Were there reserved to moisten strangers' throats, After regaling here with sober cann, 1 And to M'Laren's 1 march'd, where roasted lamb, Thus having sacrificed a jocund hour Now still returning eve creep'd gradual on, With all the pomp and pageantry of state, For one poor moment wean your thought from these, 1 An innkeeper somewhat notable in his "day and generation." And list this humble strain. If you, like us, Paid by the watchful cock; or be compell'd frame: For twenty tedious miles; then should the Gout THE DECAY OF FRIENDSHIP. A PASTORAL ELEGY. WHEN gold, man's sacred deity, did smile, My friends were plenty, and my sorrows few; Mirth, love, and bumpers did my hours beguile, And arrowed Cupids round my slumbers flew. What shepherd then could boast more happy days? Flattery alluring as the Syren's lay, And as deceitful thy enchanting tongue, My pleasant cottage, shelter'd from the gale, リ And scarce a flow'ret in my lowly vale, But was with bees of various colours crown'd. Free o'er my lands the neighbouring flocks could roam; How welcome were the swains and flocks to me! The shepherds kindly were invited home, To chase the hours in merriment and glee. To wake emotions in the youthful mind, Strephon with voice melodious tuned the song; Each sylvan youth the sounding chorus join'd, Fraught with contentment midst the festive throng. My clust'ring grape compensed their magic skill, Spontaneous gurgling from the mountain's side. [The shady arbour, and refreshing breeze, In circling eddies, crown'd their noon-day toil; The sweets of rural elegance and ease, Survey'd their pleasures with applauding smile. 1] But ah! these youthful sportive hours are fled; No healing slumbers tend my humble bed, And what avail the thoughts of former joy! Can they the canker-worm of care destroy, 1 I restore this stanza from the original. He who hath long traversed the fertile plain, When lonely wand'ring o'er the barren wild? [When, from the summit of a towering hill, My seats of former happiness I spy, The tears of sorrow o'er my cheeks distil, While mournful thoughts the gushing streams supply. 1] For now pale poverty, with haggard eye Thus, when fair summer's lustre gilds the lawn, The birds with melody salute the dawn, And o'er the daisy hangs the humming bee. But when the beauties of the circling year To the lone corner of some distant shore, There solitary saunter o'er the beach, And to the murm'ring surge my griefs disclose; 1 I restore this stanza from the original. There shall my voice in plaintive wailings teach Sweet are the waters to the parched tongue; Adieu, ye fields! where I have fondly strayed, WRITTEN AT THE HERMITAGE OF BRAID, NEAR EDINBURGH. [It was among the Braid hills that Burns was wont to walk with Professor Stewart: and it was the scenery which excited the muse of Fergusson that made him beautifully say to the Professor, "that the sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his mind, which none could understand who had not witnessed, like himself, the happiness and worth which they contained." The 'Hermitage' stands in the secluded low ground near the Braid Burn. An engraving of it was published by Storer and Greig.] WOULD you relish a rural retreat, Or the pleasure the groves can inspire? The city's allurements forget, To this spot of enchantment retire. Where a valley and crystalline brook, The beautiful woodlands among. |