The Chief on Sark who glorious fell, In high command; And he whom ruthless fates expel His native land.

There, where a sceptred Pictish shade
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd

In colours strong;

Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd They strode along.

Through many a wild romantic grove,
Near many a hermit-fancied cove
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,
In musing mood),

An aged Judge, I saw him rove,

Dispensing good.

With deep-struck, reverential awe
The learned sire and son I saw,
By Nature's God and Nature's law

They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw; That, to adore.

Brydone's brave ward I well could spy,
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye:
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by,
To hand him on,

Where inany a patriot name on high

And hero shone.

DUAN SECOND.

WITH musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heavenly seeming fair;
A whispering throb did witness bear
Of kindred sweet,

When with an elder sister's air

She did me greet :

"All hail! my own inspired bard!
In thee thy native Muse regard;
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low!
I come to give thee such reward
As we bestow.

"Know, the great Genius of this land Has many a light, aërial band,

Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,

As Arts or Arms they understand,

Their labours ply.

"They Scotia's race among them share ; Some fire the soldier on to dare:

Some rouse the patriot up to bare

Corruption's heart:

Some teach the bard, a darling care,

The tunefu' art.

"Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, They, ardent, kindling spirits, pour; Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar,

They, sightless, stand,

To mend the honest patriot-lore,

And grace the hand.

"And when the bard, or hoary sage, Charm or instruct the future age, They bind the wild, poetic rage,

In energy,

Or point the inconclusive page

Full on the eye.

"Hence, Fullarton, the brave and young;
Hence, Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue;
Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung
His "Minstrel" lays;

Or tore, with noble ardour stung,

The sceptic's bays.

"To lower orders are assign'd

The humbler ranks of humankind,
The rustic bard, the labouring hind,
The artisan;

All choose, as various they're inclined,
The various man.

"When yellow waves the heavy grain, The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rein; Some teach to meliorate the plain,

With tillage skill;

And some instruct the shepherd-train,
Blithe o'er the hill.

"Some hint the lover's harmless wile;
Some grace the maiden's artless smile;
Some soothe the labourer's weary toil,
For humble gains,

And make his cottage-scenes beguile

His cares and pains.

"Some, bounded to a district-space, Explore at large man's infant race, To mark the embryotic trace

Of rustic bard:

And careful note each opening grace,

A guide and guard.

"Of these am I-Coila my name;
And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
Held ruling power:

I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame,

Thy natal hour.

"With future hope, I oft would gaze,
Fond, on thy little early ways,

Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase,
In uncouth rhymes,

Fired at the simple, artless lays

Of other times.

"I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar;
Or when the north his fleecy store

Drove through the sky,

I saw grim Nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.

"Or when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'd every flow'ret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth

In every grove,

I saw thee eye the general mirth

With boundless love.

"When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, I saw thee leave their evening joys,

And lonely stalk,

To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk.

"When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong,
Keen-shivering 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, send thee Pleasure's devious way,
Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray,

By passion driven;

But yet the light that led astray

Was light from Heaven.

"I taught thy manners-painting strains, The loves, the ways of simple swains, Till now, o'er all my wide domains

Thy fame extends;

And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
Become thy friends.

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; Or wake the bosom-melting throe,

With Shenstone's art; Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow

Warm on the heart.