verses written with a pencil
over the ey—pie the parlour of the inn at keaymouth.
admiring nature in her wildest grace,
these northern ses 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 divides,
the woods wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides;
th' outstretg ke, imbosomed 'mong the hills,
the eye with wonder and amazement fills;
the tay meand&# sweet in infant pride,
the pace rising on his verdant side,
the wns wo'd in nature's native taste,
the hillocks dropt in nature's careless haste,
the arches striding o'er the new-born stream,
the vilge glittering in the noontide beam—
poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
lone wand&# by the hermit's mossy cell;
the sweeping theatre of hanging woods,
th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods—
here poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre,
and look through nature with creative fire;
here, to the wrongs of fate half recil'd,
misfortunes lighten'd steps might wander wild;
and disappoi, in these lonely bounds,
find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds:
here heart-struck grief might heav'nward stretch her s,
and injur'd worth fet and pardon man.