Still, with vain fondness, could I trace,

Anew, each kind familiar face,

That brighten'd at our evening fire;

From the thatch'd mansion's grey-hair'd Sire,

Wise without learning, plain and good,

And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood; Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen, Shew'd what in youth its glance had been; Whose doom discording neighbours sought, Content with equity unbought;

To him the venerable Priest,

Our frequent and familiar guest,

Whose life and manners well could paint

Alike the student and the saint;

Alas! whose speech too oft I broke
With gambol rude and timeless joke:
For I was wayward, bold, and wild,
A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child;
But half a plague, and half a jest,

Was still endured, beloved, carest.

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask

The classic poet's well-conn'd task?

Nay, Erskine, nay-On the wild hill

Let the wild heath-bell flourish still;
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine,

But freely let the woodbine twine,
And leave untrimm'd the eglantine:

Nay, my friend, nay-Since oft thy praise
Hath given fresh vigour to my lays,

Since oft thy judgment could refine

My flatten'd thought, or cumbrous line,

Still kind, as is thy wont, attend,

And in the minstrel spare the friend,

Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale!

MARMION.

CANTO THIRD.

The Hostel, or Enn.