To make her glories, stamp'd with honest rhymes, In fullest tide roll down to latest times.

[thine, "Presumptuous wretch! and shall a Muse like An English Muse, the meanest of the nine, Attempt a theme like this? Can her weak strain Expect indulgence from the mighty Thane ? Should he from toils of government retire, And for a moment fan the poet's fire, Should he, of sciences the moral friend, Each curious, each important search suspend, Leave unassisted Hill of herbs to tell, And all the wonders of a cockle-shell, Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes; Would not he Home step forth, and gain the prize? Or, if this wreath of honour might adorn The humble brows of one in England born, Presumptuous still thy daring must appear; Vain all thy tow'ring hopes, whilst I am here." Thus spake a form, by silken smile, and tone Dull and unvaried, for the laureat known, Folly's chief friend, decorum's eldest son, In ev'ry party found, and yet of none. This airy substance, this substantial shade, Abash'd I heard, and with respect obey'd.

From themes too lofty for a bard so mean, Discretion beckons to an humbler scene. The restless fever of ambition laid, Calm I retire, and seek the sylvan shade. Now be the Muse disrob'd of all her pride, Be all the glare of verse by truth supplied; And if plain nature pours a simple strain, Which Bute may praise, and Ossian not disdain, Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all, Whom English infidels Macpherson call, Then round my head shall honour's ensigns wave, And pensions mark me for a willing slave.

Two boys, whose birth beyond all question
springs

From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings,
Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and bred
On the same bleak and barren mountain's head;
By niggard nature doom'd on the same rocks
To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks;
Fresh as the morning, which, enrob'd in mist,
The mountain's top with usual dulness kiss'd,
Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose;
Soon clad I ween, where nature needs no clothes;
Where, from their youth inur'd to winter skies,
Dress and her vain refinements they despise.
Jockey, whose manly high-bon'd cheeks to crown
With freckles spotted flam'd the golden down,
With mickle art could on the bagpipes play,
E'en from the rising to the setting day;
Sawney as long without remorse could bawl
Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal.
Oft at his strains, all natural though rude,
The Highland lass forgot her want of food,
And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest,
Sunk pleas'd, though hungry, on her Sawney's
breast.

Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen,

Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green.
The plague of locusts they secure defy,
For in three hours a grasshopper must die.
No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there,
But the cameleon, who can feast on air.
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew,
No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo.
No streams as amber smooth, as amber clear,
Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
Rebellion's spring, which through the country ras,
Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan.
No flow'rs embalm'd the air, but one white rose,
Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows,
By instinct blows at morn, and, when the shades
Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades.

One, and but one poor solitary cave,
Too sparing of her favours, nature gave;
That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!)
Shelter at once for man and beast supplied.
Their snares without entangling briers spread;
And thistles, arm'd against th' invader's head,
Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose,
Thistles now held more precious than the rose.
All creatures which on nature's earliest plan,
Were form'd to lothe, and to be loth'd by man,
Which ow'd their birth to nastiness and spite,
Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight,
Creatures, which when admitted in the ark,
Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark,
Found place within: marking her noisome road
With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad;
There webs were spread of more than common size,
And half-starv'd spiders prey'd on half-stary'd fies;
In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl;
Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear'd the slimy wall;
The cave around with hissing serpents rung;
On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung;
And Famine, by her children always known,
As proud as poor, here fix'd her native throne.
Here, for the sullen sky was overcast,
And summer shrunk beneath a wintry blast,
A native blast, which, arm'd with hail and rain,
Beat unrelenting on the naked swain,
The boys for shelter made; behind—the sheep,
Of which those shepherds every day take keep,
Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude,
On nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food.
Jockey.

Sith to this cave, by tempest, we're confin'd, And within ken our flocks, under the wind, Safe from the pelting of this perilous storm, Are laid emong yon thistles, dry and warm, What, Sawney, if by shepherd's art we try To mock the rigour of this cruel sky? What if we tune some merry roundelay? Well dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey play. Sawney.

