phrases. 
 
164 
 
 Johnny Straes was a servant of the family, very diminu- 
 tive in stature, but boastful and arrogant. The servant-maid* 
 called him valiant in ridicule. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 ResoWd to wed whene'er she spun her shroud. P. 162. 
 
 It was the laudable and provident custom of the maidens of 
 the parish of Cathcart, to spin a piece of linen for their shroud 
 before they thought of marrying ; and it was thought very in- 
 decent for any young woman to enter into that serious state 
 without such a solemn preparation. The Author and another 
 Miss in her teens, were much astonished at the above-men- 
 tioned Jenny's cheerfulness when they heard her singing at 
 the doleful business, as they thought it, especially when she 
 told them it was preparatory to another very sad event. 
 
REMARKS 
 
 ON THE CHARACTER OF 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 The Author, at the request of some friends, shall here in- 
 sert extracts from two of her letters, one to a lady who desired 
 her opinion of Burns, and wished for a poetical tribute to his 
 memory ; the other to a friend, who some years after sent the 
 Author Burns's life, letters, &c, and earnestly requested to 
 know her ideas of his character and abilities, as they appear in 
 those familiar effusions* 
 
 a I have truly felt for poor Burns a degree of regret, by 
 reflecting on the circumstances attending his exit, which may 
 appear incredible, considering that I only knew him in the 
 pictures of his mind exhibited to the public. What I felt 
 upon his death it would look like gross affectation to describe. 
 I cannot however resist the secret impulse which prompts me 
 to lay my little offering on the shrine of departed Genius. 
 Though in his prophetic and pathetic ' Epitaph on a Bard,' 
 he has touched the lines of his own character, and anticipated 
 
166 
 
 his hapless fate so emphatically, that no one can produce any 
 thing comparable to it ; 
 
 c The poor inhabitant below 
 
 e Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
 
 6 And keenly felt the social glow 
 
 i And softer flame ', 
 6 But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
 
 i And siain'd his name? 
 
 a Alas, for the verity of the prediction ! — I have invariably 
 tried to divest myself of an idolatrous veneration for Genius, 
 and to consider virtue and probity as the only fit objects of 
 unlimited love and veneration. The instances in which intel- 
 lectual superiority has been debased by vice, or degraded by 
 absurdity of conduct, are so frequent, as not only to discourage 
 and depress those whom the enthusiasm of fancy leads to wor- 
 ship and admire their Maker in < that larger portion of celes- 
 6 tial fire/ which he communicates to some of his creatures; 
 but also to afford envy and dulness no small cause of exulta- 
 tion. How do the tasteless, the selfish, and the stupid, triumph 
 over the splendid ruins of ill-fated Genius ! Though one worthy 
 and virtuous person be worth a thousand unprincipled and 
 licentious wits, yet it is hard for those who have never tasted 
 the full cup of public admiration to judge of its intoxicating 
 qualities, and doubly hard for those who make their way 
 through life, wrapt up in selfish caution, and wholly occupied 
 by the wants and cares of the little individual, to comprehend 
 the dangers that environ the children of Genius; who pass 
 through a deceitful world with open arms stretched out to 
 embrace all that solicit compassion, and offer gratification ; 
 and whose naked hearts, overflowing with kindness and good- 
 will, are unprotected from treachery and temptation. 
 
 " Indeed, the snares that vanity and pleasure spread in the 
 way of these who join exquisite sensibility and a glowing ima- 
 
167 
 
 gination with artless simplicity and a high relish for all that 
 flatters the senses, are so numerous and fatal, that the obscu- 
 rity of retirement, especially in the early period of life, is per- 
 haps their only chance for safety. We are often tempted to 
 accuse Providence for allowing merit to pine unknown to the 
 world : but we see but in part, and know but in part. Per- 
 haps the blooms of Genius are too delicate to bear the unhal- 
 lowed breath of the world, and can only bud safely in the deep 
 shelter of retirement, and expand to full perfection in the sun- 
 shine of divine complacence. As Milton says of 
 
 c Immortal amarant, afioufr which once 
 
 \ In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, 
 
 c Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence 
 
 1 To heav'n remov'd, where first it grew, there grows, 
 
 ' And flow 1 rs aloft shading the fount of life.' 
 
 " I do not mean so far to give up the cause of Genius, as to 
 say that poets are necessarily less virtuous than others : I only 
 mean that they are less prudent, less firm, more susceptible, 
 more simple." 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LETTER TO MRS. BROWN, GLASGOW. 
 
 " I do not know whether most to pity or admire Burns. 
 Why were such people made ? 
 
 " What a fatal delusion, to lean for happiness on the bosom 
 of the gay and fortunate, because they make us the compani- 
 ons of their pleasures! though ready to rejoice with us, if we 
 possess talents to heighten their festive hours, alas ! when the 
 day of affliction comes, we are left to pine neglected, or per- 
 haps have our sorrows embittered by the sneer of wanton in- 
 sult. Ask me of his Genius ! — I have not power to do justice 
 to its vigour, extent, and versatility. His poetry shews him 
 ki a walk of superior excellence, while his correspondence 
 
168 
 
 proves him equal to any thing. It is nauseous to hear people 
 say, what he would have been if he had received a more tho- 
 rough education: in that case he would not have been Burns — 
 that daring, original, and unfettered genius, whose < wood 
 < notes wild ' silence the whole chorus of modern tame cor- 
 rectness, as one of our mountain blackbirds would a parcel of 
 canaries. 
 
 " He did know his own strength, as such a superior intelli- 
 gence necessarily must; but then he also knew his own 
 
 weakness. 
 
 a This best knowledge however did not answer the purpose 
 of self-defence. O that he had but learned and habitually 
 practised self-command, and self-denial, without which the 
 highest attainments cannot lead to happiness : — but this theme 
 is endless. Yet one word more: — how different are his 
 letters to Mrs. Dunlop, where his heart truly opens, from 
 his effusions to his gay companions, — that unaffected scorn of 
 the world and its vain pursuits, — that sublime melancholly, — 
 that aspiration (though struggling through doubts and dark- 
 ness) after what the world does not afford — that sensibility, — 
 that manly sincerity, — every thing, in short, that characterises 
 genius, and exalts humanity !" 
 
MOOME. 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LETTER TO MR. THOMSON OF EDINBURGH, 
 ACCOMPANYING THE FOLLOWING POEM. 
 
 * Domestic Muse ! if such a Muse there be, or whatever 
 power presides over pathetic simplicity, over the tender, en- 
 dearing intercourse of humble life, over those virtues that 
 bloom unseen, and wither unlamented, — enable me, in appro- 
 priate terms, to convey some idea of that worth to which I 
 have endeavoured to hang up a votive tablet in the temple of 
 Memory ! 
 
 " The person who is the subject of the following verses, was 
 Highland to extravagance, and possessed all the characteristic 
 virtues of that enthusiastic race, without their debasing mix- 
 tures. She was hospitable without ostentation; — she bore 
 hardships and poverty without a malignant jealousy of the 
 wealthy; — she adored her own Clan and Chief, without dis- 
 liking or undervaluing any other, — and her family-pride merely 
 served as an outguard to her innate dignity of mind; — she 
 was all I have described, 
 
 * And still it was her dearest charm, 
 6 She said she Wed me best of a' P 
 
 She was our neighbour, had been married to an old gentleman, 
 who left her a widow, slenderly provided, with one son, now 
 doing well in the West Indies. By romantic generosity she 
 reduced her circumstances, but with amazing spirit struggled 
 I 
 
170 
 
 to support, and did support, not only a decent appearance, 
 but a liberality to the distressed that was astonishing. She 
 never \isited the sick poor without carrying something to 
 them, and was an excellent sick nurse, to which charitable 
 office she gave much of her time. She was my constant gossip, 
 loved my children with maternal affection, and was so much 
 beloved by them, that they always called her Moome, an en- 
 dearing appellation in the Gaelic language, signifying a person, 
 who, without being actually a mother, performs the duties of 
 one. In the year 1795, I had a long alarming illness, during 
 which she took care of an infant I then had, and watched me 
 for above a month, without ever sleeping except in an easy 
 chair, after sunrise. Mr. G. grateful for this affectionate ex- 
 ertion, ordered a present of a mantle for her • but Charlotte, 
 to whom the poem is addressed, having neglected to forward 
 it immediately, the good Lady did not live to see it, being 
 soon after carried off by a sudden violent illness. The morn- 
 ing after her death I poured forth, extempore I may say, this 
 tribute to her memory, which flowed indeed 
 
 1 Warm from the heart ; and faithful to its fires. 1 
 
MOO ME. 
 
 In vain my eye-lids seek repose 
 
 While midnight spreads her thickest gloom, 
 My heart, a stranger to repose, 
 
 Still bleeds o'er poor departed Moome! 
 
 No gossip in my faithful heart 
 
 Shall ever occupy her room ; 
 They live by flattery and by art, 
 
 But Truth and Nature dwelt with Moome. 
 
 Her fate awakes my former woes, 
 And bids them all their force resume. 
 
 Those griefs which once I could repose 
 Upon the faithful breast of Moome. 
 
 She clos'd my darling Peter's eyes, 
 When low I sunk, with grief o'erconie ; 
 
 And sweet Petrina's latest sighs 
 
 Were breath'd upon the knees of Moome? 
 
 Could earnest vows, and pious cares, 
 
 The fading light of life relume, 
 True tears of love, and fervent prayers, 
 
 Had lengthened out the yeajs of Moome. 
 
172 
 
 The mean abodes of Want and Pain, 
 Where none but Mercy loves to come, 
 
 Shumi'd by the haughty, rich, and vain, 
 Were still the chosen haunts of Moome. 
 
 Where sickness pin'd with languid eye, 
 And poverty increas'd the gloom, 
 
 Disease and cheerless want would fly 
 Before the kindly aid of Moome. 
 
 Her prayers, and alms, and deeds of love, 
 Arose to heaven like sweet perfume, 
 
 And balmy comfort from above 
 DistuTd upon the heart of Moome. 
 
 Whate'er she had she freely gave, 
 
 And nought in secret would consume ; 
 
 No hermit in his lonely cave 
 
 Was e'er so self-deny'd as Moome. 
 
 Though rude her phrase, and harsh her style, 
 Unus'd in learning s paths to roam, 
 
 Compassion's kind benignant smile 
 Was native eloquence to Moome. 
 
 And probity, and useful toil, 
 
 And independence found a home, 
 
 Congenial in the hallow'd soil, 
 Beneath the humble roof of Moome. 
 
173 
 
 Though elegance and arts refin'd 
 Were strangers to her lowly dome, 
 
 The ardour of a noble mind 
 
 Gave power and dignity to Moo me. 
 
 Her dignity was worth and truth, 
 
 Whose power could proudest minds o'ercome, 
 And hopeless age and helpless youth 
 
 Took shelter in the shade of Moome *. 
 
 And well in decent garb she lov'd 
 
 To visit oft the sacred dome ; 
 And thoughtless Charlotte well approv'd 
 
 The destin'd mantle wrought for Moome. 
 
 Though Charlotte; still forgetful prove, 
 
 The Muse in Fancy's airy loom 
 Has thus her simple texture wove, 
 
 To deck the cold remains of Moome. 
 
 And when the mighty Angel's voice 
 
 Shall wake the dreadful trump of doom, 
 
 Bless'd infant spirits shall rejoice 
 
 To meet the generous soul of Moome 1 
 
 6^ 
 
 * Moome had a house rather larger than she required, and 
 never failed to have either some helpless orphan, or indigent 
 and forlorn old person lodged in a detached part of it, sup. 
 ported by the charity she either gave herself or excited in 
 others. 
 
174 
 
 Kind Charity, with open hand, 
 Shall some angelic form assume, 
 
 And like her guardian Genius stand 
 To watch the long repose of MoOME, 
 
 Be mine, to bid around her grave 
 The ivy twine and roses bloom, 
 
 And from oblivion's gulf to save 
 
 The name of much-lamented Moome. 
 
 And while my humble wreath I hang 
 With reverence on her lowly tomb, 
 
 My heart still vibrates with the pang 
 That burst the liberal heart of Moome! 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 INTENDED FOR 
 
 MOOME. 
 
 SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 HELEN MACKINTOSH, 
 
 RELICT OF JAMES MACPHERSONI 
 
 WHOSE INTEGRITY WAS UNSULLIED, 
 
 WHOSE BENEFICENCE WAS UNBOUNDED, 
 
 AND 
 
 WHOSE FORTITUDE WAS UNEQUALLED, 
 
THE 
 
 NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 TO 
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, 
 Smooth sliding Mincia, crown'd with crisped reeds, 
 That strain I heard was of a higher mood, 
 but now my oat proceeds. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Fair daughter of that fleeting race 
 
 Who fade like Autumn's leafy store, 
 Welcome, my rocky haunts to trace, 
 
 And all my secret cells explore. 
 
 * Full many an oak, whose lofty head 
 
 With sacred misletoe was crown'd, 
 Since first I own'd that stony bed, 
 
 Sunk dodder'd to its native ground. 
 
 * The way to this beautiful fountain lies through a mossy 
 heath, entirely covered with large fallen trees, mostly sunk 
 into the earth by their own weight. 
 
176 
 
 And many a towering grove of pine, 
 
 Whose gloom shut out the noon-day sun, 
 
 In shatter'd ruin lies supine, 
 
 Since first my wat'ry course begun. 
 
 And many a toiling race of man 
 
 Has joy 'd in youth, and mourn'd in agfe, 
 
 Since first my pensive view began 
 To trace their weary pilgrimage. 
 
 And many a nymph with sounding bow, 
 Slow-rolling eyes, and heavy locks, 
 
 As young, as fair, as soft as thou, 
 
 Has chas'd the deer o'er yonder rocks. 
 
 And when the sun's meridian heat 
 With fervid splendour fir'd the heath, 
 
 Oft have they sought my cool retreat, 
 With glowing breast and panting breath. 
 
 Yet, never did I pour my stream 
 
 To bathe a breast more pure than thine, 
 
 Or visit eyes in whose mild beam 
 So clear the gentler virtues shine. 
 
 When with light step thy naked feet 
 Move quick my primrose banks along, 
 
 I bid my streams with murmur sweet 
 Their liquid melody prolong. 
 
177 
 
 When Echo to thy voice replies 
 From yonder arch of rugged stone, 
 
 Well pleas'd I lift my humid eyes, 
 As blue and languid as thy own : 
 
 When from yon hazle's pendent shade 
 Sweet spring awakes the blackbird's strain, 
 
 Come to my bosom, gentle maid, 
 And lave thy streaming locks again. 
 
 Pluck from my brink the flow'ry store 
 That blushing decks the infant year, 
 
 And to increase their beauty more, 
 
 Deign round thy brow the wreath to wear. 
 
 And when the summer's ardent glow 
 Shrinks every brook in yonder plain, 
 
 Come where my lucid waters How, 
 And bathe thy graceful form again. 
 
 Nor yet, when wintry tempests howl, 
 To haunt my lonely margin cease : 
 
 Through life's dark storms the virtuous soul 
 Finds Reason's steady light increase. 
 
 Hard ice, that crusts my current clear, 
 Renews more pure my sparkling stream ; 
 
 Thus may Affliction's hand severe 
 Add lustre to the mental gem. 
 I 2 
 
1 78 
 
 Where'er you rove, where'er you rest, 
 May Peace your pensive steps attend^ 
 
 And halcyon Innocence your breast 
 From each contagious blast defend I 
 
 
ANSWER 
 
 TO 
 
 A POETICAL EPISTLE 
 
 FROM AN 
 
 INTIMATE FRIEND. 
 
 I do not think my sister so to seek, 
 Or so unprincipled in virtue's book 
 And that sweet peace which goodness bosoms ever. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Yes, even amid these wilds forlorn, 
 
 Where, shivering on the naked spray, 
 The drooping songsters seem to mourn 
 The languid sun's declining ray ; 
 While Nature faints in Winter's icy arms, 
 My Delia's tender strain my pensive bosom warms. 
 
 Ah ! why does still that well-known strain 
 
 In sadly-plaintive numbers flow? 
 Must time and friendship mix in vain 
 Their lenient balm to soothe thy woe ? 
 Ye Powers, - ho piety and truth reward, 
 Why could not these your spotless votary guard I 
 
180 
 
 While round thy cradle Pity's doves 
 
 Fond hovering pour'd their tender moan, 
 And all the pure and guiltless loves 
 Exulting, hail'd thee for their own : 
 They fled, repeird by Wisdom's frown severe, 
 While Patience hush'd the babe, and wip'd its tender 
 tear. 
 
 Cease, then, dear partner of my breast, 
 Whose every joy and grief are mine ; 
 And hush each gloomy care to rest, 
 For virtue's purest rays are thine : 
 Her cheering beams should gild thy languid hours, 
 As flow'rets shine, refreshed by morning showers. 
 
 Oh ! why with selfish sorrow mourn, 
 And frequent pour the lonely tear; 
 Wliile beams of heavenly light adorn 
 The parted soul, so justly dear. 
 Enough to Nature's weakness now is given, 
 Let faith take wing, and seek her native heaven. 
 
 Nor mourn thy banish'd Edwin's fate, 
 
 Though far remov'd from hope and thee ; 
 Nor pining view with vain regret 
 Unerring Wisdom's stern decree. 
 Though filial love thy tenderest sorrows claim, 
 And every virtue brighten Edwin's name. 
 
181 
 
 While Wisdom sways thy Edwin's breast, 
 And Fancy strews his path with flowers, 
 Although by hopeless love depressed, 
 
 The pensive pleasures haunt his bowers : 
 And where the myrtle and the willow twine, 
 He rears a mossy seat, and fondly calls it thine. 
 
