Non mira, sed vera, canam.
AT that sweet period of revolving time
When Phoebus lingers not in Thetis' lap,
When twinkling stars their feeble influence shed,
And scarcely glimmer through the ethereal vault,
Till Sol again his near approach proclaims,
With ray purpureal, and the blushing form
Of fair Aurora, goddess of the dawn,
Leading the winged coursers to the pole
Of Phoebus' car. 'Twas in that season fair,
When jocund summer did the meads array
In Flora's ripening bloom, that we prepared
To break the bond of business, and to roam
Far from Edina's jarring noise a while.
Fair smiled the wakening morn on our design,
And we, with joy elate, our march began
For Leith's fair port, where oft Edina's sons
The week conclude, and in carousal quaff
Port, punch, rum, brandy, and Geneva strong,
Liquors too nervous for the feeble purse.
With all convenient speed we there arrived:
Nor had we time to touch at house or hall,
Till from the boat a hollow thundering voice
Bellow'd vociferous, and our ears assail'd
With "Ho! Kinghorn, oho! come straight aboard."
We fail'd not to obey the stern command,
Utter'd with voice as dreadful as the roar
Of Polyphemus, 'mid rebounding rocks,
When overcome by sage Ulysses' wiles.
"Hoist up your sails!" the angry skipper cries,
While fore and aft the busy sailors run,
And loose th' entangled cordage. O'er the deep
Zephyrus blows, and hugs our lofty sails,
Which, in obedience to the powerful breeze,
Swell o'er the foaming main, and kiss the wave.
Now o'er the convex surface of the flood
Precipitate we fly. Our foaming prow
Divides the saline stream. On either side
Ridges of yesty surge dilate apace;
But from the poop the waters gently flow,
And undulation for the time decays,
In eddies smoothly floating o'er the main.
Here let the Muse in doleful numbers sing
The woeful fate of those whose cruel stars
Have doom'd them subject to the languid powers
Of watery sickness. Though with stomach full
Of juicy beef, of mutton in its prime,
Or all the dainties luxury can boast,
They brave the elements-yet the rocking bark,
Truly regardless of their precious food,
Converts their visage to the ghastly pale,
And makes the sea partaker of the sweets
On which they sumptuous fared. And this the cause
Why those of Scotia's sons whose wealthy store
Hath blest them with a splendid coach and six,
Rather incline to linger on the way,
And cross the river Forth by Stirling bridge,
Than be subjected to the ocean's swell,
To dangerous ferries, and to sickness dire.
And now at equal distance shows the land:
Gladly the tars the joyful task pursue
Of gathering in the freight. Debates arise.
From counterfeited halfpence. In the hold
The seamen scrutinise, and eager peep
Through every corner where their watchful eye
Suspects a lurking-place or dark retreat,
To hide the timid corpse of some poor soul
Whose scanty purse can scarce one groat afford.
At length we, cheerful, land on Fifan shore,
Where sickness vanishes, and all the ills
Attendant on the passage of Kinghorn.
Our pallid cheeks resume their rosy hue,
And empty stomachs keenly crave supply.
With eager step we reach'd the friendly inn;
Nor did we think of beating our retreat
Till every gnawing appetite was quell'd.
Eastward along the Fifan coast we stray:
And here th' unwearied eye may fondly gaze
O'er all the tufted groves and pointed spires
With which the pleasant banks of Forth are crown'd.
Sweet navigable stream! where commerce reigns,
Where peace and jocund plenty smile serene.
On thy green banks sits Liberty enthroned:
But not that shadow which the English youth
So eagerly pursue; but freedom bought,
When Caledonia's triumphant sword
Taught the proud sons of Anglia to bemoan
Their fate at Bannockburn, where thousands cameNever to tread their native soil again.
Far in a hollow den, where Nature's hand
Had careless strew'd the rocks, a dreadful cave,
Whose concave ceiling echoed to the floods
Their hollow murmurs on the trembling shore,
Demanded our approach. The yawning porch
Its massy sides disclosed, and o'er the top
The ivy tendrils twined the uncultured fern.
