FINE ARTS. 415 



When, rapt in thought, in lov'd retirement bless'd; 

 From the warm impulse stirring in her breast ; 

 Her rhymes spontaneous and her offering free : 

 Such ever should the praise of Virtue be. 



All other treasures are precarious things, 

 Which, in the storms of life, find rapid wings. 

 The bandag'd eyes of Fortune plainly show 

 Her favours, often misdirected, flow : 

 The speaking symbol, her revolving wheel. 

 Betrays what Moralists, in sadness, feel : 

 The highest on the dangerous round, to-day, 

 With riches, troops of friends, and honour'd sway, 

 May, by a single turn, be stripp'd of all, 

 And to the lowest of privations fall. 

 No state from worldly losses is secur'd ; 

 Ev'n kings and princes have the worst endur'd. 



Not so, the nobler treasures of the soul, 

 The poet's gifts, beyond the world's control ; 

 His voice, his inspiration, fi'om on high, 

 The changes of adversity defy; 

 His rank and title, in the evil day, 

 These — Fortune cannot give^ nor take away. 



Now to my aim. — I note the district not ; 

 Nor would it signify to point the spot; 

 In Yorkshire, Durham, Perthshire, if you will. 

 Or any Scottish county farther still ; 

 From THREE, possess'd of talents, rank, and power, 

 I drew a fancy-picture of an hour : 

 But what its scope is, here, in silence seal'd, 

 To be hereafter pleasantly reveal'd. 

 This ancient license poets freely use, 

 Who seek to rouse attention by a ruse ; 

 And Critics, prone to censure all that's ill, 

 Deem it a test of true inventive skill. 

 No matter in what land the scene is cast. 

 To keep the plot uncertain to the last. 



First of the three, good Ronald, in the gout, 

 Could not, to gain an empire, venture out ; 

 Physicians, opiates, nurses, silent gloom. 

 With melancholy shade the patient's room ; 

 All free communion is beyond his pow'r, 

 Who counts each evening on his mortal hour. 

 Friends, Tenants, Rich and Poor, his sufF 'rings share. 

 And raise their eyes to Heav'n in fervent prayer; 

 Short would his racking malady endure, 

 If genuine sympathy could work a cure. 



Near Rockmount as I roam'd, in cheerful mood, 

 And marked each hill and dale and shad'wy wood, 

 The browsing herds, the sky of lovely blue, 

 And from the breeze, fresh health and pleasure drew. 

 What variegated beauties spread around ! 

 What inspiration in the murmuring sound 

 Of gliding waters and the songs of love, 

 From the sweet warblers in the lonely grove ! 

 All Nature charm'd my eye or sooth'd my ear; 

 The sober grandeur of the waning year ; 

 The noon-day sun, majestic in its course. 

 Of vivifying heat and light the source : 



