Whenever since I wak'd the lyre,
'Twas to comply with your desire;
The total sum, whate'er the amount,
Shall all be set to your account:
Now let me trace with backward view
The favours thus conferr'd on you.
And first the playful varied lay *
I sung to cheat the lonely way,
(While frozen winter chill'd my fancy)
Tho' chiefly meant to please my NANCY,
Was to your partial praises owing,
That set my grateful breast a-glowing,
And cheer'd me up with self-dependence,
To hope the Muse's prompt attendance:
Encourag'd thus along the road,
Description smooth and lofty ode
Fill'd up the middle, while both ends
Were hung with portraits of my friends,
To cheer my soul, whene'er I mist them,
So like, that I had almost kist them.
Next, for my neighbour Sybil's sake,
I bade the willing Muse awake,
And tell what magic ties around
Young HUNTLY's limbs the beldam bound.
* Journal from Glasgow to Laggan.
Then liquid accents soft and clear
Stole gently on attention's ear;
The blue-hair'd nymph of yonder brook,
In more than mortal language spoke,
And bade aerial music swell,
To woo fair CHARLOTTE to her cell *
With feeble imitative strain
I strove to catch the sounds in vain.
Next I essay'd the up-hill road
Of❝ break-neck dythyrambic ode,"
Denounc'd on Spain perpetual vengeance,
And blest CHIAPA and his Indians;
Till dizzy and bewilder'd grown,
The attempt beyond my powers I own.
The smarting wounds of recent woe
Now bid th' unstudied measure flow;
While wakeful anguish thro' the gloom
Of midnight weeps the fate of MOOME!
That night so dismal and so long,
I strove in vain to cheat with song:
And when with dusky mantle grey
The weeping morn brought in the day,
The frequent shower and sighing wind
With mournful cadence sooth'd my mind.
* See the Nymph of the Fountain to Charlotte.
But when will light restore to view
A friend so kind, so firm, so true!
Or who, when sickness sinks my head,
Will tend with equal care my bed?
Or who, when comfort crowns my toil,
With equal sympathy will smile?—
Sink all my strains in final gloom,
But live the lay inspir'd by MooME!
Again the Muse awakes to weep
O'er hamlets waste and flocking sheep*:
The dusky hill and narrow plain
Re-echo to the mournful strain;
The sad inhabitants around
With social grief prolong the sound;
While lost in woe they scatter far
To fill the sanguine ranks of war,
Or cross th' Atlantic's stormy roar,
Or tread the burning Indian shore,
Or mingle with the sordid train
Who know no bliss, no God but gain :
Where'er they rest, where'er they roam,
Stung with the hopeless thoughts of home;
With aching heart and searching eyes,
Oft will they trace their northern skies,
Alluding to the poem of the Highlanders.
"Yon dim-seen twinkling star
"Gleams o'er my father's sepulchre,
"Where once, when fate had clos'd my day, "I hop'd my weary limbs to lay ; "Its rays illume the shadowy vale, "Where lighted by the moon-beam pale, My faithful steps were wont to trace "The loveliest of our far-fam'd race, "And pour in her approving ear "The artless vows of love sincere." Thus, frequent does the exile's heart With tender sad remembrance smart; Some leisure time will come, ere long, th' unfinish'd song; arrange and prune When winter's icy bolts are hurl'd, And snow and silence wrap the world, And cares and children sink in sleep, The Muse shall faithful vigils keep; And summon wisdom and reflection And critic powers of mild correction, And diction chaste, and lucid order, Like flowers arrang'd to grace a border ; My thoughts shall rise in fair succession Unbroke by playful wild digression: With heedless haste I now dispense them, But then you'll see how I'll condense them.
But from my subject how I wander,-
I sung the sorrows of the gander *,
And if you'll re-peruse his letter,
You'll own no goose could sing them better.
You see what mighty debts you're owing
For benefits of my bestowing.
Can you forget the rainy morning,
When toil, fatigue, and danger scorning,
I headlong plung'd thro' new-swoln Spey,
And o'er Drumochter urg'd my way,
Try'd to o'ertake the fleeting wind,
And left the slow express behind :
Arriv'd with fluttering hearts at Blair,
In chasing joy we met despair:
No matrons with benignant smile
Appear'd our labours to beguile;
No sprightly nymphs, in rapt'rous guise,
With pleasure beaming from their eyes;
The gallant soul of HARDYKNUTE,
When thrill'd with fear, with anguish mute,
He saw his castle dark and still,
Felt not a more horrific chill.
To cheer our souls and soothe our pain,
Our gentle hostess tries in vain;
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