 When filial duty sway'd thy heart, 
 
 And bade thee Edwin's vows decline, 
 With sad reluctance see him part, 
 And every tender wish resign : 
 With weeping admiration I beheld, 
 And sadly triumph'd while my friend exceli'd, 
 
 Let Grecia boast the duteous dame 
 
 Whose breast sustain'd her captive sire ; 
 The Muses consecrate her name, 
 
 And crowds her pictur'd form admire : 
 With conscious pride, heroic maid, I see 
 The Grecian daughter far outshone by thee ! 
 
 The milky stream spontaneous flowed, 
 No warring passions were at strife, 
 Her being to her sire she ow'd, 
 
 And Nature cry'd — Preserve his life ! 
 But sure a more exalted meed is thine, 
 Whose struggling heart has bled at beauty's shrine ! 
 
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 THE DUKE OF YORK, 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 INVALID SOLDIER'S PETITION. 
 
 By a concurrence of odd circumstances, partly owing to his ignorance 
 of the English language, the poor man, who is the subject of this 
 address, missed getting his certificate for the Chelsea pension 
 when his regiment was disbanded ; but being in pretty easy cir- 
 cumstances, he married, took a farm, and put up quietly with the 
 privation. Growing into years, however, and finding his cattle 
 diminish in proportion as hi > family increased, he was advised to 
 set earnestly about obtaining the object here solicited. Two offi- 
 cers were yet living who happened to be beside him when he fell, 
 in consequence of his wound, on the heights of Abram. They 
 signed his Petition, and the Muse seconded it, just thirty years 
 after that event took place, by the following poem sent inclosed to 
 Her Royal Highness the Duchess of York. The humane reader 
 will be pleased to hear, that the application proved successful. 
 
 From the recesses of this wild domain, 
 Where artless truth and simple manners reign, 
 The blushing Muse conveys the humble plea 
 Of modest merit, Royal York, to thee; 
 
183 
 
 Nor seeks by flattery base, or sordid art, 
 
 To soothe thy princely ear, or reach thy heart. 
 
 Though oft that Muse with kindling transport 
 
 view'd 
 Thy laurels sprouting in the field of blood, 
 And joy'd to see, when glory's day begun, 
 The youthful eagle soar so near the sun. 
 By the slow Scheldt, or deep majestic Rhine, 
 The martial spirit of the Brunswick line, 
 In ages past, as in the present days, 
 Has left rich trophies of undying bays : 
 Yet though they oft made hostile squadrons yield, 
 The heroes never view'd a brighter field, 
 Than where our wounded veteran press'd the plain, 
 And Honour wept o'er Wolfe untimely slain! 
 When roughest warriors, all unus'd to melt, 
 Through every rank the soft contagion felt : 
 And Britain's Genius saw with cheerless eye 
 O'er Abram's heights victorious standards fly: 
 Nor deem'd the dear-won glories of the day 
 Could her young Hero's matchless loss repay. 
 While Britain decks with martial wreaths thy brow, 
 What her lamented Wolfe was once — be thou! 
 The olive with the laurel garland blend, 
 The brave man's patron, and the good man's friend I 
 Such Gran by was, whose name, to glory dear, 
 Still sweetly vibrates on the soldiers ear. 
 
184 
 
 The Prince who made contending monarchs yield, 
 And Gallia's lilies cropt on Cressy's field, 
 Though his bold arm laid countless warriors low, 
 Shed pity's balm o'er every human woe ; 
 And when he saw the hostile tumult cease, 
 Each milder virtue exercis'd in peace : 
 Hence his fair fame with clear and radiant blaze 
 " Spreads and grows brighter with the length of 
 days." 
 Think not the veteran, who with humble pray'r 
 Yields his just cause to your indulgent care, 
 Would hope to touch with sacrilegious hand 
 The valued treasure of his native land ; 
 Since his hard lot no earlier was discern'd, 
 He claims not all the meed so dearly earn'd ; 
 But now by years and indigence oppress'd, 
 With modest patience forms this small request, 
 That he his aged limbs at peace may lay, 
 And calmly waste his fast declining day ; 
 And when his soul aspires where Wolfe is fled, 
 He'll leave a soldier's blessing on your head. 
 See at your feet no common object bend, 
 A tender parent, and a generous friend : 
 To independence once he could aspire, 
 And cherish'd Want sat smiling by his fire ; 
 But anxious care and sad dejection now 
 Lurk in the furrows of his manly brow ; 
 
185 
 
 While Poverty appears with haggard mien 
 To blast the peace of life's concluding scene : 
 His humble worth, mark'd by the Muse alone, 
 That Muse who lives unseen, and sings unknown, 
 Shall to brave York's indulgent ear convey, 
 While truth and pity consecrate the lay. 
 
SENT TO 
 
 A YOUNG NOBLEMAN, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A PAIR OF GARTERS; 
 
 WROUGHT BY A HIGHLAND WOMAN IN THE 101st YEAR 
 OF HER AGE. 
 
 We the reins to slaughter give, 
 Ours to kill and ours to spare. 
 
 GRAY. 
 
 * Hear, princely youth, tli' unletter'd rustic Muse> 
 Nor the poor widow's proffer'd gift refuse ; 
 Though mean the gift, yet, form'd with matchless art, 
 That Muse its secret virtues shall impart : 
 
 When dark eclipse obscurd the lab'ring moon, 
 The fleece was shorn that form'd the wondrous boon ; 
 
 * The Sybil sent the garters in a present to the Marquis 
 of Huntly by a grandson whom she wished to recommend to 
 his protection; she requested the author to write a petition to 
 accompany the garters, which gave occasion to the above. 
 
 
187 
 
 Spun by a Sybil of the former age, 
 By Nature wise, by long experience sage ; 
 Whose eyes first open'd on the circling sun, 
 When Namur was by thuncTring Nassau won. 
 The bone that for a distaff serv'd the dame, 
 Was Cle$samo7*'s, of old Fingalian fame; 
 The sanguine stream that dyed the crimson part, 
 Once warm'd a Highland Hero's generous heart : 
 Gaunt Death and giant Danger stood aloof, 
 While grim Volkyriae form'd the dusky woof; 
 As o'er their looms in vision rapt they hung, 
 Thus in prophetic strains the virgins sung: — 
 
 * Safe in every bloody field, 
 
 Whom with mystic art we shield, 
 
 While our zones enclasp each limb, 
 
 Danger vainly frowns on him. 
 
 Not the force of frantic Gaul 
 
 E'er can work our hero's fall, 
 
 While his free aud towering mind 
 
 No ties but those of honour bind, 
 
 And mystic bands knit fast below, 
 
 Strike with terror every foe ; 
 
 Throw the shuttle, strain the warp, 
 
 Fiery missive weapons sharp 
 
 Ne'er the favour'd Chief can wound, 
 
 Whose limbs our wondrous gifts have bound." 
 
I8S 
 
 Thus sung the Sisters, who with joy behold 
 You choose the path your fathers trod of old. 
 Go on, brave Youth, but shun the syren bowers 
 By Vice and Folly deck'd with tawdry flowers ; 
 The toilsome path with stedfast ardour climb, 
 Where Fame's imperial dome aspires sublime ; 
 There join the brave, the worthy, and the wise, 
 And the low sons of little men despise. 
 Fair Thetis' son, arm'd in celestial steel, 
 Had still, they say, a vulnerable heel: 
 Thus you, protected by the Sybil's art, 
 Perhaps have still a vulnerable heart, 
 Where Beauty's eyes a deadly glance may dart. 
 Yet can those charmed bands your breast secure 
 From the slight arts that youthful minds allure, 
 The practis'd artifice, the purchas'd smile, 
 The glance ambiguous, and insidious wile. 
 Thrice happy they who gloriously expire, 
 Touch'd by the beam of pure celestial fire. 
 Such be thy fate, — be thou the envied prize 
 Of brightest virtues beam'd through brightest eyes ! 
 Dash from thee Circe's cup, and nobly own 
 That truth and constancy deserve alone 
 The blessings of the Sybil's hallow'd zone. 
 Thus sings the mountain Muse to you alone, 
 Nor must her song to vulgar eyes be shown ; 
 Nor will she deign to pour her mystic strain 
 In the gross aperture of ears profane. 
 
 \ 
 
 ! 
 
189 
 
 Observe her caution, and conceal her verse, 
 So shall her future lays your future deeds rehearse : 
 The mountain echoes, pleased, shall hear the sound," 
 Old heroes ghosts shall lean from clouds around, 
 To hail the blooming Chief, with early laurels | 
 crown'd ! 
 
TO 
 
 MISS WALLIS, 
 
 WITH A SPRIG OF CRIMSON HEATH WHICH GREW ON THE 
 SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Those looks demure that deeply touch the soul, 
 Where, with the light of thoughtful Reason join'd, 
 Shine lively fancy, and the feeling heart. 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 Muse that lov'st the lonely mountain, 
 Cliff abrupt, and rocky glen, 
 
 Rushy dell, and mossy fountain, 
 Free from strife, and far from men : 
 
 Muse that lov'st to worship Nature 
 In her haunts sublimely wild, 
 
 Hail the maid whose every feature 
 Speaks her Nature's darling child. 
 
 Nurs'd on Inspiration's bosom, 
 Dress'd by meek Simplicity, 
 
 She in youth's luxuriant blossom 
 Truth and Nature loves like thee. 
 
191 
 
 Deck'd with chaste and artless graces, 
 While her form adorns the stage, 
 
 Fancy pleas'd recals the traces 
 Of a former, better age ; 
 
 When the virgin's sweet suffusion, 
 Timid look, and modest air, 
 
 Gentle fears, and soft confusion, 
 Shrunk before the public stare. 
 
 'Tis not that thy tragic sister 
 Wraps her in her crimson stole, 
 
 Or that comic powers assist her, 
 While she fascinates the soul. 
 
 'Tis not that applausive thunder 
 Shakes the scene when she appears, 
 
 That she draws the gaze of wonder, 
 And unlocks the spring of tears : 
 
 'Tis not that capricious fashion 
 Hails her idol of the day ; 
 
 But that general adulation 
 
 O'er her breast obtains no sway. 
 
 That the charities and duties 
 Which domestic life endear, 
 
 Add new lustre to her beauties, 
 Even in wisdom's view severe. 
 
192 
 
 Lovely Wallis, these are graces 
 That awake the Muse's flame; 
 
 And to these sequestered places 
 Have convey'd thy honour'd name. 
 
 Pattern bright of filial duty, 
 Kindest sister, truest friend, 
 
 On thy innocence and beauty 
 Still may guardian sylphs attend! 
 
 Keep and wear this crimson blossom, 
 Place it near thy generous heart, 
 
 'Tis a charm that from thy bosom 
 Can repel detraction's dart. 
 
 On yon mountain's summit aerial, 
 Far above the clouds it grew, 
 
 Fanned by purest gales ethereal, 
 Fed by bright celestial dew. 
 
 No voluptuous scents exhaling, 
 Deck'd with no luxurious dye, 
 
 Fiercest storms in vain assailing, 
 Blooming midst the wintry sky. 
 
 Type of virtue's wreaths victorious, 
 Flowering on the craggy height, 
 
 Those who mount with ardour glorious 
 Pay their labour with delight. 
 
ODE, 
 
 ON READING ONE UPON THE SAME SUBJECT BY PROFESSOR 
 RICHARDSON OF GLASGOW. 
 
 Say where, just Heav'n, was thy avenging brand ! 
 
 TICKELL. 
 
 What voice awakes the soul-afflicting theme 
 That oft with anguish fill'd my youthful breast, 
 
 When by the Mohawfcs * wild sequester'd stream 
 Indignant grief my labouring heart oppress'd ? 
 
 Yes ! there those generous tribes I saw, 
 Who, sway'd alone by Nature's law, 
 Th' unerring paths of rectitude pursue : 
 
 Who cherish friendship's holy flame, 
 
 And valour's greenest laurel claim, 
 Of rigid faith inexorably true : 
 
 * The Author's childhood was passed at a small distance 
 from the Mohawk river, and one part of it on the banks of 
 lake Ontario ; from whence resulted an early and strong at- 
 tachment to those generous nations who have always been 
 beloved by persons any time resident among them. 
 
 K 
 
194 
 
 Saw them reluctant yield their poplar groves, 
 And fiow'ry vales in wild luxuriance gay ; 
 
 Forsake their fame, their friendship, and their loves, 
 When sunk beneath the European sway ; 
 
 While peace and joy, with all their smiling train, 
 
 Recede before th' insatiate lust of gain. 
 
 Though there no lofty rocks aspire, 
 
 Whose caves with ductile silver glow; 
 Nor avarice bids those streams retire 
 
 That wont o'er golden sands to flow; 
 Nor pearly banks enrich the seas, 
 Nor costly incense load the breeze ; 
 
 Yet though no glittering ore allure 
 
 To these deep glooms the Christian race, 
 
 Where the brown native urg'd secure 
 
 Through pathless woods the headlong chase ; 
 
 See lucre covet even the furry spoil 
 
 That wont to deck his limbs and crown his toil ! 
 
 Ye sons of trade ! whose fatal guile 
 
 Dishonours Britain's far-fam'd isle, 
 Who pour tii' intoxicating draught 
 
 With dire disease and madness fraught, 
 W r ith rage and all the furies in her train, 
 Ah ! wherefore vainly talk of pow'i s above, 
 Yet blemish by \our crimes the laws of truth and love 
 
195 
 
 Yet what are these ? your lesser guilt, — » 
 
 Your towns, by fraud insidious built, 
 Your forts, that, proudly lowring round, 
 
 O'erlook those tracks of fruitful ground 
 Which guileful arts have made your home ? 
 Ah ! what are these to proud Iberia s crimes* 
 Which blot the records of enlighten'd times? 
 
 Each southern breeze seem'd warm with sighs, 
 
 From sad Potosi's injur'd race; 
 Where nations fallen, no more to rise, 
 
 The annals of our kind disgrace ; 
 Where still the fierce insatiate love of gain 
 Shuts up the rigid heart of unrelenting Spain. 
 
 Behold their powVs proud fabric rise, 
 
 Whose tow'ring front insults the skies; 
 
 Two mighty columns bear the lofty roof, 
 Avarice and Cruelty the names 
 Which each conspicuous pillar claims ; 
 
 Immoveable they seem, to heaven's dread thunder proof* 
 
 Where were ye then, ye sacred band ? 
 Ordain'd in every distant land 
 
 To spread salvation's joyful sound; 
 To chase the shades of night away, 
 And the bright throne of peace display, 
 
 Where Trutli and Mercy sit, with olive crown'd ? 
 
196 
 
 Alas! deep sunk in superstition's gloom, 
 They bow beneath the tyranny of Rome. 
 
 But see ! where Mercy's beams divine 
 Round bless'd Criapa's mitre shine, 
 And with peculiar lustre grace 
 The champion of the suffering race ; 
 Who, arm'd with sanctity and pray'rs, 
 With holy tears and zealous cries, 
 Like faithful Abdiel kept the field alone, 
 
 And through th' oppressive Papal mist, 
 
 With saintly valour could persist 
 To chase the demon Guilt even to his burning throne. 
 
 Where are your Jyres, ye sons of song ? 
 
 Bring all your symphonies along, 
 
 And consecrate to this bless'd theme your lays: 
 
 What! has no lyre divine been strung? 
 
 And has no energetic tongue 
 Charm'd Virtue's ear with good Las Casa's praise? 
 
 In that mild region of the sky, 
 
 Where dove-eyed Pity dwells on high, 
 
 From golden harps his praise melodious flows ; 
 
 Will none of all the tuneful throng 
 
 Responsive catch the heavenly song, 
 Of power to soothe even slavery's bitter woes ? 
 
197 
 
 Yes ! from thy banks, dear native Clyde, 
 
 I hear with pleasure and with pride, 
 
 A classic lyre resound the hallow'd strain, 
 
 While shades of feather'd Inca's near, 
 
 In mournful fix'd attention hear, 
 Nor think they wept and bled in vain, 
 Since Richardson records in lasting lays 
 Their matchless woes, and bless'd Chiapa's praise! 
 
ANSWER 
 
 TO 
 
 A POETICAL APOLOGY 
 
 SENT BY PROFESSOR M<LEOD OF GLASGOW, TO SOME LADIES 
 WHO HAD INVITED HIM TO AN 
 
 OYSTER FEAST. 
 
 Thus sung the uncouth nymph to th> oaks and rills, 
 
 MILTON* 
 
 When Fingal dwelt in windy halls. 
 As mournful Ossian tells, 
 
 Midst lofty Selma's shaded walls 
 He spread the feast of shells. 
 
 Each tuneful bard and warlike chief 
 Made haste the feast to share ; 
 
 Where music, sorrow's best relief, 
 Oft charm'd the vocal air. 
 
 The soft harp's many-sounding strings, 
 Wak'd by the blushing maid, & 
 
 Could melt the iron hearts of kings, 
 And beauty's influence aid. 
 
199 
 
 Excluded from the hero's feast, 
 
 By some unhappy chance, 
 Dark anguish prey'd on Aldo's breast, 
 
 And rust consuin'd his lance. 
 
 Nor war nor hunting more could please, 
 Nor beauty's powerful charms, 
 
 He fled o'er Lochlins stormy seas, 
 To shine in foreign arms. 
 
 Bless'd days ! when Nature rul'd supreme 
 
 Unchecked by frozen Art, 
 And love and fancy's blended beam 
 
 Illum'd the artless heart. ; 
 
 When hungry heroes sprung with joy 
 
 To snurF the ven'son's fume, 
 Nor nymphs could artifice employ 
 
 To heighten Nature's bloom. 
 
 Their heavy locks, that wont to fly 
 
 Unpowder'd in the wind ; 
 Their blushing cheek and downcast eye, 
 
 That spoke th' ingenuous mind ; 
 
 With more coercive force could sway, 
 
 And tame the manly breast, 
 Than belles in all the full display 
 
 Of modern fashion dress'd, 
 
200 
 
 Alas ! a mournful proof appears 
 
 Of this soul-harrowing truth ; 
 For this sad Nature melts in tears, 
 
 And clouds o'erhang the south. 
 