Fearful, we pry into the dreary vault,
Hoary with age, and breathing noxious damps.
Here busy owls may unmolested dwell
In solitary gloom;-for few there are
Whose inclination leads them to review
A cell where putrid smells infectious reign.*
Then, turning westward, we our course pursue
Along the course of Fortha's briny flood,
Till we o'ertake the gradual rising dale
Where fair Burntisland rears her reverend dome;
And here the vulgar sign-post, painted o'er
With imitations vile of man and horse,
Of small-beer frothing o'er the unshapely jug,
With courteous invitation, spoke us fair
* A large cave at a small distance from Kinghorn, supposed, about a century ago, to have been the receptacle of thieves.-Author's note.
To enter in, and taste what precious drops
Were there reserved to moisten strangers' throats,
Too often parch'd upon the tedious way.
After regaling here with sober can,
Our limbs we plied, and nimbly measured o'er
The hills, the vales, and the extensive plains,
Which form the distance from Burntisland's port
To Inverkeithing. Westward still we went,
Till in the ferry-boat we loll'd at ease:
Nor did we long on Neptune's empire float;
For scarce ten posting minutes were elaps'd
Till we again on terra firma stood,
And to M'Laren's march'd, where roasted lamb,
With cooling lettuce, crown'd our social board.
Here, too, the cheering glass, chief foe to care,
Went briskly round; and many a virgin fair
Received our homage in a bumper full.
Thus having sacrificed a jocund hour
To smiling mirth, we quit the happy scene,
And move progressive to Edina's walls.
Now still returning eve creep'd gradual on,
And the bright sun, as weary of the sky,
Beam'd forth a languid occidental ray,
Whose ruby-tinctur'd radiance faintly gleam'd
Upon the airy cliffs and distant spires
That float on the horizon's utmost verge.
So we, with fessive joints and lingering pace,
Moved slowly on, and did not reach the town
Till Phoebus had unyoked his prancing steeds.
Ye sons of Caledonia! who delight,
With all the pomp and pageantry of state,
To roll along in gilded affluence,
For one poor moment wean your thoughts from these,
And list this humble strain. If you, like us,
Could brave the angry waters, be uproused
By the first salutation to the morn
Paid by the watchful cock; or be compell'd
On foot to wander o'er the lonely plain.
For twenty tedious miles-then should the gout,
With all his racking pangs, forsake your frame;
For he delights not to traverse the field,
Or rugged steep, but prides him to recline
On the luxuriance of a velvet fold,
Where indolence on purple sofa lolls.
THE CANONGATE PLAYHOUSE IN RUINS.*
YE few, whose feeling hearts are ne'er estranged
From soft emotions! ye who often wear
The eye of pity, and oft vent her sighs,
When sad Melpomene, in woe-fraught strains,
Gains entrance to the breast; or often smile
When brisk Thalia gaily trips along
Scenes of enlivening mirth-attend my song!
And Fancy! thou whose ever-flaming light
Can penetrate into the dark abyss
Of chaos and of hell-O! with thy blazing torch
The wasteful scene illumine, that the Muse
With daring pinions may her flight pursue,
Nor with timidity be known to soar
O'er the theatric world, to chaos changed.
Can I contemplate on those dreary scenes
Of mouldering desolation, and forbid
The voice elegiac and the falling tear!
No more, from box to box, the basket piled
With oranges as radiant as the spheres,
* The Canongate Theatre stood behind the south line of the street, opposite to the head of New Street. It was founded in August, 1746, by Mr. Lacy Ryan of Covent-Garden, and, when finished, could hold, at 2s. 6d., 1s. 6d., and 1s., about £70. It was first used under the royal licence on the 9th of December, 1767; but a new theatre being built next year in the New Town, this humble place of entertainment was almost immediately after left to ruin. The site has long been occupied by a brewery.-Robert Chambers.
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