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* To lower Orders are aflign'd 3
The humbler ranks of Human-kind, 6. The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind,
• The Artisan;
• All chuse, as, various they're inclin'd,
• The various man.
• When yellow waves the heavy grain, • The threat'ning Storm, fome, strongly rein; • Some teach to meliorate thepaia,
• With tillage-skill; And fome instruct the shepherd-train,
Blythe o'er the hill.
SOME hint the Lover's harmless wile;
• Some grace the Maiden's artless sinile;
Some foothe the Lab'rer's weary toil,
• For humble gains,
• And make his cottage-scenes beguile
• His cares and pains.
• SOME bounded to a diftri&t-space, • Explore at large Man's infant race, • To mark the embryotic trace
Of rustic Bard;
• And careful note each op'ning grace,
• A guide and guard.
* Of these am 1-Ceila my name; * And this district as mine I claim,
* Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
• Held ruling pow'r : . I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame,
* Thy natal hour.
• Wits future hope, I oft would gaze, · Fond, on thy little, early ways,
* Thy rudely-caroll’d, chiming phrase,
In uncouth rhymes,
| Fir'd at the simple, artless lays
« Of other times.
• I saw thee seek the founding fhore, • Delighted with the dashing roar; • Or when the North his fleecy store
• Drove thro' the fky, ! I saw grim Nature's visage hoar,
"Struck thy young eye.
• Or when the deep green-mantled Earth, * Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, • And joy and music pouring forth,
• In ev'ry grove, I saw thec eye the gen'ral mirth
With boundless love.
« When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, • Callid forth the Reapers rastling noise, * I saw thee leave their ev’ning joys,
* And lonely stalk, * To vent thy bosom's swelling rise,
*In pensive walk.
• When youthful Love, warm-blushing,
Keen-fhivering shot thy nerves along, * Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
• Th'adored Name,
"I taught thee how to pour in song,
"To soothe thy flame,
I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild-fend thee. Pleasure's devious way,
• Miled by Fancy's meteor-ray,
• By Passion driv'n;
• But yet the light that led aftray,
Was light from Heaven.
I TAUGHT thy manners-painting strains,
« The loves, the ways of fimple swains,
Thy fame extends;
And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
$ Become thy friends,
• Thou canst not learn, nor I can show,
• To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow; • Or wake the bofom-melting throe,
« With Sbenstone's art;
"Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow,