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THE 
 
 BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 WTTH OTHER 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES GRAHAME. 
 
 boston: ' 
 
 i"'UBLISHE0 BY CAVID WEST, NO. 56^ AND JOHN WES 
 NO. 75, CORNIilLU 
 
 1807. 
 
 Printed by David Carlisle. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 In the first of the following poems, I have 
 endeavoured to delineate the manners and 
 characters of Birds. Their ex:ternal ap- 
 pearance I have not attempted to describe^ 
 unless sometimes by very slight and hasty 
 touches. What I have written is the re- 
 sult of my own observation. When I con- 
 sulted books, my object was not informa- 
 tion so much as correction; but as in these 
 pages I ha^^e not often travelled beyond 
 the limits of my own knowledge, and an 
 
IV PREFACE 
 
 my attention, from my early years, has 
 been insensibly directed to the subject, I 
 may, without arrogance, assert, that when 
 I did consult books, I very seldom found 
 myself either corrected or informed. 
 
 Considered as objects of mere amuse- 
 ment and amenity to man, how interesting 
 are the birds of the air ! How various 
 their appearances, their manners, and hab- 
 its ! How constantly do they present 
 themselves to the eye, and to the ear ! 
 While the other wild animals are obliged 
 to seek for safety in concealment, the 
 wings of Birds are to them a strong tower 
 of defence. To that defence are we in- 
 debted for the fearlessness with which they 
 sit, displaying their beauteous plumes, and 
 warbling their melodious notes : and what 
 were the woods, without the woodland 
 song, or the fields, uncheered by the aerial 
 notes of the lark ! 
 
. PREFACE. V 
 
 With the descriptions of Birds, I have 
 interspersed delineations of the scenes 
 which they frequent; and, under that 
 head, I have hazarded some observations 
 on the present mode of laying out grounds. 
 Some opinions which I have shortly, and 
 perhaps crudely, advanced, are copiously 
 and feelingly discussed in a book which 
 every landholder ought to peruse, — I mean$ 
 Price's " Essay on the Picturesque/' 
 
 The Birds of Scotland (a title, the prom- 
 ise of which I am sensible is more exten- 
 sive than the performance) I venture to 
 lay before the Public, not as, by any 
 means, a complete work- I oifer it not 
 as a treatise, but an essay. It is defective, 
 I am aware, in the general plan, as well 
 as in the different parts. Neither do I give 
 it as a scientific performance : I have stud- 
 ied not so much to convey knowledge, as to 
 please the imagination, and warm the heart. 
 
VI PREFACE, 
 
 In The Biblical Pictures^ I have en- 
 deavoured to describe some of those scenes 
 which painters have so successfully pre- 
 sented to the eye. I need hardly say, 
 how^ever, that, by the adoption of this title, 
 I meant not to subject myself to the prin- 
 ciples of tha art of painting. I have not 
 confined myself to the objects of sight, nor 
 adhered to one point of time. I have often 
 represented a series of incidents ; and, in 
 pourtraying characters, I have made them 
 speak as well as act. 
 
 Some of the months in The Rural Cal- 
 endar^ appeared in a newspaper (the Kelso 
 Mail) about nine or ten years ago. I have 
 since made several additions and correc- 
 tions ; but I lay the poem before the Pub- 
 lic, rather as a faithful sketch, than as a 
 full or finished delineation of the progress 
 of the year. 
 
CONTENTS.. 
 
 The Birds of Scotland, Part 1 1 
 
 — Part II 47 
 
 .-^ _ Part III 59 
 
 Biblical Pictures, 75 
 
 The Rural Calendar, 105 
 
 To a Redbreast, that flew in at my window, ... 141 
 Epitapll on a Blackbird, killed by a Hawk, ... 144 
 
 To England, on the Slave-Trade, 145 
 
 The Thanksgiving off Cape Trafalgar, 147 
 
 Notes, 149 
 
 Glossary, *...,...,,..,,...*•.*... ais' 
 
THE 
 
 BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Per virides passim ramos sua tecta vohicres 
 Concelebrant, mulcentque vagis loca sola querelis. 
 
 BUCHANAN^ 
 
 \ 
 
THE 
 
 BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 1 HE woodland song, the various vocal quires, 
 
 That harmonize fair Scotia's streamy vales ; 
 
 Their habitations, and their little joys ; 
 
 The winged dwellers on the leas, and moors, 
 
 And mountain cliffs ; the woods, the streams, themselves, 
 
 The sweetly rural, and the savage scene, — 
 
 Haunts of the plumy tribes,— be these my theme ! 
 
2 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Come, Fancy, hover high as eagle's wing : 
 Bend thy keen eye o'er Scotland's hills and daj^s ; 
 Float o'er her farthest isles ; glance o'er the main ; 
 Or, in this briary dale, flit with the wren. 
 From twig to twig ; or, on the grassy ridge. 
 Low nestle with the lark : Thou, simple bird, 
 Of all the vocal quire, dwell'st in a home 
 The humblest ; yet thy morning song ascends 
 Nearest to heaven, — sweet emblem of his song,* 
 Who sung the wakening by the daisy's side ! 
 
 With earliest spring, while yet the wheaten blade 
 Scarce shoots above the new-fallen shower of snow, 
 The skylark's note, in short excursion, warbles : 
 Yes ! even amid the day-obscuring fall, 
 I've marked his wing winnowing the feathery flakes. 
 In widely-circling horizontal flight. 
 But, when the season genial smiles, he towers 
 In loftier poise, with sweeter fuller pipe, 
 Cheering the ploughman at his furrow end, — 
 The while he clears the share, or, listening, leans 
 
 * Burns. 
 
I 
 
 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Upon his paddle-stafF, and, with raised hand, 
 Shadows his haif-shut eyes, striving to scan 
 The songster melting in the flood of light. 
 
 I 
 
 On tree, or bush, no Lark was ever seen : 
 The daisied lea he loves, where tufts of grass 
 Luxuriant crown the ridge ; there, with his mate, 
 He founds their lowly house, of withered bents, 
 And coarsest speargrass ; next, the inner work 
 With finer, and still finer fibres lays. 
 Rounding it curious with his speckled breast. 
 How strange this untaught art ! it is the gift, 
 The gift innate of Him, without whose will 
 Not even a sparrow falleth to the ground. 
 
 And now the assiduous dam her red-specked treasure, 
 From day to day increases, till complete 
 The wonted number, blythe, beneath her breast. 
 She cherishes from morn to eve, — ^from eve 
 To morn shields from the dew, that globuled lies 
 Upon her mottled plumes : then with the dawn 
 Upsprings her mate, and wakes her with his song. 
 His song full well she knows, even when the sun, 
 
4 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND* 
 
 High in his morning course, is hailed at once 
 By all the lofty warblers of the sky : 
 But most his downward-veering song she loves ; 
 Slow the descent at first, then, by degrees. 
 Quick, and more quick, till suddenly the note 
 Ceases ; and, like an arrow-fledge, he darts, 
 And, softly lighting, perches by her side. 
 
 But now no time for hovering welkin high, 
 Or downward-gliding strain ; the young have chipped. 
 Have burst the brittle cage, and gaping bills 
 Claim all the labour of the parent pair. 
 Ah, labour vain ! the herd-boy long has marked 
 His future prize ; the ascent, and glad return, 
 Too oft he viewed ; at last, with prying eyes. 
 He found the spot, and joyful thought he held 
 The full-ripe young already in his hand. 
 Or bore them lightly to his broom-roofed bield : 
 Even now he sits, amid the rushy mead. 
 Half-hid, and warps the skep with willow rind, 
 Or rounds the lid, still adding coil to coil. 
 Then joins the osier hinge : the work complete 
 Surveying, oft he turns, and much admires, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Complacent with himself ; then hies away 
 
 With plundering intent. Ah, little think 
 
 The harmless family of love, how near 
 
 The robber treads ! he stoops, and parts the grass, 
 
 And looks with eager eye upon his prey. 
 
 Quick round and round the parents fluttering wheel, 
 
 Now high, now low, and utter shrill the plaint 
 
 Of deep distress. — But soon forgot their woe ! 
 
 Not so with man ; year after year he mourns, 
 
 Year after year the mother weeps her son. 
 
 Torn from her struggling arms by ruffian grasp, 
 
 By robbery legalised. 
 
 Low in a glen, 
 Down which a little stream had furrowed deep, 
 'Tween meeting birchen boughs, a shelvy channel, 
 And brawling mingled with the western tide ; 
 Far up that stream, almost beyond the roar 
 Of storm-bulged breakers, foaming o'er the rocks 
 With furious dash, a lowly dwelling lurked, 
 Surrounded by a circlet of the stream. 
 Before the wattled door, a greensward plat, 
 With daisies gay, pastured a playful lamb ; 
 A pebbly path, deep-worn, led up the hill, 
 
6 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Winding among the trees, by wheel untouched. 
 Save when the winter fuel was brought home, — 
 One of the poor man's yearly festivals. 
 On every side it was a sheltered spot, , 
 So high and suddenly the woody steeps 
 Arose. One only way, downward the stream. 
 Just o'er the hollow, 'tween the meeting boughs. 
 The distant wave was seen, with, now and then. 
 The glimpse of passing sail ; but, when the breeze 
 Crested the distant wave, this little nook 
 Was all so calm, that, on the limberest spray. 
 The sweet bird chaunted motionless, the leaves 
 At times scarce fluttering. Here dwelt a pair, 
 Poor, humble, and content : one son alone. 
 Their William, happy lived at home to bless 
 Their downward years ; he, simple youth, 
 With boyish fondness, fancied he would love 
 A seaman's life, and with the fishers sailed, 
 To try their ways, far 'mong the western isles. 
 Far as Saint Kilda's rock-walled shore abrupt, 
 O'er which he saw ten thousand pinions wheel 
 Confused, dimming the sky : These dreary shores 
 Gladly he left ; he had a homeward heart : 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 No more his wishes wander to the waves. 
 But still he loves to cast a backward look, 
 And tell of all he saw, of all he learned ; 
 Of pillared StafFa, lone lona's isle. 
 Where Scotland's kings are laid ; of Lewis, Sky, 
 And of the mainland mountain-circled lochs ; 
 And he would sing the rowers timing chaunt. 
 And chorus wild. Once on a summer's eve, 
 When low the sun behind the highland hills 
 Was almost set, he sung that song, to cheer 
 The aged folks : upon the inverted quern 
 The father sat ; the mother's spindle hung 
 Forgot, and backward twirled the half-spun thread ; 
 Listening with partial welUpleased look, she gazed 
 Upon her son, and inly blessed the Lord, 
 That he was safe returned : Sudden a noise 
 Bursts rushing through the trees ; a glance of sted 
 Dazzles the eye, and fierce the savage band 
 Glare all around, then single out their prey. 
 In vain the mother clasps her darling boy. 
 In vain the sire offers their little all : 
 William is bound ; they follow to the shore, 
 € 
 
8 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLANIX 
 
 Implore, and weep, and pray ; knee-deep they stand, 
 And view in mute despair the boat recede. 
 
 But let me quit this scene, and bend my way 
 Back to the inland vales, and up the heights, 
 (Erst by the plough usurped), where now the heath. 
 Thin scattered up and down, blooming begins 
 To re-appear : Stillness, heart-soothing, reigns. 
 Save, now and then, the partridge's late call ; 
 Featly athwart the ridge she runs, now seen. 
 Now in the furrow hid ; then, screaming, springs. 
 Joined by her mate, and to the grass-field flies : 
 There, 'neath the blade, rudely she forms 
 Her shallow^ nest, humble as is the lark's. 
 But thrice more numerous her freckled store. 
 Careful she turns them to her breast, and soft. 
 With lightest pressure sits, scarce to be moved § 
 Yes, she will sit, regardless of the scythe, 
 That nearer, and still nearer, sweep by sweep. 
 Levels the swarth : Bold with a mother's fears> 
 She, faithful to the last, maintains her post. 
 And, with her blood, sprinkles a deeper xed 
 Upon the falling blossoms of the field ;•— 
 
T«E RIRDS OF SCOTLAND. ^ 
 
 While others, of her kind, content to haunt 
 
 The upland ferny braes, remote from man. 
 
 Behold a plenteous brood burst from the shell, 
 
 And run ; but soon, poor helpless things, returKi, 
 
 And crowd beneath the fond inviting breast, 
 
 And wings outstretching, quivering with delight. 
 
 They grow apace ; but still not far they range. 
 
 Till on their pinions plumes begin to shoot ; 
 
 Then, by the wary parents led, they dare 
 
 To skirt the earing crofts ; at last, full fledged, 
 
 They try their timorous wings, bending their flight 
 
 Home to their natal spot, and pant amid the ferns« 
 
 Oft by the side of sheep-fold, on the ground 
 
 Bared by the frequent hoof, they love to lie 
 
 And bask. O, I would never tire to look 
 
 On such a scene of peacefulness as this 1 
 
 But nearer as I draw, with cautious step, 
 
 Curious to mark their ways, at once alarmed, 
 
 They spring ; the startled lambs, with bickering haste, 
 
 Flee to their mothers' side, and gaze around z 
 
 Far o'er yon whins the covey wing their way, 
 
 And, wheeling round the broomy know, elude 
 
 My following eye. Fear not, ye harmless race. 
 
10 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 In me no longer shall ye find a foe ! 
 
 Even when each pulse heat high with bounding health, 
 
 Ere yet the stream of life, in sluggish flow, 
 
 Began to flag, and prematurely stop 
 
 With ever-boding pause, even then my heart 
 
 Was never in the sport ; even then I felt,— 
 
 Pleasure from pain was pleasure much alloyed. 
 
 Alas, he comes ! yes, yonder comes your foe, 
 With sure determined eye, and in his hand 
 The two-fold tube, formed for a double death. 
 Full soon his spaniel, ranging far and wide. 
 Will lead his footsteps to the very spot, 
 The covert thick, in which, falsely secure. 
 Ye lurking sit, close huddled, wing to wing : 
 Yes, near and nearer still the spaniel draws. 
 Retracing oft, and crossing oft his course. 
 Till, all at once, scent-struck, with pendent tongue, 
 And lifted paw, stiffened he panting stands. 
 Forward, encouraged by the sportsman's voice. 
 He hesitating creeps ; when, f^ush, the game 
 Upsprings, and, from the levelled turning tubes. 
 The glance, once and again, bursts through the smoke. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. ii 
 
 Nor, 'mid the rigours of the wintry day, 
 Does savage man the enfeebled pinion spare ; 
 Then not for sport, but bread, with hawk-like eye, . 
 That needs no setter's aid, the fowler gaunt 
 Roams in the snowy fields, and downward looks, 
 Tracing the triple claw, that leads him on. 
 Oft looking forward, to some thawing spring, 
 Where, 'mid the withered rushes, he discerns 
 His destined prey ; sidelong he stooping steps. 
 Wary, and, with a never-erring aim. 
 Scatters the flock wide fluttering in the snow ; — 
 The purpled snow records the cruel deed. 
 
 With earliest spring, while yet in mountain cleughs 
 Lingers the frozen wreath, when yeanling lambs, 
 Upon the little heath-encircled patch 
 Of smoothest sward, totter, — the gorcock's call 
 Is heard from out the mist, high on the hill ; 
 But not till when the tiny heather bud 
 Appears, are struck the spring-time leagues of love. 
 Remote from shepherd's hut, or trampled fold, 
 The new joined pair their lowly mansion pitch. 
 Perhaps beneath the juniper's rough shoots; 
 
12 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND* 
 
 Or castled on some plat of tufted heath, 
 
 Surrounded by a narrow sable moat .^ 
 
 Of swampy moss. Within the fabric rude, 
 
 Or e'er the new moon waxes to the full, 
 
 The assiduous dam eight spotted spheroids sees. 
 
 And feels beneath her heart, fluttering with joy. 
 
 Nor long she sits, till, with redoubled joy, 
 
 Around her she beholds an active brood 
 
 Run to and fro, or through her covering wings 
 
 Their downy heads look out ; and much she loves 
 
 To pluck the heather crops, not for herself. 
 
 But for their little bills. Thus, by degrees, 
 
 She teaches them to find the food, which God 
 
 Has spread for them amid the desart wild. 
 
 And seeming barrenness. Now they essay 
 
 Their full-plumed wings, and, whirring, spurn the ground; 
 
 Eut soon alight fast by yon moss-grown cairn. 
 
 Round which the berries blae (a beauteous tint 
 
 Of purple, deeper dyed with darkest blue) 
 
 Lurk 'mid the small round leaves. Enjoy the hour. 
 
 While yet ye may, ye unoffending flock ! 
 
 Wot not far distant now the bloody morn 
 
THE BIRDS OP SCOTLAND', 13 
 
 When man's protection, selfishly bestowed, 
 Shall be withdrawn, and murder roam at will. 
 
 Low in the east, the purple tinge of dawn 
 Steals upward o'er the clouds that overhang 
 The welkin's verge. Upon the mountain side. 
 The wakening covey quit their mother's wing, 
 And spread around : Lost in the mist. 
 They hear her call, and, quick returning, bless 
 A mother's eye. Meantime, the sportsman keen 
 Comes forth ; and, heedless of the winning smile 
 Of infant day, pleading on mercy's side. 
 Anticipates, with eager joy, the sum 
 'Of slaughter, that, ere evening hour, he'll boast 
 To have achieved ; — and many a gory wing, 
 Ere evening hour, exultingly he sees. 
 Drop, fluttering, 'mid the heath, — even 'mid the bush, 
 Beneath whose blooms the brooding mother sat. 
 Till round her she beheld her downy young. 
 
 At last mild twilight veils the insatiate eye, 
 ^nd stops the game of death. The frequent shot 
 Resounds no more : Silence again resumes 
 
14 THE BIRDS OF SC^OTLANlJ. 
 
 Her lonely reign ; save that the mother's call 
 is heard repeated oft, a plaintive note ! 
 Mournful she gathers in her brood, dispersed 
 By savage sport, and o'er the remnant spreads 
 Fondly her wings ; close nestling 'neath her breast, 
 They cherished cower amid the purple blooms. 
 
 While thus the heathfowl covey, day by day, 
 Is lessened, till, perhaps, one drooping bird 
 Survives, — the plover safe her airy scream 
 Circling repeats, then to a distance flies, 
 And, querulous, still returns, importunate ; 
 Yet still escapes, unworthy of an aim. 
 Amid the marsh's rushy skirts, her nest 
 Is slightly strewn ; four eggs, of olive hue, 
 Spotted with black> she broods upon : her young, 
 Soon as discumbered of the fragile shell, 
 Run lively round their dam. She, if or dog, 
 Or man, intrude upon her bleak domain. 
 Skims, clamouring loud, close at their feet, with wing 
 Stooping, as if impeded by a wound ; 
 Meantime her young, among the rush-roots, lurk 
 Secure. Ill*omened bird ! oft in the times 
 
I 
 
 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 15 
 
 When irionarchs owned no sceptre but the sword. 
 
 Far in the heathy waste, that stretches wid-e 
 
 From Avendale to Loudon's high-coned hill, 
 
 Thou, hovering o'er the panting fugitive, 
 
 Through dreary moss and moor, hast screaming led 
 
 The keen pursuer's eye : oft hast thou hung, 
 
 Like a death flag, above the assembled throng. 
 
 Whose lips hymned praise, their right hands at their hilts ; 
 
 Who, in defence of conscience, freedom, law. 
 
 Looked stern, with unaverted eyes, on death 
 
 In every form of horrour. Bird of woe ! 
 
 Even to the tomb thy victims, by thy wing, 
 
 Were haunted ; o'er the bier thy direful cry 
 
 Was heard, while murderous men rushed furious on. 
 
 Profaned the sacred presence of the dead, 
 
 And filled the grave with blood. At last, nor friend, 
 
 Nor father, brother, comrade, dares to join 
 
 The train, that frequent winds adown the heights. 
 
 By feeble female hands the bier is borne, 
 
 While on some neighbouring cairn the aged sire 
 
 Stands bent, his gray locks waving in the blast. 
 
 But who is she that lingers by the sod. 
 
 When all are gone ? 'Tis one who was beloved 
 
1^ THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 By him who lies below: Ill-omened bird! 
 
 She never will forget, never forget, 
 
 Thy dismal soughing wing, and doleful cry. 
 
 Amid these woodless wilds, a small round lake 
 Fve sometimes marked, girt by a spungy sward 
 Of lively green, with here and there a flower 
 Of deep-tinged purple> firmly stalked, of form 
 Pyramidal, — ^the shores bristling with reeds, 
 That midway over wade, and, as they bend. 
 Disclose the water lily, dancing light 
 On waves soft-rippled by the July gale; 
 Hither the long and soft-billed snipe resorts, 
 By suction nourished; here her house she forms ^ 
 Here warms her fourfold offspring into life. 
 Alas, not long her helpless offspring feel 
 Her fostering warmth; though suddenly she mountv 
 Her rapid rise, and vacillating flight. 
 In vain defend her from the fowler's aim. 
 
 But let ine to the vale once more descend. 
 And mingle with the woodland choir, and join 
 Their various. SQPg, and celebrate .with them , 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLA^ND, 1^ 
 
 *nie woods, the rocks, the streams, the bosky bourne. 
 
 The thorny dingle, and the open glade ; 
 
 For 'tis not in their song, nor in their plumes, 
 
 Nor in their wonderous ways, that all their charm 
 
 Consists ; No, 'tis the grove, their dwelling place, 
 
 That lends them half their charm, that still is linked^ 
 
 By strong association's half-seen chain, 
 
 With their swe^t song, wherever it is sung. 
 
 And while this lovely, this congenial theme, 
 
 I slightly touch, O, may I ne'er forget. 
 
 Nature, thy laws I be this my steady aim 
 
 To vindicate simplicity ; to drive *> 
 
 All affectation fdom the rural scene. 
 
 There are, who having seen some lordly pile. 
 Surrounded by a sea of lawn, attempt, 
 Within their narrow bounds, to imitate 
 The noble folly. Down the double row 
 Of venerable elms is hewn. Down crash, 
 Upon the grass, the orchard trees, whose sprays, 
 Enwreathed with blooms, and waved by gentlest galesi 
 Would lightly at the shaded window beat. 
 Breaking the morning slumbers with delight. 
 
IS THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 Vernal delight. The ancient mosS'-coped wall. 
 
 Or hedge impenetrable, interspersed 
 
 With holly evergreen, the domicile 
 
 Of many a little wing, is swept away ; 
 
 While, at respectful distance, rises up 
 
 The red brick-wall, with flues, and chimney tops. 
 
 And many a leafy crucifix adorned. 
 
 Extends the level lawn with dropping trees 
 
 New planted, dead at top, each to a post 
 
 Fast-collared, culprit like. The smooth expanse 
 
 Well cropt, and daily, as the owner's chin, 
 
 Not one irregularity presents, 
 
 Not even one grassy tuft, in which a lark 
 
 Might find a home, and cheer the dull domain : 
 
 Around the whole, a line vermicular. 
 
 Of nlelancholy fir, and leaning larch, 
 
 And shivering poplar, skirting the way side, 
 
 Is thinly drawn. But should the tasteful Power, 
 
 Pragmatic, which presides, with pencilling hand, 
 
 And striding compasses, o'er all this change. 
 
 Get in his thrall some hapless stream, that lurks 
 
 Wimpling through hazelly shaw, and broomy glen. 
 
 Instant the axe resounds through all the dale, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 1^ 
 
 And many a pair, unhoused, hovering lament 
 The barbarous devastation : All is smoothed, 
 Save here and there a tree ; the hawthorn, briar, 
 The hazel bush, the bramble, and the broom, 
 The sloe-lhorn, Scotia's myrtle, all are gone ; 
 And on the well sloped bank arise trim clumps, 
 Some round, and some oblong, of shrubs exotic, 
 A wilderness of poisons, precious deemed 
 In due proportion to their ugliness. 
 
 What though fair Scotland's vallies rarely vaunt 
 The oak majestical, whose aged boughs 
 Darken a roodbreadth ! yet no where is seen, 
 More beauteously profuse, wild underwood ; 
 No where 'tis seen more beauteously profuse, 
 Than on thy tangling banks, well-wooded Esk, 
 And Borthwick thine, above that fairy nook 
 Formed by your blending streams. The hawthorn there, 
 With moss and lichen gray, dies" of old age, 
 No steel profane permitted to intrude : 
 Up to the topmost branches climbs the rose. 
 And mingles with the fading blooms of May ; 
 While round the briar the honeysuckle wreaths 
 
 p 
 
20 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Entwine, and, with their sweet perfume, embalm 
 
 The dying rose : A never failing blow, 
 
 From spring to fall, expands ; the sloe4horn whitet 
 
 As if a flaky shower the leafless sprays 
 
 Had hung ; the hawthorn, May's fair diadem ; 
 
 The whin's rich dye ; the bonny broom ; the rasp 
 
 Erect ; the rose, red, white, and faintest pink ; 
 
 And long extending bramble's flowery shoots. 
 
 The bank ascend, an open height appears. 
 Between the double streams that wind below : 
 Look round ; behold a prospect wide and fair ;— 
 The Lomond hills, with Fife's town-skirted shore, 
 The intervening sea, Inchkeith's gray rocks. 
 With beacon -turret crowned ; Arthur's proud crest, 
 And Salisbury abrupt ; the Pentland range, 
 Now peaked, and now, with undulating swell, 
 Heaved to the clouds : More near, upon each hand, 
 The sloping woods, bulging into the glade, 
 Receding then with easy artless curve. 
 Behind, a grove, of ancient trees, surrounds 
 The ruins of a blood-cemented house. 
 Half prostrate laid, as ever ought to lie 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 21 
 
 The tyrant's dwelling. There no martin builds 
 
 Her airy nest ; not even the owl alights 
 
 On these unhallowed walls : The murderer's head 
 
 Was sheltered by these walls ; hands blood-embrued 
 
 Founded these walls, — Mackenzie's purpled hands !— 
 
 Perfidious minion of a sceptred priest ! 
 
 The huge enormity of crime on crime^ 
 
 Accumulated high, but ill conceals 
 
 The reptile meanness of thy dastard soul ; 
 
 Whose favourite art was lying with address, 
 
 Whose hollow promise, helped the princely hand 
 
 To screw confessions from the tortured lips. 
 
 Base hypocrite ! thy character, pourtrayed 
 
 By modern history's too lenient touch, 
 
 Truth loves to blazon, with her real tints. 
 
 To limn, of new, thy half-forgotten name, 
 
 Inscribe with infamy thy time-worn tomb. 
 
 And make the memory hated as the man* 
 
 But better far truth loyes to paint yon house 
 Of humbler wall, half stone, half turf ; with roof 
 Of mended thatch, the sparrow's warm abode ; 
 The wisp-wound chimney, with its rising wreath. \ 
 
22 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLANG^r 
 
 The sloping garden, filled with useful herbs, 
 Yet not without its rose ; the patch of corn 
 Upon the brow ; the blooming vetchy ridge. 
 But most the aged man, now wandering forth, 
 I love to view ; for 'neath yon homely guise 
 Dwell worth, and simple dignity, and sense, 
 Politeness natural, that puts to shame 
 The world's grimmace, and kindness crowning all. 
 Why should the falsely great, the glittering names, 
 Engross the muse's praise ? My humble voice 
 They ne'er engrossed, and never shall : I claim 
 The title of the poor man's bard : I dare 
 To celebrate an unambitious name ; 
 And thine, Kilgour, may yet some few years live. 
 When low thy reverend locks mix with the mould. 
 
