4 "Since from the void creation rose, "Should ne'er be known to bow." The mighty thunderer on his sapphire throne, ; "Where birks at Nature's call arise; "Where fragrance hails the vaulted skies; "Where my own oak its umbrage spreads, Delightful 'midst the woody shades "Where ivy-mouldering rocks entwines; "Where breezes bend the lofty pines: "There shall the laughing Naiads stray, " 'Midst the sweet banks of winding Tay." From the dark womb of earth Tay's waters spring, Ordain'd by Jove's unalterable voice ; The sounding lyre celestial muses string; The choiring songsters in the groves rejoice. Each fount its crystal fluids pours, Which from surrounding mountains flow; The river bathes its verdant shores; Cool o'er the surf the breezes blow. Let England's sons extol their gardens fair; Scotland may freely boast her generous streams; Their soil more fertile, and their milder air; Her fishes sporting in the solar beams. Thames, Humber, Severn, all must yield the bay To the pure streams of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. CHORUS. Thames, Humber, Severn, all must yield the bay To the pure streams of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. O Scotia! when such beauty claims 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 Thro' the dark woods of Forth, of Tweed, and Hail, native streams, and native groves! Retreats for Cytherea's reign, With all the graces in her train: Hail, Fancy! thou whose ray so bright Dispels the glimmering taper's light! 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 Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. ODE TO PITY. To what sequestered gloomy shade Ah, Pity! whither wouldest thou fly In broken cadence from thy tongue Oft have we heard the mournful song; Oft have we view'd the loaded bier Bedewed with Pity's softest tear. Her sighs and tears were ne'er denied, And every virtue sacrificed. Here Pity, as a statue, dumb, Thou mistress of the feeling heart! And Vice be drove from Virtue's side: Then Happiness at length should reign ; The golden age begin again. M |