Ah, Jockey, ill adviseth thou, I wis, To think of songs at such a time as this. Sooner shall herbage crown these barren roc Sooner shall fleeces clothe these ragged floc g Sooner shall want seize shepherds of the sowe!

And we forget to live from hand to mouth,
Than Sawney, out of season, shall impart
The songs of gladness with an aching heart.
Jockey.

Still have I known thee for a silly swain:
Of things past help what boots it to complain?
Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite;
No sky is heavy, if the heart be light:
Patience is sorrow's salve; what can't be cur'd,
So Donald right arreads, must be endur'd.
Sawney.

Full silly swain, I wot, is Jockey now;
How didst thou hear thy Maggy's falsehood? how,
When with a foreign loon she stole away,
Didst thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's lay?
Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I
Applied those proverbs, which you now apply?
Jockey.

O she was bonny! All the Highlands round, Was there a rival to my Maggy found! More precious (though that precious is to all) Than the rare med'cine which we brimstone call, Or that choice plant, so grateful to the nose, Which in I know not what far country grows, Was Maggy unto me; dear do I rue,

A lass so fair should ever prove untrue.

Sawney.

Whether with pipe or song to charm the ear, Through all the land did Jamie find a peer? Curs'd be that year by ev'ry honest Scot, And in the shepherd's calendar forgot, That fatal year, when Jamie, hapless swain, In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain. Jamie, when our young laird discreetly fled, Was seiz'd and hang'd till he was dead, dead, dead. Jockey.

Full sorely may we all lament that day;
For all were losers in the deadly fray.

Five brothers had I on the Scottish plains, [swains;
Well dost thou know were none more hopeful
Five brothers there I lost, in manhood's pride,
Two in the field, and three on gibbets died:
Ah! silly swains, to follow war's alarms!
Ah! what hath shepherd's life to do with arms!
Sawney.

Mention it not-There saw I strangers clad
In all the honours of our ravish'd plaid ;
Saw the ferrara, too, our nation's pride,
Unwilling grace the awkward victor's side.
There fell our choicest youth, and from that day
Mote never Sawney tune the merry lay; [survive,
Bless'd those which fell! curs'd those which still
To mourn fifteen renew'd in forty-five.

Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-sunk cell,
Where wretchedness and horror lov'd to dwell;
With double rows of useless teeth supplied,
Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide,
Which, when for want of food her entrails pin'd,
She op'd, and, cursing, swallow'd nought but wind;
All shrivell'd was her skin, and here and there,
Making their way by force, her bones lay bare:
Such filthy sight to hide from human view,
O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd plaid she threw.
Cease, cried the goddess, cease, despairing swains,
And from a parent hear what Jove ordains!
Pent in this barren corner of the isle,
Where partial fortune never deign'd to smile;
Like nature's bastards, reaping for our share
What was rejected by the lawful heir;
Unknown amongst the nations of the earth,
Or only known to raise contempt and mirth;
Long free, because the race of Roman braves
Thought it not worth their while to make us slaves;
Then into bondage by that nation brought,
Whose ruin we for ages vainly sought;
Whom still with unslack'd hate we view, and still,
The pow'r of mischief lost, retain the will;
Consider'd as the refuse of mankind,

A mass till the last moment left behind,
Which frugal nature doubted, as it lay,
Whether to stamp with life, or throw away;
Which, form'd in haste, was planted in this nook,
But never enter'd in creation's book;
Branded as traitors, who for love of gold

Would sell their God, as once their king they sold;
Long have we borne this mighty weight of ill,
These vile injurious taunts, and bear them still.
But times of happier note are now at hand,
And the full promise of a better land:
There, like the sons of Israel, having trod,
For the fix'd term of years ordain'd by God,
A barren desart, we shall seize rich plains,
Where milk with honey flows, and plenty reigns.
With some few natives join'd, some pliant few,
Who worship int'rest, and our track pursue,
There shall we, though the wretched people grieve
Ravage at large, nor ask the owners leave.