 Even in a bird, the simplest notes have charms 
 For me : I even love the yellow-hammer's song. 
 When earliest buds begin to bulge, his note, 
 Simple, reiterated oft, is heard 
 On leafless briar, or half-grown hedge-row tree ; 
 Nor does he cease his note till autumn's leaves 
 Fall fluttering round his golden head so bright. 
 
tH£ BIRDS Of* SCOTLAND. 3^ 
 
 Fair plumaged bird ! cursed by the causeless hate 
 
 Of every schoolboy, stiil by me thy lot 
 
 Was pitied ! never did I tear thy nest : 
 
 I loved theCj pretty bird ! for 'tw^as thy nest 
 
 Which first, unhelped by older eyes, I found. 
 
 The very spot I think I now behold ! 
 
 Forth from my low^roofed home I wandered biythe, 
 
 Down to thy side, sweet Cart, where 'cross the stream. 
 
 A range of stones, below a shallow ford, 
 
 Stood in the place of the now spanning arch ; 
 
 Up from that ford a little bank there was, 
 
 With alder-copse and willow overgrov/n, 
 
 Now worn away by mining winter floods; 
 
 There, at a bramble root, sunk in the grass, 
 
 The hidden prize, of withered field-straws formed, 
 
 Well lined with many a coil of hair and moss, 
 
 And in it laid five red-veined spheres, I found. 
 
 The Syracusan's voice did not exclaim 
 
 The grand Heurekuy with more rapturous joy. 
 
 Than at that moment fluttered round my heart. 
 
 How simply unassuming is that strain ! 
 It is the redbreast's song, the friend of mar., 
 
 E 
 
24 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND* 
 
 High is his perch, but humble is his home, 
 
 And well concealed. Sometimes within the sound 
 
 Of heartsome mill-clack, where the spacious door 
 
 White-dusted, tells him, plenty reigns around, — 
 
 Close at the root of briar-bush, that o'erhangs 
 
 The narrow stream, with shealings bedded white, — 
 
 He fixes his abode, and lives at will. 
 
 Oft near some single cottage, he prefers 
 
 To rear his little home; there, pert and spruce. 
 
 He shares the refuse of the goodwife's churn, 
 
 Which kindly on the wall for him she leaves : 
 
 Below her lintel oft he lights, then in 
 
 He boldly flits, and fluttering loads his bill, 
 
 And to his young the yellow treasure bears. 
 
 Not seldom does he neighbour the low roof 
 Where tiny elves are taught :— a pleasant spot 
 It is, well fenced from winter blast, and screened, 
 By high o'er-spreading boughs, from summer sun. 
 Before the door a sloping green extends 
 No farther than the neighbouring cottage-hedge, 
 Beneath whose boutree shade a little well 
 Is scooped, so limpid, that its guardian trout 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 25 
 
 (The wonder of the lesser stooping wights) 
 
 Is at the bottom seen. — At noontide hour, 
 
 The imprisoned throng, enlarged, blythsome rush forth 
 
 To sport the happy interval away; 
 
 While those from distance come, upon the sward, 
 
 At random seated, loose their little stores : 
 
 In midst of them poor Redbreast hops unharmed, 
 
 For they have read, or heard, and wept to hear, 
 
 The story of the Children in the Wood ; 
 
 And many a crumb to Robin they will throw. 
 
 Others there are that love, on shady banks 
 
 Retired, to pass the summer days : their song, 
 
 Among the birchen boughs, with sweetest fall, 
 
 Is warbled, pausing, then resumed more sweet, 
 
 More sad ; that, to an ear grown fanciful, 
 
 The babes, the wood, the man, rise in review, 
 
 And Robin still repeats the tragic line. 
 
 But should the note of flute, or human voice, 
 
 Sound through the grove, the madrigal at once 
 
 Ceases ; the warbler flits from branch to branch, 
 
 And, stooping, sidelong turns his listening head. 
 
26 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Ye lovers of his song, the greenwood path 
 Each morn duly bestrew with a few crurnbs : 
 His friendship thus ye'll gain ; till, by degrees. 
 Alert, even from your hand, the offered boon 
 He'll pick, half trustingly. Yes, I have seen 
 Him, and his mate, attend, from tree to tree. 
 My passing step ; and, from my open hand, 
 The morsel pick, timorous, and starting back, 
 Returning still, with confidence increased. 
 
 What little birds, with frequent shrillest chirp, 
 When honeysuckle flowers succeed the rose, 
 The inmost thicket haunt ?— their tawny breasts. 
 Spotted with black, bespeak the youngling thrush, 
 Though less in size ; it is the Redbreast's brood. 
 New flown, helpless, with still the dowmy tufts 
 Upon their heads. But soon their full fledged wings. 
 Long hesitating, quivering oft, they stretch : 
 At last, encouraged by the parent voice, 
 And leading flight, they reach the nearest bush, 
 Or, falling short, lie panting on the ground ; I 
 
 But, reassured, the destined aim attain. 
 Nor long this helpless state: Each day adds strength. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 27 
 
 Adds wisdom, suited to their little sphere, 
 Adds independence, first of heavenly boons ! 
 
 Released from all the duties, all the cares, 
 The keen, yet sweet solicitudes, that haunt 
 The parent's breast ; again the Redbreast's song 
 Trills from the wood, or from the garden bough. 
 Each season in its turn he hails ; he hails, 
 Perched on the naked tree, ,3pring's earliest buds : 
 At morn, at chilly eve, when the March sun 
 Sinks with a wintry tinge, and Hesper sheds 
 A frosty light, he ceases not his strain : 
 And when staid Autumn walks with rustling tread. 
 He mourns the falling leaf. Even when each branch 
 Is leafless, and the harvest morn has clothed 
 The fields in white, he, on the hoar-plumed spray, 
 Delights, dear trustful bird ! his future host. 
 
 But farewell lessening days, in summer smile 
 Arrayed. Dark winter's frown comes like a cloud, 
 Whose shadow sweeps a mountain side, and scowls 
 O'er all the land. Now warm stack-yards, and barns, 
 Busy with bouncing flails, are Robin's haunts. 
 
28 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Upon the barn's half-door he doubting lights, 
 And inward peeps. But truce, sweet social bird I 
 So well I love the strain, when thou'rt my theme^ 
 That now I almost tread the winter snows, 
 While many a vernal song remains unsung. 
 
 When snowdrops die, and the green primrose leaves 
 Announce the coming flower, the merle's note, 
 Mellifluous, rich, deep-toned, fills all the vale, 
 And charms the ravished ear. The hawthorn bush, 
 New-budded, is his perch ; there the gray dawn 
 He hails ; and there, with parting light, concludes 
 His melody. There, when the buds begin 
 To break, he lays the fibrous roots ; and, see, 
 His jetty breast embrowned ; the rounded clay 
 His jetty breast has soiled : but now complete, 
 His partner, and his helper in the work, 
 Happy assumes possession of her home ; 
 While he, upon a neighbouring tree, his lay, 
 More richly full, melodiously renews. 
 When twice seven days have run, the moment snatch, 
 That she has flitted off her charge, to cool 
 Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Then silently, on tiptoe raised, look in. 
 
 Admire : Five cupless acorns, darkly specked. 
 
 Delight the eye, warm to the cautious touch. 
 
 In seven days more expect the fledgeless young, 
 
 Five gaping bills. With busy wing, and eye 
 
 Quick-darting, all alert, the parent pair 
 
 Gather the sustenance which heaven bestows. 
 
 But music ceases, save at dewy fall 
 
 Of eve, when, nestling o'er her brood, the dam 
 
 Has stilled them all to rest ; or at the hour 
 
 Of doubtful dawning gray ; then from his wing 
 
 Her partner turns his yellow bill, and chaunts 
 
 His solitary song of joyous praise. 
 
 From day to day, as blow the hawthorn flowers, 
 
 That canopy, this little home of love. 
 
 The plumage of the younglings shoots and spreads, 
 
 Filling with joy the fond parental eye. 
 
 Alas ! not long the parents' partial eye 
 
 Shall view the fledging wing ; ne'er shall they see 
 
 The timorous pinion's first essay at flight. 
 
 The truant schoolboy's eager, bleeding hand, 
 
 Their house, their all, tears from the bending bush ; 
 
 A shower of blossoms mourns the ruthless deed ! 
 
so THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 •The piercing anguished note, the brushing wing. 
 The spoiler heeds not ; triumphing his way, 
 Smiling he wends : The ruined, hopeless pair. 
 O'er many a field follow his townward steps. 
 Then back return ; and, perching on the bush, 
 Find nought of all they loved, but one small tuft 
 Of moss, and withered roots. Drooping they sit. 
 Silent : Afar at last they fly, o'er hill 
 And lurid moor, to mourn in other groves, 
 And soothe, in gentler grief, their hapless lot. 
 
 Meantime the younger victims, one by one, 
 Drop off, by care destroyed, and food unfit. 
 Perhaps one, hardier than the rest, survives. 
 And 'tween the wicker bars, with fading weeds 
 Entwined, hung at some lofty window, hops 
 From stick to stick his small unvaried round 5 
 While opposite, but higher still, the lark 
 Stands fluttering, or runs o'er his narrow field, 
 A span-breadth turf, tawny and parched, with wings 
 (2uivering, as if to fly ; his carol gay 
 Lightening the pale mechanic's tedious task. 
 Poor birds, most sad the change ! of daisied fields, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Si 
 
 Of hawthorn blooming sprays, of boundless air. 
 With melody replete, for clouds of smoke. 
 Through which the daw flies cawing steeple high ; 
 Or creak of grinding wheels, or skillet tongue. 
 Shrilly reviling, more discordant still ! 
 
 But what their wretchedness, parents or young. 
 Compared to that which wrings the human breast,. 
 Doomed to lament a loss, than death more dire, — 
 The robbery of a child ! Aye, there is wretchedness I 
 Snatched playful from the rosy bank, by hands 
 Enured to crimes, the innocent is borne 
 Far, far away. Of all the varying forms 
 Of human woe, this the most dire ! To think 
 He might have been now sporting at your side, 
 But that, neglected, he was left a prey 
 To pirate hands ! To think how he will shudder. 
 To see a hideous, haggard face attempt 
 To smile away his tears, caressing him 
 With horrible embrace, the while he calls 
 Aloud, in vain to you ! Nor does even time, — 
 Assuager of all other woes, — bring balm 
 To this : Each child, to boyish years grown up^ 
 
32 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND*. 
 
 Reminds you o^ your boy ! He might have beefi > 
 
 Like this, fair, blooming, modest, looking down 
 
 With most engaging bashfulness : But now, 
 
 Instead of this, perhaps, with sable mask 
 
 Begrimed, he feebly totters 'neath a load, 
 
 More fitted to his cruel master's strength. 
 
 Perhaps, to manhood come, allured to sell ' 
 
 His life, his freedom, for some paltry pounds. 
 
 He now lies 'mong the numbered, nameless crowd, *" 
 
 That groan on gory fields, envying the dead ! "^ 
 
 Or, still more dreadful fate I dragged, trained, compelled: 
 
 To vice, to crimes, death-sentenced crimes, perhaps 
 
 Among those miserable names, which blot 
 
 The callendar of death, his is inscribed 1 
 
 How much alike in habits, form, and size, 
 The merle and the mavis*! how unlike 
 In plumage, and in song ! The thrush's song 
 Is varied as his plumes ; and as his plumes 
 Blend beauteous, each with each, so run his notes 
 Smoothly, with many a happy rise and falL 
 How prettily, upon his parded breast, 
 
 * Thrush. 
 
tttE BikDS OF SCOTLAND. ; 
 
 The vividly contrasted tints unite 
 To please the admiring eye ; so, loud and softj 
 And high and low, all in his notes combine, 
 In alternation sweet, to charm the ear. 
 
 Full earlier than the blackbird he begins 
 His vernal strain. Regardless of the frown 
 Which winter casts upon the vernal day, 
 Though snowy flakes melt in the primrose cup, 
 He, warbling on, awaits the sunny beam, 
 That mild gleams down, and spreads o'er all the grove. 
 But now his song a partner for him gains ; 
 And in the hazel bush, or sloe, is formed 
 The habitation of the wedded pair : 
 Sometimes below the never-fading leaves 
 Of ivy close, that overtwisting binds. 
 And richly crowns, with clustered fruit of spying, 
 Some riven rock, or nodding castle wall ; 
 Sometimes beneath the jutting root of elm, 
 Or oak, among the sprigs, that overhang 
 A pebble-chiding stream, the loam-lined hous^ 
 Is fixed, well hid from ken of hovering hawk, 
 Or lurking beast, or schoolboy's prowling eye ; 
 
34 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Securely there the dam sits all day long. 
 While from the adverse bank, on topmost shoot 
 Of odour-breathing birch, her mate's blythe channt 
 Cheers her pent hours, and makes the wild woods ring. 
 Grudge not, ye owners of the fruited boughs, 
 That he should pay himself for that sweet music, 
 With which, in blossom time, he cheers your hearts ! 
 Scare, if ye will, his timid wing away. 
 But, O, let not the leaden viewless shower, 
 VoUied from flashing tube, arrest his flight, 
 And fill his tuneful, gasping bill with blood ! 
 
 These two, all others of the singing quires, 
 In size, surpass. A contrast now behold: 
 The little woodland dwarf, the tiny wren, 
 That from the root-sprigs trills her ditty clear^ 
 Of stature most diminutive herself. 
 Not so her wonderous house ; for, strange to tell \ 
 Her^s is the largest structure that is formed 
 By tuneful bill and breast. 'Neath some old root, 
 From which the sloping soil, by wintry rains. 
 Has been all worn away, she fixes up 
 Her curious dwelling, close, and vaulted o'er, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 55 
 
 And in the side a little gateway porch> 
 In which (for I have seen) she'll sit and pipe 
 A merry stave of her shrill roundelay. 
 Nor always does a single gate suffice 
 
 i For exit, and for entrance to her dome ; 
 For when (as sometimes haps) within a bush 
 
 ; She builds the artful fabric, then each side 
 
 i Has its own portico. But, mark within ! 
 
 jl How skilfully the finest plumes and downs 
 Are softly warped ; how closely all around 
 The outer layers of moss ! each circumstance 
 
 J Most artfully contrived to favour warmth \ 
 Here read the reason of the vaulted roof; 
 Here Providence compensates, ever kind, 
 The enormous disproportion that subsists 
 Between the mother and the numerous brood, 
 Which her small bulk must quicken into life. 
 Fifteen white spherules, small as moorland hare-bell^ 
 And prettily bespecked like fox-glove flower. 
 Complete her number. Twice five days she sits, 
 Fed by her partner, never flitting off, 
 Save when the morning sun is high, to drink 
 A dewdrop from the nearest flowret cup. 
 
36 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND* 
 
 But now behold the greatest of this train 
 Of miracles, stupendously minute ; 
 The numerous progeny, clamant for food, 
 Supplied by two small bills, and feeble wings 
 Of narrow range ; supplied, aye, duly fed, 
 Fed in the dark, and yet not one forgot ! 
 
 When whinny braes are garlanded with gold, 
 And, blythe, the lamb pursues, in merry chase. 
 His twin around the bush; the linnet, then. 
 Within the prickly fortress builds her bower, 
 And warmly lines it round, with hair and wool 
 Inwove. Sweet minstrel, may'st thou long delight 
 The whinny know, and broomy brae, and bank 
 Of fragrant birch ! May never fowler's snare 
 Tangle thy struggling foot ! Or, if thou'rt doomed 
 Within the narrow cage thy dreary days 
 To pine, may ne'er the glowing wire (oh, crime accursed ! ) 
 Quench, with fell agony, thy shrivelling eye ! 
 Deprived of air and freedom, shall the light 
 Of day, thy only pleasure, be denied ? 
 But thy own song will still be left ; with it, 
 Darkling, thou'lt soothe the lingering hours away.; 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 57 
 
 And thou wilt learn to find thy triple perch, 
 Thy seed-box, and thy beverage safFron-tinged. 
 Nor is thy lot more hard than that which they 
 (Poor linnets !) prove in many a storied pile*: 
 They see the light, 'tis true, — -they see, and know 
 That light for them is but an implement 
 Of toil. In summer with the sun they rise 
 To toil, and with his setting beam they cease 
 To toil : nor does the shortened winter day 
 Their toil abridge; for, ere the cock's first crow. 
 Aroused to toil, they lift their heavy eyes, 
 And force their childish limbs to rise and toil ; 
 And while the winter night, by cottage fire, 
 Is spent in homebred industry, relieved 
 By harmless glee, or tale of witch, or ghost, 
 So dreadful that the housewife's listening wheel 
 Suspends its hum, their toil protracted lasts : 
 Even when the royal birth, by wonderous grace. 
 Gives one halfdzj to mirth, that shred of time 
 Must not be lost, but thriftily ekes out 
 To-morrow's and to-morrow's lengthened task. 
 
 * The allusion here is chiefly to Cottan-mins. 
 
38 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 No joys, no sports have they: what little time, 
 The fragment of an hour, can be retrenched 
 From labour, is devoted to a show, 
 A boasted boon, of what the public gives, — 
 Instruction. Viewing all around the bliss 
 Of liberty, they feel its loss the more ; 
 Freely through boundless air, they wistful see, 
 The wild bird's pinion past their prison flit ; 
 Free in the air the merry lark they see 
 On high ascend ; free on the swinging spray 
 The woodland bird is perched, and leaves at wiU 
 Its perch ; the open quivering bill they see. 
 But no sweet note by them is heard, all lost. 
 Extinguished in the noise that ceaseless stuns the ear- 
 Here vice collected festers, and corrupts. 
 The female virtues fade ; and, in their stead, 
 Springs up a produce rank of noxious weeds. 
 And, if such be the effects of that sad system. 
 Which, in the face of nature's law, would wring 
 Gain from the labouring hands of playful childhood;^ 
 If such the effects, where worth and sense direct 
 The living, intellectual machines^ 
 
I 
 
 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 3^ 
 
 What must not follow, when the power is lodged 
 With senseless, sordid, heartless avarice I 
 
 Where, fancy, hast thou led me ? No, stern trut/jj 
 'Tis thou hast led me from the pleasant sight 
 Of blossomed furze, and bank of fragrant birch. 
 And now once more I turn me to the woods, 
 With willing step, and list, closing my eyes, 
 The lulling soothing sounds, that pour a balm 
 Into the rankled soul ; the brooklet's murmur, 
 That louder to the ear, long listening, grows, 
 And louder still, like noi'Se of many waters, 
 Yet not so loud but that the wild bee's buzz 
 Slung past the ear, and grasshopper's shrill chirp, 
 Are heard ; for now the sultry hours unfurl 
 Each insect wing : the aimless butterflies, 
 fn airy dance, cross and recross the mead ; 
 The dragon-fly, in horizontal course, 
 I Spins over-head, and fast eludes the sight. 
 I % 
 
 j At such a still and sultry hour as this, 
 
 l*Vhen not a strain is heard through all the woodsy 
 
 I 
 
 G 
 
40 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 I've seen the shilfa* light from off his perch, 
 
 And hop into a shallow of the stream, 
 
 Then, half afraid, flit to the shore, then in 
 
 Again alight, and dip his rosy breast 
 
 And fluttering wings, while dewlike globules coursed 
 
 The plumage of his brown-empurpled back. 
 
 The barefoot boy, who, on some slaty stone, 
 
 Almost too hot for touch, has watching stood, 
 
 Now thinks the well^drenched prize his own. 
 
 And rushes forward ; — quick, though wet, the wing 
 
 Gains the first branches of some neighbouring tree, 
 
 And baulks the upward gazing hopeless eye. 
 
 The ruffling plumes are shook, the pens are trimmed^ 
 
 And full and clear the sprightly ditty rings, 
 
 Cheering the brooding dam : she sits concealed 
 
 \Vithin the nest deep-hollowed, well disguised 
 
 With lichens gray, and mosses gradual blent, 
 
 As if it were a knurle in the bough. 
 
 With equal art externally disguised, •* 
 
 But of internal structure passing far 
 
 * Ch«fiinch. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 4 
 
 The feathered concaves of the other tribes, 
 
 The GOLDFINCH weaves, vrith willow down inlaid. 
 
 And cannach tufts, his wonderful abode, 
 
 Sometimes, suspended at the limber end 
 
 Of planetree spray, among the broad leaved shoots^^ 
 
 The tiny hammock swings to every gale ; 
 
 Sometimes in closest thickets 'tis concealed ; 
 
 Sometimes in hedge luxuriant, where the briar, 
 
 The bramble, and the plumtree branch. 
 
 Warp through the thorn, surmounted by the flowers 
 
 Of climbing vetch^ and honeysuckle wild, 
 
 All undefaced by art's deforming hand. 
 
 But mark the pretty bird himself! how light, 
 
 And quick, his every motion, every note ! 
 
 How beautiful his plumes ! his red-ringed head ; 
 
 His breast of bro\yn ; and see him stretch his wing,-^ 
 
 A fairy fan of golden spokes it seems. 
 
 Oft on the thistle's tuft he, nibbling, sits. 
 
 Light as the down ; then, 'mid a flight of downs. 
 
 He wings his way, piping his shrillest calL 
 
 Proud Thistle! emblem dear to Stotland's sons ! 
 
 Begirt with threatening points, strong in defence, 
 
 Unwilling to assault ! By thee the arm 
 
42 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Of England was repelled ; the rash attempt, 
 
 Oft did the wounded arm of England rue. 
 
 But fraud prevailed, where force had tried in vain : 
 
 Fraud undermined thy root, and laid thy head, 
 
 Thy crested head, low sullied in the dust. 
 
 Belhaven, Fletcher, venerated shades ! 
 
 Long shall your glorious names, your words of fire, 
 
 Spite of beledgered Trade's corrupting creed. 
 
 That estimates a country by its gold, 
 
 And balances surrendered freedom's self, — 
 
 The life-blood of a people ! — with a show 
 
 Of columns crowded full of pounds and pence ; 
 
 Long shall your names illume the historic page, 
 
 Inspire the poet's lay, kindle the glow 
 
 Of noble daring in tlie patriot's breast 1 
 
 Deep-toned (a contrast to the goldfinch note) 
 The cushant plains; nor is her changeless plaint 
 Unmusical, when with the gener?*! quire, 
 Of woodland hai*mony, it softly blends. 
 
 Her sprig-formed nest, upon some hawthorn branch, 
 |s laid so thinly, that the light of day 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 In through it seen : So rudely is it formed, 
 
 That oft the simple boy, who counts the hours 
 
 By blowing off the dandelion downs, 
 
 Mistakes the witch-knots for the cushant's nest. 
 
 Sweet constant bird ! the lover's favourite theme : 
 
 Protected by the love-inspiring lay 
 
 Seldom thou mov'st thy home ; year after year, 
 
 The self-same tree beholds thy youngling pair 
 
 Matured to flight. — There is a hawthorn tree 
 
 With which the ivy arms have wrestled long ; 
 
 'Tis old, yet vigorous : beneath its shade 
 
 A beauteous herb, so rare, that all the woods, 
 
 For far and near around, cannot produce 
 
 Its like, shoots upright ; from the stalk 
 
 Four pointed leaves, luxuriant, smooth, diverge. 
 
 Crowned with a berry of deep purple hue. 
 
 Upon this aged thorn, a lovely pair 
 
 Of cushants wont to build : No schoolboy's hand 
 
 Would rob their simple nest ; the constant coo, 
 
 That floated down the dell, softened his heart. 
 
 But, ah 1 the pirate of the rock, the hawk. 
 
 Hovering, discerned the prize : Soft blew the gale 
 
 Of May, and full the greenwood chorus rose, 
 
44 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 All but the sweet dove's note : In vain the ear 
 Turned listening ; strewn upon the ground, 
 The varying plumes, with drooping violets mixed. 
 Disclosed the death the beauteous bird had died. 
 
 Where are your haunts, ye helpless birds of song, 
 When winter's cloudy wir^g begins to shade 
 The emptied fields ; when ripening sloes assume 
 Their deepest jet, and wild plums purple hang 
 Tempting, yet harsh till mellowed by the frost ? 
 Ah, now ye sit crowding upon the thorns. 
 Beside your former homes, all desolate, 
 And filled with withered leaves; while fieldfare flocks 
 From distant lands alight, and, chirping, fly 
 From hedge to hedge, fearful of man's approach. 
 
 Of all the tuneful tribes, the Redbreast sole 
 Confides himself to man ; others sometimes 
 Are driven within our linteUposts by storms. 
 And, fearfully, the sprinkled crumbs partake: 
 He feels himself at home. When lours the year. 
 He perches on the village turfy copes. 
 And, with his sweet but interrupted trills, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 45 
 
 Bespeaks the pity of his future host. 
 'But long he braves the season, ere he change 
 The heaven's grand canopy for man's low home ; 
 Oft is he seen, v^hen fleecy showers bespread 
 j The house tops white, on the thawed smiddy roof, 
 Or in its open window he alights, 
 i'And, fearless of the clang, and furnace glare, 
 Looks round, arresting the uplifted arm. 
 While on the anvil cools the glowing bar. 
 But when the season roughens, and the drift 
 Flies upward, mingling with the falling flakes 
 In whirl confused, — ^then on the cottage floor 
 He lights, and hops, and flits, from place to place, 
 Restless at first, till, by degrees, he feels 
 He is in safety : Fearless then he sings 
 The winter day ; and when the long dark night 
 Has drawn the rustic circle round the fire. 
 Waked by the din some wheel, he trims his plumes, 
 And, on the distaff perched, chaunts soothingly 
 His summer song ; or, fearlessly, lights down 
 Upon the basking sheep-dog's glossy fur ; 
 Tillj chance, the herd-boy, at his supper mess, 
 
4^ TWEBfRDS OP SCOTLAND; 
 
 Attract his eye, then on the milky rim 
 Brisk he alights, and picks his little share. 
 
 Besides the Redbreast's note, one other strain, 
 One summer strain, on wintry daysjis heard. 
 Amid the leafless thorn the mterry \Vren, 
 When icicles hang dripping from the rock, 
 Pipes her perennial lay ; even when the flakes, 
 Broad as her pinions, fall, she lightly flies 
 Athwart the shower, and sings upon the wing. 
 
 While thus the smallest of the plumy tribes 
 Defies the storm, others there are that fly, 
 Long ere the winter lours, to genial skies ; 
 Nor this cold clime revisit, till the blooms 
 Of parting spring blow 'mid the summer buds^ 
 
BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 PART SECOND, 
 
 ; How sweet the first sound of the cuckoo's note !- 
 
 I Whence is the magic pleasure of the sound ? 
 
 I How do we long recal the very tree, 
 
 j Or bush, near which we stood, when on the ear 
 
 ' The unexpected note, cuckoo I again. 
 
 And yet again, came down the budding vale ? 
 
 \ It is the voice of spring among the trees ; 
 
 I It tells of lengthening days, of coming blooms ; 
 I 
 It is the symphony of many a song. 
 