 Macalpine, Neptune's faithful priest, 
 Well known to beaux and belles, 
 
 Thrice bow'd adoring to the east, 
 Then spread the feast of shells : 
 
 There sportive maids, and festive swains, 
 
 Attend the hallow'd rite, 
 And weave to music's sprightly strains 
 
 The dance in mazes light. 
 
 Ye Echoes hold your tattling tongues, 
 Nor spread our sad disgrace ; 
 
 Else busy Fame, with brazen lungs. 
 Will blaze it through the place. 
 
 The bard of Celtic race renown'd 
 Avoids great Neptune's feast, 
 
 Lest he in torrents should be drown'd, 
 Or blighted by the east. 
 
 Rude blasts from Eoi/s airy hall 
 Pierc'd through each tender form, 
 
 While, snug behind his cloister'd wall, 
 He lau"h'd to see the storm. 
 
201 
 
 Secure, his adamantine heart 
 
 In learning's musty cell 
 Repeird poor Cupid's powerful dart, 
 
 And slighted every belle. 
 
 Had he like Aldo no repast 
 
 But what his bow supplied, 
 He'd dare well pleas'd the wintry blast 
 
 When shells were smoking wide. 
 
 But college sophs of modern times, 
 
 In Sloth's soft lap reclin'd, 
 Will praise the fair in well-turn'd rhymes, 
 
 Yet leave them to the wind. 
 
 He talks of gaining hearts of beaux, 
 
 To please the angry fair ; 
 But whether they have hearts to lose, 
 
 He does not know nor care. 
 
 Ah! sly observer, deeply read 
 
 In Nature's ample page \ 
 Too well you know that beaux well-bred 
 
 In this self-loving age, 
 
 In panoply of lead and brass 
 Their cautious hearts unfold, 
 
 Which beauty cannot pierce, alas ! 
 Unless with darts of gold ! 
 
 K2 
 
202 
 
 The jealous God from glittering scenes 
 
 On purple pinions flies, 
 To dwell where Truth and Nature reigns. 
 
 And victims pure supplies. 
 
 To rights of men a foe confess'd, 
 
 No limits bar his throne, 
 A despot o'er the generous breast, 
 
 He loves to rule alone. 
 
 Though beaux should yawn, or oysters gape. 
 
 Or drenching rains descend, 
 Methinks the fair might still escape 
 
 The scorning of a friend. 
 
 He whom the Muses all regard, 
 
 Against our power rebels, 
 The long-descended Celtic bard 
 
 Avoids the feast of shells ! 
 
HYMN 
 
 THE SONS OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 And behold I have taken the Levites from among the children 
 of Israel. 
 
 NUMBERS III. 12. 
 
 How bless'd those olive plants that grow 
 Beneath the altar's sacred shade, 
 
 Where streams of fresh instruction flow, 
 And Com fort's humble board is spread. 
 
 'Twas thus the swallow rear'd her young, 
 Secure within the house of God, 
 
 Of whom the Royal Prophet sung, 
 
 When banish'd from that bless'd abode. 
 
 When, like the swallow's tender brood, 
 They leave the kind paternal dome, 
 
 On weary wing to seek their food, 
 Or find in other climes a home ; 
 
204 
 
 Where'er they roam, where'er they rest r 
 Through all the varied scenes of life, 
 
 Whether with tranquil plenty bless'd, 
 Or doom'd to share the deadly strife; 
 
 Still may the streams of grace divine 
 Glide softly near their devious way ; 
 
 And faith's fair light serenely shine, 
 To change their darkness into day. 
 
 Still may they with fraternal love 
 Each other's shield and aid become; 
 
 And while through distant realms they rove, 
 Remember still their childhood's home; 
 
 The simple life, the frugal fare, 
 The kind parental counsels given, 
 
 The tender love, the pious care, 
 
 That early winged their hopes to heav'n : 
 
 And when the evening shades decline, 
 And when life's toilsome task is o'er, 
 
 May they each earthly wish resign, 
 And holier, happier climes explore. 
 
 And when the faithful shepherds view 
 Each ransom'd flock around them spread, 
 
 How will they bless the plants that grew 
 Beneath the altar's sacred shade ! 
 
MEMORY 
 
 ' OF 
 
 A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 WHO DIED NEAR INVERNESS IN THE 21st YEAR OF HERAGEy 
 AUGUST, 1776. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 What sound of woe from yonder grove 
 Floats mournful on the dying gale ? 
 
 Like echo to the plaintive dove, 
 
 Responsive through the winding vale. 
 
 Each chaster love and milder grace 
 
 There weep round gentle Jessy's tomb, 
 
 There join to consecrate the place, 
 
 And teach the flowers more lasting bloom. 
 
 Though now, an undecaying flow'r, 
 She decks the bright celestial shore, 
 
 And past the final painful hour, 
 She suiters grief and care no more! 
 
206 
 
 Yet oft shall pity's melting tear 
 Bedew the turf where Jessy lies; 
 
 And often shall her fate severe 
 Dissolve in woe the brightest eyes. 
 
 The virgin choir shall there resort, 
 And there with sad remembrance tell, 
 
 How through malicious cruel sport 
 She envy's early victim fell. 
 
 Though formed in beauty's softest mould, 
 No pride her spotless bosom knew ; 
 
 As years increasing onward roll'd, 
 Her gentle mind more timid grew. 
 
 Unknown to her each trivial art, 
 
 Which callous, hollow breasts conceal ; 
 
 Sway'd by the feelings of her heart, 
 That artless heart was form'd to feel ; 
 
 With pure and faithful love to glow, 
 To cherish friendship's sacred tie, 
 
 To melt away in virtuous woe, 
 
 Or throb with tenderest sympathy. 
 
 Unskill'd in envy's treacherous ways, 
 
 How could she guard against its power? 
 
TO 
 
 A LADY, 
 
 DEEPLY INTERESTED IN THE SUBJECT OF THE 
 FOLLOWING POEM. * 
 
 But soft, but see, or rather do not see, 
 My fair rose wither. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 Awak'd to thought, matured by age, 
 No more those sportive toys engage, 
 That wont in Fancy's jocund hours 
 To frolic through the festal bowers. 
 To memory dear, though far reniov'd, 
 Oh say, what title most approv'd 
 Shall greet thee in the wonted lay 
 That hails once more this happy day*. 
 Then with complacent smile attend 
 While my true heart salutes thee friend ; 
 
 * This poem was written on an anniversary, when the Au- 
 thor usually sent a poetical offering to her friend. 
 
208 
 
 What nobler boon have I to give ? 
 What worthier gift canst thou receive? 
 Indifference proud, and cold disdain, 
 Avert the scornful brow in vain, 
 While with exulting glance I view 
 The chosen band that ranks with you : 
 Those friends that led my earliest youth 
 Along the peaceful paths of truth, 
 Who, fir'd with Virtue's charms divine, 
 Oft mingled sympathies with mine ; 
 Or those who in maturer years 
 Awak'd at once my hopes and fears, 
 While anxious fondness sketched their way 
 From thought's dim dawn to mental day ; 
 And moulded soft with patient art 
 And tender care the yielding heart. 
 But since we feel that all is vain, 
 Since purest pleasures end in pain, 
 Since all that dazzles, charms, endears, 
 Eludes our grasp, — or, seen through tears> 
 In dim perspective fades away, 
 What power shall animate the lay f 
 What Muse awake the plausive strain, 
 And bid my bosom glow again ! 
 Gay fleeting visions rob'd in light, 
 That cheer'd my soul and charm 'd my sight ; 
 Elysian flowers, whose fragrant breath 
 Perfum'd with sweets the bed of death 
 
209 
 
 The solemn thrill, the magic fire, 
 Wak'd by the soul-commanding lyre. 
 Adieu ! — no more my haunts invade, 
 Nor come to cruel memory's aid ; 
 For what can fancy now bestow 
 But darker shades to blacken woe ? 
 Ah ! why did flowers Elysian bloom, 
 Since cropt to wither in the tomb ? 
 Then let us in the festive bow'r 
 Escape from cruel memory's pow^r; 
 The board where social friendship smiles, 
 A while the woes of life beguiles. 
 In vain, — for see the forms depior'd 
 Like angels hover o'er the board, 
 And seem, with softly-melting eye, 
 To look compassion ere they fly. 
 Say, generous youth % whose brow serene, 
 Benignant smile, and open mien, 
 With candour beaming in thine eyes, 
 Bespoke the soul without disguise ; 
 By honour's purest dictates taught, 
 With " milk of human kindness" fraught, 
 Say, didst thou view with gentle scorn 
 The crowd by selfish passions torn, 
 Untry'd, forsake the dubious race, 
 And soar to thy congenial place ? 
 
 * A veiy near relation of the Author, who died in hia 
 16th year. 
 
210 
 
 And She * in hardest conflicts tried, 
 By truth, by love, by blood allied, 
 Who wept with sister's tears his doom, 
 Too soon to rill a neighbouring tomb : 
 Ah ! why profuse did Nature shed 
 Her gifts around her infant head ; 
 With varying bloom her face adorn, 
 Like orient hues that deck the morn, 
 Shed purest lustre from her eyes, 
 Like radiant streams from northern skies ? 
 At once inspiring awe and love, 
 Bade chasten 'd graces round her move, 
 And native force of nobler soul 
 Pervade and dignify the whole; 
 And mild decorum's sober state 
 Oo all her looks and actions wait, 
 While mingled elegance and ease 
 Made every look and action please ; 
 With feeling strong, with judgment clear, 
 Firm probity and truth sincere ; 
 Through sorrow's clouds we saw her shine, 
 Those clouds that made her yours and mine ! 
 Thus deck'd with every charm and grace, 
 The loveliest of a lovely race ; 
 
 * This lady, as much esteemed for her virtue and under- 
 standing, as admired for her beauty and elegance, died about 
 a year after her lamented kinsman. See the Nymph of the 
 Fountain in this volume, addressed to her a few years before 
 her death. 
 
211 
 
 Like purest gold in fire refin'd, 
 And rich in all the wealth of mind, 
 Why did she tread the paths of pain, . 
 And seek for long-lost rest in vain ? 
 And why in vain did you and I 
 Pour the soft balm of sympathy ? 
 With generous love the worthy youth 
 To whom she vowed her plighted truth, 
 Too fondly hop'd from future harms 
 To screen her in his faithful arms : 
 But soon he finds he grasps a shade, 
 And soon the transient roses fade, 
 And soon, dissoiv'd in ambient light, 
 The beauteous vision quits his sight ! 
 Yet ere she sunk to endless rest, 
 To soothe the anguish of his breast, 
 She left a tender pledge of love, 
 To shew how seraphs smile above. 
 Now mercy's cup, with blessings fraught, 
 Pours, forth affiction's wholesome draught,- 
 A wholesome draught — yet drunk in vain, 
 If still the bitterest dregs remain, 
 If still with impious discontent 
 We murmur at the blessings lent, 
 Or think the fruits of Paradise 
 Too early ripen'd for the skies, 
 And wish through wintry life to view 
 Their slow decay and wintry hue ; 
 
#12 
 
 Or, like my fond presumptuous strain, 
 
 Lament as if they hVd in vain : 
 
 On dear lov'd Charlotte's early tomb 
 
 Then let us mourn youth's withering bloom. 
 
 There will I lay my torpid lyre, 
 
 No more to glow with lambent fire ; 
 
 No more to soothe the partial ear 
 
 With strains that friendship lov'd to hear, 
 
 Unless, with nobler ardour bless'd, 
 
 Some holier transport lire my breast, 
 
 The strain exalt, — the note refine, 
 
 And raise my moral to divine I 
 
TO 
 
 LADY CLAN, 
 
 WHO INSISTED ON THE AUTHOR'S WRITING A POEM, ON 
 MEETING BY APPOINTMENT WITH HER AND THREE 
 OTHER LADIES AT AN INN ON THE ROAD BETWIXT 
 PERTH AND LAG G AN. 
 
 I will tell you now, 
 
 What never yet was heard in tale or song. 
 
 From ol$ or modern bard, in hall or bower. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Dear Lady Clan, you well may know, 
 At least I've told you long ago, 
 In all things lawful and expedient, 
 You'd ever find me most obedient; 
 This gratitude and friendship bid, 
 They re ties of which I can't get rid; 
 (Though some, to pride and envy martyrs, 
 Conceal them as they would their garters;) 
 Yet making lists of obligations, 
 Is so like owning poor relations, 
 
2U 
 
 It makes one feel so shy and backward, 
 And in good company look awkward ; 
 On second thought 'twill answer better, 
 Ere I conclude this rhyming letter, 
 Instead of owning favours due, 
 In long detail from me to you, 
 To send you here a brief recital 
 Of what I've given you in requital ; 
 Then, having set my mind at rest, 
 At leisure answer your request. 
 
 And first, the Muse that sixteen years, 
 With nightcap drawn about her ears, 
 Lay in lethargic deep repose, 
 Nor teas'd by friends, nor scorn'd by foes, 
 I wak'd, you well remember when, 
 To celebrate your turkey-hen ; 
 And as she rubb'd her drowsy eyes, 
 And saw the bird's white spirit rise, 
 A spark of inspiration came 
 And kindled up the torpid dame, 
 To sing the happy annual feast 
 Where Hymen smiles on every guest. 
 Whenever since 1 wak'd the lyre, 
 'Twas to comply with your desire ; 
 The total sum, whate'er the amount, 
 Shall all be set to your account : 
 Now let me trace with backward view 
 The favours thus conferr'd on you. 
 
§m 
 
 And first, the playful varied lay * 
 I sung to cheat the lonely way, 
 (While frozen winter chill'd my fancy) 
 Though chiefly meant to please my NANCY, 
 Was to your partial praises owing, 
 That set my grateful breast a-glowing, 
 And cheer'd me up with self-dependence, 
 To hope the Muse's prompt attendance : 
 Encouraged thus along the road, 
 Description smooth and lofty ode 
 Fill'd up the middle, while both ends 
 Were hung with portraits of my friends, 
 To cheer my soul, whene'er I miss'd them, 
 So like, that I had almost kiss'd them. 
 
 Next, for my neighbour Sybil's sake? 
 I bade the willing Muse awake, 
 And tell what magic ties around 
 Young Huntly's limbs the beldam bound. 
 Then liquid accents soft and clear 
 Stole gently on attention's ear ; 
 The blue-hair 'd nymph of yonder brook 
 In more than mortal language spoke, 
 And bade aerial music swell, 
 To woo fair Charlotte to her cellf; 
 With feeble imitative strain 
 I strove to catch the sounds in vain. 
 
 * Journal from Glasgow to Laggan. 
 
 t See the Nymph of the Fountain to Charlotte. 
 
216 
 
 Next I essay'd the up-hill road 
 Of " break-neck dythyrambic ode/' 
 Denounc'd on Spain perpetual vengeance, 
 And bless'd Chiapa and his Indians; 
 Till, dizzy and bewildered grown, 
 The attempt beyond my powers I own. 
 
 The smarting wounds of recent woe 
 Now bid th' unstudied measure flow; 
 While wakeful anguish through the gloom 
 Of midnight weeps the fate of Moome ! 
 That night, so dismal and so long, 
 I strove in vain to cheat with song : 
 And when with dusky mantle grey 
 The weeping morn brought in the day, 
 The frequent shower and sighing w r ind 
 With mournful cadence sooth'd my mind. 
 But when will light restore to view 
 A friend so kind, so firm, so true ! 
 Or who, when sickness sinks my head, 
 Will tend with equal care my bed ? 
 Or who, when comfort crowns my toil, 
 With equal sympathy will smile? — 
 Sink all my strains in final gloom, 
 But live the lay inspir'd by Moome! 
 
 Again the Muse awakes to weep 
 O'er hamlets waste and flocking sheep * : 
 
 * Alluding to the poem of the Highlanders. 
 
m 
 
 217 
 
 The dusky liill and narrow plain 
 Re-echo to the mournful strain ; 
 The sad inhabitants around 
 With social grief prolong the sound; 
 While lost in woe they scatter far 
 To fill the sanguine ranks of war, 
 Or cross th > Atlantic's stormy roar, 
 Or tread the burning Indian shore, 
 Or mingle with the sordid train 
 Who know no bliss, no God but gain : 
 Where'er they rest, where'er they roam, 
 Stung with the hopeless thoughts of home ; 
 With aching heart and searching eyes, 
 Oft will they trace their northern skies, 
 And say, " Yon dim-seen twinkling star 
 " Gleams o'er my father's sepulchre, 
 " Where once, when fate had clos'd my day f 
 " I hop'd my weary limbs to lay ; 
 " Its rays illume the shadowy vale, 
 " Where, lighted by the moon-beam pale, 
 " My faithful steps were wont to trace 
 " The loveliest of our far-fam'd race, 
 " And pour in her approving ear 
 " The artless vows of love sincere." 
 Thus, frequent does the exile's heart 
 With tender sad remembrance smart; 
 Some leisure time will come, ere long, 
 T' arrange and prune tli' untfnish'd song ; 
 
 L 
 
218 
 
 When winter's icy bolts are hurl'd, 
 And snow and silence wrap the world, 
 And cares and children sink in sleep, 
 The Muse shall faithful vigils keep ; 
 And summon wisdom and reflection, 
 And critic powers of mild correction, 
 And diction chaste, and lucid order, 
 Like flowers arranged to grace a border ; 
 My thoughts shall rise in fair succession 
 Unbroke by playful wild digression : 
 With heedless haste I now dispense them, 
 But then you'll see how I'll condense them. 
 But from my subject how I wander, — 
 I sung the sorrows of the gander*, 
 And if you'll re-peruse his letter, 
 You'll own no goose could sing them better. 
 You see what mighty debts you're owing 
 For benefits of my bestowing. 
 Can you forget the rainy morning, 
 When toil, fatigue, and danger scorning, 
 I headlong plung'd through new-swoln Spey, 
 And o'er Drumochter urg'd my way, 
 Try'd to o'ertake the fleeting wind, 
 And left the slow express behind? 
 Arriv'd with fluttering hearts at Blair, 
 In chasing joy ye met despair: 
 
 * A trifle not published. 
 
