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No. IV.

A POEM by the Reverend Mr Bradfute, referred to in the Illustrations: From the Seventeenth Volume of the Statistical History, entitled

A MORNING WALK

At New Hall, in Mid-Lothian,

The Seat of Robert Brown, Esq. Advocate.

Written in 1784,

By the Reverend Mr BRADFUTE, author of the Statistical Account of Dunsyre in Clydesdale; of an Essay on the Fisheries, in the Transactions of the Highland Society of Scotland; and the intimate friend of Sir James Clerk of Pennecuik.

WAKED by the morning rays from fleeting dreams, I leave the couch inviting to repose,

To trace the SCENES which Nature spreads around; To please the eye or animate the soul,

With recollections drawn from ancient times.

We enter first the Glen, adorned with trees,
Where varied shades and pleasing groves delight
The warbling birds that perch on every spray.
The lulling murmurs of the distant Esk,
At bottom of the woods salute the ear;
Beyond, the rising heights covered with woods,
And interspersed with jutting rocks, invite

The eye to trace, in Beauty's waving line,

The vivid landscape, rich with deepening shades Which here o'erhang the glassy glittering stream, 'Till from the widening vale the country opes.

The winding path now leads us thro' the wood, Where Esk pours forth her silver-flowing tide, In sweet retirement, and sequestered shade.

We then approach the opening of the trees Where now the rustic swain enjoys the banks, Happy and blythe, not far his humble Cot, Clothed with the shining straw, whose white-washed

walls

Appear contrasted with the ivy's green.

Before the door, the partner of his cares

Turns swift the wheel, and tunes the Scottish song,
Eying askance her young ones on the grass,
Lest they too near approach the river's bank:
The cattle spread around, now browse the herbs,
Loaded with dews delightful to the taste;

The watchful dog guards well the ripened corns,
And saves the treasures for his master's use.
Near this a pleasant rivulet glides along,

Falls from the height, and forms the bright cascade, Where hollow rocks surround the foaming pool, And form a shade to screen the mid-day sun.

From this we mount the bank to view the Lake, With shining surface drawn from crystal springs, Land-locked and smooth, where oft the finny tribe Rise at the glittering fly with eager taste.

We now return, and trace the river's banks, Studded with cowslips, and with copsewoods crowned.

Beyond, the prospect's barren all and wild, With hollow glens and deep-sequestered lawns.

Now all at once, far up another glen,
'Midst awful solitudes and darksome dells,
A high tremendous Rock erects his front:
On near approach, we found it deeply marked
With venerable names, of those who fled,
In Charles's hapless days, the haunts of men,
Pursued by unrelenting bands, who sought
Their death, and waged ignoble war unjust.
Here sad the preacher stood with solemn pause,
To mark, with outstretched arm, the sombre heath,
The field of Scottish and of English wars;

Or what more near concerned the listening crowd,
To point the fatal spot on Pentland Hills,
Where many a ploughman-warrior fought and fell.

Slowly we turn and leave these gloomy scenes, Sacred to sighs and deepest heartfelt woe,

To seek the pleasing banks and purling rill

Where copsewood thickets cheer the wandering eye, Where honeysuckle with the birch entwines.

We enter now from hence the western glen, Through which the murmuring Esk pours forth his stream,

And view a pastoral and more pleasant scene,
Sacred to Fame, and deemed now classic ground.
'Twas here a beautiful recess was found;
And hence arose the scene of HABBIE'S How,
Where now appears, betwixt two birks, the lin
That, falling, forms the pool where bathed the maids,
Whilst here upon the green their cloth they laid.
Here on a seat reclined, screened from the sun
By hazle shrubs and honeysuckle flowers,

You sit at ease, and recollect the song,
While sportive Fancy imagery supplies.

Following the stream, we view those happy spots, Where GLAUD and SYMON dwelt in times of old, And passed the joke over the nut-brown ale; Where old SIR WILLIAM cheered poor Peggy's

heart,

And gave her yielding, to her Patie's arms.—
Thy pen, O RAMSAY! sweetest pastoral bard!
Alone was fit to paint the pleasing tale,

And teach mankind the charms of rural life!

No. V.

ORIGINAL POEMS,

On the Scenary of the Gentle Shepherd,
Connected with the Illustrations.

THE MANSION.

"Gray on the bank

"By aged pines, half sheltered from the wind,
"A homely Mansion rose, of antique form,
"For ages batter'd by the polar storm."

Macpherson's OSSIAN. Frag. of a N. Tale.

WITH pinnacles, and chimneys, rising high Above its roof in numbers great, there stands An aged MANSION, built in gothic taste, Though light and airy as the Greek refined, And wildly suited to the scenes around *.

Across the front, there stretches, to the north,
And west, as far as eye can reach, a ridge
Of hills of various shapes; retiring some,
And some advancing, conic some with heath
Of sable hue o'erspread, and cairn'd a top,
Memorials rude of Druid festivals,

* See the Description of NEW-HALL HOUSE; View of the WASHING GREEN; MAP; &c.

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