They footed o'er the wat❜ry glass so neat, Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. The Genius of the Stream in front appears, Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, * A well known performer of Scottish music on the Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 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 VISION. DUAN FIRST.t THE sun had clos'd the winter day, While faithless snaws ilk step betray The thresher's weary flingin-tree *The Poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in possession of Stair. She afterwards removed to Afton-lodge on the banks of the Afton, a stream which she subsequently celebrated in a song entitled, "Afton Water."--Ed, †Duan, a term of Ossion's for the different division of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. Macpherson's translation. And when the day had clos'd his e'e, Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, An' heard the restless rattons squeak All in this mottie, misty clime, 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 Till my last breath 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 na doubt, I held my whisht; When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows; I took her for some Scottish Muse, By that same token; An' come to stop those reckless vows, A "hair-brain'd sentimental trace," A wildly-witty, rustic grace Shone full upon her; Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Down flow'd her robe, a Tartan sheen, Till half a leg was scrimply seen; And such a leg! my bonie Jean Could only peer it; 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, A well known land. 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, Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, My heart did glowing transport feel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel While back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their Southron foes. The Wallaces. |