48 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLANiy* 
 
 But, there, the stranger flies close to the ground, 
 With hawklike pinion, of a leaden blue. 
 Poor wanderer ! from hedge to hedge she flies. 
 And trusts her offspring to another's care : 
 The sooty-plum'd hedge-sparrow frequent acts 
 The foster-mother, warming into life 
 The youngling, destined to supplant her own. 
 Meanwhile, the cuckoo sings her idle song. 
 Monotonous, yet sweet, now here, now there, 
 Herself but rarely seen ; nor does she cease 
 Her changeless note, until the broom, full blown. 
 Give warning that her time for flight is come. 
 Thus, ever journeying on, from land to land, 
 She, sole of all the innumerous feathered tribes. 
 Passes a stranger's life, without a home. 
 
 Home ! word delightful to the heart of man. 
 And bird, and beast I — small word, yet not the less 
 Significant : — Comprising all 1 
 Whatever to affection is most dear, 
 Is all included in that little word, — 
 Wife, children, father, mother, brother, friend. 
 At mention of that word, the seaman, clinging 
 
TflE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. ^ 
 
 Upon the dipping yard-arm, sees afar 
 
 The twinkling fire, round which his children cow'r, 
 
 And, speak of him, counting the months, and weeks, 
 
 That must pass dreary o'er, ere he return. 
 
 He sighs to view the seabird's rapid wing- 
 
 O, had I but the envied power to choose 
 Mj> home, no sound of city bell should reach 
 My ear ; not even the cannon's thundering roar. 
 Far in a vale, be there my low abode. 
 Embowered in woods where many a songster chaunts. 
 And let me now indulge the airy dream ! 
 A bow-shot off in front a river flows, 
 That, during summer drought, shallow and clear, 
 Chides with its pebbly bed, and, murmuring, 
 Invites forgetfulness ; half hid it flows. 
 Now between rocks, now through a bush-girt glade, 
 Now sleeping in a pool, that laves the roots 
 Of overhanging trees, whose drooping boughs 
 Dip midway over in the darkened stream ; 
 While ever and anon, upon the breeze. 
 The dash of distant waterfall is borne* 
 A range of hills, with craggy summits crov/ned, 
 
30 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 And furrowed deep with many a bosky cieugh, 
 
 Wards off the northern blast : There skims the hawk 
 
 Forth from her cliff, eyeing the furzy slope 
 
 That joins the mountain to the smiling vale. 
 
 Through all the woods the holly evergreen. 
 
 And laurel's softer leaf, and ivied thorn, 
 
 Lend winter shelter to the shivering wing. 
 
 No gravelled paths, pared from the smooth-shaved turf. 
 
 Wind through these woods ; the simple unmade road. 
 
 Marked with the frequent hoof of sheep or kine, 
 
 Or rustic's studded shoe, I love to tread. 
 
 No threatening board forewarns the homeward hind. 
 
 Of man-traps, or of law's more dreaded gripe. 
 
 Pleasant to see the labourer homeward hie 
 
 Light hearted, as he thinks his hastening steps 
 
 Will soon be welcomed by his childrens' smile ! 
 
 Pleasant to see the milkmaid's blythesome look, 
 
 As to the trysting thorn she gaily trips, 
 
 With steps that scarcely feel the elastic ground ! 
 
 Nor be the lowly dwellings of the poor 
 
 Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights. 
 
 Curse on the heartless taste that, proud, exclaims, 
 
 « Erase the hamlet, sweep the cottage off; 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 51 
 
 « Remove each stone, and only leave behind 
 « The trees that once embowered the wretched huts. 
 ** What though the inmates old, who hoped to end 
 " Their days below these trees, must seek a home, 
 " Far from their native fields, far from the graves 
 << In which their fathers lie, — ^to city lanes, 
 " Darksome and close, exiled ? It must be so ; 
 " The wide extending lawn would else be marred, 
 " By objets so incongruous." Barbarous taste ! 
 Stupidity intense ! Yon straw-roofed cot. 
 Seen through the elms, it is a lovely sight ! 
 That scattered hamlet, with its burn-side green. 
 On which the thrifty housewife spreads her yarn. 
 Or half-bleached web, while children busy play, 
 And paddle in the stream, — for every heart, 
 Untainted by pedantic rules, hath charms. 
 
 I love the neighbourhood of man and beast : 
 I would not place my stable out of sight. 
 No ! close behind my dwelling, it should form 
 A fence, on one side, to my garden plat. 
 What beauty equals shelter, in a clime 
 Where wintry blasts with summer breezes blend. 
 
52 -^ THE BifRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Chilling the day ! How pleasant 'tis to hear 
 December's winds, amid surrounding trees, 
 Raging aloud ! how grateful 'tis to wake, 
 While raves the midnight storm, and hear the sound 
 Of busy grinders at the well filled rack ; 
 Or flapping wing, and crow of chanticleer. 
 Long ere the lingering morn ; or bouncing flails. 
 That tell the dawn is near ! Pleasant the path 
 By sunny garden-wall, when all the fields 
 Are chill and comfortless ; or barn-yard snug. 
 Where flocking birds, of various plume, and chirp 
 Discordant, cluster on the leaning stack. 
 From whence the thresher draws the rustling sheaves. 
 
 O, nature ! all thy seasons please the eye 
 Of him who sees a Deity in all. 
 It is His presence that diffuses charms 
 Unspeakable, o'er mountain, wood, and stream. 
 To think that He, who hears the heavenly choirs, 
 Hearkens complacent to the woodland song ; 
 To think that He, who rolls yon solar sphere. 
 Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky ; 
 To mark His presence in the mighty bow, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 53 
 
 That spans the clouds, as in the tints minute 
 
 Of tiniest flower ; to hear His awful voice 
 
 In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale ; 
 
 To know, and feel His care for all that lives ; — 
 
 'Tis this that makes the barren waste appear 
 
 A fruitful field, each grove a paradise. 
 
 Yes ! place me 'mid far stretching woodless wiids. 
 
 Where no sweet song is heard ; the heath-bell there 
 
 Would soothe my weary sight, and tell of Thee ! 
 
 There would my gratefully uplifted eye 
 
 Survey the heavenly vault, by day, — by night, 
 
 When glows the firmament from pole to pole 5 
 
 There would my overflowing heart exclaim, 
 
 The hea'vens declare the glory of the Lord^ 
 
 The firmament shews forth his handy <u)ork! 
 
 Less loud, but not less clear. His humbler works 
 Proclaim his power; the swallow knows her time. 
 And, on the vernal breezes, wings her way. 
 O'er mountain, plain, and far-extending seas, 
 From Afric's torrid sands to Britain's shore. 
 Before the cuckoo's note, she, twittering, gay, 
 Skims 'long the brook, or o'er the brushwood tops? 
 
54 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 When dance the midgy clouds in warping maze 
 Confused : ^tis thus, by her, the air is swept 
 Of insect myriads, that would else infest 
 The greenwood walk, blighting each rural joy : 
 For this, — if pity plead in vain, — O, spare 
 Her clay-built home ! Her all, her young, she trust' 
 Trusts to the power of man : fearful, herself 
 She never trusts ; free, on the summer morn, 
 She, at his window, hails the rising sun. — 
 Twice seven days she broods ; then on the wing, 
 From morn to dewy eve, unceasing plies. 
 Save when she feeds or cherishes her young ; 
 And oft she's seen, beneath her little porch, 
 Clinging supine, to deal the air-gleaned food. 
 
 From her the husbandman the coming shower 
 Foretells: Along the mead closely she skiffs. 
 Or o'er the streamlet pool she skims, so near. 
 That, from her dipping wing, the wavy circlets 
 Spread to the shore ; then fall the single drops, 
 Preluvsive of the shower. 
 
 The MARTINS, too. 
 The dwellers in the ruined castle wall, 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAl^D. 55 
 
 When iow'rs the sky a flight less lofty wheel, 
 
 Presageful of the thunder peal, when deep 
 
 A boding silence broods o'er all the vale. 
 
 From airy altitudes they stoop, and fly 
 i Swiftly, with shrillest scream, tound and around 
 
 The rugged battlements ; or fleetly dart 
 
 Through loopholes, whence the shaft was wont to glance ; 
 
 Or thrid the window of the lofty bower, 
 I Where hapless royalty, with care-closed eyes, 
 
 Woo'd sleep in vain, foreboding what befel, — 
 
 ' The loss of friends, of country, freedom, life ! 
 
 I 
 
 I Long ere the wintry gusts, with chilly sweep, 
 Sigh through the leafless groves, the swallow tribes, 
 Heaven-warned, in airy bevies congregate. 
 Or clustering sit, as if in deep consult 
 What time to launch ; but, lingenng, they wait. 
 Until the feeble of the latest broods 
 Have gathered strength, the sea-ward path to brave. 
 
 , At last the farewell twitter spreading sounds, 
 Aloft they fly, and melt in distant air. 
 Far o'er the British sea, in westering course, 
 O'er the Biscayan mountain-waves they glide : 
 I 
 
56 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 Then o'er Iberian plains, through fields of air, 
 Perfumed by orchard groves, where lowly bends 
 The orange bough beneath its juicy load. 
 And over Calpe's iron-fenced rock, their course. 
 To Mauritania's sunny plains, they urge. 
 
 There are who doubt this migratory voyage. 
 But wherefore, from the distance of the flight. 
 Should wonder verge on disbelief, — the bulk 
 So small, so large and strong the buoyant wing ? 
 
 Behold the corn-craik ; she, too, wings her way 
 To other lands : ne'er is she found immersed 
 In lakes, or buried torpid in the sand. 
 Though weak her wing contrasted with her bulk. 
 Seldom she rises from the grassy field, 
 And never till compelled j and, when upraised, 
 With feet suspended, awkwardly she flies ; 
 Her flight a ridgebreath : suddenly she drops, 
 And, running, still eludes the following foot. 
 
 Poor bird, though harsh thy note, I love it well I 
 It tells of summer eves, mild and serene. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 57 
 
 When through the grass, waist-deep, I wont to wade 
 In fruitless chace of thee ; now here, now there, 
 Thy desultory call. Oft does thy call 
 The midnight silence break ; oft, ere the dawn, 
 It wakes the slumbering lark ; he upward wings 
 His misty way, and, viewless, sings and soars. 
 
THE 
 
 BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 Farewell the greenwood, and the welkin song ! 
 Farewell the harmless bill ! — The o'erfolding beak, 
 Incurvated ; the clutching pounce ; the eye, 
 Ferocious, keen, full- orbed ; the attitude 
 Erect ; the skimming flight ; the hovering poise ; 
 The rapid sousing stroke ; — these now I sing ! 
 
G6 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLANB. 
 
 How fleet the falcon's pinion in pursuit! 
 Less fleet the linnet's flight ! — ^Alas, poor bird 1 
 Weary and weak is now thy flagging wing, 
 While close and closer draws the eager foe. 
 Now up she rises, and, with arrowed pinions^ 
 Impetuous souses ; but in vain t With turn 
 Sudden, the linnet shuns the deadly stroke. 
 Throwing her far behind ; but quick again 
 She presses on : Down drops the feeble victim 
 Into the hawthorn bush, and panting sits. 
 The falcon, skimming round and round, espies 
 Her prey, and darts among the prickly twigs. 
 Unequal now the chace ! struggling she strives, 
 Entangled in the thorny labyrinth. 
 While easily its way the small bird winds, 
 Regaining soon the centre of the grove. 
 
 But not alone the dwellers of the wood, 
 Tremble beneath the falcon's fateful wing. 
 Oft hovering o'er the barn-yard is she seen, 
 In early spring, when round their ruffling dam 
 The feeble younglings pick the pattering hail : 
 And oft she plunges low, and swiftly skims 
 
THB BIRDS OF SCOTLAND* 61 
 
 The ground ; as oft the bold and threatening mien 
 Of chanticleer, deters her from the prey. 
 
 Amid the mountain fells, or river cliffs 
 
 ' Abrupt, the falcon's eyry, perched on high, 
 
 Defies access : broad to the sun 'tis spread, 
 
 With withered sprigs hung o'er the dizzy brink. 
 
 What dreadful cliffs o'erhang this little stream ! 
 
 { So loftily they tower, that he who looks 
 
 I Upward, to view their almost meeting summits, 
 
 ' Feels sudden giddiness, and instant grasps 
 
 ! The nearest fragment of the channel rocks, 
 
 I Resting his aching eye on some green branch 
 
 j That midway down shoots from the creviced crag. 
 
 ! Athwart the narrow chasm fleet flies the rack, 
 
 ' Each cloud no sooner visible than gone ; 
 
 ! While 'tween these natural bulwarks, that deride 
 
 i 
 
 j The art of man, murmurs the hermit brook. 
 
 And joins, with opened banks, the full-streamed Clyde. 
 
 How various are thy aspects, noble stream ! 
 Now gliding silently by sloping banks, 
 I Now flowing softly, with a silver sound. 
 
€2 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Now rushing, tumbling, boiling, through the rocks. 
 
 Even on that bulging verge smooth flows thy stream^ 
 
 Then spreads along a gentle ledge, then sweeps 
 
 Compressed by an abutting turn, till o'er 
 
 It pours tremendously ; again it sweeps 
 
 Unpausing, till, again, with louder roar, 
 
 It mines into the boisterous wheeling gulph ; 
 
 While high the boulted foam, at times, displays 
 
 An Iris arch, thrown light from rock to rock ; 
 
 And oft the swallow through the misty cloud 
 
 Flits fearlessly, and drinks upon the wing. 
 
 O, what an amphitheatre surrounds 
 
 The abyss, in which the downward mass is plunged. 
 
 Stunning the ear ! High as the falcon's flight, 
 
 The rocks precipitous ascend, and bound 
 
 The scene magnificent ; deep, deep below. 
 
 The snowy surge spreads to a dark expanse. 
 
 These are the very rocks, on which the eye 
 Of Wallace gazed, the music this he loved. 
 Oft has he stood upon the trembling brink. 
 Unstayed by tree or twig, absorbed in thought ; 
 There would he trace, with eager eye, the oak, 
 
THE EiRPS OF SCOTLAN.p. ^S 
 
 Uprooted from its bank by ice- fraught floods, 
 And floating o'er the dreadful cataract : 
 There would he nioralize upon its fate ; — 
 It re-appears with scarce a broken bough, 
 It re-appears, — Scotland may yet be free I 
 
 High rides the moon amid the fleecy clouds, 
 
 That glisten, as they float athwart her disk ; 
 
 Sweet is the glimpse that, for a moment, plays 
 
 Among these mouldering pinnacles : — but, hark ! 
 I That dismal cry ! It is the wailing owl. 
 
 Night long she mourns, perched in some vacant niche, 
 I Or time-rent crevice : Sometimes to the woods 
 ! She bends her silent, slowly moving wing, 
 ! And on some leafless tree, dead of old age, 
 
 Sits watching for her prey ; but should the foot* 
 j Of man intrude into her solemn shades, 
 
 Startled, he hears the fragile, breaking branch, 
 I Crash as she rises :— farther in the gloom, 
 
 To deeper solitudes she wings her way. 
 
 Oft in the hurly of the wintry storm, 
 f Housed in some rocking steeple, .she augments 
 
 K 
 
64 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 The horror of the night ; or when the winds 
 Exhausted pause, she listens to the sound 
 Of the slow-swinging pendulum, till loud 
 Again the blast is up, and lightning gleams 
 Shoot 'thwart, and ring a faint and deadly tolL 
 
 On ancient oak, or elm, whose topmost bought 
 Begin to fail, the raven's twig-formed house 
 Is built ; and, many a year, the self same tree 
 The aged solitary pair frequent. 
 But distant is their range ; for oft at morn 
 They take their flight, and not till twilight gray 
 Their slow returning cry hoarse meets the ear. 
 
 Well does the raven love the sound of war. — 
 Amid those plains, where Danube darkly rolls, 
 The theatres, on which the kingly play 
 Of war is oftenest acted, there the peal 
 Of cannon-mouths, summons the sable flocks 
 To wait their death doomed prey ; and they do wait : 
 Yes, when the glittering columns, front to front 
 Drawn out, approach in deep and awful silence, 
 The ravea's voiet is heard iioveiing between* 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. €S 
 
 Sometimes upon the far-deserted tents, 
 
 She boding sits, and sings her fateful song. 
 
 But in the abandoned field she most delights, 
 
 When o'er the dead and dying slants the beam 
 
 Of peaceful morn, and wreaths of reeking mist 
 
 Rise from the gore-dewed sward: from corpse to corpse 
 
 She revels, far and wide; then, sated, flies 
 
 To some shot-shivered branch, whereon she cleans 
 
 Her purpled beak ; and down she lights again, 
 
 To end her horrid meal: another, keen, 
 
 Plunges her beak deep in yon horse's side, 
 
 Till, by the hungry hound displaced, she flits 
 
 Once more to human prey. 
 
 Ah, who is he 
 At whose heart-welling wound she drinks. 
 Glutting her thirst ! He was a lovely youth ; 
 Fair Scotia was his home, uiltil his sire 
 To swollen Monopoly resigned, heart-wrung. 
 The small demesne which his forefathers plowed : 
 
 r Wide then dispersed the family of love. 
 One son betook him to the all-friendly main : 
 Another, with his aged parents, plied 
 
 i The sickly trade, in city garret pent ; 
 
66 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Their youngest born, the drum and martial show,-— 
 
 Deluded half, and half despairing, — joined ; 
 
 And soon he lay the food of bird and beast. 
 
 Long is his fate unknown ; the horrid sum 
 
 Of dead is named, but sad suspense is left, 
 
 Enlabyrinthed in doubt, to please itself 
 
 With dark, misgiving hope. Ah, one there is, 
 
 Who fosters long the dying hope, that still 
 
 He may return : The live long summer day 
 
 She at the house end sits ; and oft her wheel 
 
 Is stopt, while on the road, far-stretched, she bends 
 
 A melancholy, eye-o'erflowing look ; 
 
 Or strives to mould the distant traveller 
 
 Into the form of him who's far away. 
 
 Hopeless, and broken hearted, still she loves 
 
 To sing, IVben (wild ^ar^s deadly blast <ivas blavjn, 
 
 Alas ! War riots with increasing rage. ' 
 Behold that field bestrewn with bleaching bones ; 
 And, mark ! the raven in the horse's ribs. 
 Gathering, encaged, the gleanings of a harvest 
 Almost forgotten now : Rejoice, ye birds of prey ! 
 No longer shall ye glean your scanty meals ; 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND- 6 
 
 I 
 
 I Upon that field again long prostrate wreaths^ 
 Death-mown, shall lie : I see the gory mound 
 Of dead, and wounded, piled, with here and there 
 A living hand, clutching in vain for help. 
 
 But what the horrors of the field of war. 
 To those, the sequel of the foiled attempt 
 Of fettered vengeance struggling to be free !— 
 I Inhuman sons of Europe ! not content 
 With dooms of death, your victim high ye hung 
 Encaged, to scorch beneath the torrid ray. 
 And feed, alive, the hungry fowls of heaven. 
 I Around the bars already, see, they cling ! 
 The vulture's head looks through ; she strives in vain 
 To force her way : The lesser birds await 
 I Till worn-out nature sinks ; then on they pounce, 
 i And tear the quivering flesh : in agony 
 I The victim wakes, and rolls his wretched eyes, 
 I And feebly drives the ravening flocks away. 
 f Most dreadfully he groans : 'tis thirst, thirst, thirst, 
 j Direst of human torments ! — down again 
 ' He sinks ; — again he feels the torturing beak. 
 
^S THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 England, such things have been, and still would be, 
 But that the glorious band, the stedfast friends 
 Of Afric's sons, stand ready to avenge 
 Their wrongs, and crush the tyrants low. 
 
 On distant waves, the raven of the sea. 
 The CORMORANT, devours her carrion food. 
 Along the blood-stained coast of Senegal, 
 Prowling, she scents the cassia-perfumed breeze 
 Tainted with death, and, keener, forward flies : 
 The towering sails, that waft the house of woe, 
 Afar she views : upon the heavy hulk. 
 Deep-logged with wretchedness, full fast she gainst 
 (Revolting sight ! the flag of freedom waves 
 Above the stem-emblazoned words, that tell 
 The amount of crimes which Britain's boasted laws, 
 Within the narrow wooden walls, permit !) 
 And now she nighs the carnage-freighted keel, 
 Unscared by rattling fetters, or the shriek 
 Of mothers, o'er their ocean-buried babes. 
 Lured by the scent, unweariedly she flies, 
 And at the foamy dimples of the track 
 Darts sportively, or perches on a corpse. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAKD. 6» 
 
 From scenes like these, O, Scotland, once again 
 To thee my weary fancy fondly hies. 
 And, with the eagle, mountain-perched, alights. 
 Amid Lochaber's wilds, or dark Glencoe, 
 High up the pillared mountain's steepest side, 
 The eagle, from her eyry on the crag 
 Of over-jutting rock, beholds afar. 
 Viewing the distant flocks, with ranging eye 
 She meditates the prey ; but waits the time 
 Whjsn seas of mist extend along the vale. 
 And, rising gradual, reach her lofty shore : 
 Up then to sunny regions of the air 
 She soars, and looks upon the white-wreathed summits 
 Of mountains, seeming ocean isles, then down 
 She plunges, stretching through the hazy deep ; 
 Unseen she flies, and, on her playful quarry,. 
 Pounces unseen : The shepherd knows his loss. 
 When high o'er-head he hears a passing bleat 
 Faint, and more faintly, flying far away. 
 And now aloft she bends her homeward course. 
 Loaded, yet light ; and soon her youngling pair, 
 Joyful descry her buoyant wing emerge 
 And fioi^t along the cloud; fluttering they stoop. 
 
70 THE BIRDS OF SCOXLAIi^. 
 
 Upon the dizzy brink, as if they aimed 
 To' try the abyss, and meet her coming breast ; 
 But soon her coming breast, and outstretched wings^ 
 Glide shadowing down, and close upon their heads. 
 
 It was upon the eagle's plundered store 
 That Wallace fared, when hunted from his home, 
 A glorious outlaw ! by the lawless power 
 Of freedom's foiled assassin, England's king. 
 Along the mountain cliffs, that ne'er were clomfe 
 By other footstep than his own, 'twas there 
 His eagle-visioned genius, towering, planned 
 The grand emprise of setting Scotland free. 
 He longed to mingle in the storm of war; 
 And as the eagle dauntlessly ascends, 
 Revelling amid the elemental strife, 
 His mind sublimed prefigured to itself 
 Each circumstance of future hard-fought fields,— 
 The battle's hubbub loud ; the* forceful press. 
 That from his victim hurries him afar; 
 The impetuous close concentrated assault, 
 That, like a billow broken on the rocks. 
 Recedes, but forwai'd heaves with doi'»bled fury. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 71 
 
 When low'rs the rack unmoving, high up-piled, 
 And silence deep foretells the thunder near, 
 The eagle upward penetrates the gloom, 
 And, far above the fire-impregnate wreaths, 
 Soaring surveys the ethereal volcanos ; 
 Till, muttering low at first, begins the peal ; 
 Then she descends, — she loves the thunder's voice,— 
 She wheels, and sports amid the rattling clouds, 
 Undazzled gazes on the sheeted blaze. 
 Darts at the flash, or, hung in hovering poise, 
 Delighted hears the music of the roar. 
 Nor does the wintry blast, the drifting fall. 
 Shrouded in night, and, with a death-hand grasp, 
 Benumming life, drive her to seek the roof 
 Of cave, or hollow cliff; firm on her perch. 
 Her ancient and accustomed rock, she sits, 
 With wing-couched head, and, to the morning light, 
 Appears a frost-rent fragment, coped with snow. 
 
 Yet her, invulnerable as she seems 
 By every change of elemental power. 
 The art of man, the general foe of man, 
 
 L 
 
73 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 And bird, and beast, subdues ; the leaden bolt. 
 
 Slung from the mimic lightning's nitrous wing. 
 
 Brings low fier head ; her close and mailed plumage 
 
 Avails her nought, — for higher than her perch 
 
 The clambering marksman lies, and takes his aim 
 
 Instant upon her flight, when every plume 
 
 Ruffling expands to catch the lifting gale. 
 
 She has the death ; upward a little space 
 
 She springs, then plumb-down drops : The victor stands. 
 
 Long listening, ere he hear the fall 3 at last. 
 
 The crashing branches of the unseen wood. 
 
 Far down below, send echoing up the sound. 
 
 That faintly rises to his leaning ear. 
 
 But, woe to him ! if, with the mortal wound. 
 
 She still retain strength to revenge the wrong : 
 
 Her bleeding wing she veers ; her maddened eye 
 
 Discerns the lurking wretch ; on him she springs ; 
 
 One talon clutched, with life's last struggling throes 
 
 Convulsed, is buried at his heart ; the other 
 
 Deep in his tortured eyeballs is transfixed ; 
 
 Pleased she expires upon his writhing breast.. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 73 
 
 Of bulk more huge, and borne on broader vans, 
 The EAGLE OF THE SEA froHi Atlas soars, 
 Or Teneriffe's hoar peak, and stretches far 
 Above the Atlantic wave, contemning distance. 
 The watchful helmsman from the stern descries, 
 And hails her course, and many an eye is raised. 
 Loftier she flies than hundred times mast-height : 
 Onward she floats, then plunges from her soar 
 Down to the ship, as if she aimed to perch 
 Upon the mainmast pinnacle ; but up again 
 She mounts Alp high, and, with her lowered head 
 Suspended, eyes the bulging sails, disdains 
 Their tardy course, outflies the hurrying rack. 
 And, dii-appearing, mingles with the clouds. 
 
BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
THE 
 
 FIRST SABBATH. 
 
 Six days the heavenly host, in circle vast, 
 Like that untouching cincture v^rhich enzones 
 The globe of Saturn, compassed wide this orb^ 
 And with the forming mass floated along, 
 In rapid course, through yet untravelled space. 
 Beholding God's stupendous power, — a world 
 Bursting from Chaos at the omnific will, 
 And perfect ere the sixth day's evening star 
 On Paradise arose. Blessed that eve ! 
 The Sabb-ath's harbinger, when all complete^ 
 In freshest beauty from Jehovah's hand, 
 
*78 THE FIRST SABBATH. 
 
 Creation bloomed ; when Eden's twilight face 
 
 Smiled, like a sleeping babe : The voice divine 
 
 A l><Jly calm breathed o'er the goodly work : 
 
 Mildly the sun, upon the loftiest trees, 
 
 Shed mellowly a sloping beam. Peace reigned, 
 
 And love, and gratitude : The human pair 
 
 Their orisons poured forth ; love, concord, reigned ; 
 
 The falcon, perched upon the blooming bough 
 
 With Philomela, listened to her lay ; 
 
 Among the antlered herd the tiger couched, 
 
 Harmless ; the lion's mane no terror spread 
 
 Among the careless ruminating flock. 
 
 Silence was o'er the deep ; the noiseless surge, 
 
 The last subsiding wave,- — of that dread tumult 
 
 Which raged, when Ocean, at the mute command. 
 
 Rushed furiously into his new-cleft bed, — 
 
 Was gently rippling on the pebbled shore ; 
 
 While, on the swell, the sea-bird, with her head 
 
 Wing-veiled, slept tranquilly. The host of heaven. 
 
 Entranced in new delight, speechless adored ; 
 
 Nor stopped their fleet career, nor changed their form 
 
 Encircular, till on that hemisphere, — 
 
 In which the blisbful garden sweet exhaled 
 
THE FIRST SABBATH. 79 
 
 I 
 
 Its Incense, odorous clouds, — the Sabbath dawn 
 
 Axose ; then wide the flying circle oped. 
 
