II. COMPOSED AT CORA LINN, IN SIGHT OF WALLACE'S Tower. How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower, All over his dear Country; left the deeds To people the steep rocks and river banks, MS. LORD of the Vale! astounding Flood! And yet how fair the rural scene ! For thou, O Clyde, hast ever been Beneficent as strong; Pleased in refreshing dews to steep Hence all who love their country, love Along thy banks, at dead of night Aloft, beneath the Moon's pale beam, But clouds and envious darkness hide A Form not doubtfully descried: Their transient mission o'er, : O say to what bind region flee Less than divine command they spurn; That never will they deign to hold The man of abject soul in vain That still invests the guardian Pass, Nor deem that it can aught avail Where Tell once drew, by Uri's lake, III. EFFUSION, IN THE PLEASURE-GROUND ON THE BANKS OF THE BRAN, NEAR DUNKELD. "The waterfall, by a loud roaring, warned us when we must 66 expect it. We were first, however, conducted into a small 66 apartment where the Gardener desired us to look at the " picture of Ossian, which, while he was telling the history of "the young Artist who executed the work, disappeared, parting "in the middle flying asunder as by the touch of magic "and lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid apartment, "which was almost dizzy and alive with waterfalls, that "tumbled in all directions; the great cascade, opposite the "window, which faced us, being reflected in innumerable "mirrors upon the ceilings and against the walls." Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-Traveller. WHAT He who, mid the kindred throng Of Heroes that inspired his song, Doth yet frequent the hill of storms, The Stars dim-twinkling through their forms! What! Ossian here - a painted Thrall, Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall; To serve an unsuspected screen For show that must not yet be seen; And, when the moment comes, to part A gay Saloon, with waters dancing Not stripped, nor voiceless in the Mirrors, When disenchanted from the mood O Nature, in thy changeful visions, Through all thy most abrupt transitions, Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime, Ever averse to Pantomime, |