219 
 
 No matrons with benignant smile 
 Appear'd our labours to beguile; 
 No sprightly nymphs, in rapt'rous guise, 
 With pleasure beaming from their eyes; 
 The gallant soul of Hardyknute, 
 When thriird with fear, with anguish mute, 
 He saw his castle dark and still, 
 Felt not a more horrific chill. 
 To cheer our souls and soothe our pain, 
 Our gentle hostess tries in vain ; 
 In vain the Captain strives t' amuse 
 With foreign and domestic news; 
 Tells with delight how much he doats 
 Upon the frankness of Miss Coates, 
 And how he tender'd her his help, 
 To nurse and rear her terrier whelp: 
 How sad our state, when themes like these, 
 By him rehears'd, could fail to please. 
 But now resolv'd with unanimity 
 T' exert our native magnanimity, 
 When changing clouds of purple dye 
 Were drawn o'er day's declining eye ; 
 Again we urge th' impatient chase, 
 Invoke the stars to light our race, 
 And reach in thought the wish'd-for place. 
 Through the still shadowy veil of night, 
 While Venus sent her glimmering light, 
 Our view the soften'd landscape charm'd, 
 And disappointment's pangs disarm'd; 
 
 } 
 
220 
 
 And hope, in smiling graces dress'd, 
 Resum'd her influence o'er the breast. 
 The rising moon with friendly ray 
 Now led us to the banks of Tay, 
 With raptur'd view while we begin 
 To trace a taper at the inn, 
 Leander thus transported, view'd 
 His Hero's torch illume the flood. 
 
 Why should the Muse attempt in vain 
 The morning's pleasures to explain ? 
 To tell the tender explanations, 
 Embraces kind, and true narrations, 
 'Twould fill I'm sure a quarto volume, — 
 Twere best methinks to raise a column 
 To mark the spot to future times, 
 Nor vainly trust to fleeting rhymes : 
 That scene, while memory holds her seat, 
 Shall still be new and still be sweet : 
 I will not tell you of your merit, 
 Your sense, integrity, and spirit ; 
 These have their value in their places, 
 But I am charm'd by other graces ; 
 That heart, whose cordial warmth so true, 
 Blooms ever fresh and ever new ; 
 Affections, which, in spite of time, 
 Have all the glow of youthful prime ; 
 With all the firmness, weight, and truth, 
 Which sage experience adds to youth, — 
 
 
221 
 
 These make me count, with anxious pain, 
 The weeks till we shall meet again, 
 And treasure up the joys so fleeting, 
 That smil'd upon our short-liv'd meeting : 
 Dear Erskine* too, whose eyes dispense 
 Her pure soul's bright intelligence, 
 Whose look is truth, whose speech is verity, 
 Whose genius, honour, and sincerity, 
 Live ever in my recollection, 
 I'd almost said my best affection, 
 I would not shock with adulation, 
 But view with silent admiration : 
 Her mother's dignity commanding, 
 And more than female understanding, 
 And probity so prais 'd by you, 
 Esteem demand as tribute due. 
 
 Kind Coates f\ could I her worth rehearse, 
 Might likewise claim a grateful verse ; 
 Her quickness, humour, lively ease, 
 Her never-failing wish to please, 
 Might with her friendly warmth combine, 
 To win a harder heart than mine ; 
 But children nurs'd in fortune's lap, 
 Are fed so soon with flattery's pap, 
 And so surrounded by duplicity, 
 They loose all relish for simplicity : 
 
 •■ Miss Munro, now the Honourable Mrs. Erskine, 
 i Miss Coates. 
 
222 
 
 Folks jealous, rusticated, shy, 
 Shrink from gay fashion's critic eye : 
 Nor pour the cordial soul in vain, 
 Check Yl by the dread of cold disdain. 
 
 Im tir'd, and so I swear are you, 
 And sleep now claims her drowsy due: 
 May pleasing visions gently spread 
 Their airy wings around your head! 
 For my part, I devoutly hope 
 To see six ladies in a group, 
 And Coates, with ladle in her hand,. 
 Dispensing mirth and negus bland; 
 Since our best pleasures will not last^ 
 Let us in dreams live o'er the past* 
 
ODE TO HYGEIA. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE LATE MRS. WILLIAM SPROT, 
 EDINBURGH :— SPRING 1779. 
 
 Drops that, from my fountain pure, 
 I have kept of precious cure. 
 
 MILTON, 
 
 Daughter of Exercise and calm Content, 
 By Temperance nourish'd in the shady vale, 
 
 Where Diaris nymphs resort with bows unbent, 
 To taste the freshness of the morning gale ; 
 
 Divine Hygeia, turn thy steps again, 
 
 Nor let the plaintive Muse implore in vain ! 
 
 Oh ! coy disdainful maid, in native charms array'd, 
 
 Beyond the needless pageantry of art, 
 Time was, thy radiant smile could every care beguile, 
 And shed sweet influence o'er my drooping heart. 
 Why, goddess, have thy lovely eyes 
 
 Their azure beams withdrawn? 
 Dost thou my artless prayer despise ? 
 When oft at morning dawn 
 
224 
 
 I lift pure hands from guilt and interest free. 
 And humbly seek for friendship, peace, and thee \ 
 
 Return, inconstant fair, while through the soften'd air 
 Mild zephyrs waft the balmy breath of spring, 
 And budding woods with early music ring. 
 
 Ah ! what avails their bloom, or all the soft perfume 
 Yon dewy violet banks exhale to me, 
 
 While through the birchen grove, with lingering steps 
 I rove, 
 And vainly trace thy wonted haunts for thee t 
 
 Far from the crowd's tumultuous noise 
 
 Amid thy lov'd retreats I stray, 
 Averse from fashion s giddy joys, 
 Which oft bedim thy cheering ray. 
 Simplicity, presiding at my board, 
 
 With wholesome herbs supplies my temp'rate meal, 
 My constant drink yon limpid streams afford, 
 
 Whose liquid murmurs lull th' adjacent vale ; 
 And oft at noon, reclin'd at rural ease, 
 I catch thy spirit from the mountain breeze. 
 
 In yonder ambient wave my faded form I lave, 
 Where oft thy votaries bless thy healing power ; 
 
 Yet in my languid mien no ray of thine is seen, 
 But stern disease, remorseless, haunts my bower* 
 
225 
 
 Ah ! what avail my cares, or all the ardent pray'rs 
 My trembling lips have oifer'd at thy shrine, 
 
 Whilst thou, capricious power, dost all thy blessings 
 shower 
 On others, heedless of thy gifts divine ? 
 
 But wherefore shun the gentle train 
 Who court thee on the rural plain, 
 
 And love thy favrite shades; 
 Whose hearts, with tenderest feelings warm, 
 Enjoy fair nature's every charm, 
 While splendours pageant fades ? 
 Yet ah ! the tender heart with keen peculiar smart 
 Shrinks trembling back when care or pain assail, 
 Even as the sweetest flow'rs, that bloom in yonder 
 bowers, 
 Are soonest blighted by the eastern gale. 
 
 Though fancy's vivid beams illume their morning dreams, 
 
 And sportive loves the roseate wreath entwine, 
 Yet doom'd to live all o'er, and smart at every pore. 
 At sorrow's frown thy blessings they resign : 
 Though all my vows are made in vain, 
 And thou relentless fly the plain, 
 
 So long endear'd by thee ; 
 While chilling tremors, feverish pains, 
 Alternate spread through all my veins, 
 And pleasure dies to me. 
 L2 
 
226 
 
 Yet while in Clutha's winding vale, 
 Light floating on the western gale, 
 
 Thy spirit cheers my friend, 
 To thee shall grateful songs arise, 
 To thee the rural sacrifice 
 
 In fragrant fumes ascend *. 
 
 And where Edina's turrets rise, 
 Though smoky wreaths obscure the skies, 
 
 And vapours taint the air, 
 Thy soft ambrosial pinions spread 
 O er lov'd Asteria's drooping head, 
 
 And soothe the languid fair. 
 
 And see, to woo thee down, she quits the noisy town, 
 
 In quest of thee she seeks the breezy shore ; 
 On Ocean's stormy breast, thou oft art found to rest> 
 His green-hair'd nymphs thy wat'ry haunts explore. 
 And when with trembling hope she laves, 
 Oh ! shed thy influence o'er the waves, 
 Her bloom restore, her health renew ; 
 There let her hail thy form divine, 
 Emerging from the foamy brine, 
 Like Venus on the dazzled view ! 
 
 * The lady to whom this poem was addressed, was then in 
 a declining state of health, and preparing to go to the sea-side 
 for the benctit of bathing. She recovered partially, but died 
 much lamented, in the 26th year of her age, 1783. 
 
TO 
 
 MISS DUNBAR, 
 
 OF BOATH. 
 
 To cheer me in this melancholy vale, 
 This double gloom of nature and of soul. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 Helen, by every sympathy allied, 
 
 By love of virtue and by love of song, 
 Compassionate in youth, and beauty's pride, 
 
 To thee those grateful artless lays belong, 
 For warmly in thy heart the flame of friendship glows, 
 And sweetly from thy lips the voice of comfort flows. 
 
 Dark clouds of woe involv'd my troubled soul, 
 The cheering sun but pain'd my weary sight, 
 
 To nurse my grief to secret shades I stole, 
 
 And shunn'dthe social hearth and loath'd the light. 
 
 Grace, beauty, elegance, increas'd my pain, 
 
 For those too fondly lov'd, I lov'd, alas. ! in vain ! 
 
228 
 
 Soft pitying accents stealing through the gloom> 
 Like dawning light upon the formless void, 
 
 Withdrew my thoughts a moment from the tomb, 
 To scenes now dreary, hopeless, unenjoy'd : 
 
 Yet busy fancy trac'd thy form unseen, 
 
 And deck'd with charms thy face, and dress'd in smiles 
 thy mien. 
 
 So, lonely journeying to Loretto's shrine, 
 Some darkling pilgrim in the pathless vale 
 
 Bends his enraptur'd ear to strains divine, 
 And turns to bid his guardian-angel hail : 
 
 Tis some fair vot'ress pours unseen her strain, 
 
 By courteous echoes borne, to soothe the wand'rer \* 
 pain. 
 
 Enjoy, blessed maid, the smiling joyous prime, 
 While pleasure frolics in thy morning ray ; 
 
 Now, heedless of the hastening wings of time, 
 Crop the fresh primrose and the crocus gay ; 
 
 Ere noon's bright fervours scorch their silken bloom, 
 
 Or weeping evening mourns their early doom. 
 
 As pure thy pleasures as those modest flowers 
 That twine around the bashful brows of spring ; 
 
 Then, ere the changing sky inconstant lowrs, 
 
 Deck thy fair bosom with the sweets they bring ;.. 
 
229 
 
 For when they fade r nor sun nor fav'ring showers 
 Again can make them spring around thy bow'rs. 
 
 For me, with retrospection sadly pleased, 
 When hope's wide vista opens on my sight, 
 
 I seem from grief's corroding pressure eas'd, 
 To catch a glimpse of pure celestial light : 
 
 Then, while I patient wait my day's decline, 
 
 On thee may summer suns unclouded shine! 
 
INSCRIPTION 
 
 FOR 
 
 A GARDEN SEAT. 
 
 SACRED 
 
 TO THE REMEMBRANCE OF A BELOVED FRIEND, 
 
 MISS A. O****. 
 
 FORT-AUGUSTUS, APRIL 29, 1774* 
 
 Sacred to thee and friendly love, 
 
 I consecrate this humble seat, 
 
 Hither shall my weary feet 
 Oft at sober evning move ; 
 And when thou'rt far reniov'd from me, 
 Here, sadly sitting, oft I'll muse on thee ! 
 
 When the silver queen of night, 
 With her mildly pleasing beams, 
 Cheers the surface of the streams, 
 Or darts through dusky shades a visionary light ; 
 
231 
 
 Here Fancy shall exert her magic power, 
 And with thy image glad the solitary bow'r. 
 
 Fate soon will bear thee to some happier clime, 
 Yet that kind heart, that generous mind, 
 By truth and tenderness combin'd, 
 Adornd with charms beyond the reach of time : 
 Here oft shall mem'ry to my aid restore, 
 While I with fruitless sighs my loss deplore* 
 
ON READING 
 
 MANUSCRIPT POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 NOT IN THE MANNER, BUT IN THE SPIRIT OF COLLINS* 
 
 Deep in yon bed of whispering reeds 
 Thy airy harp shall now be laid ! 
 That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds, 
 May love through life the soothing shade. 
 
 COLLINS. 
 
 When Thomson's? harp of charming tone, 
 Giv n to the favour'd bard alone, 
 (Its tuneful master snatch'd away) 
 Midst whispering reeds impervious lay ; 
 The winds awak'd its mournful swell, 
 The wood-nymphs joind the solemn knell. 
 Her yellow locks mild Autumn tore, 
 Wild Winter mourn'd in mantle hoar; 
 Sweet Spring in weeping buds was dress'd,, 
 And Summer rent her flow'ry vest;, 
 
233 
 
 Sad Nature caught th' JEolian strain^ 
 And bade it echo through the plain ; 
 And Fate proclaim'd, no daring hand 
 Should Thomson's sacred harp command; 
 While Collins sooth'd the mourners round 
 With magic lyre of dulcet sound : 
 But when the Bard by Aruris stream 
 Indulgd each sadly tender theme, 
 And with enchantment wild combin'd 
 The countless " shadowy tribes of mind £* 
 Or wept o er valour's early tomb, 
 Bedeck'd with wreaths of freshest bloom; 
 Or bade the pictured passions rise, 
 In fancy'd forms, to human eyes, — 
 The fair creation rose confess'd, 
 And dazzled reason sunk oppress'd: 
 No more he feels the Muse inspire, 
 In slumber lay the magic lyre ; 
 Again he lifts his languid eyes, 
 To wake its strain in vain he tries; 
 Then ere he sought th' Elysian plain, 
 Resignd the magic lyre to Jane I 
 
WRITTEN IN ONE OF THE 
 
 DUKE OF ATHOLE'S WALKS 
 AT BLAIR, 
 
 AFTER MAKING A CLANDESTINE ENTRANCE THROUGH THfi 
 RIVER TILT, THEN VERY LOW} SUMMER 1796. 
 
 There I suck the liquid air, 
 All amidst the gardens fair. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Your jealous walls, great Duke, in vain 
 
 All access would refuse ; 
 What walls can Highland steps restrain ? 
 
 What bars keep out the Muse ? 
 Where'er I go I bring with me 
 " That mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty!" 
 
 Would you engross each breathing sweet 
 
 Yon violet banks exhale ? 
 Or trees with od'rous blooms replete, 
 
 That scent tli' enamour'd gale? 
 
235 
 
 Alike they smile on you and me, 
 Like Nature and sweet Liberty ! 
 
 While pleasure's fleeting form you trace 
 
 In Mona's distant isle, 
 And leave forlorn your native place 
 
 Where rural beauties smile : 
 Congenial see them smile for me, 
 Then do not grudge my Liberty. 
 
 Eneas pass'd with branch of gold 
 
 The gloomy gates below ; 
 And silver branches, I am told, 
 
 Can smooth your porter's brow ; 
 But wand'ring Highland folks like me, 
 Can seldom purchase Liberty. 
 
 While musing by the Tilt I stood, 
 And view'd its wand'ring tide, 
 
 Uprose a Naiad from the flood, 
 And beckoning shew'd its side : 
 
 I took the kindly hint with glee, 
 
 And scrambled hard for Liberty. 
 
 Beneath the bridge's bending arch 
 My vent'rous steps she led, 
 
 Till by yon ancient weeping larch 
 I laid my wearied head : 
 
236 
 
 While birds methought on every tree, 
 Rejoicing, hail'd my Liberty ! 
 
 The leaden gods above the gate 
 Aghast with wonder stood, 
 
 Olympian Jove, his vixen mate, 
 And all the heathen brood: 
 
 u Bravo !" cried thievish Mercury, 
 
 u Tis right to steal sweet Liberty !" 
 
PEACEFUL SHADES. 
 
 My dear-lov'd home, 
 Which trees embosom, and which hills defend. 
 
 SHENSTONE. 
 
 Ye peaceful shades ! that guard my dear loy'd home 
 From the chill blasts that strip the fading grove, 
 
 While far from that sequester'd scene I roam, 
 Which justly claims my venerating love ; 
 
 Long may the verdure linger on your boughs, 
 
 Which wont in happier times to deck the shepherd's 
 brows! 
 
 And thou, sweet stream, that wand'ring through the vale 
 With mazy windings, lead'st thy waves along; 
 
 May thy translucent waters never fail 
 To feed the lake or aid the rural song : 
 
 For echo, pleas'd, retains thy murmurs sweet, 
 
 Where with the bubbling Tarfe thy lucid waters meet. 
 
 Fair is the bosom of that peaceful lake 
 When the soft zephyr on its bosom sleeps; 
 
 Dreadful the roar its troubled waters make, 
 When winter's rage declining Nature weeps : 
 
238 
 
 Oh! may its glassy surface still present 
 
 The well-known dear abode of calm content ! 
 
 Ye woods of wild Glentarfe, whose pensive gloom 
 
 Round Sylvia's dwelling spreads a solemn shade; 
 How dear to memory is your former bloom, 
 
 When Sylvia's sprightly converse cheer'd the glade. 
 When spring returns to deck the green retreat, 
 Again with joy I'll hail the well-known seat, 
 The scene of social joys and tranquil pleasures sweet. 
 
 j 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 GAELIC. 
 