 And soared, in semblance of a mighty rainbow.: 
 
 Silent ascend the choirs of Seraphim ; 
 
 No harp resounds, mute is* each voice ; the burst 
 
 Of joy, and praise, reluctant they repress, — 
 
 For love and concord all things so attuned 
 
 To harmony, that Earth must have received 
 
 The grand vibration, and to the centre shook : 
 
 But soon as to the starry altitudes 
 
 They reached, then what a storm of sound, tremendous, 
 
 Swelled through the realms of space ! The morning stars 
 
 Together sang, and all the sons of God 
 
 Shouted for joy I Loud was the peal ; so loud, 
 
 As would have quite overwhelmed the human sense I 
 
 But to the Earth it came a gentle strain, 
 
 Like softest fall breathed from -^olian lute, 
 
 When 'mid the chords the evening gale expires. 
 
 Day of the Lord ! creation's hallowed close ! 
 
 Day of the Lord ! (prophetical they sang) 
 
 Benignant mitigation of that doom, 
 
 Which must, ere long, consign the fallen race, 
 
 Dwellers in yonder star, to toil and woe ! 
 
 M 
 
TH£ 
 
 FINDING OF MOSES. 
 
 Slow glides the Nile : amid the margin flags, 
 Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left, 
 Left by a mother's hand. His sister waits 
 Far off; and pale, 'tween hope and fear, beholds 
 The royal maid, surrounded by her train. 
 Approach the river bank, approach the spot 
 Where sleeps the innocent : She sees them stoop 
 With meeting plumes ; the rushy lid is oped. 
 And wakes the infant, smiling in his tears, — 
 As when along a little mountain lake. 
 The summer south-wind breathes with gentle sigh. 
 And parts the reeds, unveiling, as they bend, 
 A water-lily floating on the wave. 
 
JEPHTHA'S VOW. 
 
 From conquest Jephtha came, with faultering step, 
 
 And troubled eye : His home appears in view ; 
 
 He trembles at the sight. Sad he forebodes,— 
 
 His vow will meet a victim in his child : 
 
 For well he knows, that, from her earliest years, 
 
 She still was first to meet his homeward steps : 
 
 Well he remembers, how, with tottering gait. 
 
 She ran, and clasped his knees, and lisped, and looked 
 
 Her joy ; and how, when garlanding with flowers 
 
8§ jephtha's vow. 
 
 His helm, fearful, her infant hands would shrink 
 Back from the lion couched beneath the crest. 
 What sound is that, which, from the palm-tree grove^ 
 Floats now with choral swell, now fainter falls 
 Upon the ear ? It is, it is the song 
 He loved to hear,— a song of thanks and praise, 
 Sung by the patriarch for his ransomed son. 
 Hope from the omen springs : O, blessed hope ! 
 It may not be her voice ! — Fain would he think 
 'Twas not his daughter's voice, that still approached, 
 Blent with the timbrel's note. Forth from the grove 
 She foremost glides of all the minstrel band : 
 Moveless he stands ; then grasps his hilt, still red 
 With hostile gore, but, shuddering, quits the hold ; 
 And clasps, in agony, his hands, and cries, 
 " Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought me low." — 
 The timbrel at her rooted feet resounds. 
 
SAUL AND DAVID. 
 
 Deep was the furrow in the royal brow, 
 When David's hand, lightly as vernal gales 
 Rippling the brook of Kedron, skimiped the lyre : 
 He sung of Jacob's youngest born, — ^the child 
 Of his old age, — sold to the Ishmaelite ; 
 His exaltation to the second power 
 In Pharaoh's realm ; his brethren thither sent ; 
 Suppliant they stood before his face, well known, 
 Unknowing, — till Joseph fell upon the neck 
 Of Benjamin, his mother's son, and wept. — - 
 
84 SAUL AND DAVID. 
 
 Unconsciously the warlike shepherd paused ; 
 But when he saw, down the yet-quivering string, 
 The tear-drop trembling glide, abashed, he checked, 
 Indignant at himself, the bursting flood. 
 And, with a sweep impetuous, struck the chords : 
 From side to side his hands transversely glance. 
 Like lightning thwart a stormy sea ; his voice 
 Arises 'mid the clang, and straightway calms 
 The harmonious tempest, to a solemn swell ' 
 Majestical, triumphant ; for he sings 
 Of Arad's mighty host by Israel's arm 
 Subdued; of Israel through the desart led, 
 He sings ; of him who was their leader, called, 
 By God himself, from keeping Jethro's flock, 
 To be a ruler o'er the chosen race. 
 Kindles the eye of Saul ; his arm is poised ;-r 
 Harmless the javelin quivers in the wall. 
 
ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS- 
 
 hoRE was the famine throughout all the bounds 
 Of Israel, when Elijah, by command 
 Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook. 
 No rain-drop falls, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn, 
 Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale ; 
 The withering herbage dies ; among the palms, 
 The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale 
 An autumn rustle ; no sweet songster's lay 
 Is warbled from the branches ; scarce h heard 
 
86 ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS. 
 
 The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around, 
 And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head 
 Upon the flowerless bank ; serene he sleeps. 
 Nor wakes till dawning : Then, with hands enclasped, 
 And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays 
 To Him who manna on the desert showered, 
 To Him who from the rock made fountains gush : 
 Entranced the man of God remains ; till roused 
 By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart,, 
 He sees the ravens fearless by his side 
 Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food. 
 
THE 
 
 BIRTH OF JESUS ANNOUNCED. 
 
 Deep was the midnight silence in the fields 
 
 Of Bethlehem ; hushed the folds ; save that, at times, 
 
 Was heard the lamb's faint bleat: the shepherds, stretched 
 
 On the green sward, surveyed the starry vault : 
 
 The heavens declare the glory of the Lordj 
 
 The firmament she^s forth thy handy ivork ; 
 
 Thus they, their hearts attuned to the Most High. — 
 
 When, suddenly, a splendid cloud appeared, 
 
 As if a portion of the milky way 
 
 Descended slowly in a spiral course. 
 
 Near, and more near it draws ; then, hovering, floats,. 
 
88 THE BIRTH OF JESUS ANNOUNCED. 
 
 High as the soar of eagle, shedding bright, 
 
 Upon the folded flocks, a heavenly radiance, 
 
 From whence was uttered loud, yet sweet, a voice,— 
 
 Fear not^ I bring good tidings of great joy ; 
 
 For unto you is born this day a Saviour/ 
 
 And this shall be a sign to youy — the babe^ 
 
 Laid lowly in a manger^ ye shall find. 
 
 TTixe angel spake ; When, lo I upon the cloudy 
 
 A multitude of Seraphim, enthroned. 
 
 Sang praises, saying. Glory to the Lord 
 
 On highy on earth be peace^ good fwill to men. 
 
 With sweet response harmoniously they choired, 
 
 And while, with heavenly harmony, the song 
 
 Arose to God, more bright the buoyant throne 
 
 lllui^ed the land : The prowling lion stops. 
 
 Awe-struck, with mane upreared, and flattened head ; 
 
 And, without turning, backward on his steps 
 
 Recoils, aghast, into the desart gloom. 
 
 A trembling joy the astonished shepherds prove. 
 
 As heavenward re-ascends the vocal blaze 
 
 Triumphantly ; while, by degrees, the strain 
 
 Dies on the ear, that self-deluded listens,-^ 
 
 As if a sound so sweet could never die. 
 
BEHOLD MY MOTHER, 
 
 AND 
 
 MY BRETHREN. 
 
 rrHO is my mother^ of my brethren P-^ 
 
 He spake, and looked on them who sat around, 
 
 With a meek smile, of pity blent with love. 
 
 More melting than e'er gleamed from human face,- 
 
 As when a sun-beam, through a summer shower, 
 
 Shines mildly on a little hill-side flock ; — 
 
 And with that look of love he said. Behold 
 
 My mother, and my brethren : for I say. 
 
 That whosoe'er shall do the will of God, 
 
 He is my brother, sister, mother, alL ' 
 
BARTIMEUS RESTORED TO SIGHTJ 
 
 Blind, poor, and helpless, Bartimeus sate, 
 Listening the foot of the wayfaring man, 
 5till hoping that the next, and still the next, 
 Would put an alms into his trembling hand, 
 lie thinks he hears the coming breeze faint rustle 
 Among the ^sycamores ; it is the tread 
 Of thousand steps ; it is the hum of tongues 
 Innumerable : But when the sightless man 
 Heard that the Nazarene was passing by, 
 He cried, and said, " Jesus, thou son of David, 
 " Have mercy upon me !" and, when rebuked. 
 He cried the more, " Have mercy upon me." — 
 Thy faith hath made thee ^hole\ so Jesus spake, — 
 And straight the blind beheld the face of God. 
 
LITTLE CHILDREN 
 
 BROUGHT TO JESUS. 
 
 a3 uffer that little children come to me^ 
 
 Forbid them not : Emboldened by his words, 
 
 The mothers onward press ; but, finding vain 
 
 The attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their babes 
 
 To strangers' hands ; The innocents alarmed, 
 
 Amid the throng of faces all unknown, 
 
 Shrink trembling, — till their wandering eyes discern 
 
 The countenance of Jesus, beaming love 
 
 And pity ; eager then they stretch their arms, 
 
 And, cowring, lay their heads upon his breast* 
 
JESUS CALMS THE TEMPEST. 
 
 The roaring tumult of the billowed sea 
 Awakes him not ; high on the crested surge, 
 Now heaved, his locks flow streaming in the gale ; 
 And, now descending, 'tween the sheltering waves, 
 The falling tresses veil the face divine : 
 Meek through that veil a momentary gleam, 
 Benignant, shines ; he dreams that he beholds 
 The opening eyes, — that long hopeless had rolled 
 In darkness,^ — look around bedimmed with tears 
 Of joy ; but, suddenly, the voice of fear 
 Dispelled the happy vision : Awful he rose. 
 Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea. 
 Peace i be thou still! and straight there was a calm. 
 With terror-mingled gladness in their looks. 
 The mariners exclaim. What man is tbis^ 
 That e'ven the nvind and sea obey his 'voice / 
 
JESUS WALKS ON THE SEA, 
 
 AND 
 
 CALMS THE STORM. 
 
 liOUD blew the stonn of night ; the thwarting surge 
 Dashed, boiling, on the labouring bark : Dismay, 
 From face to face reflected, spread around : — 
 When, lo ! upon a towering wave is seen, 
 The semblance of a foamy wreath, upright, 
 Move onward to the ship : The helmsman starts. 
 And quits his hold ; the voyagers appalled 
 Shrink from the fancied Spirit of the Flood : 
 But when the voice of Jesus, with the gale 
 Soft mingled. It is /, be not afraid^ 
 
94 JESUS WALKS ON THE SEA« 
 
 Fear fted, and joy lightened from eye to eye. 
 Up he ascends, and, from the rolling side, 
 Surveys the tumult of the sea and sky 
 With transient look severe : The tempest awed 
 Sinks to a sudden calm ; the clouds disperse ; 
 The moon-beam trembles on the face divine. 
 Reflected mildly in the unruffled deepr 
 
THE DUMB CURED. 
 
 His eyes uplifted, and his hands close clasped. 
 The dumb man, with a supplicating loqk, 
 Turned as the Lord passed by : Jesus beheld. 
 And on him bent a pitying look, and spake : 
 His moving lips are by the suppliant seen, 
 And the last accents of the healing sentence 
 Ring in that ear which never heard before. 
 I'rostrate the man restored falls to the earth, 
 And uses first the gift, the gift sublime, 
 Of speech, in giving thanks to him, whose voice 
 Was never uttered but in doing good. 
 
THE DEATH OF JESUS. 
 
 ^Tis finished: he spake the words, and bowed 
 His head, and died. — Beholding him far off. 
 They, who had ministered unto him hope, — 
 ^Tis his last agony : The Temple's veil 
 Is rent ; revealing the most holy place. 
 Wherein the cherubims their wings extend, 
 O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God. 
 Appalled, the leaning soldier feels the spear 
 Shake in his grasp ; the planted standard falls 
 Upon the heaving ground : The sun is dimmed.. 
 And darkness shrouds the body of the Lord. 
 
THE RESURRECTION. 
 
 The setting orb of night her kvel ray 
 Shed o'er the land, and, on the dewy sward, 
 The lengthened shadows of the triple cross 
 Were laid far stretched, — when in the east arose, 
 Last of the stars, day's harbinger : No sound 
 Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot : 
 Within the rock*barred sepulchre, the gloom 
 Of deepest midnight brooded o^er the dead, 
 The holy one ; but, lo ! a radiance faint 
 Began to dawn around his sacred brow t 
 The linen vesture seewied a snowy wreath 
 
98 THE RESURRECTION. 
 
 Drifted by storms into a mountain cave : 
 Bright, and more bright the circhng halo beamed 
 Upon that face, clothed in a smile benign, 
 Though yet exanimate. Nor long the reign 
 Of death ; the eyes, that wept for human griefs. 
 Unclose, and look around with conscious joy ; 
 Yes, with returning life, the first emotion 
 That glowed in Jesus' breast of love, was joy 
 At man's redemption now complete ; at death 
 Disarmed; the grave transformed into the couch' 
 Of faith ; the resurrection, and the life. 
 Majestical he rose ; trembled the earth ; 
 The ponderous gate of stone was rolled away ; 
 The keepers fell ; the angel, awe-struck, shrunk 
 Into invisibility, while forth 
 The Saviour of the World walked, and stood 
 Before the sepulchre, and viewed the clouds 
 Empurpled glorious by the rising sun. 
 
JESUS APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The evening of that day, which saw the Lord 
 Rise from the chambers of the dead was come. 
 His faithful followers assembled sang * 
 
 A hymn low-breathed, a hymn of sorrow blent 
 With hope ;— when in the midst sudden he stood. 
 The awe-struck circle backward shrink ; he looks 
 Around with a benignant smile of love, 
 And says, Peace he unto you: faith and joy 
 Spread o'er each face, amazed : — as when the mooa, 
 Pavilioned in dark clouds, mildly comes forth, , 
 Silvering a circlet in the fleecy rack* 
 
PAUL ACCUSED 
 
 BEFORE THE 
 
 TRIBUNAL OF THE AREOPAGUS. 
 
 liisTEN, that voice ! upon the hill of Mars? 
 Holling in bolder thunders, than e'er pealed 
 From lips that shook the Macedonian throne ; 
 Behold his dauntless outstretched arm, his face 
 Illumed of heaven : — he knoweth not the fear 
 Of man, of principalities, of powers. 
 The Stoic's moveless frown ; the vacant stare 
 Of Epicurus' herd ; the scowl and gnash malign 
 Of Superstition, stopping both her ears ; 
 
PAUL ACCUSED. 101 
 
 The Areopagite tribunal dread, 
 
 From whence the doom of Socrates was uttered |— 
 
 This hostile throng dismays him not ; he seems? 
 
 As if no worldly object could inspire 
 
 A terror in his soul ; — as if the vision, 
 
 Which, when he journeyed to Damascus, shone 
 
 From heaven, still swam before his eyes. 
 
 Out-dazzling all things earthly ; as if the voice, 
 
 That spake from out the effulgence, ever rang 
 
 Within his ear, inspiring him with words, 
 
 Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme, — 
 
 The resurrection, and the life to come* 
 
PAUL ACCUSED 
 
 BEFORE THE 
 
 ROMAN GOVERNOR OF JUDEA. 
 
 X HE Judge ascended to the judgment-seat. 
 Amid a gleam of spears the Apostle stood. 
 Dauntless, he forward came ; and looked around, 
 And raised his voice, at first, in accents low. 
 Yet clear ; a whisper spread among the throng : — 
 So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze 
 Is heard, at times, to sigh ; but when the peal. 
 Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead 
 Succeeds each pause, — moveless the aspen leaf. 
 
PAUL ACCUSED. 103 
 
 Thus fixed, and motionless, the listening band 
 Of soldiers forward leant, as from the man. 
 Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders rolled. 
 No more he feels, upon his high raised arm. 
 The ponderous chain, than does the playful child 
 The bracelet, formed of many a flowery link. 
 Heedless of self, forgetful that his life 
 Is now to be defended by his words. 
 He only thinks of doing good to them 
 Who seek his life ; and, while he reasons high 
 ^ Of justice, temperance, and the life to come, 
 I The Judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.. 
 
lOTHE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
JANUARY. 
 
 ! liONG ere the snow-veiled dawn, the bird of morn 
 I His wings quick claps, and sounds his cheering call : 
 I The cottage hinds the glimmering lantern trim, 
 i And to the barn wade, sinking, in the drift ; 
 ] The alternate flails bounce from the loosened sheaf. 
 I Pleasant these sounds I they sleep to slumber change ; 
 Pleasant to him, whom no laborious task 
 Whispers, arise I — whom neither love of gain, 
 Nor love of power, nor hopes, npr fears, disturbs 
 
lOS JANUARY, 
 
 Late daylight comes at last, and the strained eye 
 Shrinks from the dazzling brightness of the scene,— 
 One wide expanse of whiteness uniform. 
 As yet no wandering footstep has defaced 
 The spotless plain, save where some wounded hare, 
 Wrenched from the springe, has left a blood-stained track* 
 How smooth are all the fields 1 sunk every fence ; 
 The furrow, here and there, heaped to a ridge. 
 O'er which the sidelong plough-shaft scarcely peers. 
 
 Cold blows the north-wind o'er the dreary waste.— 
 O ye that shiver by your blazing fires. 
 Think of the inmates of yon hut, half sunk 
 Beneath the drift : from it no smoke ascends ; 
 The broken straw-filled pane excludes the light, 
 But ill excludes the blast : The redbreast there 
 For shelter seeks, but short, ah ! very short 
 His stay ; no crumbs, strewn careless on the floor, 
 Attract his- sidelong glance ; — to warmer roofs 
 He flies ; a welcome, — soon a fearless guest. 
 He cheers the winter day with summer songs. 
 
 Short is the reign of day, tedious the night. 
 
JANUARY. 109 
 
 The city's distant lights arrest my view. 
 And magic fancy whirls me to the scene. 
 
 i There vice and folly run their giddy rounds ; 
 There eager crowds are hurrying to the sight 
 
 j Of feigned distress, yet have not time to hear 
 
 - The shivering orphan's prayer. The flaring lamps 
 
 j Of gilded chariots, like the meteor eyes 
 
 I Of mighty giants, famed in legends old, 
 
 J} Illume the snowy street ; the silent wheels 
 
 j On heedless passenger steal unperceived. 
 Bearing the splendid fair to flutter round 
 
 I Amid the flowery labyrinths of the dance. 
 But, hark ! the merry catch : good social souls 
 Sing on, and drown dull care in bumpers deep ; 
 The bell, snow-muffled, warns not of the hour ; 
 For scarce the sentenced felon's watchful ear 
 Can catch the softened knell, by which he sums 
 
 i The hours he has to live. Poor hopeless wretch ! 
 
 [His thoughts are horror, and his dreams despair 5 
 And ever as he, on his strawy couch. 
 Turns heavily, his chains and fetters, grating. 
 Awake the inmates of some neighbouring cell. 
 Who bless their lot, that debt is all their crime- 
 
FEBRUARY. 
 
 The treacherous fowler, in the drifted wreath, 
 The snare conceals, and strews the husky lure, 
 Tempting the famished fowls of heaven to light : 
 They light ; the captive strives in vain to fly. 
 Scattering around, with fluttering wing, the snow* 
 Amid the untrod snows, oft let me roam 
 Far up the lonely glen, and mark its change ; 
 The frozen rill's hoarse murmur scarce is heard ; 
 The rocky cleft, the fairy bourne smoothed up. 
 Repeat no more my solitary voice* 
 
FEBRUARY. lU 
 
 Now to the icy plain the city swarms. 
 In giddy circles, whirling variously, 
 The skater fleetly thrids the mazy throng. 
 While smaller wights the sliding pastime ply. 
 Unhappy he, of poverty the child ! 
 Who, barefoot, standing, eyes his merry mates, 
 And, shivering, weeps, not for the biting coldj 
 But that he cannot join the slippery sports 
 
 Trust not incautiously the smooth expanse ; 
 For oft a treacherous thaw, ere yet perceived, 
 Saps by degrees the solid-seeming mass : 
 At last the long piled mountain snows dissolve. 
 Bursting the roaring river's brittle bonds ; 
 The shattered fragments down the cataract shoot. 
 And, sinking in the boiling deep below. 
 At distance re-appear, then sweep along 
 Marking their height upon the half sunk trees. 
 
 No more the ploughman hurlsthe sounding quoit g 
 The loosened glebe demands the rusted share, 
 And hlow the toiling team plods o'er the field. 
 But oft^ ere half the winding task be done, 
 
 a 
 
112 FEBRUARr^ 
 
 Returning frost again usurps the year, 
 Fixing the ploughshare in the unfinished fur ; 
 And still, at times, the flaky shower descends. 
 Whitening the plain, save where the wheaten blade. 
 Peering, uplifts its green and hardy head, 
 As if just springing from a soil of snow. 
 
 While yet the night is long, and drearj and chill, 
 Soon as the slanting sun has sunk from view, 
 The sounding anvil cheerily invites 
 The weary hind to leave his twinkling fire. 
 And bask himself before the furnace glare ; 
 Where, blest with unbought mirth, the rustic ring, 
 Their faces tinted by the yellow blaze, 
 Beguile the hours, nor envy rooms of state. 
 
MARCH. 
 
 I The ravaged fields, waste, colourless, and bleak, 
 
 Retreating Winter leaves, with angry frown, 
 I 
 \ And lingering on the distant snow-streaked hills, 
 
 Displays the motley remnants of his reign. 
 
 With shouldered spade, the labourer to the field 
 Hies, joyful that the softened glebe gives leave 
 To toil ; no more his children cry for bread, 
 Or, shivering, crowd around the scanty fire ; 
 No more he's doom'd, reluctant, to receive 
 The pittance, which the rich man proudly gives. 
 Who, when he gives, thinks heaven itself obliged. 
 Vain man ! think not there's merit in the boon, 
 If, quitting not one comfort, not one joy. 
 
114 MARCH. 
 
 The sparkling wine still circles r<|und thy board, 
 Thy hearth still blazes, and the sounding strings, 
 Blent with the voice symphonious, charm thine ear. 
 
 The redbreast now, at morn, resumes his song, 
 And larks, high-soaring, wing their spiral flight. 
 While the light hearted plough-boy singing, blythe, 
 The broom, the bonny broom of Co^wdenkno^ws, 
 Fills with delight the wandering townsman's ear ; 
 May be, though carolled rude in artless guise, 
 Sad Floddenfield, of Scotia's lays most sweet. 
 Most mournful, dims, with starting tear, his eye. 
 Nor silent are the upland leas ; cheerily 
 The partridge now her tuneless call repeats. 
 Or, bursting unexpected from the brake. 
 Startles the milkmaid singing o'er the ridge. 
 Nor silent are the chilly leafless woods ; 
 The thrush's note is heard amid the grove. 
 Soon as the primrose, from the withered leaves. 
 Smiling, looks out : Rash flowret ! oft betrayed, 
 By summer-seeming days, to venture forth 
 Thy tender form, — the killing northern blast. 
 Will wrap thee lifeless in a hoar-frost shroud. 
 
APRIL. 
 
 JDescend, sweet April, from yon watery bow, 
 
 And, liberal, strew the ground with budding flowers, 
 
 With leafless crocus, leaf-veiled violet, 
 
 Auricula, with powdered cup, primrose 
 
 That loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade. 
 
 At thy approach health re-illumes the eye ; 
 
 Even pale Consumption, from thy balmy breath, 
 f Inhales delusive hope ; and, dreaming still 
 
 Of length of days, basks in some sunny plat, 
 ! And decks her half-foreboding breast with flowers, — ■ 
 'With flowers, which else would have survived thehand 
 ! By which they're pulled. But they will bloom again : 
 
116 APRIL. 
 
 The daisy, spreading on the greensward grave, 
 Fades, dies, and seems to perish, yet revives. 
 Shall man for ever sleep ? Cruel the tongue ! 
 That, w^ith sophistic art, snatches from pain, 
 Disease, and grief, and v^ant, that antidote. 
 Which makes the wretched smile, the hopeless hope. 
 
 Light now the western gale sweeps o'er the plain, 
 Gently it waves the rivulet's cascade ; 
 Gently it parts the lock on beauty's brow. 
 And lifts the tresses from the snowy neck, 
 And bends the flowers, and makes the lily stoop, 
 As if to kiss its image in the wave ; 
 Or curls, with softest breath, the glassy pool, 
 Aiding the treachery of the mimic fly ; 
 While, warily, behind the half-leaved bush. 
 The angler screen'd, with keenest eye intent, 
 Awaits the sudden rising of the trout : 
 Down dips the feathery lure; the quivering rod 
 Bends low ; in vain the cheated captive strives 
 To break the yielding line ; exhausted soon, 
 Ashore he's drawn, and, on the mossy bank, 
 Weltering he dyes the primrose with his blood. 
 
MAY. 
 
 I On blythe May morning, when the lark's first note 
 j Ascends, on viewless wing, veiled in the mist, 
 The village maids then hie them to the woods 
 To kiss the fresh dew from the daisy's brim ; 
 Wandering in misty glades they lose their way," 
 And, ere aware, meet in their lovers' arms, 
 Like joining dew drops on the blushing rose. 
 
 t 
 
 j Sweet month ! thy locks with bursting buds bedeckedj 
 
 1 With opening hyacinths, and hawthorn blooms, 
 
 j Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine eye ; 
 
 I The cloud soon quits thy brow, and, mild, the sun 
 
 Looks out with watery beam, looks out, and smiles* 
 
118 MAY. 
 
 Now from the wild flower bank the little bir4 
 Picks the soft moss, and to the thicket flies ; 
 And oft returns, and oft the work renews. 
 Till all the curious fabric hangs complete : 
 Alas, but ill concealed from schoolboy's eye. 
 Who, heedless of the warbler's saddest plaint, 
 Tears frpm the bush the toil of many an hour; 
 Then, thoughtless wretch ! pursues the devious bee, 
 Buzzirg from flower to flower : She wings her flight, 
 Far from his following eye, to walled parterres, 
 Where, undisturbed, she revels 'mid the beds 
 Of full-blown lilies, doomed to die unculled, 
 Save when the stooping fair (more beauteous flower!) 
 The bosom's rival brightness half betrays, 
 While choosing 'mong the gently bending stalks, 
 The, snowy hand a sister blossom seems. 
 
 More sweet to me the lily's meekened grace. 
 Than gaudy hues, brilliant as summer clouds 
 Around the sinking sun : to me more sweet. 
 Than garish day, the twilight's softened grace. 
 When deepening shades obscure the dusky woods j 
 Then comes the silence of the dewy hour, 
 
MAY. 119 
 
 With songs of noontide birds, thrilling in- fancy's ear, 
 While from yon elm, with water-kissing boughs 
 Along the moveless winding of the brook, 
 The smooth expanse is calmness, stillness all, 
 Unless the springing trout, with quick replunge^ 
 Arousing meditation's downward look. 
 Ruffle, with many a gentle circling wave 
 On wave, the glassy surface undulating far. 
 
