Thames, Humber, Severn, all must yield the bay
To the pure streams of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay.
O Scotia! when such beauty claims
A mansion near thy flowing streams,
Ne'er shall stern Mars, in iron car,
Drive his proud coarsers to the war:
But fairy forms shall strew around
Their olives on the peaceful ground;
And turtles join the warbling throng,
To usher in the morning song.
Or shout in chorus all the live-long day,
From the green banks of Forth, of Tweed, and
Tay.
When gentle Phoebe's friendly light
In silver radiance clothes the night;
Still music's ever varying strains
Shall tell the lovers, Cynthia reigns;
And woo them to her midnight bowers,
Among the fragrant dew-clad flowers,
Where ev'ry rock, and hill, and dale,
With echoes greet the nightingale,
Whose pleasing, soft, pathetic tongue,
To kind condolence turns the song;
And oft wins the love-sick swain to stray
To hear the tender variegated lay,
Thro' the dark woods of Forth, of Tweed, and
Tay.
Hail, native streams, and native groves!
Oozy caverns, green alcoves!
Retreats for Cytherea's reign,
With all the Graces in her train.
Hail, Fancy, thou whose ray so bright
Dispels the glimm'ring taper's light!
Come in aerial vesture blue,
Ever pleasing, ever new,
In these recesses deign to dwell
With me in yonder moss-clad cell:
Then shall my reed successful tune the lay,
In numbers wildly warbling as they stray
Thro' the glad banks of Fortha, Tweed, and
Tay.
TOWN & COUNTRY CONTRASTED.
IN AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
FROM noisy bustle, from contention free,
Far from the busy town I careless loll,
Not like swain Tityrus, or the bards of old,
Under a beechen, venerable shade;
But on a furzy heath, where blooming broom
And thorny whins the spacious plains adorn:
Here health sits smiling on my youthful brow:
For 'ere the sun beams forth his earliest ray,
And all the east with yellow radiance crowns;
E'ere dame Aurora, from her purple bed,
'Gins with her kindling blush to paint the sky,
The soaring lark, morn's cheerful harbinger,
And linnet joyful flutt'ring from the bush,
Stretch their small throats in vocal melody,
To hail the dawn, and drowsy sleep exhale
From man, frail man! on downy softness
stretch'd.
Such pleasing scenes Edina cannot boast; For there the slothful slumber seal'd mine eyes,
Till nine successive strokes the clock had knell❜d.
There not the lark, but fishwives noisy screams, And inundations plung'd from ten house height, With smell more fragrant than the spicy groves Of Indus, fraught with all her orient stores, Rous'd me from sleep; not sweet refreshing
But sleep infested with the burning sting
Of bug infernal, who the live-long night
With direst suction sipp'd my liquid gore.
There gloomy vapours in our zenith reign'd,
And fill'd with irksome pestilence the air.
There ling'ring sickness held his feeble court,
Rejoicing in the havock he had made ;
And Death, grim Death! with all his ghastly
train,
Watch'd the broke slumbers of Edina's sons.
Hail, rosy health! thou pleasing antidote
'Gainst troubling cares! all hail, these rural
fields,
Those winding rivulets and verdant shades, Where thou the heav'n-born Goddess deign'st to dwell!
With thee the hind, upon his simple fare, Lives cheerful, and from Heav'n no more demands.
But ah! how vast, how terrible the change
With him who night by night in sickness pines!
Him nor his splendid equipage can please,
Nor all the pageantry the world can boast;
Nay, not the consolation of his friends
Can aught avail: his hours are anguish all,
Nor cease till envious death hath clos'd the
But, Carlos, if we court this maid celestial, Whether we thro' meand'ring rivers stray, Or 'midst the city's jarring noise remain, Let temperance, health's blyth concomitant, To our desires and appetites set bounds, Else, cloy'd at last, we surfeit every joy; Our slack'ned nerves reject their wonted spring; We reap the fruits of our unkindly lusts, And feebly totter to the silent grave.
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