TO 
 
 
 ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. 
 
 THE AFFECTIONATE FRIEND,— CANDID CRITIC, — AND 
 BENEVOLENT PATRON OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 DEAIt SIR, 
 
 The poems here translated from the Gaelic, though 
 they do not pretend to any remote antiquity, are well 
 known to have existed before the translations, #nd 
 even the Translator of Ossian. Thinking it may 
 afford you some amusement, I take up the pen to 
 make a few observations on those celebrated produc- 
 tions of the Celtic Muse. The time is fast approach- 
 ing when it will be impossible to throw new light on 
 this question. The most conclusive evidence which 
 the nature of the subject will admit of, is fast fading 
 away. It consists of traditions co-relative to the 
 poems, — a kind of poetical phraseology derived from 
 them, — and a resembling strain of sentiment in other 
 compositions of great though not equal antiquity., 
 which no one could ever have had any motive to fal- 
 M 
 
242 
 
 sify or alter. There is another clear, though now de- 
 caying evidence. Old people can very well remember, 
 before Mr. Macpherson ever thought of translating 
 these remains, when many comparisons and allusions 
 to be found in them, were as current as Scripture 
 quotations in the last age among the peasants of the 
 west. " She is beautiful as Agandecc A the daughter 
 " of the snow — She is musical as Malvina — He is 
 " as forlorn as Ossian after the departure of the 
 " Fingallians— Such a one is alert and nimble as 
 Cucrullin" — were phrases in common use. What- 
 ever embellishments, or whatever anachronisms the 
 injudicious vanity of a translator may have grafted on 
 these poems, no person who lived in the country of 
 their reputed author, ever doubted their existence or 
 antiquity; there, every stream and mountain, every 
 tale, song, or adage, retained some traces of the gene- 
 rous hero, or the mournful bard : but there was little 
 chance of getting at the truth of this question, while 
 the contention lay betwixt learned pride on the one 
 hand, and national vanity on the other. The former 
 was accustomed to consider letters, not as the vehicle, 
 but the essence of knowledge, accounting all unlearned 
 people utterly savage and barbarous, and unable to 
 conceive how any one could entertain noble or gene- 
 rous sentiments without deriving them from classical 
 models. The latter was unwilling to confess how 
 little the Gaelic had been used in writing, and to what 
 
243 
 
 a narrow district of the kingdom it had been, even in 
 remote ages, confined ; which was the real cause why 
 no connected series of these poems had been written 
 down, and why they had been so long hid in obscurity. 
 To the same motive may be attributed the silent ac- 
 quiescence of the Highlanders in the alterations and 
 embellishments added to these poems, by a translator 
 more ambitious of adapting them to modern taste, 
 than of adhering strictly to the sense of the originals ; 
 more studious of his own advantage, than of the addi- 
 tion to be made to the science of human nature, by 
 developing truly and closely the manners of the He- 
 roic x\ge; by which I understand that intervening 
 betwixt rude barbarity, and the regular establishment 
 of law, property, and agriculture, 
 
 It is obvious that the greatest literary attainments 
 do not enable a man to judge whether a work, written 
 in a language he does not understand, differing in its 
 form and construction from every other with which he 
 is acquainted, be faithfully translated or not. It was 
 highly absurd in the opponents of Ossian to cry out 
 for written evidence, i. e. original manuscripts, of a 
 work composed long before the signs of words were 
 heard of in the country where they were composed . 
 It is no shame for a man of learning and taste to be 
 ignorant of the rude unwritten language of a savage 
 people: certainly not; but he ought to be ashamed 
 to decide upon facts without obtaining the necessary 
 
244 
 
 previous information. We have no right to strip the 
 laurels off the tombs even of savages, until we clearly 
 ascertain that they ought not to have been planted 
 there: let Fingal continue to be a hero, and OssiAN 
 a peer, were it but by the old rule of prescription, till 
 those who challenge their right acquire their language, 
 and are thus enabled to decide upon the question. 
 
 But it has been asked, why were the poems not 
 committed to writing when the knowledge of letters 
 was introduced, being so much admired by the people, 
 and cherished as sacred vestiges of their heroic age, 
 i and venerated memorials of their ancestors ? Here the 
 * ignorant defenders of OssiAN erred; their national 
 vanity would not allow them to confess, that except 
 the monks of Icolmkill, who held the heathen poems 
 of OssiAN in abhorrence, and laboured to eradicate 
 the prevailing passion for works of fancy, there were 
 very few who did write Gaelic, and the writings of 
 these few were merely confined to theology and to 
 family archives, unless in some rare instances, where a 
 young chief, before he became entirely engrossed by 
 war and hunting, might have wrote down some favou- 
 rite passage, composed or recited by a bard, or some 
 old chief preserved on parchment a genealogy delivered 
 by a sennachie. 
 
 Though the imagination may be delighted with fic- 
 tion, when the pictures drawn by the flowing pencil of 
 
Ul 
 
 Fancy resemble something that we know, or believe to 
 exist ; yet the love of truth is happily so fixed in the 
 human mind, that we revolt from a mixture of truth 
 and falsehood, especially where the boundaries are un- 
 distinguished. The quick disgust we feel on a disco- 
 very of this kind, is apt to lead us into an opposite 
 mistake; wherever we are required to believe more 
 than what is probable, we generally end in believing 
 less, or in entire scepticism. The alterations and em- 
 bellishments that have been made on these ancient 
 poems, have contributed more than any thing else to 
 shake their credit. But let us examine the circum- 
 stances which have been chiefly insisted on by the 
 unbelievers. 
 
 First, It is said to be impossible that a people so 
 savage and barbarous as the ancient Celt m, should 
 either entertain generous and tender sentiments, or 
 possess expressive and emphatic language to delineate 
 their feelings, and record their exploits. I believe it 
 is generally allowed that the inhabitants of the North 
 of Britain were a branch of the ancient Celt_^, whom 
 -the very Romans, who called them barbarians, (in 
 common with all others who were strangers to the 
 arts conducive to luxury, and the worship of their 
 deities) allowed to possess exalted notions of liberty, 
 friendship, and generosity, and a sense of probity in 
 their dealings with each other. The clearest way to 
 
246 
 
 ascertain the possibility of heroic sentiments being de- 
 livered in eloquent language by wandering savages, 
 who subsist by hunting, is to trace the manners of 
 people who still exist in a similar state of society. 
 The banks of the Mohawk very lately did, and the 
 borders of the Huron and Oneida lakes still do, afford 
 an apt illustration : there, heroic friendship, exalted 
 notions of probity and honour, the fondest filial and 
 fraternal affection, and the most enthusiastic patriot- 
 ism, prevail : there every chief is an orator, and every 
 orator a poet; if language, enriehed with glowing ima- 
 gery, exalted by the noblest conceptions, and modu- 
 lated into harmonious periods, can be called poetry. 
 The morality of these people is not indeed of so mild 
 and amiable a cast as that of the Fingalians. Re- 
 venge makes a part of their religion : the cruelties they 
 commit are not to gratify their inclinations, but to pa- 
 cify the manes, and honour the memory of their de- 
 parted friends : when that is once performed, they are 
 kind and indulgent in no common degree to those 
 whom accident, or the chance of war, throws into their 
 power. 
 
 There is another cause which might operate power- 
 fully to produce a superior refinement of humanity 
 among our ancestors : women among uncivilized wan- 
 dering tribes are generally in an abject and degraded 
 state, and condemned to the most servile employments. 
 
247 
 
 Among the Celt^e this appears not to have been the 
 case. Women possessed considerable influence in so- 
 ciety ; they were admitted at a certain age to councils, 
 and held in reverence on account of a prophetic spirit 
 with which some individuals were supposed to be en- 
 dowed. This fact is unquestionably established ; and 
 whether their obtaining so high a rank in society was 
 the cause or the consequence of a greater degree of 
 mildness and humanity in their manners than is usually 
 found among uncivilized people, the inference is equal- 
 ly just. 
 
 The next circumstance which has been urged against 
 the authenticity of the poems is, that the language in 
 which they are preserved could not have subsisted for 
 many centuries unaltered. What has altered language 
 but the invasion and conquest of countries, or the tra- 
 vels of the inhabitants, whom commercial or other 
 pursuits have attracted to foreign countries, and who, 
 returning, bring new customs and foreign languages to 
 the place of their nativity ? From the reverence with 
 which people in a state of nature usually regard their 
 ancestors, it is presumable that a man would always 
 call a deer, a fox, a river, or a mountain, by the name 
 his father called it. Things newly invented or import- 
 ed would have new names, but that would not change 
 the original form of the language. In a country equal- 
 ly poor and inaccessible, the usual causes of alteration 
 
248 
 
 did not occur. It was naturally impregnable, and not 
 worth conquering. Strangers had no motive of curio* 
 sity or advantage to visit it ; nothing but extreme 
 necessity made the natives emigrate ; and when they 
 acquired the language and manners of a civilized 
 country, they were equally unfit and unwilling to live 
 in their own. It is obvious that the language has un- 
 dergone no material alteration since the establishment 
 of the monks of Icolmkill. 
 
 The next impossibility asserted is, that of preserving 
 an unwritten composition, unimpaired, for so long a 
 series of ages. People who have long worn spectacles 
 can make little use of their eyes without them. We 
 have so long accustomed ourselves to a certain medium, 
 by which knowledge is preserved, and through which 
 it is received, that it is not easy for us to comprehend 
 how others could retain in their memories what ours 
 are unequal to. We have such a number of new 
 images continually passing through our minds, and 
 effacing the old, that we are very inadequate judges 
 of the deep impression which pathos and sublimity 
 might make on a mind open to receive, and at leisure 
 to fix their impressions. As little can we judge of the 
 fidelity of retension, which might result from a man's 
 making it the object of his life, like any other trade or 
 profession, to retain and recite poems. Persons still 
 living remember a woman in Strathspey, who, though 
 
249 
 
 ♦never taught to read, could recite the whole book of 
 Psalms in the Gaelic translation, merely by having it 
 read to her by others. This to be sure was the em- 
 ployment and delight of all the leisure hours of a long 
 life; but it is a proof what hold the memory takes, 
 where the heart is deeply interested. Dr. Johnson, 
 a name never to be mentioned but witli respect and 
 veneration, seems to have erred in his estimation of 
 the faculties of the mind, when neither exalted by cul- 
 ture, nor debased by utter neglect. He imputed too 
 much to learning, and did not think that a mind could 
 be informed or enlarged by any other means. He 
 does not appear to have considered that the book of 
 Nature lay open to all, and that other books at best 
 contain but the aggregate of human reflection and ob- 
 servation suggested by that great book. People who 
 had abilities, made use of them to treasure up in their 
 memories, for the delight and instruction of others, 
 what had formerly delighted and instructed them- 
 selves. Their bequeathing their most valuable acqui- 
 sitions unimpaired to others, was not at all improba- 
 ble. The errors which crept into written legends, 
 were often owing to their being copied over by those 
 who merely performed a task in transcribing them, 
 and felt no interest in the original: but in reciting, or 
 rather chanting poems, where they were well known 
 and highly relished, and where a certain rythmus or 
 cadence was connected with them, which was broke in 
 M 2 
 
250 
 
 upon by the change of a syllable, no great departure 
 from the original words could pass unnoticed, the ear 
 in this case aiding the memory. 
 
 Supposing that such poems once did exist, it is not 
 easy to believe they could be forgot or neglected by a 
 people whose national vanity was so flattered by them ; 
 especially when we consider that every Chief retained 
 a bard, whose principal business it was to recite those 
 scriptures of chivalry, for such they were esteemed. 
 
 The simplicity of manners, ardent affections, heroic 
 extravagance, and generous contempt of life, which 
 these poems ascribe to our ancestors, correspond with 
 the description left to us of the ancient Britons in 
 the times of the Druids. Their manners, indeed, 
 strongly mark that period of society which the fables 
 and traditions of various nations have decorated with 
 enthusiastic embellishments, and peopled with heroes 
 and demi-gods ; — the time when people were not 
 bound by laws, but, from reverence to their ancestors, 
 held sacred the precepts and customs bequeathed by 
 them ; when property was so far ascertained, that the 
 courageous might retain what their exertions acquired, 
 yet so unsettled, that the weak found it necessary to 
 dwell under the shadow of the strong : — when the 
 love of glory predominated over every other passion, 
 because all power, all esteem, all veneration, centered 
 
251 
 
 in him, who, by uniting courage with generosity, made 
 himself at once beloved and feared : — when the pas- 
 sion of love was a powerful one, because opposed by 
 no other, and exalted by that of glory, every woman 
 being ennobled by the heroes with whom she was al- 
 lied : — where friendship was a strong because a bene- 
 ficial bond ; for who loves his friend so well as he who 
 is daily bestowing or receiving assistance and protec- 
 tion? And, lastly, when poetry, the audible and har- 
 monious language of nature, flowed pure from the 
 heart, and was consecrated to its best affections, to 
 reward the successful, or console the suffering hero; 
 to preserve the remembrance of noble actions ; to la- 
 ment the tender lover or faithful friend ; and to give 
 the joy of grief to the soul, that is purified, while it is 
 melted. Such is the age which may be called the 
 golden one of heroism ; of which every nation delights 
 to preserve the traditions and obscure or exaggerated 
 history; and which intervenes betwixt that of the 
 selfish, solitary savage, whose short life is spent in 
 sudden transitions from violent exertion to gloomy in- 
 dolence ; and that of the civilized inhabitant, who be- 
 comes as selfish from the multitude of his wants, as the 
 other from the precariousness of his possessions ; ad- 
 justing his morality to coercive laws, and regulating 
 his desires by every changing fashion. This heroic 
 age is necessarily an illiterate one, the knowledge of 
 Letters being always preceded by agriculture and com- 
 
252 
 
 merce. Civilization and regular polity succeed so 
 soon to the heroic age, (which, after all, is a melancholy 
 and precarious state of life) that it is very difficult to 
 trace the fleeting images of the characters that adorn, 
 or the events that diversify it. What, then, do we 
 owe to the revered personage, at once a Poet, a Prince, 
 and a Hero, who delineated in unfading colours a 
 faithful picture of this short yet interesting interval ; 
 who sung the loves, the wars, the woes of his contem- 
 porary heroes, and arrayed them in such truth of 
 character, and beauty of diction, as cannot fail to at- 
 tract and delight through every age ? The frequent re- 
 currence of the same images and incidents may tire 
 and disgust a taste refined to nicety ; the style of the 
 translator may perhaps at times be justly accused of 
 swelling into tumidity; but wisdom and learning, 
 after having long sat in council upon the nature of 
 poetical excellence, and laid down rules innumerable 
 for attaining it, have at length come to this conclusion, 
 that as it is the province of poetry to delight the ima- 
 gination and affect the heart, what pleases and affects 
 very many, and continues to please and affect very long, 
 must needs be poetry of no inferior kind, however 
 obvious, or however numerous its blemishes; and daily 
 observation evinces, that the most correct and faultless 
 poetry, formed on the purest classical models, if it fails 
 in these great pie-requisites, if it can neither fix the at- 
 tention or affect the heart, sinks into sudden oblivion. 
 
Q53 
 
 The translator of Ossian, though he has on many 
 occasions forfeited the praise due to literary integrity, 
 has always rendered the sense of his anther in a pleas- 
 ing, and often in a faithful manner. Many circum- 
 stances concurred to lead him into deviations, which, 
 while they adapted his performance more to the popu- 
 lar taste, derogated from the credit of its authenticity, 
 and gave room to those who could not separate what 
 was genuine from what was changed and enlarged, to 
 impeach the whole as an imposture. Mr. Macpher- 
 son's early years had been spent among the indigent 
 and illiterate; and, when he made a spirited though 
 difficult etfort to cultivate those talents which he felt 
 struggling for expansion, his progress in moral im- 
 provement and delicacy of sentiment was by no means 
 commensurate to his other attainments. Justly con- 
 scious of his abilities, and not unjustly proud of his 
 acquisitions, he had not sufficient address or knowledge 
 of the world to conceal the opinion he entertained of 
 his own consequence. He presumed on his descent 
 from an ancient and respectable family, which every 
 one was willing to forget; and forgot his poverty, 
 which every one was willing to remember. He claim- 
 ed abruptly, and often indelicately, that place in soci- 
 ety to which he thought himself entitled ; and was as 
 often insolently repulsed by those who little knew 
 how to estimate learning and genius at its true value : 
 the treatment which would have crushed a gentle and 
 
254 
 
 timid spirit, hardened a lofty and resolute one, now 
 past softening or polishing: he chose his own path* 
 and walked firmly on in it, little consulting, and less va- 
 luing, the opinions of others; hence the liberties he took 
 in enlarging his materials, and the general and vague 
 assertions he made use of to defend the antiquity of 
 the whole collection, as he presented it to the public. 
 
 Amidst all the crushing neglect to which he was 
 subjected, and necessary occupations to which he ow- 
 ed his support, he wrote two original poems, which are 
 not without merit, though they were neither formed to 
 please, nor to last. The first, entitled Death, has 
 many forcible thoughts, and striking descriptions. 
 The other, the Highlander, has some original ideas 
 and incidents, but is rendered obscure, and sometimes 
 incongruous, by a strange mixture of Grecian and 
 Gothic mythology, and is so strongly marked with the 
 political prejudices in which the Author was educated^ 
 that it could not, on that sole account, be well receiv- 
 ed at the time when it was written. I have only seen 
 it in the Author's manuscript. Two obvious remarks 
 will occur to whoever peruses it with any attention : 
 one, that Mr. Macpherson made no use whatever 
 of the Gaelic fragments, which were then very well 
 known to himself and others, in forming incidents or 
 imagery to this poem : the other, that no traces ap- 
 pear in it of that harmonious and flowing diction 
 
255 
 
 which prevails in his translation : on the contrary, the 
 sentences are often harshly constructed, and the versi- 
 fication in general rugged and uncouth. The progress 
 lie had made in the learned languages enabled him in 
 some degree to form and to improve his poetical taste \ 
 but when he quitted the college, during the vacation, 
 he only made a transition from Greek to Gaelic, from 
 Homer to Ossian. Dr. Macpherson of Slate, 
 whose integrity was equal to his abilities, and whose 
 veracity never was or could be questioned, had by his 
 learned labours awakened a spirit of inquiry, and a 
 taste for Gaelic antiquities. These soon became the 
 favourite object of Mr. James Macpherson's stu- 
 dies: he delighted in running parallels between the 
 Grecian and Celtic Bards, till they became in a maa- 
 ner associated in his imagination. Here it may be 
 proper to observe, that the blindness of Ossian., 
 which he has been accused of inventing for this pur- 
 pose, is alluded to, not only in common sayings, but 
 in many Gaelic poems, well known to have existed 
 long previous to his translation, of which the Old 
 Bard's Wish (in this volume) affords an instance. 
 