JUNE. 
 
 bHORT is the reign of night, and almost blends 
 The evening twilight with the morning dawn. 
 Mild hour of dawn ! thy wide-spread solitude, 
 And placid stillness, soothe even misery's sigh : 
 Deep the distress that cannot feel thy charm ! — 
 As yet the thrush roosts on the bloomy spray, 
 With head beneath his dew-besprinkled wing. 
 When, roused by my lone tread, he lightly shakes 
 His ruffling plumes, and chaunts the untaught note, 
 Soon followed by the woodland choir, warbling 
 Melodiously the oft-repeated song. 
 Till npon-tide pour the torpor-shedding ray. 
 
JUNE. 121 
 
 Then is the hour to seek the sylvan bank 
 
 Of lonely stream, remote from human haunt ; 
 
 To mark the wild bee voyaging, deep-toned, 
 
 Low weighing down each floweret's tender stalk ; 
 
 To list the grasshopper's hoarse creaking chirp ; 
 
 And then to let excursive fancy fly 
 
 To scenes, where roaring cannon drown the straining voice, 
 
 And fierce gesticulation takes the place 
 
 Of useless words. May be some Alpine brook, 
 
 That served to part two neighbouring shepherds' flocks, 
 
 Is now the limit of two hostile camps. 
 
 Weak limit ! to be filled, ere evening star, 
 
 With heaps of slain : Far down thy rocky course, 
 
 The midnight wolf, lapping the blood-stained flood. 
 
 Gluts his keen thirst, and oft, and oft returns, 
 
 Unsated, to the purple, tepid stream. 
 
 But let me fly such scenes, which, even when feigned, 
 Distress. To Scotia's peaceful glens I turn. 
 And rest my eyes upon her waving fields. 
 Where now the scythe lays low the mingled flowers. 
 Ah, spare, thou pitying swain ! a ridge-breadth round 
 The partridge nest : so shall no new-come lord — 
 
122 JUNE. 
 
 To ope a vista to some distant spire — 
 
 Thy cottage raze ; but, when the toilsome day 
 
 Is done, still shall the turf-laid seat invite 
 
 Thy w^eary limbs ; there peace and health shall bless 
 
 Thy frugal fare, served by the unhired hand, 
 
 That seeks no v^ages save a parent's smile. 
 
 Thus glides the eve, while round the strawy roof 
 
 Is heard the bat's wing in the deep-hushed air. 
 
 And from the little field the corncraik's harsh, 
 
 Yet not unpleasing note, the stillness breaks. 
 
 All the night long, till day-spring wake the lark. 
 
JULY. 
 
 Slow move the sultry hours. O, for the shield 
 Of darkening boughs, or hollow rock grotesque ! 
 
 The pool transparent to its pebbly bed, 
 With here and there a slowly gliding trout, 
 Invites the throbbing, half reluctant, breast 
 To plunge : The dash re-echoes from the rocks ; 
 Smoothly, in sinuous course, the swimmer winds? 
 Now, with extended arms, tt)wing his way. 
 And now, with sunward face, he floating lies ; 
 Till, blinded by the dazzling beam, he turns, 
 Then to the bottom dives, emerging soon 
 With stone, as trophy, in his waving hand : 
 
 i ' 
 
124 JULY. 
 
 Blythe days of jocund youth, now almost flown 1 
 Meantime, far up the windings of the stream, 
 Where o'er the nan*owed course the hazels meet, 
 The sportive shriek, shrill, mingled with the laugh, 
 The bushes hung with beauty's white attire. 
 Tempt, yet forbid, the intrusive eye's approach. 
 
 Unhappy he, who, in this season, pent 
 Within the darksome gloom of city lane. 
 Pines for the flowery paths, and woody shades, 
 From which the love of lucre, or of power. 
 Enticed his youthful steps. In vain he turns 
 The rich descriptive page of Thomson's muse, 
 And strives to fancy that the lovely scenes 
 Are present : So the hand of childhood tries 
 To grasp the pictured bunch of fruit, or flowers, 
 But, disappointed, feels the canvas smooth : 
 So the caged lark, upon a withering turf. 
 Flutters from side to side, with quivering wings, 
 As if in act of mounting to the skies. 
 
 At noontide hour, from school, the little throng 
 Rush gaily, sporting o'er the enamelled mead. 
 
JULY. 125 
 
 Some strive to catch the bloom-perched butterfly, 
 
 And if they miss his mealy wings, the flower 
 
 From which he flies the disappointment soothes. 
 
 Others, so pale in look, in tattered garb, 
 
 Motley with half-spun threads and cotton flakes, 
 
 Trudge, drooping, to the many-storied pile, 
 
 Where thousand spindles whirling stun the ear, 
 
 Confused : There, prisoned close, they wretched moil. 
 
 Sweet age, perverted from its proper end ! 
 
 When childhood toils, the field should be the scene,—- 
 
 To tend the sheep, or drive the herd a-field. 
 
 Or, from the corn fields, scare the pilfering rooks, 
 
 Or to the mowers bear the milky pail. 
 
 But, Commerce, Commerce, Manufactures, still 
 
 Weary the ear ; health, morals, all must yield 
 
 To pamper the monopolising few : — 
 
 'Twill make a wealthy, but a wretched state. 
 
 Blest be the generous band, that would restore 
 
 To honour due the long-neglected plough ! 
 
 From it expect peace, plenty, virtue, health : 
 
 Compare with it, Britannia, all thine isles 
 
 Beyond the Atlantic wave ! thy trade ! thy ships 
 
 Deep-fraught with blood ! 
 
126 JULY. 
 
 But let me quit such themes ! and, peaceful, roam 
 The winding glen, where now the wild-rose pale, 
 And garish broom, strew, with their fading flowers, 
 The narrow greenwood path. To me more sweet 
 The greenwood path, half hid 'neath brake and briar, 
 Than pebbled walks so trim ; more dear to me 
 The daisied plat, before the cottage door, 
 Than waveless sea of widely spreading lawn, 
 ^Mid which some insulated mansion towers, 
 Spurning the humble dwellings from its proud domain. 
 
I 
 
 r 
 
 A4JGUST. 
 
 1^ AREWELL, sweet summer, and thy fading flowers ! 
 
 Farewell, sweet summer, and thy woodland songs F 
 j No woodland note is heard, save where the hawk, 
 ' High from her eyry, skims in circling flight, 
 i With all her clamorous young, first venturing forth 
 I On untried wing : At distance fkr, the sound 
 
 Alarms the barn-door flock ; the fearful dam 
 I Calls in her brood beneath her ruffling plumes ; 
 I With crowding feet they stand, and frequent peep 
 {Through the half-opened wing. The partridge quakes 
 I Among the rustling corn. Ye gentle tribes, 
 I Think not your deadliest foe is now at hand, 
 s 
 
128 AUGUST. 
 
 To man, bird, beast, man is the deadliest foe-; 
 'Tis he who wages universal war. 
 Soon as his murderous law gives leave to wound 
 The heathfowl, dweller on the mountain wild, 
 The sportsman, anxious, watching for the dawn. 
 Lies turning, while his dog, in happy dreams, 
 With feeble bark anticipates the day. 
 Some, ere the dawn steals o'er the deep blue lake. 
 The hill ascend : vain is their eager haste, — 
 The dog's quick breath is heard panting around. 
 But neither dog, nor springing game, is seen 
 Amid the floating mist ; short interval 
 Of respite to the trembling dewy wing. 
 Ah, many a bleeding wing, ere mid-day hour. 
 Shall vainly flap the purple bending heath. — 
 Fatigued, at noon, the spoiler seeks the shade 
 Of some lone oak, fast by the rocky stream, — 
 Fhe hunter's rest, in days of other years, 
 When sad the voice of Cona, in the gale, 
 Lamentingly the song of Selma sung. 
 
 How changeful, Caledonia, is thy clime ! 
 Where is the sun-beam that but now so bright 
 
AUGUST. 129 
 
 Played on the dimpling brook ? Dark o'er the heath 
 
 A deepening gloom is hung ; from clouds high piled 
 
 On clouds, the sudden flash glances ; the thunder 
 
 Rolls far, reverberated 'mong the cliffs; 
 
 Nor pause ; but ere the echo of one peal 
 
 Has ceased, another, louder still, the ear appals. 
 
 The sporting lamb hastes to its mother's side ; 
 
 The shepherd stoops into the mountain-cave. 
 
 At every momentary flash illumed 
 
 Back to its innermost recess, where gleams 
 
 The vaulted spar ; the eagle, sudden smote, 
 
 Falls to the ground lifeless ; beneath the v^ave 
 
 The sea-fowl plunges ; fast the rain descends ; 
 
 The whitened streams, from every mountain side, 
 
 Rush to the valley, tinging far the lake. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Gradual the woods their varied tints assume ; 
 The hawthorn reddens, and the rowan-tree 
 Displays its ruby clusters, seeming sweet, 
 Yet harsh, disfiguring the fairest face. 
 
 At sultry hour of noon, the reaper band 
 Rest from their toil, and in the lusty stook 
 Their sickles hang. Around their simple fare, 
 Upon the stubble spread, blythesome they form 
 A circling groupe, while humbly waits behind 
 The wistful dog, and with expressive look. 
 And pawing foot, implores his little share. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 131 
 
 The short repast, seasoned with simple mirth, 
 And not without the song, gives place to sleep. 
 With sheaf beneath his head, the rustic youth 
 Enjoys sweet slumbers, 'while the maid he loves 
 Steals to his side, and screens him from the sun. 
 
 But not by day alone the reapers toil : 
 Oft in the moon's pale ray the sickle gleams. 
 And heaps the dewy sheaf; — thy changeful sky, 
 Poor Scotland, warns to seize the hour serene. 
 
 The gleaners, wandering with the morning ray, 
 Spread o'er the new-reaped field. Tottering old age. 
 And lisping infancy, are there, and she 
 Who better days has seen. — 
 
 No shelter now 
 The covey finds ; but, hark ! the murderous tube^ 
 Exultingly the deep-mouthed spaniel bears 
 The fluttering victim to his master's foot : 
 Perhaps another, wounded, flying far 
 Eludes the eager following eye, and drops 
 Among the lonely furze, to pine and die. 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 ^W^iTH hound and horn, o'er moor, and hill, and dale. 
 The chace sweeps on ; no obstacle they heed, 
 Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor wood, nor river wide* 
 The clamorous pack rush rapid down the vale. 
 Whilst o'er yon brushwood tops, at times, are seen 
 The moving branches of the victim stag : 
 Soon far beyond he stretches o'er the plain. 
 O, may he safe elude the savage rout. 
 And may the w^oods be left to peace again ! 
 
 Hushed are the faded woods ; no bird is heard. 
 Save where the redbreast mourns the falling le^f. 
 
OCTOBER. 1S3 
 
 At close of shortened day, the reaper, tired, 
 
 With sickle on his shoulder, homeward hies: 
 
 Night comes with threatening storm, first whispering low. 
 
 Sighing amid the boughs ; then, by degrees. 
 
 With violence redoubled at each pause. 
 
 Furious it rages, scaring startled sleep. 
 
 The river roars. Long- wished, at last, the dawn. 
 
 Doubtful, peeps forth ; the winds are hushed, and sleep 
 
 Lights on the eyes unsullied with a tear ; 
 
 Nor flies, but at the ploughboy's whistle blythe. 
 
 Or hunter's horn, or sound of hedger's bill. 
 
 Placid the sun shoots through the half-stript grove ; 
 
 The grove's sere leaves float down the dusky flood. 
 
 The happy schoolboy, whom the swollen streams. 
 Perilous to wight so small, give holiday. 
 Forth roaming, now wild berries pulls, now paints, 
 Artless, his rosy cheek with purple hue ; 
 Now wonders that the nest, hung in the leafless thorn. 
 So full in view, escaped erewhile his search ; 
 On tiptoe raised, — ah, disappointment dire 1 
 His eager hand finds nought but withered leaves* 
 
134 OCTOBER. 
 
 Night comes again ; the cloudless canopy* 
 Is one bright arch, — myriads, myriads of stars. 
 To him who wanders 'mong the silent woods, 
 The twinkling orljs beam through the leafless boughs, 
 Which erst excluded the meridian ray. 
 
I 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 Languid the morning beam slants o'er the lea ; 
 The hoary grass, crisp, crackles 'neath the tread» 
 
 On the haw-clustered thorns, a motley flock 
 Of birds, of various plume, and various note, 
 Discordant chirp ;f the linnet, and the thrush, 
 With speckled breast, the blackbird yellow-beaked, 
 The goldfinch, fieldfare, with the sparrow, pert 
 And clamorous above his shivering mates, 
 While, on the house-top, faint the redbreast plains, 
 
 T 
 
136 xNOVEMBER, 
 
 Where do ye lurk, ye houseless commoners, 
 When bleak November's sun is overcast ; 
 When sweeps the blast fierce through the deepest groves>^ 
 Driving the fallen leaves in whirling wreaths ; 
 When scarce the raven keeps her bending perch, 
 When dashing catara,cts are backward blown I 
 
 A deluge pours; loud conies the river down : 
 The margin trees now insulated seem. 
 As if they in the midway current grew. 
 Oft let me stand upon the giddy brink, 
 And chace, with following gaze, the whirling foam. 
 Or woodland wreck : Ah me, that broken branch. 
 Sweeping along, may tempt some heedless boy, 
 Sent by his needy parents to the woods. 
 For brushwood gleanings for their evening fire. 
 To stretch too far his little arm ; he falls. 
 He sinks. Long is he looked for, oft he's called ; 
 His homeward whistle oft is fancied near : 
 His playmates find him on the oozy bank, 
 And, in his stiffened grasp, the fatal branch. 
 
NOVEMBER. 137 
 
 Short is the day ; dreary the boisterous night : 
 At intervals the moon gleams through the clouds, 
 And, now and then, a star is dimly seen. 
 
 When daylight breaks, the woodman leaves his hut^ . 
 And oft the axe's echoing stroke is heard ; 
 At last the yielding oak's loud crash resounds^ 
 Crushing the humble hawthorn in its fall. 
 The husbandman slow plods from ridge to ridge, 
 Disheartened, and rebuilds his prostrate sheaves. 
 
DECEMBER. 
 
 \Vhere late the wild flower bloomed,the brown leaf lies; 
 Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain : 
 The famished birds forsake each leafless spray, 
 And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store. 
 
 Season of social mirth ! of fireside joys ! 
 I love thy shortened day, when, at its close, 
 The blazing tapers, on the jovial board, 
 Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face 
 Their cheering light, and round the bottle glides 
 
DECEMBER. 189 
 
 Now far be banished, from our social ring, 
 
 The party wrangle fierce, the argument 
 
 Deep, learned, metaphysical, and dull. 
 
 Oft dropt, as oft again renewed, endless: 
 ; Rather I'd hear stories twice ten times told. 
 
 Or vapid joke, filched from Joe Miller's page, 
 [Or tale of ghost, hobgoblin dire, or witch ; 
 
 Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown. 
 
 Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun : absurd 
 I Though't be, far-fetched, and hard to be discerned. 
 
 It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides. 
 ; Now let the circling wine inspire the song, 
 
 The catch, the glee ; or list the melting lays 
 
 Of Scotia's pastoral vales, — they ever please. 
 i 
 i 
 
 Jtoud blows the blast ; while, sheltered from its rage^ 
 
 The social circle feel their joys enhanced. 
 
 Ah, little think they of the storm-tossed ship, 
 
 Amid the uproar of the winds and waves, 
 • The waves unseen, save by the lightnings glare, 
 ' Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress. 
 
 The trembling crew each moment think they feel 
 
 The shock of sunken rock ; — at last they strike : 
 
140 DECEMBER. 
 
 Borne on the blast their dying voices reach. 
 
 Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet ; help is vain : 
 
 The morning light discloses to the view 
 
 *rhe mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks 
 
 Or heaves the surge. The early village m.aid 
 
 Turns pale, like clouds v^hen o'er the moon they glide 5 
 
 She thinks of her true love, far, far at sea ; 
 
 Mournful, the live long day she turns her v^heel, 
 
 And ever and anon her head she bends. 
 
 While with the flax she dries the trickling tear. 
 
TO 
 
 A REDBREAST. 
 
 THAT FLEW IN AT MY WINDOW^ 
 
 From snowy plains, and icy sprays, 
 From moonless nights, and sunless days, 
 Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee j 
 I love thee, for thou trustest me. 
 
 I Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest I 
 Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast : — 
 How quick thy little heart is beating ! 
 
 j As if its brother flutterer greeting. 
 
 j Thou need'^st not dread a captive's doom ; 
 No ! freely flutter round my room ; 
 
142 TO A REDBREAST,. 
 
 Perch on my lute's remaining string, 
 And sweetly of sweet summer sing. 
 That note, that summer note, I know ; 
 It wakes, at once, and soothes my woe,-— 
 I see those woods, I see that stream, 
 I see, — ah, still prolong the dream ! 
 Still, with thy song, those scenes renew, 
 Though through my tears they reach my view. 
 
 No more now, at my lonely meal. 
 While thou art by, alone I'll feel ; 
 For soon, devoid of all distrust, 
 Thou'lt, nibbling, share my humble crust j 
 Or on my finger, pert and spruce, 
 Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice ; 
 And when (our short collation o'er) 
 Some favourite volume I explore, 
 Be't work of poet or of sage, 
 Safe thou shalt hop across the page, 
 Unchecked, shalt flit o'er Virgil's groves. 
 Or flutter 'mid Tibullus'Iovcs. 
 Thus, heedless of the raving blast, 
 Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past ; 
 
TO A REDBREAST. 143 
 
 And when the primrose tells, 'tis spring, 
 And when the thrush begins to sing, 
 Soon as I hear the woodland song, 
 ril set thee free to join the throng. 
 
EPITAPH 
 
 ON A BLACKBIRD, KILLED BY A HAWK 
 
 VV INTER was o'er, and spring-flowers decked the glad 
 The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung : 
 Ah, short-lived note ! the songster now is laid 
 Beneath the bush, on which so sweet he sung. 
 
 Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent, 
 Are now all soiled among the mouldering clay ; 
 
 A primrosed turf is all thy monument, 
 And, for thy dirge, the Redbreast lends his lay. 
 
TO ENGLAND, 
 
 ON THE SLAVE-TRADE. 
 
 i: 
 
 Ot all thy foreign crimes, from pole to pole, 
 Tone moves such indignation in my soul, 
 uch hate, such deep abhorrence, as thy trade 
 n human beings ! 
 
 fhy ignorance thou dar'stto plead no more ; 
 The proofs have thundered from the Afric shore, 
 khold, behold, yon rov^s ranged over rows, 
 )f dead with dying linked in death's last throes. 
 I behold a single victim of despair, 
 P^ragged upon deck to gasp the ocean air ; 
 I nevoid of fear, he hears the tempest rise,-— 
 The ship descending 'tween the waves, he eyes 
 
146 THE SLAVE-TRADE. 
 
 With eager hope ; he thinks his woes shall end : 
 Sunk in despair he sees her still ascend. 
 
 What barbarous race are authors of his woes ? 
 With freights of fetters, who the vessel stows ? 
 Who manufactures thumb-screws ? who the scourge : 
 Whose navies shield the pirates o'er the surge ? 
 Who, from the mother's arms, the clinging child 
 Tears ? It is England, — merciful and mild ! 
 Most impious race, who brave the watery realm 
 In blood-fraught barks, with Murder at the helm I 
 Who trade in tortures, profit draw from pain, 
 And even whose mercy is but love of gain ! 
 Whose human cargoes carefully are packt 
 By rule and square, according to the Act /— - 
 And is that gore-drenched flag by you unfurled, 
 Champions of right, knights-errant of the world ? 
 " Yes, yes," your Commons said. Let such things bey 
 ** i/* OTHERS rob and murder y ^why not WE ? 
 In the smoothed speech, and in the upraised hand, 
 I hear the lash, I hear the fierce command ; 
 Each guilty nay ten thousand crimes decreed, 
 .And English mercy said, Let millions bleed ! 
 
THE 
 
 THANKSGIVING 
 OFF CAPE TRAFALGAR. 
 
 Upon the high, yet gently rolling wave. 
 The floating tomb that heaves above the brave, 
 Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roared, 
 Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword. 
 And now the cannon's peaceful summons calls 
 The victor bands, to mount their wooden walls? 
 And from the ramparts, where their comrades fell. 
 The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell : 
 Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread. 
 And crowd the engines whence the lightnings sped ; 
 
148 TRAFALGAR. 
 
 The white-robed Priest his upraised hands extends, 
 Hushed is each voice, attention leaning bends ; 
 Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise, 
 Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies. 
 Heaven fills each heart; yet Home will oft intrude. 
 And tears of love, celestial joys exclude. 
 The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain, 
 Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain ; 
 While parting spirits, mingling with the lay, 
 On halleluiahs wing their heavenward way> 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON 
 
 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Sweet emblem of his song^ 
 Who sung the nvakening by the daisy's side, 
 P. 2. 1. 9. 10. 
 
 '' And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
 
 JBlythe, waukens by the daisy's side, 
 And mounts, and sings, on fluttering wings, 
 
 A waeworn ghaist I hameward glide." — Burns. 
 
 With earliest springs l^c, — P. 2. I. 11. 
 
 White, in his Natural History of Selborne, though almost 
 
 invariably correct, has fallen into a mistake as to the period 
 
 of the skylark's song. He makes it commence in February, 
 
 and s<X far be is right ; but when he addsjjWo/i to October yhQ 
 
 w 
 
152 NOTES, 
 
 is, at least, not sufficiently explicit ; for though larks do sing 
 in October, their song ceases in the month of July, and only 
 recommences., and that too but feebly and seldom, in October. 
 
 O'er iwhich he saiv ten thousand pinions ivheel ^ 
 Confused, dimming the sky, — P. 6, I. 2} » 22, 
 
 Dr. Harvey's description of the Bass is equally applica- 
 ble, in the circumstance here noticed, to St. Kilda. He says, 
 " The flocks of birds, in flight, are so prodigious as to dark- 
 en the air like clouds." 
 
 Jonahs isle, * 
 Where Scotland'' s kings are laid.' — P. 7. 1. 4. 5. 
 
 " loana, or Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides; a small but cel- 
 ebrated island, " once the luminary of the Caledonian re- 
 gions, whence savage clans, and roving barbarians, derived 
 the benefits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion*.'* 
 There is in the island only one town, or rather village, con- 
 sisting of about sixty houses. Beyond the town are the 
 ruins of the nunnery of Austin canonesses, dedicated to ^l, 
 
 Oran, and said to be founded by Columba A Bf oad 
 
 paved way leads hence to the cathedral ; and on this way 
 is a large handsome cross called Maclcane's, the only one 
 that remains of 360, which were demolished here at the Ref- 
 ormation. Reilig Ouran, or the burying-place of Oran, is 
 the large inclosure where the kings of Scotland, Ireland, and 
 of the isles, and their descendants, were buried in three sev- 
 
 * Johnson. 
 
NOTES. 153 
 
 ei*al (^liapels* The Dean of the isles, who travelled over 
 them 1 549, and whose account has been copied by Buchanan, 
 ajid published at Edinburgh 1784, says, that, in his time, on 
 one of these chapels (or " tombes of stain formit like little 
 chapels, with ane braid gray marble, or quhin stain, on the 
 gavil of ilk ane of the tombes," containing, as the chronicle 
 says, the remains of forty eight Scotch monarches, from Fer- 
 gus II. to Macbeth, sixteen of whom were pretended to be 
 of the race of Alpin,) was inscribed, Tumulus regum Scotia. 
 The next was inscribed. Tumulus regum Hibernia^ and con- 
 tained four Irish monarches : and the third inscribed, Tumw 
 Ins regum Norivegia^ contained eight Norwegian princes, or 
 viceroys, of the Hebrides, while they were subject to the 
 erown of Norway. Boetius says, that Fergus founded this 
 abbey for the burial-place of his successors, and caused an 
 office to be composed for the funeral ceremony. All that 
 Mr. Pennant could discover here, were only slight remains, 
 built in a ridged form, and arched within, but the inscrip- 
 tions lost .... This once illustrious seat of learning and 
 piety, has now no school for education, no temple for wor- 
 ship." £.ncyclopdedia Britaanica, 
 
 Teatly aihivart the ridge she runs. — P. 8. L 9. 
 
 In referring the different birds to the one or the other sex^ 
 jjKUstom has been nearly arbitrary. Thus, the /"^r/r/^^^ is al- 
 ways spoken of in the feminine gender : The lark^ on the 
 other hand, is, generally, a male. The luren is always femi- 
 nine, the redbreast masculine. The birds of prey are almost 
 
154 NOTES. 
 
 always described as females. For this pre-eminence, indeed, 
 there seems to be a good reason, namely, that the females of - 
 birds of prey are, in general, superior in size and strength to 
 the males. Perhaps the appropriation of the one or the other 
 gender to this or that species of birds, depends upon two 
 points,— What is the most conspicuous characteristic quality 
 of the species ; and. In which of the sexes is that characteris- 
 tic quality most strongly marked. The most striking and 
 conspicuous characteristic of some species of birds is their 
 power of song ; This power exists almost exclusively in the 
 male 5 and, accordingly, we find, that most singing birds are 
 spoken of in the masculine gender. 
 
 The GOKCOCk\ call. — P. 11. 1. 16. 
 Red game, gorcock, moorcock. — Pennant, Berwick, &c. 
 
 Eight spotted spheroids sees, — P. 12. 1. 5. 
 
 " These birds pair in the spring, and lay from six to ten 
 eggs" — Pennant. 
 
 She, if or dogy 
 Or man, intrude upon her bleak domain^ 
 Skims clamouring. — P. 14. 1. 17. 18. 19. 
 
 " Hence, around the head 
 Of wandering swain, the white winged plover wheels 
 Her sounding flight, and then directly on. 
 In long excursion^-skims the level lawn. 
 To tempt him from her nest." Thomson, 
 
NOTES. 155 
 
 When monarch s oivned no sceptre but the siuord. 
 P. 15. 1. 1. 
 
 During the reigns of Charles II. and James VII., the 
 cause of religion and liberty suffered , a most hideous perse- 
 cution in Scotland. Such of the people as did not comply 
 with the tyranny of the times, were hunted down like wild 
 beasts. 
 
 IVhosi lips hymned praise^ their right hands at their hilis, 
 P. 15. 1. 8. 
 
 The following passage, from Wodrow's History, will give 
 the reader a pretty lively idea of a conventicle, as well as of 
 the general state of the country. 
 
 " Claverhouse seized Mr. John King, preacher, in Hamil- 
 toun, or, as some papers say, in a house, a little south-east 
 from the town; and about fourteen more country men, either 
 come with Mr. King, or going to the meeting to-morrow. 
 There was some pretence to seize Mr. King, being a vagrant 
 preacher, and I think intercommuned ; but their was no 
 law for seizing the rest, they not being in arms, or any thing 
 to be laid to their charge. 
 
 " When this was known, some who escaped, and the peo- 
 ple near by, began to entertain thoughts of rescuing Mr. 
 King ; and some of them went toward Glasgow, acquaint- 
 ing their friends by the way ; and hearing of the meeting to- 
 wards J .owdonhill, went thither, expecting assistance from 
 thence. 
 
156 NOTES. 
 
 *^ Meanwhile Claverhouse was likewise advertised of that 
 IcOnventicle designed next day, and resolved to go and dis- 
 perse them, and come from thence to Glasgow with his pris- 
 oners, I am told he was dissuaded, by some of his friends^ 
 from going thither, and assured there wottld be a good many 
 resolute men in arms there ; yet, trusting to his ov/n troop, 
 and some others of horse and dragoons he had with him, he 
 would go. 
 
