Duan Second

With musing-deep, astonish’d stare,I view’d the heavenly-seeming Fair;A whispering throb did witness bearOf kindred sweet,When with an elder sister’s airShe did me greet.

“All hail! my own inspired bard!In me thy native Muse regard;Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,Thus poorly low;I come to give thee such reward,As we bestow!

“Know, the great genius of this landHas many a light aerial band,Who, all beneath his high command,Harmoniously,As arts or arms they understand,Their labours ply.

“They Scotia’s race among them share:Some fire the soldier on to dare;Some rouse the patriot up to bareCorruption’s heart:Some teach the bard—a darling care—The tuneful art.

“’Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,They, ardent, kindling spirits pour;

Or, ’mid the venal senate’s roar,They, sightless, stand,To mend the honest patriot-lore,And grace the hand.

“And when the bard, or hoary sage,Charm or instruct the future age,They bind the wild poetric rageIn energy,Or point the inconclusive pageFull on the eye.

“Hence, Fullarton, the brave and young;Hence, Dempster’s zeal-inspired tongue;Hence, sweet, harmonious Beattie sungHis ’Minstrel lays’;Or tore, with noble ardour stung,The sceptic’s bays.

“To lower orders are assign’dThe humbler ranks of human-kind,The rustic bard, the lab’ring hind,The artisan;All choose, as various they’re inclin’d,The various man.

“When yellow waves the heavy grain,The threat’ning storm some strongly rein;Some teach to meliorate the plainWith tillage-skill;And some instruct the shepherd-train,Blythe o’er the hill.

“Some hint the lover’s harmless wile;Some grace the maiden’s artless smile;Some soothe the lab’rer’s weary toilFor humble gains,And make his cottage-scenes beguileHis cares and pains.

“Some, bounded to a district-spaceExplore at large man’s infant race,To mark the embryotic traceOf rustic bard;And careful note each opening grace,A guide and guard.

“Of these am I—Coila my name:And this district as mine I claim,Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,Held ruling power:I mark’d thy embryo-tuneful flame,Thy natal hour.

“With future hope I oft would gazeFond, on thy little early ways,Thy rudely, caroll’d, chiming phrase,In uncouth rhymes;Fir’d at the simple, artless laysOf other times.

“I saw thee seek the sounding shore,Delighted with the dashing roar;Or when the North his fleecy storeDrove thro’ the sky,I saw grim Nature’s visage hoarStruck thy young eye.

“Or when the deep green-mantled earthWarm cherish’d ev’ry floweret’s birth,And joy and music pouring forthIn ev’ry grove;I saw thee eye the general mirthWith boundless love.

“When ripen’d fields and azure skiesCall’d forth the reapers’ rustling noise,I saw thee leave their ev’ning joys,And lonely stalk,To vent thy bosom’s swelling rise,In pensive walk.

“When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong,Keen-shivering, shot thy nerves along,Those accents grateful to thy tongue,Th’ adored Name,I taught thee how to pour in song,To soothe thy flame.

“I saw thy pulse’s maddening play,Wild send thee Pleasure’s devious way,Misled by Fancy’s meteor-ray,By passion driven;But yet the light that led astrayWas light from Heaven.

“I taught thy manners-painting strains,The loves, the ways of simple swains,Till now, o’er all my wide domainsThy fame extends;And some, the pride of Coila’s plains,Become thy friends.

“Thou canst not learn, nor I can show,To paint with Thomson’s landscape glow;Or wake the bosom-melting throe,With Shenstone’s art;Or pour, with Gray, the moving flowWarm on the heart.

“Yet, all beneath th’ unrivall’d rose,T e lowly daisy sweetly blows;Tho’ large the forest’s monarch throwsHis army shade,Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,Adown the glade.

“Then never murmur nor repine;Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;And trust me, not Potosi’s mine,Nor king’s regard,Can give a bliss o’ermatching thine,A rustic bard.

“To give my counsels all in one,Thy tuneful flame still careful fan:Preserve the dignity of Man,With soul erect;And trust the Universal PlanWill all protect.

“And wear thou this”—she solemn said,And bound the holly round my head:The polish’d leaves and berries redDid rustling play;And, like a passing thought, she fledIn light away.

With secret throes I marked that earth,That cottage, witness of my birth;And near I saw, bold issuing forthIn youthful pride,A Lindsay race of noble worth,Famed far and wide.

Where, hid behind a spreading wood,An ancient Pict-built mansion stood,I spied, among an angel brood,A female pair;Sweet shone their high maternal blood,And father’s air.

An ancient tower to memory broughtHow Dettingen’s bold hero fought;Still, far from sinking into nought,It owns a lordWho far in western climates fought,With trusty sword.

Among the rest I well could spyOne gallant, graceful, martial boy,The soldier sparkled in his eye,A diamond water.I blest that noble badge with joy,That owned me frater.

Near by arose a mansion fineThe seat of many a muse divine;Not rustic muses such as mine,With holly crown’d,But th’ ancient, tuneful, laurell’d Nine,From classic ground.

I mourn’d the card that Fortune dealt,To see where bonie Whitefoords dwelt;But other prospects made me melt,That village near;There Nature, Friendship, Love, I felt,Fond-mingling, dear!

Hail! Nature’s pang, more strong than death!Warm Friendship’s glow, like kindling wrath!Love, dearer than the parting breathOf dying friend!Not ev’n with life’s wild devious path,Your force shall end!

The Power that gave the soft alarmsIn blooming Whitefoord’s rosy charms,Still threats the tiny, feather’d arms,The barbed dart,While lovely Wilhelmina warmsThe coldest heart.

Where Lugar leaves his moorland plaid,Where lately Want was idly laid,

I marked busy, bustling Trade,In fervid flame,Beneath a Patroness’ aid,of noble name.

Wild, countless hills I could survey,And countless flocks as wild as they;But other scenes did charms display,That better please,Where polish’d manners dwell with Gray,In rural ease.

Where Cessnock pours with gurgling sound;And Irwine, marking out the bound,Enamour’d of the scenes around,Slow runs his race,A name I doubly honour’d found,With knightly grace.

Brydon’s brave ward, I saw him stand,Fame humbly offering her hand,And near, his kinsman’s rustic band,With one accord,Lamenting their late blessed landMust change its lord.

The owner of a pleasant spot,Near and sandy wilds, I last did note;A heart too warm, a pulse too hotAt times, o’erran:But large in ev’ry feature wrote,Appear’d the Man.