 Finally, he not only resolved to translate and pub- 
 lish the Gaelic fragments of Ossian relative to Fin- 
 gal's Irish wars, but to enlarge and connect them, 
 so that they should form a continued narrative poem, 
 which he determined, though strongly dissuaded by a 
 
256 
 
 judicious friend, to call Epic, not considering that 
 these poets of Nature never did nor ever could pro- 
 duce long connected narratives. They sat down un- 
 der the shelter of a hollow rock, or an aged tree, and 
 recollected and mused, till, as the Psalmist expresses 
 it, " the fire burned ;" then they poured out a burst 
 of enthusiasm, and went on till they grew cold or 
 hungry, but never dreamt of resuming the subject : 
 this fire, once extinguished, could not be rekindled. 
 Successive poems might be composed on successive 
 actions, but they had no regular or immediate connec- 
 tion with each other. After the publication of his 
 fragments, some literary gentlemen in Edinburgh sub- 
 scribed a sum of money to enable him to make a jour- 
 ney to the western Highlands and islands, for the pur- 
 pose of collecting those larger poems, which he thought 
 proper to call Epic, and which he informed the gen- 
 tlemen he had reason to believe existed there. This 
 journey afforded him an opportunity also of gaining a 
 more thorough acquaintance with those expressions in 
 the language which were daily becoming obsolete ; the 
 purest Gaelic, or what the Highlanders call Jine Gae- 
 lic, being spoken in some of the islands. This fine 
 Gaelic does not by any means signify a different dia- 
 lect in the language, but a more elevated style, enrich- 
 ed and varied by a kind of poetical phraseology. The 
 superior classes of every community think more, con- 
 verse more, and have a more elegant manner of ex- 
 
257 
 
 pressing their sentiments, than those whose attention 
 is necessarily engaged by their urgent wants. In the 
 isles gentlemen still conversed in Gaelic, and this style 
 was still familiar. It may be easily conceived how 
 soon a language may be debased, when it ceases to be 
 used but by the mere vulgar. On this excursion our 
 Translator was accompanied by a person said to be 
 one of the best Gaelic scholars of his time, who, how- 
 ever, was no otherwise useful to him than as a lin- 
 guist, being destitute of taste, and even ordinary poe- 
 tical knowledge, but a man of stubborn integrity, who 
 could have no bias; for he liked his fellow-traveller 
 better than any thing, except truth. From this wor- 
 thy and venerable person the principal information 
 here communicated was derived. The chief acquisi- 
 tion they made on this excursion was a more intimate 
 knowledge of the Ossianic style, which cleared up many 
 obscurities in the former collections, to which how- 
 ever much was not added. The collection from which 
 the selection was made, was indeed a pretty ample 
 one. Something no doubt has been added, and much 
 subtracted; and this latter it was necessary to do, in 
 justice to the old Bard, to whom his successors had 
 appended many extravagant and grotesque ornaments. 
 These, however, were easily known to be no part of 
 the style of Ossian, which, though bold and figura- 
 tive, is all along distinguished by a dignity, an exqui- 
 site pathos, and a sublime and tender melancholy 
 
258 
 
 peculiar to himself. The Translator wisely stripped 
 off these ornaments, and brought the whole poems to 
 the standard of those beautiful and simple ones which 
 he found in their original undebased state. Among 
 these are the Vision of Malvina, the Death of Os- 
 car, the Counsel of Fingal to Oscar, Berra- 
 thon, and the Courtship of Ossian to Evir Altj- 
 ine. — It may be easily judged, were there no genuine 
 fragments but these, what the Poet that produced 
 them was capable of, especially when he depicted, 
 with the energy of truth, and glow of feeling, those 
 scenes in which he had himself been an actor. 
 
 The Translator, with such models before him, was 
 at no loss in forging links to connect the detached 
 parts into a seemly whole. Having fame and profit 
 more in view than tracing the familiar habits and do- 
 mestic manners of remote times, he threw into shade, 
 on some occasions, circumstances that might betray 
 our ancestors to the ridicule of modern fastidiousness ; 
 such as their rash, and sudden quarrels, minute details 
 relative to their hunting, their food, and their dogs, 
 their jealousies, and the fatal power which enchanted 
 rings had over their inclinations. These moles and 
 freckles which might have delighted the virtuoso, as 
 genuine marks of antiquity, would infallibly disgust 
 the common reader. In this respect he might be com- 
 pared to Susan, when she took such pains in scour- 
 
259 
 
 ing Scriblerus's shield : lie defaced the marks of 
 antiquity in hopes of procuring the general applause 
 of the gossips who awaited the christening of his work: 
 he was like an architect who should endeavour to 
 adapt a Gothic edifice to the purposes of modern 
 convenience ; it might be more elegant, but it would 
 no longer be a genuine Gothic edifice. Thus expand- 
 ed and embellished, the translation was published : it 
 happened to be at an unlucky juncture, when the 
 more numerous and clamorous party held the name of 
 Scotchman in detestation, and depreciated with indus- 
 trious acrimony every Scotch production, the charac- 
 ter of which time had not established. The attack 
 upon Ossian was made on false grounds, from igno- 
 rance of the true and just ones; a violent clamour was 
 raised for these ancient original manuscripts, which 
 never could or did exist. Like a nurse, who, being 
 teased by a petulant child to reach him down the 
 moon to play with, assures him he shall have it to- 
 morrow, Mr. Macpherson in an evil hour pro- 
 mised to produce the original manuscripts; and by 
 this pious fraud injured the credit of those valuable 
 remains. The manuscripts were then eagerly demand- 
 ed, and the demand variously evaded. Producing a 
 legible manuscript would never do. Yellow parch- 
 ments of grey antiquity were demanded. To talk of 
 impossibilities to a deaf multitude, predetermined 
 against conviction, was useless. However, it luckily, 
 
260 
 
 as he thought, occurred to him, to produce a Leabhar 
 Dearg, or Red Book, in which a chieftain had caused 
 several of the original fragments to be written down. 
 It was parchment, and it was old; but upon examina- 
 tion it shrunk from trial; for I am told it was not 
 three hundred years old; these, however, proved 
 superabundantly that the translator was not the author 
 of the poems. 
 
 A most formidable adversary now came forth to 
 defy the armies of Fingal. 
 
 Dr. Johnson, hardened in prejudice, fortified 
 with incredulity, and covered with the weighty mail of 
 ancient learning, (which, however, served only to en- 
 cumber and retard him in this pursuit) marched hea- 
 vily on against the Leabhar Dearg. Not satisfied 
 with pronouncing the whole an imposture, he pro- 
 nounced it an easy and flimsy one, and a thing that 
 any one could do with very moderate abilities. He 
 did not even leave the%anslator the merit of deceiv- 
 ing agreeably : in short, he said so much on the sub- 
 ject, that he reduced himself to a dilemma like that in 
 which he had involved his opponents. He had said 
 more than he could prove ; and, to support the credit 
 of his assertions, he set about looking for proofs where 
 they could not be found. It is probable that his jour- 
 ney to the Hebrides was in a great measure occasioned 
 
261 
 
 by his desire to obtain positive proofs of the non-exist- 
 ence of these poems. But the indispensable prerequi- 
 site for this enquiry was wanting. He was like a man 
 who should visit a river without implements for fishing, 
 and declare upon his return there were no fish, because 
 he had caught none. — Without understanding the lan- 
 guage in which the poems were composed, the evi- 
 dence of their antiquity, which was entirely local and 
 intrinsic, could not be traced ; — he enquired of country 
 gentlemen, advanced in life, and engrossed by its cares, 
 what they knew of the remains of Ossian? They 
 honestly told him they heard such poems in their 
 youth, but had never thought or enquired about the 
 authenticity of them, or of ascertaining the date of 
 their antiquity, and that they had never heard them 
 in a connected series. The Highland Presbyterian 
 clergy, who on all other occasions shared in the con- 
 tempt he avowed for that persuasion, seem to have 
 gained great credit with him, because they shewed no 
 extraordinary warmtli in defence of these poems, as 
 they appeared in the translation. He asked of Dr. 
 Macqueen, Whether the poems ever existed in the 
 form in which James Macpherson had given them 
 to the world? The Doctor could not, consistently 
 with his wonted probity, say they had ; nor did he 
 choose to give such an explanation as would afford a 
 fair pretext for infidelity. The clergy in these remote 
 places were more estimable for the purity of their lives, 
 
262 
 
 and the diligence of their evangelical labours, than 
 remarkable for their taste in elegant literature. They 
 rather, from a conscientious motive, maintained a kind 
 of warfare with bards and sennachies, such as our 
 more austere divines did with the theatre. 
 
 Upon the Reformation, they found the taste of the 
 people vitiated by the legends of the monks, and the 
 absurd and extravagant fictions of the latter bards ; 
 and that this acquired passion for the marvellous, laid 
 them open to every kind of imposture, and made them 
 less relish the simplicity of those truths in which it 
 was the duty of the clergy to instruct them. It was 
 no wonder, then, that in the indiscriminate war carried 
 on by pious zeal against poetical fiction, these frag- 
 ments, wrapt in a debasing cloud of adventitious mat- 
 ter, should meet with little favour or indulgence. 
 Yet Dr. Macpherson, whose probity and learning 
 were universally respected, having led the way in elu- 
 cidating these antiquities, some of the younger clergy 
 of more cultivated taste admired and studied them. 
 With these however Dr. Johnson did not chance to 
 meet ; and when he came to Edinburgh, where he 
 met with people abundantly qualified to discuss with 
 him all other points of polite literature, he could not, 
 though he had been open to conviction, obtain any 
 light upon this; a Scotchman who is not a Highlander, 
 being no better qualified to decide upon it, than a na- 
 
263 
 
 tive of London is to judge of the authenticity of a 
 poem in Welsh. The Doctor returned hardened in 
 infidelity. The correspondence which succeeded is 
 well known. In this the Doctor had greatly the ad- 
 vantage, both from the purity of his moral, and the 
 dignity of his literary character ; as well as from the 
 violence with which the current of prejudice ran 
 against his adversary. 
 
 Grown quite regardless of his literary character* 
 under all this hostility, Mr. Macpherson devoted 
 himself to more profitable pursuits, but did not find 
 them a sufficient consolation for the severity with 
 which he had been treated by the public, — a severity 
 which he may be said to have in some measure justly 
 incurred, by his presumptuous attempt to translate 
 Homer. Though wealthy, prosperous, and seem- 
 ingly indifferent to public applause, the chagrin he 
 felt at having so mingled falsehood with truth, that he 
 could not separate them with credit to himself, preyed 
 upon his spirits; and a short time before he died, he 
 ordered the Gaelic originals of the translated poems 
 to be printed for the satisfaction of his particular 
 friends. 
 
264 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Since writing the preceding Observations, I have, 
 seen a dissertation on the subject, written with so much 
 acuteness, learning, and force, as will probably render 
 it in the general opinion conclusive. It would be tedi- 
 ous and difficult to explain all the grounds on which 
 the opinions I entertain are founded ; — suffice it to 
 say, that I still think as I did formerly, yet would not 
 be understood to engage in controversy, where I only 
 meant to amuse, and in some degree inform a friend ; 
 and chose this subject, because it was the only one I 
 thought myself capable of shewing him in a new 
 light. 
 
MORDUTH. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GAELIC. 
 
 It was the intention of the Translator to insert the Gaelic 
 Originals of Mordlth and the succeeding poem, in com- 
 pliance with a wish expressed by Mr. Mackenzie, well 
 known as the Addison of Scotland ; but this volume having 
 considerably exceeded its proposed size, and the Gaelic of 
 both poems being already published in Gillies's and Macdo- 
 nald's Collections, she contents herself with giving the 
 Translations. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 MoftDUTH, we are told, is the name of the aged hero, who, speaking 
 in the first person, narrates part of the transactions of his early 
 life, relative to the wars then carried on between the Scotch a?id 
 the Norwegians. He begins in a manner suited to pre-dispose the 
 mind to regard him with mingled admiration and compassion. In 
 an apostrophe to the wind, whose violence disturbed his meditations, 
 he recurs to the days of his youth, when he ardently pursued the 
 enemies of his country ; and in foretelling the approaching weak- 
 ness of the wind, when time should destroy its power, introduces an 
 affecting allusion to his own feeble and forlorn state. 
 
MORDUTH. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Com'st thou with swift wing in thy strength, O Wind ! 
 Wilt thou not to my helpless age be kind ? 
 And lightly o'er my rocky shelter wave, 
 While here I sit all mournful by the grave, 
 Where busy memory feeds on endless woe, 
 While youth's dear lost companions sleep below. 
 And while they still my sorrowing thoughts engage, 
 I sink beneath th' enfeebling hand of age : 
 Alone I tremble till the storm be past, — 
 Then strive not with my weakness, Northern Blast! 
 Once was my step as light as thine, O Wind ! 
 With fearless valour, matchless strength combin'd ; 
 My foes from many a battle, piercd with wounds, 
 With feeble step retired to distant bounds : — 
 But Sorrow yet shall stop thy airy flight, 
 O Wind! nor shalt thou climb yon mountain's height, 
 Nor o'er the dark wood bear th' impending cloud — 
 That wood which once beneath thy prowess bow'd : 
 The grass shall scorn to yield beneath thy pow'r, 
 But every twig and every laughing flow'r 
 
267 
 
 Erect its head,— then to my age be kind, 
 Since thou thyself to age must yield, O Wind! 
 
 Come, * lovely hunter of excelling grace, 
 Awake a flame to warm and cheer the place; 
 Heap branches dry to kindle up in light, 
 For slowly from the east approaches night : 
 The Sun now hovers trembling in the west, 
 Already thrice the happy isies of rest 
 Have op'd their veil of clouds, and bade him lave 
 His glowing visage in the western wavef : 
 They cry, " O haste ! thy daily task is done, 
 " Come with thy bright looks streaming round, O 
 
 Sun! 
 u Behind the surge, dark wandering clouds of night 
 " Come frequent on, to shade thy lustre bright: 
 " Fair visage ! that first smiles to joy the east, 
 " Come, sink among the heavenly isles to rest." 
 Dark frowning clouds on sable wings arise, 
 See shadowy forms invite him from the skies ; 
 Departed heroes, hark ! the Sun invite 
 To pass with them, in isles of bliss, the night. 
 Blest be the meek-ey'd virgin of thy love J; 
 Unerring be thy shaft in every grove! 
 
 * The aged hero here addresses a young hunter, who ap- 
 pears to have treated him with compassionate veneration. 
 
 t The ancient Britons believed heaven to be situated in 
 beautiful islands in the western ocean, where the sun went to 
 repose in the evening, among the shades of departed heroes. 
 
 | See note No. 1. 
 
268 
 
 Hunter! who kindly lend'stme frequent aid, 
 While weak with age I wander through the shade, 
 Sit thou attentive on von moss grown grave, 
 While through the hollow rock the loud winds rave: 
 While fraught with meaning I the tale relate 
 Of heroes brave, and their eventful fate : 
 Now stretch' d beneath the monumental stone, 
 The gallant chiefs who first in battle shone! 
 
 How * bright the hue of years that ne'er return, 
 I feel my soul with wonted ardour burn ! 
 Return, my youth, with all thy acts of might, 
 Rise, memory, on my soul in beams of light ! 
 Show me the battles where I ruFd the storm, 
 And bright in armour show each hero's form. 
 O you that pour'd the tempest on your foes, 
 Look smiling from the clouds of your repose; 
 And while your children hear your proud renown, 
 See tears of transport silently steal down: — 
 My soul grows bright while former years arise, 
 With all their deeds of fame to glad my eyes: 
 In long succession see the scenes unfold, — 
 Hunter, attend ! a tale of times of old ! 
 
 The stars slept viewless on their cloudy bed, 
 The moon in formless darkness hid 'her head, 
 Erewhile tumultuous winds through ocean rav'd, 
 Now tost in air, the clouds the billows brav'd — 
 
 * There is an ardour of enthusiasm, and a force of expression 
 in the original of this exordium, to which no translation can do 
 
 justice. 
 
269 
 
 When, awful riding on the midnight storm, 
 From ocean's bed rose Shalmor's shadowy form : 
 Dim o'er the ridgy surge he seems to go, 
 Dark in the whelming cloud of drifting snow; 
 Then high upon the blast's tempestuous breath, 
 Rose to the lofty rock the son of death! 
 Chill vapours hung around his pointless spear, 
 While from his cold, dark bed, the chief drew near; 
 Emphatic truths his awful words convey, 
 And thus in hollow sounds he seem'd to say : A 
 " Rise, sons of Albion, from unsafe repose, 
 " Fierce from the north approach your ancient foes : 
 " Cold* Lochlin's smooth ships through the stor- 
 my surge, 
 n With mighty pow rs the bold invasion urge : 
 << Children of Albion, long renown'd, come forth 
 " To meet your bold invaders from the north \" 
 
 Swift on the cold blast fled the son of night, 
 The strong oak bow'd beneath th' impetuous flighty 
 The shatter'd forest shook before his wrath, 
 While to his wat'ry tomb retir'd the son of death. 
 The gentle Chief of Albion's generous race 
 Awak'd, — and, " Call my warriors from the chace/' 
 He cry'd, " and high on Feannds ridgy brow 
 ** Let warning flames alarm the vales below!" 
 
 m j>ee note No- £ .. 
 
