No man can tell; but all before their sight, Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable chief advanc'd in years; * A well-known performer of Scotish music on the violin. Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, A female form,* came from the tow'rs of Stair; The broken iron instruments of Death; At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. THE sun had clos'd the winter day, The thrasher's weary flingin-tree The lee-lang day had tired me; And when the day had clos'd his c'e, * The poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in posses sion of Stair. She afterwards removed to Afton-lodge, on the banks of the Afton, a stream which he subsequently celebrated in a song entitled "Afton Water.” — ED. † Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of Macpherson's translation. Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, An' heard the restless rattons squeak All in this mottie, misty clime, But stringin blethers up in rhyme, Had I to guid advice but harkit, I might, by this, hae led a market, Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit My cash account: While here, half mad, half fed, half sarkit, I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! Or some rash aith, That I henceforth would be a rhyme-proof When, click! the string the sneck did draw And, jee! the door gaed to the wa'; An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, Now bleezin bright, A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, Ye need nae doubt, I held my whisht; When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs By that same token; An' come to stop those reckless vows, A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace," Shone full upon her; Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Down flow'd her robe, a Tartan sheen, And such a leg! my bonie Jean Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, Her mantle large, of greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew; Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand; And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There distant shone Art's lofty boast, Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods And many a lesser torrent scuds, Low, in a sandy valley spread, She boasts a race To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, And polish'd grace. By stately tow'r or palace fair, Or ruins pendant in the air, Bold stems of heroes, here and there, I could discern; Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, With features stern. My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a race* heroic wheel, *The Wallaces. |