V W W h A P（1 / 1）

verses written with a pencil

over the chiney—piece the parlour of the n at kenore, tayouth

adirg nature her wildest grace,

these northern scenes with weary feet i trace;

o&039;er any a dg dale and paful steep,

th&039; abodes of vey&039;d groe and tiid sheep,

y sava journey, curio, i pursue,

till fa&039;d breadalbane opens to y view—

the etg cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,

the woods wild scatter&039;d, clothe their aple sides;

th&039; outstretchg ke, ibod &039;ong the hills,

the eye with wonder and aazent fills;

the tay and&039;rg sweet fant pride,

the pace risg on his verdant side,

the wns wood-frg&039;d nature&039;s native taste,

the hillocks dropt nature&039;s careless haste,

the arches stridg o&039;er the new-born strea,

the vil glitterg the noontide bea—

poetic ardours y bo swell,

lone wand&039;rg by the herit&039;s ossy cell;

the sweepg theatre of hangg woods,

th&039; cessant roar of headlong tublg floods—

here poesy ight wake her heav&039;n-taught lyre,

and look through nature with creative fire;

here, to the wrongs of fate half rencil&039;d,

isfortunes lighten&039;d steps ight wander wild;

and disappotnt, these lonely bounds,

fd bal to othe her bitter, ranklg wounds:

here heart-struck grief ight heav&039;nward stretch her scan,

and jur&039;d worth fet and pardon an