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Caledonia.

Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's hand
Planted of old; her azure lakes between,
Poured out extensive, and of watery wealth

Full; winding deep, and green, her fertile vales;
With many a cool translucent brimming flood
Washed lovely, from the Tweed (pure parent stream,
Whose pastoral banks first heard my Doric reed,
With, sylvan Jed, thy tributary brook)

To where the north-inflated tempest foams
O'er Orca's or Betubium's highest peak :
Nurse of a people in misfortune's school
Trained up to hardy deeds; soon visited
By Learning, when before the Gothic rage
She took her western flight. A manly race,
Of unsubmitting spirit, wise and brave;

885

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Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard,

(As well unhappy WALLACE can attest,

Great patriot-hero! ill-requited chief)

To hold a generous undiminished state;

900

Too much in vain! Hence of unequal bounds
Impatient, and by tempting glory borne
O'er every land, for every land their life
Has flowed profuse, their piercing genius planned,
And swelled the pomp of peace their faithful toil.
As from their own clear north, in radiant streams,
Bright over Europe burst the Borcal Morn.

Oh is there not some patriot, in whose power
That best, that godlike Luxury is placed,
Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn.
Thro' late posterity? some, large of soul,
To cheer dejected Industry? to give
A double harvest to the pining swain ?

And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil?

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Argyll and Forbes.

How by the finest art, the native robe
To weave; how, white as hyperborean snow,
To form the lucid lawn; with venturous oar
How to dash wide the billow; nor look on,
Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets
Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms,

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That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores ;
How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing

The prosperous sail, from every growing port,
Uninjured, round the sea-encircled globe ;
And thus, in soul united, as in name,

Bid BRITAIN reign the mistress of the deep?

925

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, ARGYLL,
Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast,
From her first patriots and her heroes sprung,
Thy fond imploring country turns her eye;
In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees
Her every virtue, every grace combined,
Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn,
Her pride of honour, and her courage tried,
Calm, and intrepid, in the very throat

Of sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field.

Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow :
For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue
Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate ;

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While mixed in thee combine the charm of youth, 940
The force of manhood, and the depth of age.
Thee, FORBES, too, whom every worth attends,
As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind,
Thee, truly generous, and in silence great,
Thy country feels thro' her reviving arts,
Planned by thy wisdom, by thy soul informed;

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Shade and Solitude.

And seldom has she known a friend like thee.
But see the fading many-coloured woods,
Shade deepening over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dun,
Of every hue, from wan-declining green

950

To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse,
Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks,
And give the season in its latest view.

955

Mean time, light shadowing all, a sober calm
Fleeces unbounded ether; whose least wave
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn
The gentle current while, illumined wide,
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun,
And thro' their lucid vale his softened force
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time,
For those whom wisdom and whom Nature charm,
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd,
And soar above this little scene of things;

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To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet;

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To soothe the throbbing passions into peace;
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks.

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,

Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead,

And thro' the saddened grove, where scarce is heard
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil.

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Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint,

Far in faint warblings, thro' the tawny copse.

While congregated thrushes, linets, larks,

And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late
Swelled all the music of the swarming shades,
Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock;
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes,

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Falling of the Leaves.

And naught, save chattering discord, in their note.

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O let not, aimed from some inhuman eye,
The gun, the music of the coming year
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey,
In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground!
The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,
A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove;
Oft startling such as, studious, walk below,
And slowly circles thro' the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams;
Till choked and matted with the dreary shower,
The forest walks, at every rising gale,

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Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak.

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Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;

And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race

Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remained
Of stronger fruits, fall from the naked tree;
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around

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The desolated prospect thrills the soul.

He comes! he comes! in every breeze the Power

Of Philosophic Melancholy comes !

His near approach the sudden starting tear,

The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air,

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The softened feature, and the beating heart,

Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.

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Philosophical Melancholy.

As never mingled with the vulgar dream,
note Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye.
As fast the correspondent passions rise,
As varied, and as high. Devotion raised
To rapture, and divine astonishment;
The love of Nature unconfined, and, chief,
Of human race; the large ambitious wish,

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To make them blest; the sigh for suffering worth
Lost in obscurity; the noble scorn

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Of tyrant-pride; the fearless great resolve;

The wonder which the dying patriot draws,

Inspiring glory thro' remotest time;

The awakened throb for virtue, and for fame ;

The sympathies of love, and friendship dear;

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With all the social offspring of the heart.

Oh bear me then to vast embowering shades,
To twilight groves, and visionary vales;
To weeping grottos and prophetic glooms;
Where angel forms athwart the solemn dusk,
Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep along;
And voices more than human, thro' the void
Deep-sounding, seize th' enthusiastic ear!

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Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye powers, That o'er the garden and the rural seat

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Preside, which, shining thro' the cheerful land

In countless numbers, blest BRITANNIA sees;

O lead me to the wide-extended walks,

The fair majestic paradise of STOWE ! *

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Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore

E'er saw such sylvan scenes; such various art

* The seat of the Lord Viscount Cobham.

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