| |
| ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, | |
| These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; | |
| O’er many a winding dale and painful steep, | |
| Th’ abodes of covey’d grouse and timid sheep, | |
| My savage journey, curious, I pursue, | 5 |
| Till fam’d Breadalbane opens to my view.— | |
| The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, | |
| The woods wild scatter’d, clothe their ample sides; | |
| Th’ outstretching lake, imbosomed ’mong the hills, | |
| The eye with wonder and amazement fills; | 10 |
| The Tay meand’ring sweet in infant pride, | |
| The palace rising on his verdant side, | |
| The lawns wood-fring’d in Nature’s native taste, | |
| The hillocks dropt in Nature’s careless haste, | |
| The arches striding o’er the new-born stream, | 15 |
| The village glittering in the noontide beam— | |
· · · · · ·
Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, | |
| Lone wand’ring by the hermit’s mossy cell; | |
| The sweeping theatre of hanging woods, | |
| Th’ incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods— | 20 |
· · · · · ·
Here Poesy might wake her heav’n-taught lyre, | |
| And look through Nature with creative fire; | |
| Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil’d, | |
| Misfortunes lighten’d steps might wander wild; | |
| And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, | 25 |
| Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds: | |
| Here heart-struck Grief might heav’nward stretch her scan, | |
And injur’d Worth forget and pardon man.
· · · · · · | |
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