2?0 
 
 From every mountain's side the Chiefs descend, 
 And bright in arms their gallant King attend : — 
 Morduth, the ruler of the strath around, 
 With warlike shouts, made trembling rocks resound : 
 The sons of battle heard the sound a-far, 
 And gleaming swords impatient threat the war. 
 Now morn dim dawning in the east appears, 
 And bids the sons of tempest seize their spears : 
 Mild in his beauteous radiance smil'd the sun, 
 While from blue Ocean's breast his course begun ; 
 His beams resplendent glitter'd on the arms 
 Of Chiefs renown'd in battle's fierce alarms : 
 Up valiant Chiaglas * rose ; devoid of fear, 
 And thick behind the Chief rose many a spear; 
 Tommora f gathers all his people round, 
 Nor in the rear was ardent Mordal found. 
 Chiaglas, who bow'd beneath the weight of years, 
 Cries, " Where are northern Sunar's thronging 
 
 spears ? 
 " Even I in former days have gather'd fame 
 " From Sunar, when to Albion's coasts he came: 
 u Though feeble age now foils me in the fight, 
 " Great was my strength, and great my deeds of 
 might r 
 
 * Chiabh-glas, gray locks. 
 k t A large lull overlooking an inhabited valley. 
 
271 
 
 1 If strength or hardihood can ought avail/ 
 Macorduibh cries, with fear and envy pale, 
 
 * Now is the time, — for Sunar of the North, 
 ' In all the gallant pomp of war comes forth; 
 
 * Redoubled sun-beams dance on polish'd arms, 
 ' And ardent warriors, smit with glory's charms, 
 
 ' Fierce in their strength move threatening at his side; 
 ' The woods before them bow their lofty pride. 
 1 See while they mount on Thirmor's rocky side, 
 ' His head diminish* d sinks before their stride ; 
 
 * In stormy wrath approaches Lochlin's might," 
 1 In vain the sons of Albion urge the fight, 
 
 * To tempt their fate and turn in shameful flight/ 
 
 " Fly, dastard, to the quiet abodes a-far, 
 
 * Where timorous females shun the din of war; 
 " Thy soul shakes like the green leaf in the air, 
 
 " When Autumn's chill blast makes the forest bare ; 
 
 " As flies the leaf before the wint'ry gale, 
 
 H Fly thou, when foes our valiant host assail ; 
 
 41 But many a stately tree this mountain owns, 
 
 " That stands erect when winter fiercest frowns ; 
 
 " And oft our northern foes in fury came, 
 
 " But when retir'd with conquest or with fame ? 
 
 " Depart unheard of, son of small renown! 
 
 " To where degenerate cowards dwell unknown ! 
 
 " Had we no greater foes than thee to dread, 
 
 " How soon to certain conquest we might speed : 
 
 i 
 
272 
 
 " We'd draw our weapons on this northern race, 
 
 " Assur'd, as when the tim'rous deer we chace : 
 
 ** Bloody and bold are those thy taunts that hear, 
 
 4< On every side then shun destruction near." 
 
 1 Still in our ears thy base reproaches ring, — 
 
 6 Thou son of pride, withdraw thy venom'd sting V 
 
 Two spears * with hostile terror threat on high, 
 
 And half-drawn swords and clashing shields draw nigh; 
 
 With civil rage now wakens Albion might, 
 
 To pour on kindred foes the sudden fight. 
 
 But the strong shield that guards th' impetuous throng, 
 
 The lovely King of Albions, came along, 
 
 With mighty anger frowning in his wrath, 
 
 He came like the impending cloud of death: 
 
 From Chief to Chief dark roll'd his ardent eyes, 
 
 And as he came, with fierce impatience cries, 
 
 *' Ye children of the waves, f restrain your might, 
 
 " Nor vainly say you conquer'd us in fight : 
 
 " Oft rose our fathers' spears in battle's roar, 
 
 " And oft your tombs upon the sea-beat shore. 
 
 " But well may joy arise in Sunar's hall, 
 
 " When by each other Albion's warriors fall!'* 
 
 * Two spears.'] Raising two spears was the signal for as- 
 sault. On this occasion it appears to be the result of a quarrel 
 between the Chiefs, whose discord is afterwards severely re- 
 proved by the King. 
 
 t Children of the waves.] The Norwegians* 
 
213 
 
 Asham'd, dismay 'd, before their monarch's ire, 
 The Chiefs who wak'd the deadly strife retire. 
 
 As two dark clouds that travel o'er tiie hills, 
 When from the sky the misty show'r distils, 
 With lowering horror fill the darken d vale, 
 While on in gloomy majesty they sail : 
 Thus dark in frowning might our heroes came, 
 And thus fierce Lochlin's host of mighty name. 
 
 Onward the king of Albion bent his course, 
 Then as a rock resists the billow's force, 
 Whose foaming rage assails the base in vain, 
 Then sinks with baffled fury back again — 
 So fierce, so clam'rous, rush'd the tide of foes, 
 So firm, so fearless, did the Chief oppose : 
 As come the loud winds through the gloom of night, 
 Came Lochlin's deadly spears to urge the fight : 
 Nor comes the fatal blast of night alone, 
 As fast the clouds that bid the tempest frown. 
 Thus high resistless x4lbion rose in arms, 
 Like bursting thunder came the loud alarms : 
 As rocky fragments from the mountain's brow, 
 By thunder torn, encounter fierce below, — 
 With furious shock the onset first began r 
 And many a foe lay gasping on the plain: 
 The Chieftains spears with rushing blood were dy'd, 
 And broken arms lay scatter'd far and wide ; 
 Bold hardy warriors urg'd the conflict sore, 
 And many a wound ran purple on Dalmore* 
 N 2 
 
2?4 
 
 4 
 
 But vainly force unequal we oppose, 
 
 What single arm can meet a hundred foes? 
 
 Our dauntless King our yielding steps beheld, 
 
 By Lochlin like a rushing tide impell'd, 
 
 The hero's soul with rage impetuous blaz'd, 
 
 While high in air his bloody spear he rais'd; 
 
 The foe's fierce conflict round the King appear'd, 
 
 While distant far his banner yielding steer'd. 
 
 At length he came, as ocean's wearied wave, 
 
 Where restless surges round lona rave, 
 
 In vain assaults the rock's unyielding pride, 
 
 Then falls repell'd indignant from its side: 
 
 " Why art thou darkened ere the clay's decline, 
 
 *' Fair Sun, that wont with fav'ring beams to shine * } 
 
 " Think not the warriors fought with feeble hands, 
 
 " Though far out-number'd by the adverse bands : 
 
 " Oft has an envious cloud obscur'd thy light, 
 
 " When sable tempests wing'd th' impetuous flight; 
 
 *' But when the winds are hush'd, and through the 
 
 sky 
 
 " The driving rack is seen across to fly ; 
 
 " When clouds retiring hear thy strong command, 
 
 " And the rude blast thou graspest in thy hand ; 
 
 " When kindly thou look'st forth with beauty crown'd, 
 
 M And all thy bright locks glitter wide around ; 
 
 * " This apostrophe meant for the King, is in a figurative 
 u or allegorical manner addressed to the sun.'* 
 
275 
 
 " When thy fair visage brightens with a smile, 
 
 " And pleasure gleams on every rock the while, 
 
 " Rejoic'd we see thy beaming glory rise, 
 
 " Rejoic'd we bless thy progress through the skies. 
 
 u Oh thou ! who dwell'st among the starry train, 
 
 " Move on with music to the western main * ! 
 
 " Although this night oppress'd, with wounds we pine, 
 
 " Our course to-morrow shall be bright as thine !" 
 
 * " Thusa ha measg na Reultan mor 9 
 " Heiric dha dho leaba le ceol" 
 
 " Thou who art amidst the constellations; 
 " Move to thy bed with music t." 
 
 t i. e, retire joyfully, complacently* 
 
MORDUTH. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Three times dark hovering in the east the night 
 Chas'd with black misty wings the lingering light ; 
 And thrice the stars with feebly glimmering ray 
 Shot through the struggling clouds that barr'd their 
 
 way ; 
 Low sullen winds that o'er the hillocks rise, 
 Seem laden with afflicted heroes sighs ; 
 The shades of ancient Chiefs, renown'd for might> 
 In wrath were moving o'er the mountain's height : 
 Deep moans of new-made ghosts came on the breeze^ 
 And weak their voices whisper d through the trees ; 
 Still in our ears their dying sorrows rung, 
 And anguish every manly bosom wrung. 
 
 High on a lofty rock the king appear'd, 
 Th' indignant glance desponding warriors fear'd ; 
 His mighty purpose lab'ring in his breast , 
 The monarch thus his high disdain expressed : 
 Ji When er the dark occasion seems to frown, 
 u With trembling fear the little heart sinks down- 
 
£77 
 
 M And quick the feeble to the covert flies, — 
 
 c \ The brave on danger looks with fearless eyes, 
 
 " Sees him approach in his most hideous form, 
 
 " And lifts his head undaunted in the storm: 
 
 l '- Though through the wood the howling tempest 
 
 raves, 
 " The stedfast oak the blast unshaken braves. 
 " Say, then, ye Chiefs, who warlike honours claim, 
 u If from the sons of little men we came > 
 " The spears we lift to quell invading foes, 
 fi Not from weak twigs of bending osier rose : 
 u From the firm oak our well-try 'd weapons came, 
 ic Of Albion's growth, renown d for deeds of fame !** 
 u How oft have foes come blustering from the 
 north, 
 " How oft our valiant ancestors gone forth, 
 " And drove them vanquished from the bloody Held — 
 " And will you to the sons of ocean yield ? 
 " Where moans of wounded foes from blast to blast, 
 " And dying groans in sad succession pass'd : 
 " The flat grey stones, the monuments of death, 
 " That frequent rise on yonder dusky heath; 
 " Preserve the memory of our gallant sires — 
 " Hark ! from their tombs a warning voice inspires, 
 " And says, ' Ye sons of sires that never fled, 
 4 Your fathers' steps with dauntless ardour tread!' * 
 
278 
 
 Listening to hear the King disclose his wrath, 
 The heroes stood dejected, still as death : 
 Then rais'd aloft the buckler, sword, and spear, 
 While hollow sounds * still murmur'd in their ear : 
 Morchean, the third that rul'd the sable rock, 
 Thrice shook his locks, thrice struck in wrath the oak ; 
 " Though now my strength bows with the weight of 
 
 years, 
 " No coward vein my cheek indignant bears ; 
 H Seldom I struek an unavailing stroke, 
 " And oft my sword through hostile ranks has broke ; 
 " I thought, and joy 'd to think my gallant son 
 " Would build my tomb when life's short day was 
 
 done; 
 u I hop'd when joy and grief alike were fled, 
 " Low in the narrow house f he'd lay my head. 
 " Alas! nor stone nor shield his hand shall raise, 
 u But long in deathless songs shall live his praise! 
 i$ His step was in the battle foremost found, 
 " Till every friend or fell or fled around : 
 
 * While hollow sounds.] While their confusion and horror 
 at the imputation of cowardice made them still imagine the 
 words sounded in their ears. 
 
 t Low in the narrow house.] The nearest relation first put 
 his hand to lift the corpse of the departed, and the nearest re- 
 lation at home first lifted the stone of fame. 
 
279 
 
 " But matchless odds can mortal might oppose ?— 
 
 " The hero fell before a thousand foes !" 
 
 • Blest be the hero's soul/ the king returned, 
 
 1 Alone he shall not lie, so justly mourn'd, 
 
 1 This night shall Albion's Chief his footsteps trace^ 
 
 s And dark our foes shall find the fatal place !' 
 
 Macorduibh's blooming spouse now grasp'd the 
 shield : 
 " Shall men till sun-rise linger in the field ? 
 " Will ye not hunt the foe like tim'rous deer, 
 " While doubt and darkness aggravate their fea* ?" 
 
 A mighty Chief, for strength and courage fam'd, 
 With milder words her rash impatience blam'd : 
 " The sons of Albion oft, when wars were o'er, 
 " And strangers chanc'd to tread her woody shore, 
 " With kindly welcome gave the joyful shell ; 
 u But never yet did ancient story tell, 
 " Where death in treacherous ambush lay in wait, 
 " When strangers pass the hospitable gate : 
 " Manly and generous Lochlin's sons appear, 
 " When the blest days of peace reverse the spear * !* 
 
 The moon in gloomy silence hid her head, 
 The stars lay slumbering in their cloudy bed, 
 The whirling tempest waken'd loud alarms, 
 And rattling hail rebounded from our arms: 
 
 * The spear being reversed was a token of peace* 
 
280 
 
 But dusky twilight bade its fury cease, 
 And every hostile blast was hush'd to peace. 
 Now morn's fair visage in the east arose, 
 The sun awak'd, more beauteous from repose, 
 Shook his bright locks resplendent o'er the field, 
 Till gladsome beams reflect from every shield. 
 Rejoicing in the rays of new-born light, 
 Each Chieftain seiz'd his arms, and wish'd the fight. 
 Said Morfolt * ; ' Let f no warrior further come, 
 
 * Who trusts that beauty's tears shall deck his tomb, 
 ' For whom a soft white hand shall trembling raise 
 
 ' The stone that gives his fame to future days. 
 
 ' For me,— this night, streteh'd on yon dusky heath, 
 
 * I'll sleep within the cold embrace of death — 
 
 * No stone of fame shall o'er my grave appear, 
 1 For me no cheek be moisten'd with a tear; 
 
 ' No hoary sire in me lament a son, 
 ' No son bewail a father's life is done ; 
 
 * Nor gentle maiden cry, alas ! my love ! 
 
 * Still must my heart my erring hand reprove, 
 ' Still cruel memory view the fatal dart 
 
 1 That pierc'd the snowy breast, the faithful heart 
 
 * Of her whose beauty, with excelling grace, 
 
 * Outshone a thousand fair of Albion's race: 
 
 * Morfolt, a name given to a person having an unusui I 
 quantity of hair, as one would say, heavy locks. 
 
 t See note No. 3. 
 
2S1 
 
 * My alien s^ord, that draws the purple flood 
 
 * From Lochlin's sons, smokes with my kindred's 
 
 blood ! 
 
 * My ancestors of old were Albion's foes, 
 
 ' And high in fame round Lochlin's king they rose: 
 
 * Twas my bold youth's delight my course to urge, 
 < With daring prow across the foaming surge : 
 
 6 Six gallant heroes rais'd my white sail high, 
 
 ' The northern blast in fury swept the sky, 
 
 ' The swelling billows rais'd their heads in wrath, 
 
 1 Or whirl'd us in the dreadful pools of death, 
 
 ' While blinding drift incessant drove around, 
 
 ' And angry skies with double darkness frown'd : 
 
 ' Fair Albion with the dawning light appear 'd, 
 
 ' And o'er the ridgy waves its white cliffs rear'd ; 
 
 ' Each oak its green locks shook with welcome kind p 
 
 ' And early music floated on the wind ; 
 
 c High banks, with melody on every spray, 
 
 * Seem'd nodding o'er our bark to bid us stay : 
 
 « A courteous Chieftain stretch'd his ready hand, 
 
 * And " Welcome, Lochlin's sons," he cries, " to land: 
 " Now hush'd in soft repose are war's alarms, 
 
 " And peaceful rust has settled on our arms ; — 
 
 * Here many are our deer, and full our shel's, 
 cf High deeds of fame our ancient story tells ; 
 " Honour and valour in our tales appear, — 
 
 " Who ever saw a guest a stranger here l n ' 
 
282 
 
 * With ready haste they spread the joyoias feast, 
 
 * Weary and faint we shar'd the glad repast : 
 
 * On every hand the song of bards arose, 
 
 1 Well pleas'd we blest our country's ancient foes : — 
 4 Sweet as the sun just breaking forth to view, 
 
 * That glittering cheers the foliage bent with dew, 
 ' Bosmina mov'd amidst the courteous throng, 
 
 * Soft as the whisper'd melody of song, 
 ' And as with timid step she glided by, 
 
 1 Her path was trac'd by many a hero's eye * ! 
 
 4 In vain, sweet maid, their looks were cast on thee, 
 
 « Whose soft regards alone distinguish'd me. 
 
 4 For nie no hills arose with forests crown'd, 
 
 ' No warriors to my standard crowded round, 
 
 * In early youth my ready weapon rose 
 
 4 And slaughter dealt amongst my country's foes ; 
 ' Yet all the deeds my single arm could claim, 
 4 Nor fill'd the song of bards, nor rais'd my fame. 
 44 Go," cried the maid, " and seek some distant land 
 •' Where mighty monarchs adverse hosts command, 
 
 * Thus far the Gaelic manuscript in the hands of the Trans- 
 lator. The subsequent part is versified from a prose transla- 
 tion by Mr. Clarke, which there isevery reason to rely upon 
 as authentic ; his father and grandfather having been remark- 
 able for their poetical taste and tenacious memory, and const, 
 dered by their contemporaries as living depositaries of Gaelic 
 traditions and poems. 
 
