Sweet navigable stream! where commerce reigns,
Where peace and jocund plenty smile serene:
On thy green banks sits Liberty enthroned,
But not that shadow which the English youth
So eagerly pursue; but freedom bought
When Caledonia's triumphant sword
Taught the proud sons of Anglia to bemoan
Their fate at Bannockburn, where thousands came
Never to tread their native soil again.
Far in a hollow den, where nature's hand
Had careless strew'd the rocks—a dreadful cave,
Whose concave ceiling echoed to the floods
Their hollow murmurs on the trembling shore,
Demanded our approach. The yawning porch
Its massy sides disclosed, and o'er the top
The ivy tendrils twined th' uncultured fern:
Fearful we pry into the dreary vault,
Hoary with age, and breathing noxious damp:
Here busy owls may unmolested dwell
In solitary gloom; for few there are
Whose inclination leads them to review
A cell where putrid smells infectious reign. 1
Then turning westward, we our course pursue
Along the verge of Fortha's briny flood,
Till we o'ertake the gradual rising dale
Where fair Burntisland rears her reverend dome;
And here the vulgar sign-post, painted o'er
With imitations vile of man and horse,
Of small beer frothing o'er th' unshapely jug,
With courteous invitation, spoke us fair
To enter in, and taste what precious drops
1 A large cave at a small distance from Kinghorn, supposed, about a century ago, to have been the receptacle of thieves.-F
Were there reserved to moisten strangers' throats,
Too often parch'd upon the tedious way.
After regaling here with sober cann,
Our limbs we plied, and nimbly measured o'er
The hills, the vales, and the extensive plains,
Which form the distance from Burntisland's port
To Inverkeithing. Westward still we went,
Till in the ferry-boat we loll'd at ease;
Nor did we long on Neptune's empire float,
For scarce ten posting minutes were elapsed
Till we again on terra firma stood,
And to M'Laren's1 march'd, where roasted lamb,
With cooling lettuce, crown'd our social board.
Here too the cheering glass, chief foe to cares!
Went briskly round; and many a virgin fair
Received our homage in a bumper full.
Thus having sacrificed a jocund hour
To smiling mirth, we quit the happy scene,
And move progressive to Edina's walls.
Now still returning eve creep'd gradual on,
And the bright sun, as weary of the sky,
Beam'd forth a languid occidental ray,
Whose ruby tinctured radiance faintly gleam'd
Upon the airy cliffs and distant spires,
That float on the horizon's utmost verge.
So we, with fessive joints and lingering pace,
Moved slowly on, and did not reach the town
Till Phoebus had unyoked his prancing steeds.
Ye sons of Caledonia! who delight,
With all the pomp and pageantry of state,
To roll along in gilded affluence,
For one poor moment wean your thought from these,
1 An innkeeper somewhat notable in his "day and generation."
And list this humble strain. If you, like us,
Could brave the angry waters; be uprous'd
By the first salutation to the morn
Paid by the watchful cock; or be compell'd
On foot to wander o'er the lonely plain
For twenty tedious miles; then should the Gout
With all his racking pangs forsake your frame:
For he delights not to traverse the field,
Or rugged steep, but prides him to recline
On the luxuriance of a velvet fold,
Where indolence on purple sofa lolls.
WHEN gold, man's sacred deity, did smile,
My friends were plenty, and my sorrows few
Mirth, love, and bumpers did my hours beguile,
And arrowed Cupids round my slumbers flew.
What shepherd then could boast more happy days?
My lot was envied by each humbler swain;
Each bard in smooth eulogium sung my praise,
And Damon listened to the guileful strain.
Flattery! alluring as the Syren's lay,
And as deceitful thy enchanting tongue, How have you taught my wavering mind to stray, Charm'd and attracted by the baneful song!
My pleasant cottage, shelter'd from the gale,
Arose with moss, and rural ivy bound;
And scarce a flow'ret in my lowly vale,
But was with bees of various colours crown'd.
Free o'er my lands the neighbouring flocks could roam; How welcome were the swains and flocks to me!
The shepherds kindly were invited home,
To chase the hours in merriment and glee.
To wake emotions in the youthful mind,
Strephon with voice melodious tuned the song;
Each sylvan youth the sounding chorus join'd,
Fraught with contentment midst the festive throng.
My clust'ring grape compensed their magic skill,
The bowl capacious swell'd in purple tide;
To shepherds liberal as the crystal rill,
Spontaneous gurgling from the mountain's side.
[The shady arbour, and refreshing breeze,
In circling eddies, crown'd their noon-day toil; The sweets of rural elegance and ease,
Survey'd their pleasures with applauding smile. 1]
But ah! these youthful sportive hours are fled;
These scenes of jocund mirth are now no more;
No healing slumbers tend my humble bed,
No friends condole the sorrows of the poor.
And what avail the thoughts of former joy!
What comfort bring they in the adverse hour!
Can they the canker-worm of care destroy,
Or brighten fortune's discontented lour?
1 I restore this stanza from the original.
He who hath long traversed the fertile plain,
Where nature in its fairest vesture smiled,
Will he not cheerless view the fairy scene,
When lonely wand'ring o'er the barren wild?
[When, from the summit of a towering hill, My seats of former happiness I spy,
The tears of sorrow o'er my cheeks distil,
While mournful thoughts the gushing streams supply. 1]
For now pale poverty, with haggard eye
And rueful aspect, darts her gloomy ray;
My wonted guests their proffer'd aid deny,
And from the paths of Damon steal away.
Thus, when fair summer's lustre gilds the lawn,
When ripening blossoms deck the spreading tree,
The birds with melody salute the dawn,
And o'er the daisy hangs the humming bee.
But when the beauties of the circling year
In chilling frosts and furious storms decay;
No more the bees upon the plains appear,
No more the warblers hail the infant day.
To the lone corner of some distant shore,
In dreary devious pilgrimage I'll fly,
And wander pensive where deceit no more
Shall trace my footsteps with a mortal eye.
There solitary saunter o'er the beach,
And to the murm'ring surge my griefs disclose;
1 I restore this stanza from the original.
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