THE BARD AT INVERARY

And while, amid the silent dead
Thy hapless fate he mourns,
His own long sorrows freshly bleed,
And all his grief returns:

Like thee, cut off in early youth,
And flower of beauty's pride,
His friend, his first and only joy,
His much lov'd Stella died.

Him too the stern impulse of Fate
Resistless bears along;

And the same rapid tide shall whelm
The Poet and the Song.

The tear of pity which he sheds,
He asks not to receive;
Let but his poor remains be laid
Obscurely in the grave.

His grief-worn heart, with truest joy,
Shall meet the welcome shock:
His airy harp shall lie unstrung,
And silent as the rock.

O my dear maid, my Stella, when
Shall this sick period close,

And lead the solitary bard
To his belov'd repose?

The Bard at Inverary.1

WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he come to wait upon

The Lord their God,-His Grace.

1 Written on the Highland tour of June 1787. Insufficient attention was, apparently, paid to the poet: he may

even have been kept waiting for dinner.

ON DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD

There's naething here but Highland pride,
And Highland scab and hunger :
If Providence has sent me here,
"Twas surely in an anger.

Epigram to Miss Jean Scott.

O HAD each Scot of ancient times
Been Jeanie Scott, as thou art;
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward.

On the Death of John M'Leod, Esq.1

Brother to a young Lady, a particular friend
of the Author.

SAD thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms:

Death tears the brother of her love

From Isabella's arms.

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow;
But cold successive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smil'd;

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Succeeding hopes beguil❜d.

Fate oft tears the bosom chords
That Nature finest strung;
So Isabella's heart was form'd,

And so that heart was wrung.

1 Mr M'Leod was of the Raasay family: he died July 20, 1787 (Scott Douglas).

ON SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR

Dread Omnipotence alone

Can heal the wound he gave-
Can point the brimful care-worn eyes
To scenes beyond the grave.1

Virtue's blossom's there shall blow,
And fear no withering blast;
There Isabella's spotless worth
Shall happy be at last.

Elegy on the Death of Sir James
Hunter Blair.2

THE lamp of day with ill-presaging glare,
Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave;
Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air,
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,

Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train;3
Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd, well,
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane."

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks,
The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky,
The groaning trees untimely shed their locks,

And shooting meteors caught the startled eye.

The paly moon rose in the livid east,

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form
In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast,
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm.

1 Cunningham inserts a verse here from a MS.

"Were it in the poet's power
Strong as he shares the grief
That pierces Isabella's heart,
To give that heart relief."

"Were" apparently stands for "O

were," and the awkwardness of this was no doubt the poet's reason for rejecting the verse.

2 Obiit July 1, 1787.

The King's Park, at Holyrood
House.-R. B.

4 St Anthony's well.-R. B.
5 St Anthony's Chapel.-R. B.

ON SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd: Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,
Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd,
That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar,

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world.

"My patriot son fills an untimely grave!"

With accents wild and lifted arms-she cried; "Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride.

"A weeping country joins a widow's tear;

The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry;
The drooping arts surround their patron's bier;
And grateful science heaves the heart-felt sigh!

"I saw my sons resume their ancient fire;

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow:
But ah! how hope is born but to expire!
Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.

"My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung,
While empty greatness saves a worthless name?
No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue,
And future ages hear his growing fame.

"And I will join a mother's tender cares,
Thro' future times to make his virtues last;
That distant years may boast of other Blairs!"—
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast.

a beats.

TO MISS FERRIER

To Miss Ferrier.1

Enclosing the Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair.

NAE heathen name shall I prefix,
Frae Pindus or Parnassus;

Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks,
For rhyme-inspiring lasses.

Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three
Made Homer deep their debtor;

But, gien the body half an e'e,

Nine Ferriers wad done better!

Last day my mind was in a bog,
Down George's Street I stoited";
A creeping cauld prosaic fog
My very senses doited.c

Do what I dought to set her free,
My saul lay in the mire;

Ye turned a neuk-I saw your e'e-
She took the wing like fire!

The mournfu' sang I here enclose,
In gratitude I send you,

And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose,
A' gude things may attend you!

Impromptu on Carron Iron Works.2

WE cam na here to view your warks,
In hopes to be mair wise,

But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise:

1 A sister of Miss Susan Ferrier, the novelist.

2 Written at Carron, on the way to the Highlands, with Nicol,