 •* Accordingly, upon the Sabbath morning, June 1 (1679) 
 he marched very early from Hamiltoun to Stratheven town, 
 about five miles south, and carried his prisoners with him, 
 which was happy for them. They were bound two and two 
 of them together, and his men drove them before them like so 
 many sheep. When they came to Stratheven, they had dis- 
 tinct accounts that Mr. Thomas Douglas was to preach that 
 day near Lowdonhill, three or four miles westward from 
 Stratheven: and thither Claverhouse resolves to march 
 straight with his party and prisoners. 
 
 " Public worship was begun by Mr. Douglas, when the 
 accounts came to them that Claverhouse and his men were 
 coming upon them, and had Mr. King and others, their 
 friends, prisoners. Upon this, finding evil was determined 
 against them, all who had arms drew out from the rest of 
 the meeting, and resolved to go and meet the soldiers, and 
 prevent their dismissing the meeting ; and, if possible, relieve 
 Mr. King and the other prisoners. 
 
 " They got together about forty horse, and one hundred 
 and fifty or two hundred foot, very ill provided with ammu- 
 nition and untrained, but hearty and abundantly brisk for 
 
NOTES. 157 
 
 action, and came up with Clayerhouse and his party in a 
 muir, near a place called Drumclog, from whence this ren- 
 counter hath its name. 
 
 " This little army of raw undisciplined country men, who 
 had no experience in the business of fighting, neither had 
 they oiScers of skill to lead them, very bravely stood Clav- 
 erhouse's first fire, and returned it with much gallantry ; 
 and after a short, but very close and warm engagement, the 
 soldiers gave way, were entirely defeat, and the prisoners 
 rescued. Claverhouse and his men fled, and were pursued a 
 mile or two. 
 
 " In the engagement and pursuit there were about twenty, 
 some say forty, of the soldiers killed, and Claverhouse him- 
 self was ii) great hazard, had his horse shot under him, and 
 very narrowly escaped. Several of the other officers were 
 wounded, and some of the soldiers taken prisoners ; whom, 
 having disarmed, they dismissed without any farther injury^ 
 having no prison-house to put them in." — Vol. ii. p. 46. 
 
 Witb^ hers and there, a flo'wer 
 Of deep-tinged purple, i^c. — P. \6. I. 6. 7. 
 
 Pyrimidal Orchis. 
 
 Doiun the double roiv 
 Of 'venerable elms is heivn* — P. 17. 1. 17. 18. 
 
 « The avenue has a most striking efFect, from the very 
 circumstance of its being strait ; no other figure can give 
 that image of a grand Gothic aisle with its natural columns 
 
158 NOTES. 
 
 and vaulted roof, whose general mass fiiis the eye, while tiie' 
 particular parts insensibly steal from it in a long gradation 
 of perspective*. The broad solemn shade adds a twilight 
 calm to the whole, and makes it, above all other place 
 most suited to meditation. To that also its straitness con- 
 tributes ; for when the mind is disposed to turn inwardly on 
 itself, any serpentine line would distract the attention. 
 
 "The destruction of so many of these venerable ap- 
 proaches, is a fatal consequence of the present excessive 
 horror of strait lines. Sometimes, indeed, avenues do cut 
 through the middle of very beautiful and varied ground, 
 with which the stiffness of their form but ill accords, and 
 where it were greatly to be wished they had never been 
 planted, as other trees, in various positions and groups, 
 would probably have sprung up, in and near the place they 
 occupy : But, being there, it may often be doubtful whether 
 they ought to be destroyed ; for, whenever such a line of 
 trees is taken away, there must be a long vacant space that 
 will separate the grounds, with their old original trees, on 
 each side of It ; and young trees planted in the vacancy, 
 win not, in half a century, connect the whole together. As 
 to saving a few trees of the line itself for that purpose, I 
 own I never saw it done, that it did not produce a contrary 
 effect, and that the spot was not haunted by the ghost of 
 the departed avenue,'^ Price's JlSssay on the Picturesque^ 
 Vol. i. 270.— 274. 
 
 * '• By long gradation I do not mean a great length of avenue ; I 
 perfectly agree with Mr. Burke, 'that colonades andavenues of trees, 
 of a moderate length, are, without comparison, far grander, thaa 
 when th .y are suffered to run to immense distances." 
 
NOTES. l/f9 
 
 Doivn crash J 
 Upon the grass, the orchard irees^ 'i^c.' — P. 17.1. 18. 19. . 
 
 Price, after condemning the destruction of old gardens, 
 adds, " I may perhaps have spoken more feelingly on this 
 subject, from having done myself what I so condemn in 
 others,— destroyed an old fashioned garden. It was not in- 
 deed in the high style of those I have described, but it had 
 many of the same circumstances, and which had their effect. 
 As I have long since perceived the advantage which I could 
 have made of them, and how much I could have added to 
 that effect ; how well I could, in parts, have mixed the mod- 
 ern style, and have altered and concealed many of the 
 stiff and glaring formalities, I have long regretted its de- 
 struction. I destroyed it, not from disliking it ; on the con- 
 trary, it was a sacrifice 1 made, against my own sensations, 
 to the prevailing opinion." Vol. ii. 142. 143. 
 
 Around the ivhole a line 'vermicular. — P. I 8, 1. 1 5. 
 
 " The next leading feature to the chimp*, in this circular 
 system, (and one which, in romantic situations, rivals it in 
 rhe power of creating deformity), is the belt. Its sphere, 
 
 * " I remember hearinj^, that when Mr. Brown was Iligh-sheiifl, 
 some facetious person observiiig his attendants straggling, called 
 oat to him, •' Clump your javlin men." What was intended merely 
 as a piece of ridicule, miglit have served as a very instructive lesson 
 to the object of it, and have taug;ht Mr. Brov/n, that such figures 
 should be confined to bodits of men drilled for the purposes of formal 
 parade, and riOt extended to the Icof^e ?.nd airy shapi-s of v^geta:- 
 lioii/'' 
 
160 
 
 however, is more contracted : Clumps, placed like beacofij 
 on the summits of hills, alarm the picturesque traveller ma- 
 ny miles oiF, and warn him of his approach to the enemy ; 
 the belt lies more in ambuscade, and the wretch who falls 
 into it, and is obliged to walk the whole round in company 
 with the improver, will allow, that a snake with its tail in its 
 mouth is, comparatively, but a faint emblem of eternity. It 
 has, ihdeed, all the sameness and formality of the avenue, 
 to which it has succeeded, without any of its simple gran- 
 deur : For though, in an avenue, you see the same objects 
 from beginning to end, and in the belt a new set every 
 twenty yards, yet each successive part of this insipid circle 
 is so like the preceding, that, though really difFerent, the 
 difference is scarcely felt ; and there is nothing that so dulls, 
 and, at the same time, so irritates the mind, as perpetual 
 change without variety." Ibid. Vol. i. 269. 270. 
 
 Of melancholy jir, and leaning larch, — P. 18. 1. 16. 
 
 The fashionable predilection of improvers for the pine 
 tribes, and, particularly, for the larch and fir, induces me 
 to quote the following passages from the author already 
 mentioned. 
 " The trees which principally shewed themselves were lar- 
 ches ; and, from the multitude of their sharp points, the 
 whole country appeared en herisson^ and had much the same 
 degree of resemblance to natural scenery, that one of the 
 old military plans, with scattered platoons of spearmen, h^ 
 to a print after Claude or Poussln. 
 
5^0TE^,. 1$1 
 
 ^' A planter very naturally wishes to produce some ap- 
 pearance of wood as soon as possible : He therefore sets his 
 trees very close together ; and so they generally remain, for 
 his paternal fondness will seldom allow him to thin them 
 sufficiently. They are consequently all drawn up together, 
 nearly to the same height ; and, as their heads touch each 
 other, no variety, no distinction of form can exist, but the 
 whole is one enormous, unbroken, unvaried mass of blacki 
 Its appearance is so uniformly dead and heavy, that instead 
 of those cheering ideas which arise from the fresh and luxu- 
 riant foliage*, and the lighter tints of deciduous trees, it has 
 something of that dreary image, that extinction of form and 
 colour, which Milton felt from bhndness ; when he, who 
 had viewed objects with a painter's eye, as he described 
 them with a poet's fire, was 
 
 ^ Presented with an universal blank 
 Of nature's works.* 
 
 " It must be considered also, that the eye feels an impres- 
 sion from objects analagous to that of weight, as appears 
 from the expression, a heavy colour, a hea'vy form ; hence 
 arises the necessity, in all landscapes, of preserving a prop* 
 
 * '* Perhapsj, in strict proprietj'-, the term o^ foliage should never 
 be applied to firs^ as they have no leaves ; and, I believe, it is partly 
 to that circumstance, that they owe their want of cheerfulness. 
 Those among the lower evergreens that have leaves, such as holly, 
 laurel, arbutus, arc much more cheerful than the juniper, cypress, 
 arbor vite, &c. The leaves (if one may so call them) of th« yew, 
 Slave much the same character as some of the firs.'* 
 
162 NOTES. 
 
 er balance of both ; and this is a very principal part of the 
 art of painting. If, in a picture, the one half were to be 
 light and airy, both in the forms and in the tints, and the 
 other half one black heavy lump, the most ignorant person 
 would probably be displeased (though he might not know 
 upon what principle) with the want of balance, and of har- 
 mony ; for those harsh discordant effects not only act more 
 forcibly from being brought together within a small com- 
 pass, but also, because, in painting, they are not authorised 
 by fashion, or rendered familiar by custom. 
 
 "The inside of these plantations fully answers to the 
 dreary appearance of the outside. Of all dismal scenes it 
 seems to me the most likely for a man to hang himself in : 
 He would, however, find some difficulty in the execution ; 
 for, amidst the endless multitude of stems, there is rarely a 
 single side-branch to which a rope could be fastened. The 
 whole wood Is a collection of tall naked poles, with a few 
 ragged boughs near the top : — -Above, one uniform rusty 
 cope, seen through decayed and decaying sprays and 
 branches ; below, the soil parched and blasted with the 
 baleful droppings ; hardly a plant or a blade of grass ; noth- 
 ing that can give an idea of life or vegetation. Even its 
 gloom is without solemnity ; it is only dull and dismal ; and 
 what light there is, like that of hell, 
 
 * Serves only to discover scenes of woe,. 
 Regions of sorrow, doleful shades." 
 
NOTES. 163 
 
 Get in his thrall some hapless stream that lurks ^ Is'c. 
 P. 18. 1. 21. 
 
 " It is equally probable, that many an English gentleman 
 may have felt deep regret when Mr. Brown had improved 
 some charming trout stream into a piece of water; and that 
 many a time afterwards, when disgusted with its glare and 
 formality, he has been heavily plodding along its naked 
 banks, he may have thought how beautifully fringed those 
 of his little brook once had been ; how it sometimes ran 
 rapidly over the stones and shallows, and sometimes, in a 
 narrower channel, stole sikntly beneath the overhanging 
 boughs. Many rich natural groups of trees he might re- 
 member, now thinned and rounded into clumps ; many se- 
 questered and shady spots, which he loved when a boy, now 
 all open and exposed, without shade or variety; and all 
 these sacrifices made, not to his own taste, but to the fashion 
 of the day, and against his natural feelings. 
 
 *' A gentleman, whose taste and feeling, both for art and 
 nature, rank as high as any man's, was lamenting to me the 
 extent of Mr. Brown's operations : * Former improvers,' said 
 he, * at least kept near the house ; but this fellow crawls 
 like a snail all over the grounds, and leaves his cursed slime 
 behind him wherever he goes." Ibid. Vol. i. 373. 374. 
 
 Mackenzie's purpled hands. — P. 21. 1. 5- 
 
 Sir George Mackenzie was king's advocate from the year 
 1674 to the year 1686 ; and was, of course, the prime mover 
 In the inquisitorial, tyrannical, and sanguinary procedure 
 
164 NOTEa* 
 
 of the Supreme Criminal Courts, during the worst period of 
 the persecution, which Charles II. and James VII. carried 
 on against religion and liberty in Scotland, 
 
 JVhose holloiv promise helped the princely hand^ 
 
 To screzv confessions from expiring lips* 
 P. 21.1. 11. 12. 
 When the victims of persecution were brought before the 
 Privy Council, and put to the torture, James himself fre* 
 quently attended ; and promises of pardon (never intended 
 to be performed) were sometimes given, with the view of 
 extracting a full confession. The procedure on these occa- 
 sions, and the share which Sir George Mackenzie had in it, 
 may be learned from one instance. The infliction of the tor- 
 ture on the Reverend Mr. William Carstairs, is thus de- 
 scribed in the Privy Council Record. 
 
 "In the afternoon the same day, September 5. (1684) 
 the Council called and interrogated Mr. Carstairs, * If he 
 would now answer the queries upon oath ingenuously ?' He 
 stili shunned so to do, albeit the advocate declared, what 
 the said Mr. Carstairs deponed should not militate or ope- 
 rate against him in any manner of way; whereunto the 
 Council assented. The Council called for one of the Baihes 
 of Edinburgh ; and the executioner with the engines of tor- 
 ture being present, the Lord Chancellor commanded the 
 Bailie to cause the executioner put him in the torture, by 
 applying the thumb-screw to him ; which being done, and 
 he having, for the space of an hour, continued in the agony 
 of torture, the screw being, by space and space, stretcljed* 
 
NOTES. 165 
 
 until he appeared near to faint ; and being still obstinate 
 and refractory to depone, the Lords thought fit to ease him 
 of the torture for that time, but certified him, that to-mor- 
 row, at nine of the clock, he would be tortured by the boots, 
 if he remained obstinate," 
 
 Mr. Carstairs's own account of the business is as follows : 
 ''After this communing, the king's smith was called in, to 
 bring in a new instrument, to torture by the thumbkins, that 
 had never been used before. For whereas the former was 
 only to screw on two pieces of iron, above and below, with 
 finger and thumb, these were made to turn about the screw 
 with the whole hand. 
 
 " And under this torture I continued near an hour and 
 an half. In the mean time the torturing by the boot was 
 tried ; but the hangman being newly come on, (because the 
 former was in prison for some crime), he had no skill, and, 
 therefore, it was put off till the next day." Won row, 
 Vol. ii. 389. 
 
 To sum up the character of Sir George Mackenzie, the 
 follov/ing extract, from the Records of the Privy Council, 
 v/iil suffice. 
 
 '' Dece;2!der 4, 1684. 
 " The advocate (/. e. Sir George Mackenzie) representing 
 how ready Judge Jeffries was to join with the Council 
 for support of the Government, it is recommended to him, 
 (Sir George) to signify to tiie Judge, the great resentments 
 (the strong sentiments) the Council had of his kindness towards 
 this Idngdom, in giving concurrence against such pernicious 
 ^'o^ries and "jHlaitis, ivho disturb the public peace ; and desiring he 
 
166 NOTES. 
 
 may cause apprehend the persons of hiding and fugitive 
 Scotsmen, and deliver them securely on the Scots border ,,to 
 such as shall be appointed to receive them." 
 
 By modern history s too lenient touch » — P. 21, 1. 14. 
 
 The picture which Hume has drawn of the times here al- 
 luded to has a likeness ; but it is a profile portrait of a man 
 who squints : The principal deformity cannot be discerned. 
 Mr. Laing, in treating of the tyranny which preceded the 
 Revolution, has dismissed that squeamish delicacy so often 
 at variance with the frank and unaiFected dignity of histori- 
 cal truth, and has described the royal brothers in terms of 
 suitable reprobation. His character of the second Charles 
 is a spirited painting. I cannot, however, help thinking, 
 that the principal actor in the judicial tortures and murders 
 of that reign, deserved a full length portrait as well as his 
 master. 
 
 The Syracusans •yo/V^.— P. 23. 1. 1 8. 
 
 Archimedes discovered the exact quantity of silver, 
 which an artificer had fraudulently mixed with the gold in 
 a crown, made for Hiero, king of Syracuse. He had the 
 hint of this discovery, from perceiving the water rise up the 
 sides of the bath as he went into it, and was filled with such 
 joy, that he ran naked out of the bath crying, / have found 
 it, I have found it ! 
 
NOTES. 167 
 
 The moment snatchy 
 That she has jlitted off her charge^ to cool 
 Her thirsty hill., dipt in the babbling brook, 
 P. 28. 1. 20. 21. 22. 
 
 The persevering constancy of birds in their incubation is 
 a most astonishing phenomenon. " Neither (says Dr. Paley) 
 ought it, under this head, to be forgotten, how much the in- 
 stinct costs the animal which feels it ; how much a bird, for 
 example, gives up, by sitting upon her nest ; how repug- 
 nant to her organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An 
 animal, formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the 
 very season when every thing invites her abroad : What is 
 more ; an animal delighting in motion, made for motion, all 
 whose motions are so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at 
 other times, at rest, is, for many hours of many days togeth- 
 er, fixed to her nest, as close as if her limbs were tied do'wn 
 by pins and wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that 
 situation, but I recognise an invisible hand, detaining the 
 contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for a pur- 
 pose, as the event proves, the most worthy of the sacrifice, 
 the most important, the most beneficial." Natural Theok^ 
 gy, 346. 
 
 They see^ and knoiv 
 That light for them is but an implement 
 Of toil,— -V. 37. 1. 5. 6. 7. 
 
 In this passage I do not allude to any particular manufac- 
 tory. The practice which I condemn is a general, and, I 
 may say, a national vice. In those particular works whicb 
 
 Y 
 
168 NOTES- 
 
 I have had best access to know, the evil is mitigated, as 
 much as such an evil can be mitigated, by the superintend- 
 ing mtelligence and humanity of the owners. The legisla- 
 ture lately interposed with a statute for the protection of 
 childhood ; but I am sorry to say, that in Scotland, at least, 
 the inferior judges seem to consider this enactment as a 
 dead letter. 
 
 Belhaven^ Fletcher. — P. 42. 1. 6. 
 
 Lord Belhaven*s speech in the expiring Parliament of 
 Scotland, is a most noble monument of unsuccessful elo- 
 quence. The following extracts are a fair specimen of the 
 
 whole. 
 
 " But above all, I see our ancient mother Caledonia, like 
 
 Csesar, sitting in the midst of our senate, looking mournfully 
 around, covering herself with her royal garment, and breath- 
 ing out her last words, And thou too, my son ' while she at- 
 tends the fatal blow from our hands. Patricide is worse 
 than parricide ; to offer violence to our country is worse 
 than to our parents. But shall we, whose predecessors have 
 founded and transmitted our monarchy and its laws entire, 
 to us a free and independent kingdom, shall we be silent 
 when our country is in danger, or betray what our progeni- 
 tors have so dearly purchased ? The English are a great and 
 glorious nation. Their armies are every where victorious ; 
 their navy is the terror of Europe ; their commerce encircles 
 the globe ; and their capital has become the emporium of 
 the whole earth : But we are obscure, poor, and despised, 
 though once a nation of better account ; situate in a remote 
 
^OTES. 169 
 
 eorner of the world, without alliances, and without a namfe. 
 What then can prevent us from burying our animosities, 
 and uniting cordially together, since our very existence as 
 a nation is at stake ? The enemy is already at our gates ! 
 Hannibal is within our gates ! Hannibal is at the foot of the 
 throne, which he will soon demolish, seize upon these rega- 
 lia, and dismiss us, never to return to this house again ! 
 Where are the Douglases, the Grahams, the Campbells, our 
 peers and chieftains, who vindicated by their swords, from 
 the usurpation of the English Edwards, the independence 
 of their country, which their sons are about to forfeit by a 
 single vote ? I see the English constitution remaining firm : 
 the same houses of Parliament ; the same taxes, customs, 
 and excise ; the same trading companies, laws, and judica- 
 tures : whilst ours are either subjected to new regulations, 
 or annihilated for ever. And for what ? That we may be 
 admitted to the honour of paying their old, and praenting a 
 feix) 'Witnesses to attest the netv debts ivhich they are pleased to con'' 
 tract ! Good God ! is this an entire surrender ? My heart 
 bursts with indignation and grief, at the triumph which the 
 English will obtain to-day, over a fierce and warlike nation, 
 that has struggled to maintain its independence so long \ 
 But if England should offer us our conditions, never will £ 
 consent to the surrender of our sovereignty ; without wliich, 
 unless the contracting parties remain independent, there is 
 no security different from his, who stipulates for the preser- 
 vation of his property when he becomes a slave." Laing*s 
 History of Scotland^ Vol. iv. 349 — 351. 
 
 The character of Fletcher is ably drawn by the same 
 feistorian-. 
 
170 NOTES* 
 
 " Fletcher was apparently the early pupil of Burnet ; but 
 his virtues were confirmed by mature study, foreign travel, 
 persecution, and exile. When he withdrew from the op- 
 pressive government of the duke of York, he engaged as a 
 volunteer in the Hungarian wars ; and, rather than desert 
 his friend, embarked in Monmouth's unhappy expedition, 
 of which he disapproved. At the Revolution, he returned 
 with the prince of Orange, whose service he declined when 
 that prince was advanced to the throne. From the study 
 of the ancients, and the observation of modern governments, 
 he had imbibed the principles of a genuine republican. 
 Disgusted at William's authority as inordinate, he consider- 
 ed the prince as the first and most dangerous magistrate of 
 the state, to be severely restrained, not indulged in the free 
 exercise, or abuse, of power. His mind was firm and inde- 
 pendent, sincere and inflexible in his friendship and resent- 
 ments, impatient of contradiction, obstinate in his resolves, 
 but unconscious of a sordid motive, or an ungenerous de- 
 sire. His countenance was stern, and his disposition unac- 
 commodating, however affable to his friends ; but his word 
 was sacred : His probity was never sullied by the breath of 
 suspicion ; and equally tenacious of his dignity, and scru- 
 pulous in the observance of every point of honour, his spir- 
 it was proverbially brave as the sword he wore*. His 
 
 * *' The same expression is used, without communication, by 
 Lockhart and Mackay ; but the last is peculiarly happy in his char- 
 acter of Fletcher: * He is a gentleman steady in his principles, of 
 nice honour, —brave as the sword he wears, and bcld as a lion,-- 
 would lose his life readily lo serve his country, and would not do 3 
 liaf.t thing to save it." 
 
NOTES. 171 
 
 schemes were often eccentric and impracticable ; but his ge- 
 nius was actuated by a sublime enthusiasm, and enriched 
 by an extensive converse with books and men. His elo- 
 quence is characterised by a nervous and concise simplicity, 
 always dignified, often sublime ; and his speeches in Parlia- 
 ment may be classed among the best and purest specimens 
 of oratory which the age produced. His free opinions were 
 confined to no sect in religion, nor party in the state. The 
 love of his country was the ruling passion of his breast, and 
 the uniform principle of his whole life. In a corrupt age, 
 and amidst the violence of contending factions, he appear- 
 ed a rare example of the most upright and steady integrity, 
 the purest honour, the most disinterested patriotism ; and, 
 while the characters of his venal, but more successful, com- 
 petitors are consigned to infamy or oblivion, his memory is 
 revered and cherished as the last of the Scots." Vol. iv. 
 296 — 298. 
 
 The cu su AT plains^ — P. 42. 1. 17. 
 
 Scott, in the following fine passage, uses this word in 
 preference to the English one : 
 
 " And now, in Branksome's good green wood, • 
 
 As under the aged oak he stood, 
 
 The Baron's courser pricks his ears 
 
 As if a distant noise he hears. 
 
 The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on highy 
 
 And signs to the lovers to part and fly : 
 
 Ko time was then to vow or sign. 
 
172 KOTES». 
 
 Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove, 
 Flew like the startled cushat'dove : 
 The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ; 
 Vaulted the knight on his steed amain, 
 And, pondering deep that morning's scene, 
 Rode eastward through the hawthorns green.'* 
 
 Lay of the Last Minstrel^ cantO Ji. 67. 68, 
 
 Is laid so thinly i that the light of day 
 Is through it seen. — P. 42. 1. 23. 
 
 The pigeon lays only two eggs. She is, besides, a large 
 bird, and possesses an uncommon degree of animal heat, 
 How differently she and the wren construct their respective 
 liests ! 
 
 Four pointed leagues luxuriant^ ^c. — P. 43. 1. 15. 
 The herb Faris, 
 
 Amid the leaf ess thorn the merry tvren. — P. 46. 1. 5. 
 
 The wren " braves our severest winters, which it contri- 
 butes to enliven by its sprightly note It continues its 
 
 song till late in the evening, and not unfrequently during 
 a fall of snow." — Beilby and Bewick. The prints, in the 
 work here quoted, are the most accurate, and, at the same 
 lime, lively representations of birds that I ever saw. 
 
 And trusts her offspring to another s care — P. 48. 1. 4. 
 " The cuckoo visits vis early in the spring. Its well-known 
 
NOTES. 173^ 
 
 sry is generally heard about the middle of April, and ceases 
 the latter end of June ; its stay is short, the old cuckoos be- 
 ing said to quit this country early in July. Cuckoos never 
 pair; they build no nest ; and, what is more extraordinary, 
 the female deposits her solitary egg in that of another bird, 
 by whom it is hatched. The nest she chooses for this pur- 
 pose is generally selected from the following, viz. the hedge- 
 sparrow, the water-wagtail, the titlark, the yellow-hammer, 
 the green linnet, or the winchat. Of these it has been ob- 
 served, that she shews a much greater partiality to the hedge- 
 sparrow than to any of the rest. 
 " We owe the following account of the economy of this 
 singular bird in the disposal of its egg, to the accurate ob- 
 servations of Mr.Edward Jenner,communicated to theRoyal 
 Society^ and published in^ the 78th volume of their Transac- 
 tions, part ii. He observes, that during the time the hedge- 
 sparrow is laying her eggs, which generally takes up four 
 or five days, the cuckoo contrives to deposit her egg among 
 the rest, leaving the future care of it entirely to the hedge- 
 sparrow. This intrusion often occasions some discomposure, 
 for the old hedge-sparrow, at intervals, whilst she is sitting, 
 not only throws out some of her own eggs, but sometimes 
 injures them in such a way, that they become addle ; so that 
 it frequently happens that not more than two or three of the 
 parent-bird's eggs are hatched with that of the cuckoo; and, 
 what is very remarkable, it has never been observed that 
 the hedge-sparrow has either thrown out or injured the egg 
 of the cuckoo. When the hedge-sparrow has sat her usual 
 time, and has disengaged the yomig cuckoo and some of her 
 
174 NOTES. 
 
 own offspring from the shell, her own young ones, and any 
 of her eggs that remain unhatched, are soon turned out ; the 
 young cuckoo then remains in full possession* of the nest, 
 and is the sole object of the future care of the foster-parent. 
 The young birds are not previously killed, nor the eggs de- 
 molished, but all are left to perish together, either entangled 
 in the bush which contains the nest, or lying on the ground 
 under it. Mr. Jenner next proceeds to account for this 
 seemingly unnatural circumstance ; and as what he has ad- 
 vanced is the result of his own repeated observations, we 
 shall give it nearly in his own words. On the 1 8th June, 
 1787, Mr. J. examined the nest of a hedge-sparrow, which 
 then contained a cuckoo's and three hedge-sparrow's eggs* 
 On inspecting it the day following, the bird had hatched, 
 but the nest then contained only a young cuckoo and one 
 young hedge-sparrow. The nest was placed so near the ex- 
 tremity of a hedge, that he could distinctly see what was 
 going forward in it ; and, to his great astonishment, he saw 
 the young cuckoo, though so lately hatched, in the act of 
 turning out the young hedge-sparrow. The mode of accom- 
 plishing this was curious : The little animal, witli the as- 
 sistance of its rump and wings, contrived to get the bird 
 upon its back, and making a lodgment for its burden, by 
 elevating its elbows, clambered backwards with it up the 
 side of the nest till it reached the top, where, resting for a 
 moment, it threw off its load with a jerk, and quite disen- 
 gaged it from the nest : After remaining a short time in? 
 this situation, and feeling about with the extremities of itff 
 wings, as if to be convinced that the business- was properh- 
 
KOTES. 175 
 
 executed, it dropped into the nest again. Mr J. made, sev- 
 eral experiments in different nests, by repeatedly putting in 
 an egg to the young cuckoo, which he always found to be 
 disposed of in the same manner." — Beilby and Bewick, 
 VoLi. 105—107. 
 