For us,
the earth shall bring forth her increase;
For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece;
Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not our own,
And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown;
For our advantage shall their harvests grow,
And Scotsmen reap what they disdain'd to sow;
For us, the sun shall climb the eastern hill;
For us,
the rain shall fall, the dew distil;
When to our wishes nature cannot rise,
Art shall be task'd to grant us fresh supplies.
His brawny arm shall drudging labour strain,
And for our pleasure suffer daily pain;
Trade shall for us exert her utmost pow'rs,
Her's all the toil, and all the profit our's;
For us, the oak shall from his native steep
Descend, and fearless travel through the deep;
The sail of commerce, for our use unfurl'd,
Shall waft the treasures of each distant world;

For

us, sublimer heights shall science reach, For us, their statesmen plot, their churchmen preach; Their noblest limbs of counsel we'll disjoint, And, mocking, new ones of our own appoint; Devouring war, imprison'd in the north, Shall at our call, in horrid pomp break forth, And when, his chariot wheels with thunder hung, Fell Discord braying with her brazen tongue, Death in the van, with Anger, Hate, and Fear, And Desolation stalking in the rear, Revenge, by Justice guided, in his train, He drives impetuous o'er the trembling plain, Shall, at our bidding, quit his lawful prey, And to meek, gentle, gen'rous Peace give way. Think not, my sons, that this so bless'd estate Stands at a distance on the roll of fate; Already big with hopes of future sway, E'en from this cave I scent my destin'd prey. Think not, that this dominion o'er a race, Whose former deeds shall time's last annals grace, In the rough face of peril must be sought, And with the lives of thousands dearly bought; No-fool'd by cunning, by that happy art Which laughs to scorn the blundering hero's heart, Into the snare shall our kind neighbours fall With open eyes, and fondly give us all.

When Rome, to prop her sinking empire, bore Their choicest levies to a foreign shore, What if we seiz'd, like a destroying flood, [blood, Their widow'd plains, and fill'd the realm with Gave an unbounded loose to manly rage, And scorning mercy, spar'd nor sex nor age; When, for our int'rest too mighty grown, Monarchs of warlike bent possess'd the throne, What if we strove divisions to foment, And spread the flames of civil discontent, Assisted those who 'gainst their king made head, And gave the traitors refuge when they fled; When restless Glory bade her sons advance, And pitch'd her standard in the fields of France, What if, disdaining oaths, and empty sound, By which our nation never shall be bound, Bravely we taught unmuzzled war to roam [home; Through the weak land, and brought cheap laurels When the bold traitors leagu'd for the defence Of Law, Religion, Liberty, and Sense,

By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy

Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy;
The 'squire and captain took their stations,

And twenty other near relations;

Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke

A sigh in suffocating smoke;

While all their hours were pass'd between Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown ; He fancies every vice she shows, Or thins her lip, or points her nose: Whenever rage or envy rise,

How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!

He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phyz;
And, though her fops are wondrous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravell'd nooze,
As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower,
Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens;
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And ev'n the captain quit the field.

Poor madam now condemn'd to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly fiown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old;
With modesty her cheeks are dy'd,
'Humility displaces pride;
For tawdry finery, is seen
A person ever neatly clean:
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day;
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

"Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.

" For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow:
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go."

" Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

"Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.

" Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

1

" No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn:
Taught by that power which pities me,
I learn to pity them:

"But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, And water from the spring.

" Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong:

Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell!

The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest!

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily prest, and smil'd;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguil'd.

Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries;

The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spy'd,
With answering care opprest:
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd,
"The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove:

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings,
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

"And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;

A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?

" And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair-one's jest:
On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest.

" For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex," he said: But while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:

The lovely stranger stands confest,
A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah, forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cry'd;
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude,
Where heaven and you reside.

"But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

" My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came;