283 
 
 " There let the ardent soul of valour flame, 
 " And deeds of proud renown adorn thy name ; 
 " Then when thy fame returns on ev'ry wind, 
 " To glad the mourner whom thou leav'st behind, 
 
 * Come bright in arms and hear Bosmina own 
 
 u Her love the meed of Morfolt's worth alone/* 
 ' To Eriris king my subject arms I bore, 
 
 * And many a foe sunk breathless on the shore, 
 4 And many a bard around the nightly flame 
 
 ' The notes of triumph mingled with my name. 
 4 My fatal fame now swelling on the breeze, 
 4 Reach'd every shore, and wafted o'er the seas, 
 
 * To fair Bosmina's happy home convey 'd 
 
 1 The name so favoured by the matchless maid : 
 4 Daughters of Erin, vain were all your charms, 
 
 * Your softly rolling eyes, and snowy arms ; 
 
 * For me ye sigh'd, on me ye smil'd in vain, 
 
 1 When peace brought safety to your plains again : 
 < On wings of speed I hasted to depart, 
 
 * And sought the secret treasure of my heart. 
 
 6 The sun lay slumbering in his wavy bed, 
 The moon through clouds a dubious lustre shed ; 
 ' I saw her father's mossy tow'rs appear, 
 f The birchen grove with streaming branches near 
 1 Wav'd its light foliage to the whisp'ring wind — 
 ' Dark horror rose in my presaging mind ; 
 ' I stopt, and heard a well knowi * voice repeat, 
 ' Like summer's balmv breath in accents sweet : 
 
284 
 
 " Go, and should fate decree my hero's fall, 
 " Oft shall my soul this parting hour recal, 
 " And through the course of sad surviving years 
 fi Thy mem'ry shall be hallow cl by my tears/' 
 ' My soul, that never knew to fear before, 
 
 With doubt and terror now was clouded o'er : 
 ' Within the dusky shelter of the wood 
 1 A stately warrior by Bosmina stood, — 
 
 I bent my bow, and bid my arrow go 
 
 And seek the false heart thro' the breast of snow — 
 1 Let never other warrior wander wide 
 
 * Through fields of fame to win that heart of pride 
 1 Deep in her bosom sunk the shaft of death, 
 
 c Wide spread her floating vesture on the heath ; 
 
 * The sanguine stream distains her tresses bright, 
 ' Her low groans mingle with the sighs of night/ 
 
 " Whence came the dart of death?" the warrior cried. 
 
 * From no weak arm/ my boastful wrath replied. 
 " Insidious foe/' th' astonish'd youth returns, 
 
 " Though fall'n beneath thy arm the helpless mourns, 
 
 " No mighty arms that valour gives to shine 
 
 " Are ever rais'd before a heart like thine; 
 
 " Amidst the airy forms of ages past 
 
 " Thy surly ghost shall mingle with the blast; 
 
 " To hollow winds the fatal deed deplore, 
 
 " Nor lift thy steel against the lovely more." 
 
 1 Long on the heath alternate blows we deal, 
 
 * She groan'd unheard amidst the clash of steel. 
 
285 
 
 * His broken spear no more repels the blow ; 
 
 * Prone at my feet I saw my gallant foe ; 
 
 * The moon burst forth— my dying Friend I view'd, — 
 
 * Bosmina's brother! welt ring in his blood ! 
 
 " And art thou fall'n, our aged father's pride? " 
 
 * Th' expiring maid with falt'ring accents cried : 
 
 u Where art thou, Morfolt, — on what distant shore 
 
 " Do mighty foes thy deadly force deplore ? 
 
 " Who now shall hail thee with a brother's name, 
 
 " And call thee homeward from the fields of fame ? 
 
 " Yet shall my hero come, and raise my tomb 
 
 " Amidst yon peaceful grove, whose hallo w'd gloom 
 
 " Once heard our faithful vows ! " — The steel I drew, 
 
 ' And when the sanguine torrent burst anew 
 
 * My mingling tears her bleeding breast bedew'd ; 
 
 * Once more her closing eyes her lover view'd, 
 ' And saw his guilty hands in blood imbrued ! 
 f In the weak shriek the gen'rous soul was lost, 
 4 From my sad grasp escaped th' abhorrent ghost, 
 ' Shunn'd the fierce terrors of my jealous love, 
 i And on a moon-beam sought her friends above. 
 
 * Four stones now mark the dwelling of the brave, 
 4 There, too, the lovely finds a peaceful grave : 
 
 * The virgins oft with solemn brow draw near, 
 c And deck the sacred spot with beauty's tear; 
 4 The shrubs wave mournful as the breezes blow, 
 4 Their tuneful inmates pour the notes of woe ; 
 
 ! 
 
286 
 
 « All night I listen to the howling blast, 
 
 ' Or gaze on clouds with double gloom o ercast : 
 
 1 On me they darkly frown while gliding by, 
 
 * And airy forms from me with horror fly. 
 
 * Dunairm's sad chief in lonely silence mourns, 
 ' In vain he weeps, — the past no more returns ; 
 
 * At times his hands explore his children's tomb, 
 
 * His voice of woe breaks through the midnight gloom, 
 € No more he lifts the spear ; — but I again 
 
 * Shall bid his weapons thunder o'er the plain ; 
 4 Against my father's house his arms I wield, 
 
 * His gleaming steel shall pierce my kindred's shield ; 
 
 * My fatal weapon slew his valiant son, 
 1 Ere well his race of glory had begun ; 
 
 c Now round his early tomb, his country's foes 
 
 * Shall fall, the victims of my guilty woes. 
 
 € The moon's faint beams beheld the frantic deed, 
 4 By her pale light my kindred host shall bleed, 
 
 * Once more I feel my wonted ardour burn, — 
 4 Once more I go, but never to return ! ' 
 
 ******* 
 
NOTES 
 
 MORDUTE 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Blest be the meek-etjd virgin of thy love. P. S67. 
 
 There is au affecting delicacy in this address to the hunter, 
 whom the bard evidently means to address in such a strain of 
 soothing gratitude as would be most likely to please and inte- 
 rest him. He does not directly compliment him, but seems to 
 know this tender mention of 
 
 a The meek-erf d virgin of his love," 
 
 would gratify the sincere and artless lover more than any ex- 
 pression of kindness directed to himself: — the succeeding allu- 
 sion to his manner of life is equally appropriate. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 Cold Lochlin's smooth ships through the stormy surge, P. 269. 
 
 What proves this poem to be of considerable antiquity, is, 
 the Norwegian vessels Lomadh-long, smooth ships, in contra- 
 distinction to those of our ancestors, which were covered with 
 skins with the hair on, and appear indeed to have been little 
 more than currachs, or round vessels formed with osier twigs 
 and covered with hides, which have been used to cross ferries 
 
288 
 
 in Argyleshire in the memory of many now living. Yet the 
 peri@d in which this poem was composed appears to have been 
 long subsequent to the Fingalian times ; for we hear of cills, 
 or tombs, on the sea-side, and of one sovereign under whose 
 sway all the chiefs seem united. In the age of Fingal the four 
 grey stones seem to have been the only memorial of the war- 
 rior or the hunter. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Said Morfolt, " Let no warrior further come. P. 280. 
 
 Morfolt appears to have been a Norwegian, thrown by a 
 tempest in his youth upon the British coast, where receiving 
 much kindness, and being captivated with the beauty of a 
 maiden whom he calls Bosmina, smooth soft hand, he had 
 been induced to reside in the land of her kindred; but now, 
 in sorrow for her death, and remorse for fighting against his 
 own countrymen, devotes himself to certain destruction. The 
 fragment breaks off abruptly, and leaves the sequel of the story 
 in obscurity. 
 
THE 
 
 AGED BARD'S WISH, 
 
 TRANSLATION OF A GAELIC POEM COMPOSED IN THE 
 ISLE OF SKY. 
 
 As when a minstrel , taught by Heav'n to sing, 
 Awakes high raptures to the vocal string. 
 
 POPE'S ODYSSEY. 
 
 Oh! lay me by yon peaceful stream 
 That glides away so softly slow, 
 
 Where boughs exclude the noon-day beam, 
 And early violets round me blow *. 
 
 And thou, O sun ! with friendly eye 
 Regard my languid limbs of age ; 
 
 While on the new spring grass they lie, 
 Their warmth restore, their pains assuage. 
 
 * See note No. 1. 
 o 
 
290 
 
 Then on the pure stream's sloping side, 
 Wave soft thy wings thou western gale, 
 
 Clear stream, how gently dost thou glide, 
 To wake the flowerets of the vale. 
 
 The primrose pale, of lovely dye, 
 Around my dewy bank be spread ; 
 
 The daisy ope its modest eye, 
 
 And golden blooms bedeck my bed. 
 
 From lofty banks that bound my glen, 
 Let blossom'd branches softly bend, 
 
 While sweetly from each rocky den 
 The little birds their love-notes blend. 
 
 Where from yon crag, with age so grey, 
 
 The fresh stream bursts with rushing sound, 
 
 And echo bears the din away, 
 
 While ocean's distant waves resound. 
 
 Each rock and hill returns the strain 
 Of nature's joy that wakes around, 
 
 While sportive kids in frolic vein, 
 And roes in sprightly gambol bound. 
 
 The low of herds on yonder gale 
 
 Comes pleasing to my aged ear, 
 And sweetly rural from the dale 
 
 The bleating of their young I hear. 
 
291 
 
 And near me let the hinds repose, 
 
 And dappled fawns when tir'd of play, 
 
 Beside my brook's green margin close, 
 Or where the dashing fountains play. 
 
 Oh ! wake the chase, where I may hear 
 The hunter rouse th' impatient hounds ; 
 
 Their voice is music to my ear, 
 
 My cheek glows youthful at the sound. 
 
 I feel youth's cheerful spirit rise, 
 To hear the bugle sound so shrill, 
 
 While triumph bursts in joyful cries, 
 Where sinks the dun deer on the hill. 
 
 Then quick I see the goats rebound, 
 That morn and eve my steps pursue; 
 
 Yon mountain tops their cries resound, 
 Which I at hopeless distance view *. 
 
 I see Benard f of lofty brow, 
 
 Amidst his green locks dream the roes, 
 A thousand hills appear below, 
 
 And on his head the clouds repose. 
 
 The verses after this correspond with those of the same 
 t See note No. 2. 
 
 number in the original 
 
292 
 
 Above my glen I see the grove 
 
 Where first is heard the cuckoo's song^ 
 
 Where deer in peaceful freedom rove, 
 And pines protect the harmless throngs 
 
 I see the lake where wild ducks play, 
 And lead about their tender young, 
 
 With water-lilies border'd gay, 
 
 Its banks with evergreens o'erhung. 
 
 The water-nymph, with bosom white *, 
 Swims graceful on the swelling wave ; 
 
 Her infant train, with new delight, 
 Their downy breasts incessant lave ; 
 
 And when she wings her lofty flight, 
 
 Afar amidst the clouds to rise, 
 And when she quits my aching sight, 
 
 Commixing with the northern skies $ 
 
 She goes upon the southern gale f, 
 
 Where ventVous prow ne'er cut the waves, 
 
 Where never rose the fluttering sail, 
 But ocean solitary raves. 
 
 * See note No* 3. t See note No. 4. 
 
 
293 
 
 Be thou, with snowy plumage soft, 
 O swan ! not far from my repose ; 
 
 Even when I see thee soar aloft, 
 
 Thy parting strain will soothe my woes. 
 
 Tell from what distant land the wind * 
 Bears on its wings the sound of woe — 
 
 Sure 'tis his voice, who left behind 
 His Love, to trace the realm of snow. 
 
 Stream thy bright eyes, O virgin mild ! 
 
 For him on Lochlin's stormy coast 
 Who perish'd midst the tempest wild, — 
 
 To thee — to me — for ever lost ! 
 
 The graceful youth, iti manly bloom, 
 Who left my grey locks thus forlorn, 
 
 Far off to seek an early tomb, 
 
 Dost thou with social sorrow mourn ? 
 
 Thy beauteous cheek, grown pale with grief, 
 Still leans upon thy hand of snow, 
 
 Still heaves thy bosom for the chief 
 Long in the narrow bed laid low. 
 
 * See note No. 5. 
 
mi 
 
 O ! be his mem'ry ever bless'd, 
 Bright be the clouds of his repose ; 
 
 Soon shall we share the hero's rest, 
 Soon life, and love, and sorrow close. 
 
 Rise thou, whose soft melodious song 
 Pours on my heart the balm of ease; 
 
 Ye plaintive echoes come along, 
 
 And waft the notes, thou sighing breeze I 
 
 From ocean's breast, O gale, arise ! 
 
 Bear on thy wings the dulcet strain, — 
 Bear it where high on clouds he lies, 
 
 Tell him he hears the fair complain* 
 
 Tell, ere thy strength be past, O wind ! 
 
 Where weak in helpless age I lie, 
 Low on my rusty shield reclin'd, 
 
 And view his fair flowr withering nigh. 
 
 Lift me, O you, whose arms are young ! 
 
 Lay me beneath yon broad oak's shade ; 
 For now the noon-day sun grows strong, 
 
 'Let not his rays my eyes invade. 
 
 Then wilt thou come, thou vision fair, 
 Oft mingled with the stars of night ; 
 
 Scenes of my youth shall rise in air, 
 And times of manhood's active might. 
 
295 
 
 Shew to my soul the lovely maid, 
 Beneath the oak, the forest's pride ; 
 
 Her cheek let golden tresses shade, 
 Her lover, smiling, grace her side. 
 
 May endless joy their spirits wait, 
 
 And meteors waft th' enamour'd pair ! 
 
 Bless'd be your souls, and blessd thy fate, 
 Maid with the graceful locks so fair ! 
 
 Leave not my soul, O dream of joy ! 
 
 O turn again, once more return! 
 They hear me not — My darling boy ! 
 
 For thee, for her, not long I mourn ! 
 
 Now lay me close by yonder fall 
 That leaps in thunder o'er the rock ; 
 
 My lyre and shell attend my call, 
 The spear my sires in battle shook. 
 
 And come whence ocean's waters roll, 
 Ye breezes mild that softly blow, 
 
 And bear away my parting soul 
 
 Where sinks the sun at evening low. 
 
 O bear me to the happy isles 
 
 Where shades of mighty heroes rest, 
 
 Who, sunk in sleep, forget their toils, 
 Or wake the music of the blessd. 
 
%96 
 
 Blind Ossian's misty halls unfold : 
 
 Your eyes no more the bard shall view : 
 
 Let me my harp and shell behold, — 
 And now, dear harp and shell, adieu ! 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON THB' 
 
 AGED BARD'S WISH. 
 
 No. 1. P. 289. 
 The first verse is so compressed in the original, that it is 
 not possible to confine the sense in an equal number of English 
 lines. The second has also some peculiar epithets that cannot 
 be transfused into English in the same bounds. Thus it be- 
 comes necessary to give the sense of these two, in three Eng- 
 lish verses. This explanation is meant for the direction of 
 suchre aders as may have the curiosity to compare this close 
 and often literal translation with the corresponding verses of 
 the original poem. 
 
 Betwixt the twelfth and fourteenth verses of the original are 
 two highly figurative and poetical, but so much wrapt in the 
 mist of local superstition, that they are difficult to understand 
 or translate, and could only excite interest in minds to which 
 the wild solemnity they breathe is in some degree familiar. 
 
 No. 2. 
 I see Benard, of lofty br oic. P. 291. 
 The fourteenth verse has great force in the original. — Lite- 
 rally it runs thus : 
 " I see Benard) chieftain of a thousand mountains ; 
 " Among his locks are the visions of the roes — 
 " On his head is the sleep of the clouds." 
 
298 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 The water-nymph, with bosom white, P. 292. 
 
 Here the imagery grows so bold, and the expressions so pe- 
 culiar to the original language, that it becomes necessary to 
 render the sense, rather than the literal meaning, which again 
 dilates two verses into three. The epithet translated water 
 nymph, is still bolder in the original ; for there the swan is 
 called 
 
 Lovely white-bosom'd maid. 
 
 No. 4. P. 292. 
 
 For the reason above-mentioned, I have marked the eigh- 
 teenth verse so as to answer the corresponding verse of the 
 original. 
 
 I am thus attentive to minute particulars, because a faith- 
 ful, though not constrained or literal, translation from nature's 
 own genuine language, as it may justly be called, affords a 
 double pleasure. The imagination is amused, and the heart 
 affected, by the picturesque and pathetic powers of original 
 poetry; and the understanding and judgment are exercised in 
 tracing the operations of the untutored mind, and the powers 
 of unassisted genius. 
 
 No. 5. 
 Tell from what distant land the wind. P. 293. 
 
 As there is very little frost or snow in the islands, great num- 
 bers of swans come there from Norway in the beginning of 
 winter: some stay to hatch, but they mostly go northward in 
 summer. This furnishes the bard with the fine image, very 
 strongly expressed in the original, of the north wind bearing 
 towards him the moan of the departed ; upon which he in- 
 quires of the swan from what cold country that well-known 
 voice came. This affords him a pretence for digressing. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Awa\ away. 
 
 Ben, forward. 
 
 Bield, a house, a footing. 
 
 Blaw, blow. 
 
 Braw, fine. 
 
 Ca', strike, drive. 
 
 Craw, crow. 
 
 Fa\ fall. 
 
 Fause, false. 
 
 Fear'd, struck terror into. 
 
 Feckless, destitute of spirit and courage. 
 
 Frae, from. 
 
 Gaed, went. 
 
 G«r£, made, forced. 
 
 Gi'e, give* 
 
 Gfit, g*ty, if. 
 
 Gowd, siller, gold, silver. 
 
 #«', hall. 
 
 Hand, hold, contain. 
 
 To jaw, to talk, to brag. 
 
 Kenna, know not. 
 
 Jfcftf, known. 
 
300 
 
 Low, flame. 
 
 Nae f na, no. 
 
 Reaver, robber. 
 
 Rugging, pulling, tearing. 
 
 Sae, so. 
 
 Sair, sore, greatly. 
 
 Skaith, loss, disaster. 
 
 Sma y , small. 
 
 Spuihieing, robbing. 
 
 Tak' take. 
 
 Twa, two. 
 
 Wa, wall. 
 
 WT, with. 
 
 Wha, who. 
 
 WW, an exclamation. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 
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