THE

SCOTTISH MUSE.

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night:
Methought it did relieve my passion much :
More than light airs, and recollected terms
Of these more brisk and giddy paced times.

SHAKSPEARE.

O WELCOME simply soothing treasure!
In midst o' pain my lanely pleasure!
Tutor❜d by thee, and whispering leisure,
I quit the thrang,

And, wrapt in bless'd retirement, measure

'Thy varied sang!

Kind, leil companion! without thee,
Ah welladay! what should I be !*
Whan jeer'd by fools wha canna see

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,
For hours thegither wilt thou bide,
Chanting auld tales o' martial pride

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
Flees trembling frae her downy nest;
Starting frae horror's dreams opprest,

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
Her simple train.

'Twas then I saw (alas! owre clear!)
Your future thriftless, lost career!
And while some blam'd, wi' boding fear,
The tunefu' art,

Your moral pride and truth sincere
Aye wan my heart.

'He ne'er can lout,' I musing said,
To ply the fleeching, fawning trade;
Nor bend the knee, nor bow the head

To walth or power!

But backward turn wi' scornfu' speed
Frae flatt'ry's door.

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!
Whar will he find a shelt'ring beild?

Whan poortith's blast drifts cross the field
Wi' wintry cauld,

What will be wone-poor feckless chield!
Whan frail and auld?

'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)
Wi' guardian honour by his side!
Shall fortune frown on guiltless pride

And straits owretake him!

-Weel! blame wha like-whate'er betide

I'se ne'er forsake him!

'Ardent I spake! and frae the day
Ye hail'd me smiling; youthfu' gay
On Aichil's whin-flower'd fragrant brae
I strave to cheer ye!

Frae morn's first dawn to e'en's last ray
I ay was near ye.

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
To prospects new.

Whan warfare ceas'd its wild uproar
To Elephanta'st far-fam'd shore

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,
To Carib's shores return'd again;
In sickness, trial, hardship, pain,

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.