Along the pure translucent Tay,
Delighted, now we hold our way:
Of SCOTIA's clear, romantic streams,
That sweetly soothe the poet's dreams,
None glides thro' scenes so richly gay,
Or boldly wild, as wand'ring Tay:
Not. Tweed so copious, Clyde so clear,
Nor 'midst his mazy circles near,
Does Forth impel his wat❜ry course
With so much dignity and force!
Nor Leven, late renown'd in song,
So far his shaded course prolong
Nor rushing Spey that floods the plain,
So bless the labours of the swain !
From where in youth Tay wildly strays
Thro' Athol's bonny broomy braes,
To where, mature, it joins the sea
Where plenty smiling decks Dundee :
Along its banks the Naiads sport,
And health and rural joy resort
And sweet retreats of ease around,
And groves and fertile meads abound.
Still grateful stream, mellifluent mourn,
And murmur round thy Patron's urn!
Who deck'd thy beauteous banks with bow'rs,
Who wreath'd thy sedgy brow with flow'rs,
Who dwelt contented by thy side,
With Truth and Nature for his guide;
His country's father, wisdom's friend,
He knew no private, selfish end,
From every mean ambition free,
His only pride adorning thee!
To shield thee from the sultry skies,
He bade yon lofty planes arise,
And evergreens a shelter form
To screen thee from the wint'ry storm:
Nor ceas'd when glowing, feverish pains,
With tumult fill'd his throbbing veins,
To linger near the wonted scene
And haunt thy steepy borders green,
Till he, whom all the virtues weep,
In thy clear bosom sunk to sleep.
Each wat'ry nymph affrighted fled,
And Nature mourn'd her lover dead.
In silence past that mournful place,
We cheer our minds, and mend our pace,
And charm'd with every sylvan view,
In Athol's praise begin a-new.
The pastor cordially agrees
That could we live where'er we please,
We'd shun the noisy haunts of men,
And in some sweet sequester'd glen,
Where Athol's yellow vallies bloom,
Enjoy the birchen grove's perfume;
And oft, reclin'd in rural ease,
Attend the murmur of our bees,
And mark the honied wealth they bring
From all the flow'ry stores of spring:
Oh! had we there a little farm,
By sheltering rocks and woods kept warm;
A cottage well laid out, with space
To lodge and rear our infant race;
With sheep obedient to the crook,
And hives beside a little brook,
And tea, and best Virginian weed,
And one-horse chair, and faithful steed,
And woodbine twin'd around our door-
What should we seek, or hope for more?.
At Mullinearn, with cold half perish'd,
Our shivering limbs with fire we cherish'd,
And got a breakfast there extempor,
That almost put us out of temper:
The pastor cries, "We need not care,
"We'll dine in comfort soon at Blair:
"What hardships on the road may come,
"Will make us more in love with home;
"Home-the dear scene of all that s pleasing,
Of battles fiercely fought of old
'Twixt veteran troops and chieftains bold; Who from this threshold of the North,
In brave defiance sallied forth.
Then pensive gazing long upon it,
My tow'ring soul broke forth in sonnet,
AWFUL and stern the rugged entrance low'rs
That leads to Caledonia's last retreats,
Where oft, in days of yore, contending pow'rs
On the dark threshold shone in dreadful feats:
Where deep and dark the Garrie foams below,
Erewhile with hostile gore her sanguine course Distain'd, hoarse thund'ring bore the tale of woe
To lands far distant from her gloomy source: Here oft contending chiefs, in ireful mood, Bade civil discord rage, Here gallant clans, profuse of generous blood,
Here, oft at eve, their shadowy forms are seen Like mist slow gliding o'er the mountains green.
The pass now conquer'd, we repair
To solace in the inn at Blair
Our hostess comes with much humility,
So soft, so modest her civility,
Such gentle manners, such urbanity
Her kindness looks so like humanity;
I think it were almost a sin
To lose her in a venal inn,
Now mindful of the shortening day,
We din'd in haste, and drove away;
Nor waited to admire the place
Adorn'd by MURRAY'S princely race,
Whose ancestors in regal stile
Held sovereign sway o'er Mona's isle.
The yellow horse, right briskly driving,
At Dalnacardoch late arriving,
We held a council to debate
If it were best to travel late,
Or here to lodge, then rise up soon
And travel with the morning moon.
"My dear, my heart impatient yearns
To see my home and kiss my bairns
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