POEMS 167 



An ever-varying scene the road displays, 

 With horsemen, thundering stage, and stately team, 

 Now burning with the sun's resplendent rays. 

 Now lost in clouds of dust the travellers seen. 

 And now a lengthen'd pond or miry stream. 

 Deep sink the wheels, and slow they drag along. 

 Journeying to town, with butter, apples, cream, 

 Fowls, eggs, and fruit, in many a motley throng, 

 Coop'd in their little carts their various truck among. 



And yonder, nestled in enclustVing trees. 

 Where many a rose-bush round the green yard glows, 

 Waird from the road, with seats for shade and ease, 

 A yellow-fronted cottage sweetly shows: 

 The towering poplars rise in spiry rows. 

 And green catalpas, white with branchy flowers ; 

 Her matron arms a weeping willow throws 

 Wide o'er the dark green grass, and pensive lours. 

 Midst plum-trees, pillar'd hops, and honey-suckle bow- 

 ers. 



Here dwells the guardian of these younglings gay, 

 A strange recluse and solitary wight, 

 In Britain's isle, on Scottish mountains gray. 

 His infant eyes first open'd to the light. 

 His parents saw with partial fond delight 

 Unfolding genius crown their fostering care. 

 And talk'd with tears of that enrapturing sight. 

 When, clad in sable gown, with solemn air. 

 The walls of God's own house should echo back his 

 pray'r. 



Dear smiling Hope ! to thy enchanting hand, 

 What cheering joys, what ecstasies we owe ! 

 Touch'd by the magic of thy fairy wand. 

 Before us spread, what heavenly prospects glow ! 



