HUMBLE PETITION OF BRU. WATER.

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE.

MY LORD, I know your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain ;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering, waste my foaming streams,
And drink my crystal tide.

The lightly jumping glowrin trouts,
That thro' my waters play,

If, in their random, wanton spouts,
They near the margin stray;
If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
I'm scorching up so shallow,
They're left the whitening stanes amang,
In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat, wi' spite and teen,
As poet B- came by,
That, to a bard I should be seen,
Wi' half my channel dry;
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,

Even as I was he shor'd me:
But had I in my glory been,

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks,
In twisting strength I rin;
There, high my boiling torrent smokes,
Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
Enjoying large each spring and well
As nature gave them me,

I am, although I say't mysel,
Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,

He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,
And bonnie spreading bushes;
Delighted doubly then, my Lord,
You'll wander on my banks,
And listen mony a grateful bird
Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober laverock warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire;
The gowdspink, music's gayest child,
Shall sweetly join the choir:

The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis wild and mellow;
The robin pensive autumn cheer,
In all her locks of yellow.

This too, a covert shall insure,

To shield them from the storm;

* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful, but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.

And coward maukin sleep secure,
Low in her grassy form;

Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
To weave his crown of flowers;
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat,
From prone descending showers.

And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,
Despising worlds with all their wealth
As empty idle care:

The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms
The hour of heav'n to grace,
And birks extend their fragrant arms
To screen the dear embrace.

Here, haply too, at vernal dawn,

Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,
And misty mountain, grey;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
Mild chequering thro' the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,

My lowly banks o'erspread, And view, deep-bending in the pool, Their shadows' watery bed!

Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest,
My craggy cliffs adorn;

And, for the little songster's nest,
The close embow'ring thorn.

So may old Scotia's darling hope,
Your little angel band,

Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
Their honour'd native land!
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken,'
To social flowing glasses,

The grace be" Athole's honest men,
And Athole's bonnie lasses!"

Man, your proud, usurping foe,
Would be lord of all below;
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,
Tyrant stern to all beside.

The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
Marking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels.
But man, to whom alone is giv'n
A ray direct from pitying heav'n,
Glorious in his heart humane-
And creatures for his pleasure slain.

In these savage, liquid plains, Only known to wand'ring swains, Where the mossy riv'let strays; Far from human haunts and ways; All on nature you depend,

And life's poor season peaceful spend.

Or, if man's superior might, Dare invade your native right, On the lofty ether borne,

Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, Other lakes and other springs; And the foe you cannot brave, Scorn at least to be his slave.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL

OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KENMORE. TAYMOUTH.

ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view-.
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen di-
vides,

IN LOCH-TURIT;

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE.

WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your watery baunt forsake?
'Tell me, fellow-creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?-
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free:
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,
Busy food, or wanton lave;
Or, beneath the sheltering rock,
Bide the surging billow's shock,

Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your fears I trace.

sides,

HUMBLE PETITION OF BRU. WATER. •

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE.

MY LORD, I know your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain ;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
In flaming summer-pride,

Dry-withering, waste my foaming streams,
And drink my crystal tide.

The lightly jumping glowrin trouts,
That thro' my waters play,

If, in their random, wanton spouts,
They near the margin stray;
If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
I'm scorching up so shallow,
They're left the whitening stanes amang,
In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat, wi' spite and teen,
As poet B- came by,
That, to a bard I should be seen,
Wi' half my channel dry;
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,

Even as I was he shor'd me:
But had I in my glory been,

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks,
In twisting strength I rin;
There, high my boiling torrent smokes,
Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
Enjoying large each spring and well
As nature gave them me,

I am, although I say't mysel,
Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,

He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,
And bonnie spreading bushes;
Delighted doubly then, my Lord,
You'll wander on my banks,
And listen mony a grateful bird
Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober laverock warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire;
The gowdspink, music's gayest child,
Shall sweetly join the choir:

The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis wild and mellow;
The robin pensive autumn cheer,
In all her locks of yellow.

This too, a covert shall insure,

To shield them from the storm;

*Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful, but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.

And coward maukin sleep secure,
Low in her grassy form;

Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
To weave his crown of flowers;
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat,
From prone descending showers.

And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,
Despising worlds with all their wealth
As empty idle care:

The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms
The hour of heav'n to grace,
And birks extend their fragrant arms
To screen the dear embrace.

Here, haply too, at vernal dawn,

Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,
And misty mountain, grey;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,

Mild chequering thro' the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,

My lowly banks o'erspread,
And view, deep-bending in the pool,
Their shadows' watery bed!

Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest,
My craggy cliffs adorn;

And, for the little songster's nest,
The close embow'ring thorn.

So may old Scotia's darling hope,
Your little angel band,

Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
Their honour'd native land!
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken,
To social flowing glasses,

1 he grace be-"Athole's honest men, And Athole's bonnie lasses!"

Man, your proud, usurping foe,
Would be lord of all below;
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,
Tyrant stern to all beside.

The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
Marking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels.
But man, to whom alone is giv'n
A ray direct from pitying heav'n,
Glorious in his heart humane-
And creatures for his pleasure slain.

In these savage, liquid plains,
Only known to wand'ring swains,
Where the mossy riv'let strays;
Far from human haunts and ways;
All on nature you depend,

And life's poor season peaceful spend.

Or, if man's superior might,
Dare invade your native right,
On the lofty ether borne,

Man with all his pow'rs you scorn;
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other springs;
And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his slave.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL

OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OF
THE INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH.
ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view-.
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen di-
vides,

IN LOCH-TURIT ;

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE.

WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your watery haunt forsake?
'Tell me, fellow-creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?—
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free:
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,
Busy food, or wanton lave;
Or, beneath the sheltering rock,
Bide the surging billow's shock,

Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your fears I trace.

sides,

Ah' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the

hills,

The eye with wonder and amazement fills; The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, The palace rising on his verdant sides, [taste; The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste! The arches striding o'er the new-born stream; The village, glittering in the moontide beam

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods;
The incessant roar of headlong tumbling
floods-

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, And look through nature with creative fire;