THE SCOTTISH MUSE. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, SHAKSPEARE. O WELCOME simply soothing treasure! And, wrapt in bless'd retirement, measure 'Thy varied sang! Kind, leil companion! without thee, My inward pain, Aneath thy sheltering wing I flee And mak my mane. • The author's complaints were such, that, unable either to read or write above a few minutes without distress, his only amusement was to compose by the help of memory alone. It may, perhaps, be worth mentioning, that Will and Jean, the Waes of War, the Links o' Forth, and the present poem, were all composed by memory, previously to the commitment of a single line to paper. There seated, smiling by my side, And luve's sweet smart! Till glowing warm thy numbers glide Streight to the heart. 'Tis then, wi' powerful plastic hand Thou wav'st thy magic-working wand; And stirring up ideas grand That fire the brain, Aff whirl'st me swith to fairy land 'Mang fancy's train.— Scar'd by disease when balmy rest I see thee come Wi' radiance mild that cheers the breast And lights the gloom! Heart'ning thou com'st, wi' modest grace, Hope, luve, and pity in thy face, And gliding up wi' silent pace My plaints to hear, Whisper'st in turn thae soothing lays Saft in my ear. Ill fated wand'rer! doom'd to mane! Wan sufferer! bleech'd wi' care and pain! How chang'd alas! since vogie vain, Wi' spirits light, Ye hail'd me first in untaught strain On Strevlin's height! Ah me! how stark! how blithe! how bauld Ye brattl'd then through wind and cauld! Reckless, by stream, by firth and fauld Ye held your way; By passion rul'd; by luve enthrall'd, Ye pour'd the lay. 'Twas then, entranc'd in am'rous sang, I mark'd you midst the rural thrang; Ardent and keen, the hail day lang Wi' Nature tane, Slip frae the crowd and mix amang 'Twas then I saw (alas! owre clear!) Your moral pride and truth sincere 'He ne'er can lout,' I musing said, To walth or power! But backward turn wi' scornfu' speed He'll never learn his bark to steer 'Mid passion's sudden, wild career; Nor try at times to tack or veer To int'rest's gale, But hoist the sheet, unaw'd by fear, Tho' storms prevail. 'Owre proud to ask ;-owre bauld to yield! Whan poortith's blast drifts cross the field What will be wone-poor feckless chield! 'Year after year in youtheid's prime, Wander he will, frae clime to clime, Sanguine wi' hope on wing sublime Mount heigh in air! But than-waes me! there comes a time O' dool and care! 'There comes a time !-or soon, or late, O' serious thought and sad debate; Whan blighted hope and adverse fate Owrespread their gloom, And mirk despair, in waefu' state, Foresees the doom! -And maun he fa'! (I sighing cried) And straits owretake him! -Weel! blame wha like-whate'er betide I'se ne'er forsake him! 'Ardent I spake! and frae the day Frae morn's first dawn to e'en's last ray Frae west to east*-frae isle to isle, To India's shore and sultry soil; 'Mid tumult, battle, care, and toil, I following flew ; Ay smooth'd the past, and wak'd the smile Whan warfare ceas'd its wild uproar I led ye ardent to explore Wi' panting heart, Her idle monuments o' yore And sculptur'd art. Sweet flew the hours! (the toil your boast) On smiling Salsett's cave-wrought coast!— Though hope was tint-tho' a' was cross'd Nae dread alarms Ye felt-fond fool! in wonder lost And nature's charms! Frae east to west, frae main to main, Ye ken yoursell, Drapt frae the muse's melting strain Peace balmy fell. Fell sweet! for as she warbling flew, Hope lent her heav'n's refreshing dew; * West and East Indies. See the author's account of the caves of Elephanta, Canary, and Ambola, published in the eighth volume of the Archæologia. An unexpected change in administration, at home, blasted all the author's fair prospects in India. |