 JVo threatening board forenvarns the homeward hind, 
 P. 50. 1.12. 
 
 For the honour of humanity, there are minds, which re- 
 quire no other motive than what passes within. And here 
 I cannot resist paying a tribute to the memory of a beloved 
 uncle, and recording a benevolence towards all the inhabi- 
 tants around him, that struck me from my earliest remem- 
 brance ; and it is an impression I wish always to cherish. It 
 seemed as if he had made his extensive walks as much for 
 them as for himself ; they used them as freely, and their 
 enjoyment was his. The village bore as strong marks of his 
 and of his brother's attentions (for in that respect they 
 appeared to have but one mind) to the comforts and pleas- 
 ures of its inhabitants. Such attentive kindnesses, are am- 
 ply repaid by affectionate regard and reverence ; and were 
 they general throughout the kingdom, they would do much 
 more towards guarding us against democratical opinions, 
 
 ' Than twenty thousand soldiers armed in proof/ 
 
 " The cheerfulness of the scene I have mentioned, and all 
 the interesting circumstances attending it (so different from 
 those of solitary grandeur), have convinced me, that he wlio 
 Z 
 
1761 NOTES. 
 
 destroys dwellings, gardens, and inclosures, for the sake of 
 mere extent, and parade of property ,only extends the bounds 
 of monotony, and of dreary, selfish pride ; but contracts 
 those of variety, amusement, and humanity. 
 
 " I own it does surprise me, that in an age, and in a coun- 
 try where the arts are so highly cultivated, one single plan 
 (and that but moderate) should have been so adopted ; and 
 that even the love of peculiarity, should not sometimes have 
 checked this method of levelling all distinctions, of making 
 all places alike, all equally tame and insipid. 
 
 " Few persons have been so lucky as never to have seen 
 or heard the true proser, smiling, and distinctly uttering his 
 flowing common-place nothings, with the same placid coun- 
 tenance, the same even-toned voice : He is the very eni- 
 blem of serpentine walks, belts, and rivers, and all Mr. 
 Brown's works ; like him, they are smooth, flowing, even, 
 and distinct ; and, like him, they wear one's soul out." — 
 Price's Essay, Vol. i. 379—382. 
 
 Nor be the loivly divellings of the poor 
 
 Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights. — P. 50. 1. 20. 21. 
 
 " In all that relates to cottages, hamlets, and villages, to 
 the grouping of them, and their mixture with trees and 
 climbing plants, the best instruction may be gained from the 
 works of the Dutch and Flemish masters ; which perhaps af- 
 ford a greater variety of useful hints to the generality of 
 improvers, and such as might more easily be carried into 
 practice, than those grander scenes which are exhibited in 
 the higher schools of painting. All the splendid effects of 
 
NOTES. 177 
 
 architecture, and of assemblages of magnificent buildings, 
 whether in cities, or amidst rural scenery, can only be dis^ 
 played by princes, and men of princely revenues : But it is 
 in the power of men of moderate fortunes, by means of 
 slight additions and alterations, to produce a very essential 
 change in the appearance of farm buildings, cottages, &c. 
 and in the grouping of them in villages ; and such effects, 
 though less splendid than those of regular architecture, are 
 not less interesting. There is, indeed, no scene where such 
 a variety of forms and embellishments may be introduced 
 at so small an expence, and without any thing fantastic or 
 unnatural, as that of a village ; none where the lover of 
 painting, and the lover of humanity, may find so many 
 sources of amusement and interest." 
 
 " I could wish to turn the minds of improvers, from too 
 much attachment to solitary parade, towards objects more 
 connected with general habitation and embellishment. 
 Where a mansion-house, and a place upon a large scale, 
 happen to be situated as close to a village, as some of th^ 
 most magnificent seats in the kingdom are to small towns, 
 both styles of embellishment might be adopted : Far from 
 interfering, they would add to each other's effect ; and it 
 may be truly said, that fliere is no way in which wealth can 
 produce such natural unaffected variety, and such interest, 
 as by adorning a real village, and promoting the comforts 
 and enjoyments of its inhabitants. 
 
 " Goldsmith has most feelingly described (more, I trust, 
 from the warmth of a poetical imagination and quick sensi- 
 bility, than from real fact) the ravages of wealthy pride. 
 
178 NOTES. 
 
 My aim is to shew, that they are no less hostile to real taste, 
 than to humanity ; and should I succeed, it is possible that 
 those, whom all the affecting images and pathetic touches of 
 Goldsmith would not have restrained from destroying a vil- 
 lage, may even be induced to build one, in order to shew 
 their taste in the decoration and disposition of village 
 houses and cottages " 
 
 " As human vanity Is very fond of new creations, it may 
 not be useless to observe, that to build an entirely new vil- 
 lage, is not only a more expensive undertaking than to add 
 to an old one, but that it is, likewise, a much more difficult 
 task to execute it with the same naturalness and variety of 
 disposition ; and that it is hardly possible so imitate those 
 circumstances of long established habitation, which, at the 
 same time that they suggest pleasing reflections to an ob- 
 serving mind, are sure to afford delight to the painter's eye. 
 Ibid, Vol. ii. 399-— 404. 
 
 " There is, indeed, something despotic in the general 
 system of improvement ; all must be laid open, all that ob- 
 structs levelled to the ground, — houses, orchards, gardens, 
 all swept away. Painting, on the contrary, tends to hu- 
 manize the mind : Where a despot thinks every person an 
 intruder who enters his domain, anS wishes to destroy cot- 
 tages, and pathways, and to reign alone ; the lover of paint- 
 ing considers the dwellings, the inhabitants, and the marks 
 of their intercourse, as ornaments to tlie landscape *.'' Ibid. 
 Vol. i. 378.379. 
 
 * " Sir Joshua Reynolds told me, that when he and Wilson, the 
 landscape painter, were looking at the view from Richmond terrace. 
 
NOTES. 179 
 
 Pleasant the path 
 By sunny garden ivalL — P. 52. 1. 8. 9. 
 
 " It has been justly observed, that the love of seclusion 
 and safety is not less natural to man, than that of liberty ; 
 and our ancestors have left strong proofs of the truth of that 
 observation. In many old places, there are almost as many 
 walled compartments without, as apartments within doors ; 
 and though there is no defending the beauty of brick- walls, 
 yet still that appearance of seclusion and safety, when it 
 can be so contrived as not to interfere with general beauty, 
 is a point well worth obtaining ; and no man is more ready 
 than myself to allow, that the comfortable is a principle 
 which should never be neglected. On that account, all wall- 
 ed gardens and compartments near a house ; all warm, shel- 
 tered, sunny walks, under walls planted with fruit-trees, are 
 greatly to be wished for ; and should be preserved, if possi- 
 ble, when once established." Ibid, Vol. ii. 145. 446. 
 
 There are ivho doubt this migratory 'voyage. — P. 56. 1. G. 
 
 " The migration of the swallow tribe has been noticed by 
 almost every writer on the natural history of birds, and va- 
 rious opinions have been fromed respecting their disappear- 
 
 Wilson was pointing: o^t some particular part ; and in order to di- 
 rect his eye to it, ' There,' said he, 'near those houses ; there, where 
 t\ie figures are.' ' Though a painter,' said Sir Joshua, ' I was puz- 
 zled. I thought he meant statues, and was looking upon the tops 
 of the houses ; for I did not at first conceive, that the men and wo- 
 men we plainly saw walking about, were, by him, only thought of 
 as figures in the landscape." 
 
180 NOTES. 
 
 ance, and the state in which they subsist during that inter- 
 val. Some naturalists suppose, that they do not leave this 
 island at the end of autumn, but that they lie in a torpid 
 state, till the beginning of summer, in the banks of rivers, in 
 the hollows of decayed trees, in holes and crevices of old 
 buildings, in sand banks, and the like : Some have even as- 
 serted, that swallows pass the winter immersed in the wa- 
 ters of lakes and rivers, where they have been found in 
 clusters, mouth to mouth, wing to wing, foot to foot, and 
 that they retire to these places in autumn, and creep down 
 the reeds to their subaqueous retreats. In support of this 
 opinion, Mr. Klein very gravely asserts, on the credit of 
 some countrymen, that swallows sometimes assemble in num- 
 bers, clinging to a reed till it breaks, and sinks with them 
 to the bottom ; that their immersion is preceded by a song 
 or dirge, which lasts more than a quarter of an hour ; that 
 sometimes they lay hold on a straw with their bills, and 
 plunge down in society ; and that others form a large mass, 
 by clinging together by the feet, and in this manner com- 
 mit themselves to the deep. It requires no great depth of 
 reasoning to refute such palpable absurdities, or to shew 
 the physical impossibility of a body, specifically lighter than 
 water, employing another body lighter than itself for the 
 purpose of immersion : But, admitting the possibility of this 
 curious mode of immersion, it is by no means probable that 
 swallows, or any other animal in a torpid state, can exist for 
 any length of time In an element to which they have never 
 been accustomed, and are besides totally unprovided by na- 
 ture with organs suited to such a mode of subsistence. 
 
KOTES. 181 
 
 " The celebrated Mr. John Hunter informs us, * That he 
 had dissected many swallows, but found nothing in them 
 different from other birds as to the organs of respiration ;* 
 and, therefore, concludes, that it is highly absurd to sup- 
 pose, that terrestrial animals can remain any long time un- 
 der water without behig drowned. It must not, however, 
 be denied, that swallows have been sometimes found in a 
 torpid state during the winter months ; but such instances 
 are by no means common,and will not support the inference, 
 that if any of them can survive the winter in that state, the 
 whole species is preserved in the same manner*. That 
 
 * "There are various instances on reeord, which bear the strong- 
 est marks of veracity, of swallows having been taken put of water, 
 and of their having been so far recovered by warmth as to exhibit 
 evident signs of life^ so as even to fly about for a short space of time. 
 But whilst we admit the fact, we are not inclined to allow the con- 
 clusion generally drawn from it, viz. that swallows, at the time of 
 their disappearance, frequently immerse themselves in seas, lakes> 
 and rivers, and, at the proper season, emerge and reassume the 
 ordinary functions of life and animation ; for, it should be observed, 
 that in those instances which have been the best authenticated, 
 [See Forster's Translation of Kalm's Travels into North America^ 
 140. note.] it appears, that the swallows so taken up were generally 
 found entangled amongst reeds and rushes, by the sides, or in the 
 shallowest parts, of the lakes or rivers where they happened to be 
 discovered, and that, having been brought to life so far as to fly 
 about, they all of them died in a few hours after. From the facts 
 thus stated, we would infer, that at the time of the disappearance of 
 swallows, the reedy grounds by the sides of rivers and standing wa- 
 ters are generally dry, and that these birds, especially the latter 
 hatchings, which frequent such places for the sake of food, retire to 
 them at the proper season, and lodge themselves among the roots, ov 
 
182 NOTES. 
 
 Other birds have been found in a torpid state, may be inferi' 
 red from the following curious fact,which was communicated 
 to us by a gentleman who saw the bird, and had the account 
 from the person who found it. A few years ago, a young 
 cuckoo was found in the thickest part of a close furze bush ; 
 when taken up it presently discovered signs of life, but was 
 quite destitute of feathers ; being kept warm, and carefully 
 fed, it grew and recovered its coat of feathers : In the 
 spring following it made its escape, and in flying across the 
 river Tyne it gave its usual call. We have observed a single 
 swallow, so late as the latter end of October. Mr. White, in 
 his Natural History of Selborne, mentions having seen a 
 house martin flying about in November, long after the gea- 
 eral migration had taken place. Many more instances 
 might be given of such late appearances, which, added to 
 the well authenticated accounts of swallows having been ac- 
 tually found in a torpid state, leave us no room to doubt, 
 that such young birds as have been late hatched, and con- 
 sequently not strong enough to undertake a long voyage to 
 the coast of Africa, are left behind, and remain concealed 
 in hiding places till the return of spring. On the other 
 hand, that actual migrations of the swallow tribe do take 
 
 in the thickest parts of the rank grass which grows there; that, 
 during their state of torpidity, they are liable to be covered with 
 water, from the rains which follow, and are sometimes washed into 
 the deeper parts of the lake or river, where they have been accident- 
 ally taken up ; and that, probably, the transient signs of life, which 
 they have discovered on such occasions, have given rise to a variety 
 of vague and improbable accounts of their immersion, &c." 
 
NOTES. 183 
 
 place, has been fully proved from a variety of well attested 
 facts^most of which have been taken from the observations 
 of navigators, who were eye-witnesses of their flights, and 
 whose ships have sometimes afforded a resting place to the 
 weary travellers." — Beilby and Bewick. Introduction, 
 
 Behold ibe CORN-CRAlK ; sie,ioo, tvings her ixjay 
 Tq other lands, X^fc.—V, 56. 1. 10. 1 1. 
 
 " It makes its appearance about the same time as the 
 quail, and frequents tKe same places, whence it is called, in 
 some countries, ' the king of the quails.* Its well known 
 cry is first heard as soon as the grass becomes long enough 
 to shelter it, and continues till the grass is cut ;*^ but the bird 
 is seldom seen, for it constantly skulks among the thickest 
 part of the herbage, and runs so nimbly through it, winding 
 and doubling in every direction, that it is difficult to come 
 near it ; when hard pushed by the dog, it sometimes stops 
 short, and squats down, by which means its too eager pur- 
 suer overshoots the spot, and loses the trace. It seldom 
 springs but when driven to extremi,ty, and generally flies 
 with its legs hanging down, but never to a great distance : 
 As soon as it alights, it runs off, and before the fowler has 
 reached the spot, the bird is at a considerable distance. 
 The corn-craik leaves this island in winter, and repairs to 
 other countries in search of food, which consists of worms, 
 slugs, and insects ; it likewise feeds on seeds of various 
 kinds ; It is very common in Ireland, and is seen in great 
 numbers in the island of Anglesea, in its passage to that, 
 A a 
 
184 NOTES. 
 
 country. On its first arrival in England it is so lean as to j 
 weigh less than six ounces, from whence one would con- i 
 elude, that it must have come from distant parts ; before its 
 departure, however, it has been known to exceed eight | 
 ounces, and is then very delicious eating. The female lays 
 ten or twelve eggs, on a nest made of a little moss or dry 
 grass carelessly put together ; they are of a pale ash colour, 
 marked with rust-coloured spots. The young craiks run as \ 
 soon as they have burst the shell, following the mother ; | 
 they are covered with a black down, and soon find the use 
 of their legs.'* Ihid. 312. 313. 
 
 Struggling she strives^ 
 JEntangled in the thorny labyrinth. 
 While easily its ivay the small bird "winds* 
 P. 60, 1. 13. 14. 15. 
 
 The uses of prickles on shrubs are thus enumerated by 
 Ray, — ^^ to secure them from the browsing of beasts ; as al- 
 so to shelter others that grow under them. Moreover, they 
 are hereby rendered very useful to man, as if designed by 
 nature to make both quick and dead hedges and fences." 
 The uses which Pliny enumerates are, " Ne se depascat avi- 
 da quadrupes, ne procaccs manus rapiant, ne neglecta ves- 
 tigia obterant, ne insidens ales infringat :" lest the greedy 
 quadruped should browse upon them, the hand wantonly 
 seize them, the careless footstep tread upon them, or the 
 perching bird* break them. I ihink both these great nat- 
 
 * Jles properly signifies, a large bird. 
 
NOTES. V 185 
 
 mralists have omitted one of the uses of thorny shrubs;— -the 
 ^protection of the small birds against the attacks of their 
 stronger neighbours. 
 
 What dreadful cliffs overhang this little stream ! 
 P. 61.1. 7. 
 
 The *water of Mouss runs for about half a mile betweea 
 ^Cartlane craigs. These lofty precipices are so abrupt, and 
 take their rise so close to the stream, that the very chaniiel 
 I is the only place from which they can be properly seen. 
 * The caves of Cartlane craigs are famous as the lurking 
 (.places of William Wallace. 
 
 " While that Wallace into the Wood was past, 
 Then Cartlane craig persued they full fast." 
 
 Blind Harr^* 
 
 £ven on that bulging verge, ^c* — P. 62. 1, 2. 
 
 I have here attempted a description of the Cora Linn, I 
 think it the finest of the falls of Clyde ; though the fall Of 
 Stonebyres is, I believe, more generally admired. 
 
 And, many a year, the self same tree 
 
 The aged solitary pair frequent.-^^ , 64, I. 8. 9. 
 
 " In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, which, 
 though shapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a 
 large excrescence about the middle of the stem. On this a 
 
186 NOTES. 
 
 pair of ravens had {fixed their residence for such a series of 
 years, that the oak was distinguished by the title of, The 
 Raven'tree^ Natural History of Selborne^ €, 
 
 Amid those plains ivhere Danube darkly rolls j-—^ 
 
 The theatres, on ivhich the kingly play 
 
 Ofnvar is oftenest acted. — P. 64. 1, 14. \S, 16. 
 
 " Milder yet thy snowy breezes 
 
 Pour on yonder tented shores, 
 Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 
 
 Or the dark brown Danube roars. 
 O, winds of winter, list ye there, 
 
 To many a deep and dying groan ! 
 Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, 
 
 At shrieks and thunders louder than your own !— 
 Alas ! even your unhallowed breath 
 
 May spare the victim, fallen low ; 
 But man will ask no truce to death, 
 
 No bounds to human woe." 
 
 Campbell's Ode to Winter, 
 
 On distant ivaves, the raven of the sea. 
 The CORMORANT, devours her carrion food. 
 Along the bloodstained coast of Senegal, \!fc» 
 P. 6S, 1. 5. 6. 7. 
 
 The Cormorant is an inhabitant of Scotland, and is ac- 
 cordingly ranked by Pennant, and other ornithologists, 
 among British birds. Her sphere of action I have placed at 
 
NOTES, 1-87 
 
 a distance from Scotland ; and this I thought a very allow- 
 able liberty. The synonymous word in some of the north- 
 ern languages is, strand raven. 
 
 Above the stern-emblazoned ivords^ that tell 
 The amount of crimes ivhich Britain s boasted laws 
 hi ir, tic M&xTQiv ivooden voalls permit, 
 P. 68. 1. 14. 15. 16. 
 
 By act of Parliament, there must be painted on the stern 
 of every slave-ship, in large characters such as are to b6 
 seen on the sign-boards of persons licensed to let post-horses, 
 a notification of the number of slaves which the ship is li- 
 censed, that is to say, authorised^ by a British statute to 
 carry. 
 
 The eagle^from her eyry on the crag 
 
 Of overjutting rock, beholds afar.'—V. 69. 1. 6. 7. 
 
 " Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make 
 her nest on high ? 
 
 « She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag 
 of the rock, and the strong place. 
 
 " From thence she seeketh her prey, and her eyes behold 
 afar ofF." Job, c. xxxix. 27—29. 
 
 "The golden eagle weighs about twelve pounds; its 
 length is three feet ; the extent of its wings seven feet four 
 inches ; the bill is three inches long, and of a deep blue col- 
 
18B NOTES. 
 
 our ; the cere is yellow ; the irides of a hazel colour : the 
 sight and sense of smelling are very acute ; her eyes behold 
 afar off\ the head and neck are clothed with* narrow 
 sharp-pointed feathers, and of a deep brown colour, border - 
 ed with tawny ; but those on the crown of the head, in very 
 old birds, turn grey. The whole body, above as well as 
 beneath, is of a dark brown ; and the feathers on the back 
 are finely clouded with a deeper shade of the same : the 
 wings, when closed, reach to the end of the tail : the quill 
 feathers are of a chocolate colour, the shafts white : the tail 
 is of a deep brown, irregularly barred and blotched with an 
 obscure ash colour, and usually white at the roots of the 
 feathers : the legs are yellow, short, and very strong, being 
 three inches in circumference, and are feathered to the very 
 feet : the toes are covered with large scales, and armed with 
 most formidable claws, the middle of which are two inches 
 long. 
 
 " Eagles, in general, are very destructive to fawns, lambs, 
 kids, and all kinds of game ; particularly in the breeding sea- 
 son, when they bring a vast quantity of prey to their young. 
 Smith, in his History of Kerry, relates, that a poor man in 
 that county got a comfortable subsistence for his family, du- 
 ring a summer of famine, out of an eagle's nest, by robbing 
 the eaglets of the food the old ones brought, whose attend- 
 ance he protracted beyond the natural time, by clipping the 
 wings and retarding the flight of the former. It is very un- 
 safe to leave infants in places where eagles frequent ; there 
 being instances, in Scotland, of two being carried ofF by 
 them ; but, fortunately, 
 
NQTES. IB© 
 
 " lUaesum unguibus haesit onus," 
 
 the theft was discovered in time, and the children restored 
 unhurt, out of the eagles* nests, to the affrighted parents. 
 In order to extirpate these pernicious birds, there is a law 
 in the Orkney isles, which entitles any person that kills an 
 eagle to an hen out of every house in the parish in which 
 it was killed. 
 
 " Eagles are remarkable for their longevity, and for their 
 power of sustaining a long abstinence from food. One of 
 this species, which has now been nine years in the posses- 
 sion of Owen Holland, Esq. of Conway, lived thirty-two 
 years with the gentleman who made him a present of it ; 
 but what its age was when the latter received it from Ire- 
 land is unknown. The same bird also furnishes a proof of 
 the truth of the other remark ; having once, through the 
 neglect of servants, endured hunger for twenty-one days, 
 without any sustenance whatsoever." Pennant, Vol. ii. 
 122—124. 
 
 Along the mountain cliffsy that ne'er ivere clomb 
 
 By other footstep than his oivn, &c.— P. 70. 1. 9. 10. 
 
 " Is enim, cum magna vi corporis, at que animi esset, adhuc 
 adolescens, nobilem juvenem Anglum superbe sibi insultan- 
 tem occidit. Ob id facinus, profugus domo, et latitans, fugse 
 locum subinde mutando, annos aliquot transegit. Hac vitx 
 consuetudine,corpusadversus omnesfortunaeinjurias duravit, 
 et animiim sspe subeundis periculis ad majora audenda 
 confirmavit." BucfiAXAN. Hist, rer, Scot, lib, odav. 
 
4^0 . NOTE§^ 
 
 Such was the commencement of Wallace's career. Bu- 
 chanan narrates the manner of his death, and sums up his 
 character as follows : 
 
 " Vallas a loanne Mentetho familiari suo, per Anglos pe- 
 cunia corrupto, in agro Glascuensi, ubi turn latebat, captus, 
 et Lundinum missus, Eduardi jussu foede laniatus interiit i 
 membra ad aliorum terrorem, in locis celebrioribus Angliac 
 et Scotiae suspensa. Hunc iinem vitae habuit vir sui tempo- 
 ris longe praestantissimus ; in suscipiendis perculis animi 
 magnitudine, in rebus gerendis fortitudine et consilio, claris- 
 simis veterum ducibus facile comparandus ; caritate in pa- 
 triam nemini secundus ; qui servientibus cieteris solus liber, 
 neque praemiis adduci, neque metu cogi potuit, ut causam 
 publicam semel susceptam desereret : Cujus mors eo mise- 
 rabilior est visa, quod ab hoste invictus, a quibus minime de- 
 buit, fuit proditus.'* Ibid. 
 
 The EAGLEOFTHE St. A from Atlas soars, 
 Or Teneriffes hoar peak.~V. 73.1. 2. 3. 
 
 This bird, though I have placed her at a distance, is an 
 inhabitant of Scotland. 
 
 " This species is found in Ireland, and several parts of 
 Great Britain ; the specimen we took our description from, 
 was shot in the county of Galway. Mr. Willoughby tells 
 us, there was an eyry of them in Whinfield-park, West- 
 moreland ; and the eagle soaring in the air with a cat in its 
 talons, which Barlow drew from the very fact which he saw 
 in Scotland, is of this kind. The cat's resistance, brought 
 both animals to the ground ; when Barlow took them upj 
 
NOTES. 191 
 
 and afterwards caused the event to be engraved in the thir- 
 ty-sixth plate of his collection of prints. Turner says, that, 
 in his days, it was too well known in England, for it made 
 horrible destruction among the fish ; he adds, that fisher- 
 men were fond of anointing their baits with the fat of this 
 bird, imagining that it had a peculiar alluring quality : they 
 were superstitious enough to believe, that whenever the sea 
 eagle hovered over a piece of water, the fish (as if charm- 
 ed) would rise to the surface with their bellies upwards ; 
 and in that manner present themselves to him. No writer 
 since Clusius has described the sea eagle : Though no un- 
 common species, it seems at present to be but little known ; 
 being generally confounded with the golden eagle, to which 
 it bears some resemblance. The colours of the head, neck> 
 and body, are the same with the latter, but much lighter, 
 the tawny part in this predominating : In size it is far suv 
 perior ; the bill is larger, more hooked, and more arched ; 
 underneath grow several short, but strong hairs or bristles, 
 forming a sort of beard. This gave occasion to some writers 
 to suppose it to be the aquila barbata^ or bearded eagle of 
 Phny. The interior sides, and the tips of the feathers of 
 the tail, are of a deep brown ; the exterior sides of some are 
 ferruginous, in others blotched with white. The legs are 
 yellow, strong, and thick, and feathered but little below the 
 knees ; which is an invariable specific difference between 
 this and our first species. This nakedness of the legs is, be- 
 sides, no small convenience to a'bird who preys among the 
 waters. The claws are of a deep and shining black, exceed- 
 ing large and strong, and hooked into a perfect semicircle. 
 
 Bb 
 
192 NOTES. 
 
 '* All writers agree, that this eagle feeds principally on 
 fish ; which it takes as they are swimming near the surface, 
 by darting itself down on them ; not by diving or swimming, 
 as several authors have invented, who furnish it, for that 
 purpose, \*^th one webbed foot to swim with, and another 
 divided foot to take its prey with. Pliny, with his usual ele- 
 gance, describes the manner of its fishing: « Superest haliae- 
 etos, clarissima oculorum acie, librans ex alto sese, visoque 
 in mari pisce, praeceps in eo ruens,et discussispectoreaquis 
 rapiens" Pennant, Vol ii. 126—128. 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON 
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 Like that untouching cincture, *which enzones 
 The globe of Saturn P. 77. 1. 2. 3. 
 
 " It is difficult (says Dr Paley) to bring the imagination 
 to conceive, (what yet, to judge tolerably of the matter, it 
 is necessary to conceive), how loose, if we may so express 
 it, the heavenly bodies are. Enormous globes, held by noth- 
 ing, confined by nothing, are turned into free and bound- 
 less space, each to seek its course by the virtue of an invisi- 
 ble principle ; but a principle, one, common, and the same 
 in all, and ascertainable. To preserve such bodies from 
 being lost, from running together in heaps, from hindering 
 and distracting one another's motions, in a degree incon- 
 sistent with any continuing order ; i, e. to cause them to 
 
194 NOTES. 
 
 form planetary systems, systems that, when formed, can be 
 upheld, and, most especially, systems accommodated to the 
 organized and sensitive natures, which the planets sustain, 
 as we know to be the case, where alone we can know what 
 the case is, upon our earth : All this requires an intelligent 
 interposition, because It can be demonstrated concerning it, 
 that it requires an adjustment of force, distance, direction, 
 and velocity, out of the reach of chance to have produced ; 
 an adjustment, in its view to utility, similar to that which 
 we see In ten thousand subjects of nature which are nearer 
 to us ; but in power, and in the extent of space through which 
 that power is exerted, stupendous." Natural Theology, 
 Chap. xxli. 
 
 " Saturn, when viewed through a good telescope, makes 
 a more remarkable appearance than any of the other planets. 
 Galileo first discovered his uncommon shape, which he 
 thought to be like two small globes, one on each side of a 
 large one : and he published his discovery in a Latin sen- 
 tence ; the meaning of which was, that he had seen him ap- 
 pear with three bodies; though. In order to keep the discov- , 
 ery a secret, the letters were transposed. Having viewed 
 him for two years, he was surprised to see him become quite 
 round without these appendages, and then,after some time, to 
 assumethem asbefore. These adjoining globes were what are 
 now called the ansa of his ring, the true shape of which was 
 first discovered by Huygens, about forty years after Galileo 
 first with a telescope of twelve feet, and then with one of 
 twenty-three feet, which magnified objects an hundred times. 
 From the discoveries made bv him and other astronomers, it 
 
NOTES. 195 
 
 appears, that this planet is surrounded by a broad thin ring, 
 the edge of which reflects little or none of the sun's light to 
 us, but the planes of the ring reflect the light in the same 
 manner that the planet itself does ; and if we suppose the 
 diameter of Saturn to be divided into three equal parts, 
 the diameter of the ring is about seven of these parts. The 
 ring is detached from the body of Saturn in such a manner, 
 that the distance between the innermost part of the ring and 
 the body is equal to its breadth. If we had a view of the planet 
 and his ring, with our eyes perpendicular to one of the 
 planes of the latter, we should see them as in fig. 80. : but 
 our eye is never so much elevated above either plane as to 
 have the visual ray stand at right angles to it, nor indeed 
 is it ever elevated more than about thirty degrees above it ; 
 so that the ring, being commonly viewed at an oblique angle, 
 appears of an oval form, and, through very good telescopes, 
 double, as represented fig. 18. and 153. Both the outward 
 and inward rim is projected into an ellipsis, more or less ob- 
 long according to the different degrees of obliquity with 
 which it is viewed. Sometimes our eye is in the plane of 
 the ring, and then it becomes invisible ; either because the 
 outward edge is not fitted to reflect the sun's light, or more 
 probably because it is too thin to be seen at such a distance. 
 As the plane of this ring keeps always parallel to itself, that 
 is, its situation in one part of the orbit is always parallel to 
 that in any other part, it disappears twice in every revolu- 
 tion of the planet, that is, about once in fifteen years ; and 
 he sometimes appears quite round for nine months together. 
 At other times, the distance betwixt the body of the planet 
 
196 NOTES. 
 
 and the ring is very perceptible; insomuch, that Mr. Whis- 
 ton tells us of Dr. Clarke's father having seen a star through 
 the opening, and supposed him to have been the only per- 
 son who ever sav^r a sight so rare ; as the opening, though 
 certainly very large, appears very small to us. When Sa- 
 turn appears round, if our eye be in the plane of the ring, 
 it will appear as a dark line across the middle of the planet's 
 disk ; and if our eye be elevated above the plane of the 
 ring, a shadowy belt will be visible, caused by the shadow 
 of the ring, as well as by the interposition of part of it be- 
 tv/ixt the eye and the planet. The shadow of the ring is 
 broadest when the sun is most elevated, but its obscure parts 
 appear broadest when our eye is most elevated above the 
 plane of it. When it appears double, the ring next the bo- 
 dy of the planet appears brightest ; when the ring appears 
 of an elliptical form, the parts about the ends of the largest 
 axis are called the ansa^ as has been already mentioned 
 JE.ncyclopcedta Britannica, 
 
 And ivith the forming mass f oat ed along.'— ^, 77. 1. 4. 
 
 May we not suppose, that the mass of the earth, while 
 yet forming, received its progressive and rotatory motions ? 
 
 In rapid course, — P. 77. 1. 5. 
 
 " In astronomy, the great thing is, to raise the imagina- 
 tion to the subject, and that oftentimes in opposition to the 
 impression made upon the senses. An illusion, for example, 
 must begot over, arising from the distance at which we view 
 
NOTES. 197 
 
 the heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent slowness of their mo- 
 tions. The moon shall take some hours in getting half a 
 yard from a star which it touched. A motion so deliberate, 
 we may think easily guided. But what is the fact ? The 
 moon, in fact, is all this while driving through the heavens 
 at the rate of considerably more than two thousand miles 
 in an hour ; which is more than double of that with which 
 a ball IS shot off from the mouth of a cannon. Yet is this 
 prodigious rapidity as much under government,as if the plan- 
 et proceeded ever so slowly, or were conducted in its course 
 inch by inch." Paley*s Natural Theology, Chap. xxii. 
 
 And perfect^ ere the sixth days evening star 
 On Paradise arose, — P. 77. 1. 8. 9. 
 
 " And God saw every thing that he had made, and be- 
 hold it was very good. And the evening and the morning 
 were the sixth day. 
 
 « Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all 
 the host of them.'* Genesis, c. i. v. 31. c. ii. v. 1. 
 
 Amid the margin flags ^ 
 Closed in a bulrush arky the babe is left* 
 P. 80. 1. 1. 2. 
 
 " And when she could no longer hide him, she tookf or 
 him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime, and with 
 pitch, and put the child therein ; and she laid it in the flags 
 by the river's brink,'* Exodus ^ c. ii. v. 3. 
 
198 NOTES. 
 
 His sister 'waits 
 Far £^— P. 80. 1. 3. 4. 
 
 "'^ And his sister stood afar off, to wit what would be done 
 to him." V. 4. 
 
 The royal maid, surrounded by her train.-^'P, 80. 1. 5. 
 
 " And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to wash her- 
 self at the river, and her maidens walked along by the riv- 
 er's side ; and when she saw the ark among the flags, she 
 sent her maid to fetch it." V. 5. 
 
 7^^e rushy lid is cped. 
 And wakes the infant, smiling in his tears, 
 
 P. 80. 1. 8. 9. 
 
 " And when she had opened it, she saw the child ; and 
 behold the babe wept." V. 6. 
 
 Jephthas vow, — P. 81. 
 
 " And Jephtha vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, 
 If thou shalt without fail deliver the children of Ammon in- 
 to mine hands, then it shall be, that whatsoever cometh 
 forth of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in 
 peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the 
 Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt-offering." Judges, 
 xc. 1. v. 30. 3 L 
 
H0TK5. 19^ 
 
 Forth from the grove 
 
 She foremost glides of all the minstrel hand* 
 
 P. 82.1. 11. 12. 
 
 ^ And Jephtha came to Mizpeh unto his house, and, be» 
 hold, his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels, and 
 with dances ; and she was his only child : besides her he 
 had neither son nor daughter." V. 34, 
 
 ** Alasy my daughter ! thou hast brought me low,* 
 P. 82. 1. 16. 
 
 " And It came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his 
 clothes, and said,, * Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought 
 me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me : for 
 I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go 
 back." V. 35. 
 
 Deep tvas the furroiu in the royal broiv. 
 When David's hand, b*^.— P. 83. 1. 1. 2. 
 
 " And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was 
 upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his 
 hand : so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spir- 
 it departed from him.** 1 Samuel, c. xvi. v. 23. 
 
 Kindles the eye of Saul ; bis arm is poised ;— 
 Harmless the javelin quivers in the ivalL 
 P. 84.1. 16. 17. 
 
 " And the evil spirit from the Lord was upon Saul; as he 
 «at in his house with his javelin in his hand : and David 
 C C 
 
200 NTOTES. 
 
 played with his hand. And Saul sought to smite David even: 
 
 to the wall with the javelin ; but he slipped away out of 
 
 • Saul's presence, and he smote the javelin into the wall : and 
 
 David fled, and escaped that night." 1 Samuel, c. xix. v. gr. io» 
 
 Cowley has some curious lines on this subject. 
 
 " In treacherous haste he's sent for to the king. 
 And with him bid his charmful lyre to bring. 
 The king, they saw, lies raging in a fit, 
 Which does no cure, but sacred tunes, admit ; 
 " And true it was soft music did appease 
 Th' obscure fantastic rage of Saul's disease.*' 
 
 After a dissertation on music, there follows the |ralnv 
 which David sung. The first stanza describes the passage 
 through the Red Sea. The second proceeds thus : 
 
 Old Jordan's waters to their spring 
 Start back, with sudden fright ; 
 The spring, amazed at sight. 
 Asked, ivhat neivsfrom sea they bring ? 
 The mountains shook ; and, to the mountains' side, 
 The little hiHs leapt round, themselves to hide. 
 
 As young aflPrighted lambs. 
 
 When they aught dreadful spy, 
 Run trembling to their helpless dams ; 
 
 The mighty sea, and river by. 
 Were glad, for their excuse, to see the hills to fly- 
 
Thus sung the great musician to his lyre. 
 
 And SauFs black rage grew softly to retire ; 
 
 But envy*s serpent still with him remained, 
 
 And the wise charmer's healthful voice disdained. 
 
 Th' unthankful king, cured truly of his fit, 
 
 Seems to be drowned and buried still in it. 
 
 ■■■•*" 
 From his past madness draws this wicked use, 
 
 To sin disguised, and murder with excuse : 
 
 For whilst the fearless youth his cure pursues, 
 
 And th€ soft medicine, with art, renews. 
 
 The barbarous patient casts at him his spear, 
 
 (The usual sceptre that rough hand did bear) 
 
 Casts it with violent strength ; but, into th' room. 
 
 An arm more sure and strong than his was come,-r- 
 
 An angel, whose unseen and easy might 
 
 Put by the weappn, and misled it right " 
 
 ppWLEY's DavideiA 
 
 When Elijah^ by command 
 Of Gody journeyed to Cherith'^s failing brook, 
 P. 85. 1. 2. S. 
 
 " So he went, and did according to the word of the Lord s 
 for he went and dwelt by the brook Cherith, that is before 
 Jordan." 1 &gs, c. xvii. v. 5. 
 
 JSfo rain drop falh^rvV , 85. 1. 4. 
 «< And it came to pass after a while, that the brook dried 
 ,up, because there had beep no rain in the land." V. 7, 
 
202 NOTES- 
 
 Tl^e shepherds J stretched 
 On the green s'ward, surveyed the starry *vaut* 
 P. 87.1.3.4. 
 
 " And there were, in the same country, shepherds abiding 
 in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night." Luke, 
 Ci ii. V. 8. 
 
 f 
 
 Shedding brighty 
 Upon the folded Jlocks, a heavenly radiance* 
 P. 88. 1. 1.2. 
 
 " And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and 
 the glory of the Lord shone round about them : and they 
 were sore afraid." V. 9. 
 
 When^ lo ! upon the cloudy 
 A multitude of Seraphim, enthroned. 
 Sang praises, t^c, — P. 88.1. 8. 9. 10. 
 
 " And, suddenly, there was with the angel, a multitude 
 of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to 
 God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards 
 men." V. 13. 14. 
 
 IVho is my mother, or my brethren F — P. 89. 1. 1. 
 
 *' Ahd the multitude sat about him ; and they said unto 
 him. Behold thy mother and thy brethren without seek for 
 thee. And he answered them, saying, Who is my mother, 
 or my brethren ? And he looked round about on them 
 
MOTES, f03 
 
 which sat about him, and said, Behold my mother, and my 
 brethren ! for whosoever shall do the will of God, the same 
 is my brother, and my sister, and mother." Marky c. iii. 
 V. 32—35. 
 
 Blind, poor, and helpless, Bartimeus sate, — P. 90. 1. 1. 
 
 « And they came to Jericho : and as he went out of Jeri- 
 cho with his disciples, and a great number of people, blind 
 Bartimeus, the son of Timeus, oat by the highway-side beg-» 
 ging." Mark^ c. x. v. 46. 
 
 Heard that the Nazarene was passing By, 
 He cried, b'c.— P. 90. 1. 9. 10. 
 
 " And when he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he 
 began to cry out, and say, Jesus, thou son of David, have 
 mercy on me. And many charged him that he should hold 
 his peace : but he cried the more a great deal. Thou son of 
 David, have mercy on me. And Jesus stood still, and com- 
 manded him to be called. And they call the blind man, 
 saying unto him. Be of good comfort, rise ; he calleth thee. 
 And he, casting away his garment, rose, and came to Jesus. 
 And Jesus answered, and said unto him. What wilt thou 
 that I should do unto thee ? The blind man said unto him. 
 Lord, that I might receive my sight. And Jesus said unto 
 him, Go thy way; thy, faith hath made thee whole. And 
 immediately he received his sight, and followed Jesus m 
 the way." V. 41-^52. 
 
304 N^TES. 
 
 Suffer that little children come to me. 
 Forbid them not. — P. 91. 1. 1. 2. 
 
 " And they brought young children to him, that he 
 should touch them ; and his disciples rebuked those that 
 brought them. But when Jesus saw it he was muqh dis- 
 pleased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to 
 come unto me, and forbid them not : for of such is the king- 
 dom of God. Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall not 
 receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not 
 enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put his 
 hands upon them, and blessed them." V, 13 — 16. 
 
 The roaring tumult of the billotved sea 
 Aivakes him not. — P. 92. 1. 1. 2. 
 
 " And there arose a great storm of wind, and the wayes 
 beat into the ship, so that it was now full. And he was m 
 the hinder part of the ship asleep on a pillow : and they 
 awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that 
 we perish ? C. iv. v. 37. 38. 
 
 Rebuked the 'wind, and said unto the sea. 
 Peace, be thou still /—P. 92. 1. 12. 13. 
 
 " And he arose, and rebuked the wind ; and said unt« 
 the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there 
 was a great calm." V. 39. 
 
NOTES, 205 
 
 Upon a toivering nvave is seen' 
 The semblance of a foamy lureath upright, 
 P. 93. 1. 4. 5. 
 
 " And he saw them toiling in rowing : (for the wind was 
 contrary unto them :) and, about the fourth watch of rfie 
 night, he cometh unto them walking upon the sea, and 
 would have passed by them " C. vi. v. 48. 
 
 The 'voyagers appalled. 
 Shrink from the fancied Spirit of the Flood, 
 P. 93.1. 7. 8. 
 
 " But, when they saw him walking upon the sea, they 
 supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out : (for they all 
 saw him, and were troubled :) and immediately he talked 
 with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer : it is I j 
 be not afraid.'* V. 49. 50. 
 
 Up he ascends y tff^.—P. 94. 1. 2. 
 
 " And he went up unto them into the ship ; and the wind 
 ceased : and they were sore amazed in themselves beyond 
 measure, and wondered." V. 51. 
 
 The dumb cured, — P. 95. 
 
 This miracle, the reality of which the Pharisees could not 
 deny, (Matth. fc. ix. v. fM.) is one of a higher order than? 
 those which consisted in healing diseases. Dumbness im- 
 plies, in general, not only a defect in the organs of speech, 
 or of hearing, or of both, but ignorance of language. Here, 
 then, was a miracle performed on the mind. 
 
5061 UpTES, 
 
 'Thfmshed.'-'P. 96. 1. 1. 
 
 ^ He said, it is finished ; and he bowed his head, and 
 gave up the ghost" John, c. xix. v. 30. 
 
 Beholding him far off, 
 They^ zubo had ministered unto him*"^!?, 96. 1. 2. 3. 
 
 " And many women were there (beholding afar off) 
 which followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto him.'' 
 Mattheiv, c. xxvii. v. 55^ 
 
 The temple's tfeil 
 Isrent.-^V, 96.1.4.5. 
 
 " And, behold, the vail of the temple was rent in twain 
 from the top to the bottom ; and the earth did quake."—- 
 V. 51. 
 
 Appalled, the leaning soldier feels the spear 
 Shake in his grasp ; the planted standard falls- 
 Upon the heaving ground,'^'?, 96. 1. 8. 9. 10* 
 
 " Now when the centurion, and they that were with him 
 watching Jesus, saw the earth quake, and those things that 
 were done, they feared greatly, saying. Truly this was the 
 son of God." V. 54. 
 
 The sun is dimmed. 
 And darkness shrouds the body of the Lord* 
 P. 96. 1. 10. 11. 
 ** Now, from the sixth hour, there was darkness oyer afl 
 the land, unto the ninth hour." V. 45. 
 
NOTES. 207 
 
 JVb sound 
 Was heard^ savs of the ivaUhlng soldier s facU 
 P.97.1. 5. 6. 
 
 « Pilate said unto them, Ye have a watch : go your 
 way ; make it as sure as you can. So they went, and made 
 the sepulchre sure ; sealing the stone, and setting a watch." 
 MattheWi c. xxvii. v. 65» 66. 
 
 Witbm the rock^barred sepulchre^ -Id'c. — P. 97. 1. 7. 
 
 "And he bought fine linen, and took him down, and 
 wrapped him in the linen, and laid him in a sepulchre that 
 was hewn out of a rock, and rolled a stone unto the door of 
 the sepulchre." Mark^ c. xv. v. 46. 
 
 Trembled the earth ; 
 The ponderous gate of stone ivas rolled away, 
 P. 98. 1.12. 13. 
 
 "And, behold, there was a great earthquake ; for the an- 
 gel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and roll- 
 ed back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.'* Mattheiv^ 
 c. xxviii. V. 2. 
 
 His faithful folloivers, assembled^ sang 
 A hymn loiu-breathed, t^*^.— P. 99. 1. 3. 4. 
 
 " Then the same day at evening, being the first day of 
 the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples 
 were assembled, for fear of the Jews, came Jesus, and stood 
 
208 NOTES. 
 
 in the midst, and saith unto thena, Peace be unto you.** 
 John^ c. XJC# V. 1 a 
 
 Listen that 'uoice ! vpon the hill of Marsy 
 Rolling in bolder thunders, \Sfc, — P. 100. I. 1. 2. 
 
 " Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars-hill, and said, 
 Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too 
 superstitious." Acts, c. xvii. v. 22. 
 
 The Stoics movelesi fronvn ; the vacant stare 
 Of Epicurus' herd, b*^.— P. 100. 1. 7. 8. 
 
 " Then certain philosophers of the Epicureans and of the 
 Stoics encountered him : And some said, What will this 
 babbler say ? other some. He seemeth to be a setter forth 
 of strange gods ; because he preached unto them Jesus, 
 and the resurrection. And they took him, and brought him 
 unto Areopagus, saying, May we know what this new doc- 
 trine, whereof thou speakest,is ? For thou bringest strange 
 things unto our ears ; we would know, therefore, what these 
 things mean.'* Acts, c. xvii. v. 1 8 — 20. 
 
 The Areopagite tribunal dreads. 
 From ivhence the doom of Socrates ivas uttered. 
 P. 101. 1. 1. 2. 
 
 The highest court of criminal jurisdiction in Athens. It 
 was held on the hill of Mars. By its sentence Socrates was 
 condemned to death, for attempting to substitute a pure and 
 rational system of religion for the absurd and extravagant 
 superstition which then prevailed. 
 
NOT€S. 209 
 
 The Judge ascended to the judgmentseat^'^V* 102. 1. !• 
 
 This representation of Paul I have not founded on the 
 circumstances of any one of his appearances before the Ro- 
 man governors. 1 have alluded to facts, which happened 
 at his apprehension, as well as at his arraignments before 
 Felix, Festus, and Agrippa. 
 
 No mere hefeels^ upon his high^raised army 
 The ponderous chain,—-'!?, 1 03. 1. 4, 5. 
 
 " And Paul said, I would to God that not only thou, but 
 all that hear me this day, were both, almost, and altogether, 
 such as I am, except these hands'* Acts, c, xxvi. V. 29. 
 
 And ivhile he reasons high 
 Of justice, temperance, and the life to come. 
 The Judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner s voice, 
 P. 103. 1. 10. 11. 12. 
 
 " And as he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and 
 judgment to come, Felix trembled." Acts, c. xxiv. v. 25. 
 
 Like joining deivdrops on the blushing rose, 
 P. 117.1.7. 
 
 I have seen the same thought in a recent publication of 
 Mr. Southey*s ; but the above line was written by me about 
 ten years ago, and inserted, very soon after it was writtenj 
 in the Keho Mail, 
 
210 NOTES. 
 
 I love theSyfor thou trustest me.—~-l?. 141, 1. 4. 
 
 In winter 1798-99 I had several birds for my guests, — a 
 redbreast, a hedge-sparrow, and a female shilfa. The red- 
 breast remained three or four weeks with me : The other 
 two only a few days, for the severity of the storni relaxed 
 very soon. 
 
 Who trade in tortures* — P. 1 46. 1. 1 1 . 
 
 " Some refuse sustenance and die. In the ships of Sur- 
 geons Falconbridge, Wilson, and Trotter, and of Messrs. 
 Millar and Town, are instances ©f their starving themselves 
 to death. In all these they were compelled, some by whip- 
 ping, and others by the thumb-screw *,and other means, to 
 take their food ; but all punishment was ineffectual^ they 
 "oiere determined to die. In the very act of chastisement, Mr. 
 Wilson says, they ha've looked up at him^ and said, 'with a 
 smile, * Presently ive shall be no more»^ Abridgment of the 
 Evidence, relative to the Slave-trade, 13. 14. 
 
 Whose human cargoes carefully are pacht 
 By rule and square, according to the Act ! 
 P. 146.1. 13. 14. 
 
 The act of Parliament, by which a certain space is allot- 
 ed to each slave, has, no doubt, alleviated the miseries of 
 
 * ** To shew the severity of this punishment, Mr. Dove says, that, 
 while two slaves were thumb-screwed, the sweat ran down their 
 faces, and they trembled as under a violent ague fit. Mr. Ellison has 
 known them to die, a mortification having taken place in tben- 
 thumbsj in consequence of these screws.'' 
 
NOTES. 21 1 
 
 what is called the mi<idie passage. I dcnibt, however, if the 
 penalty of L, 30, for each slave beyond the complement, be 
 a punishment sufficiently severe. 
 
 As to the present state of the slaves in the West Indies, 
 and the spirit which pervades the Colonial Assemblies, a 
 pretty accurate notion may be formed from the following ex- 
 tracts of letters from the governor of Barbadoes. 
 
 During the session of Parliament 1 804, the following ex«* 
 tract of a letter from Lord Seaforth, the governor of Barba- 
 does, to Lord Hobart, dated at Barbadoes, the 18th of March 
 1 802, was laid on the table of the House of Commons. " Your 
 Lordship will observe, in the last dayV proceedings of the 
 Assembly, that the majority of the house had taken consider- 
 able offence at a message of mine, recommending an act to Be 
 passed, to make the murder of a sla'Ve felony. At present the 
 fne for the crime is only ffteen pounds currency, or eleven 
 POUNDS FOUR SHILLINGS Sterling." 
 
 On the 13th of November, 1804, his Lordship thus 
 writes to Earl Camden. " I inclose four papers, containing, 
 from different quarters, reports on the horrid murders I 
 mentioned in some former letters. They are selected from a 
 great number, among which there is not one in contradiction 
 of the horrible facts, though several of the letters are very 
 concise and defective. The truth is, that nothing has given 
 me more trouble than to get at the bottom of these busi- 
 nesses, so horribly absurd are the prejudices of the people. 
 However, a great part of my object is answered, by the 
 alarm my interference has excited, and the attention it 
 has called to the business. Bills are already prepared to 
 make murder felony ; but J fear they ivill be thrown out for 
 
212 NOTES, 
 
 the present in the Assembly » The Council are unanimous on 
 the side of humanity." 
 
 In a subsequent letter, dated the 7th of January, 1805, 
 Lord Seaforth thus writes : "I inclose the Attorney-General's 
 letter to me on the subject of the negroes so most ivantonly 
 murdered. I am sorry to say, several other instances 
 OF THE SAME BARBARITY havc occurrcd, with which I 
 have not troubled your Lordship, as / only ivished to make 
 you acquainted nvith the subject in general^* 
 
 General Prevost, the governor of Dominica, states, " That 
 the legislature of the island of Dominica is distinguished by 
 the laws it has passed for the encouragement, protection, 
 and government of slaves ;'* but, he adds, " 7 am sorry I 
 cannot say y that they are as religiously observed as you could %visb» 
 
 Tn a subsequent letter, dated the 1 7th of January, 1 805, 
 Governor Prevost thus writes : " The act of the legislature, 
 entitled, < An Act for the Encouragement, Protection, and 
 better Government of Slaves,' appears to have been consider^ 
 edyfrom the day it luas passed until this hour^ AS A POLiTirr 
 CAL MEASURE, to avert the interference of the mother'coun- 
 try in the management of slaves. Having said this, your 
 Lordship will not he surprised to learn, that clause se- 
 venth OF that bill has been wholly neglected." 
 
 Tour COMMONS saidy ^^ let such things be*^ 
 P. 146. 1. 17. 
 
 These lines were written in the year 1795, soon after the 
 rejection of the bill introduced by Mr. Wilberforce. The 
 late rejection was brought about by a manoeuvre of the 
 friends of the tnide. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 \Tbave, no'w and then, used a Scotch or an old English ivordy 
 nvhere a modern English synonime, equally emphatic, did not fre^ 
 sent itself, I am no friend to those phrases luhich are commonly, 
 though often erroneously, called Scotticisms, or to any innovation 
 tvhich "would tend to destroy the idiom of the English language ,• 
 hut I could never see any good sense in that indiscriminating anath^ 
 ema, vuhich "would proscribe every word that happens to be un<- 
 knonvn, or little known, on the south side of the Tweed"^ 
 
 Bield, shelter ; a small rudely formed bower, or hut. 
 
 Skep, a basket of coiled straw, or rushes, of a size to hold a 
 
 nest ; also, a bee-hive. 
 Quern, the hollow stone of a hand-mill. 
 Know, knoll. 
 Cleugh, the cleft of a hill ; a recess. 
 
214 GLOSSARY, 
 
 BlaCi a deep purplish blue. 
 
 Soughing, producing a sound like the wind through trees, 
 
 or a wand moved quickly through the air. 
 Shaivy a small copse wood. 
 Hfartsomey ehearful. 
 JBoutree, elder-tree. 
 
 Skilkty a rattle, or bell, used by common-criers. 
 Cannach, a plant that grows in moorish and marshy places, 
 
 with a leafless stalk, and a alky white tuft at the top. 
 Smiddy, smithy. 
 Blaivn, blown. 
 Mowart'tree, mountain-ash. 
 
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