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THE VISION.

There, distant shone Art's lofty boast,-
The lordly dome.

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds:

Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,

On to the shore ;

And

many a lesser torrent scuds,

With seeming roar.

Low, in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient Borough rear'd her head;

Still, as in Scottish story read,

She boasts a race,

To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,

And polish'd grace.

By stately tow'r or palace fair,

Or ruins pendant in the air,

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there,

I could discern ;

Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,
With feature stern.

THE VISION.

My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a race (30) heroic wheel,

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel

In sturdy blows ;

While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their Southern foes.

His COUNTRY'S SAVIOUR, (31) mark him well! Bold Richardton's (32) heroic swell;

The chief on Sark (33) who glorious fell,
In high command;

And He whom ruthless Fates expel

His native land...

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade (34) Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,

I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd

In colours strong;

Bold, soldier-featur'd undismay'd

They strode along.

(35) Thro

many a wild, romantic grove,

Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,

(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love,

In musing mood)

THE VISION.

An aged Judge, I saw him rove,

Dispensing good.

(36) With deep-struck reverential awe The learned Sire and Son I saw,

To Nature's God and Nature's law

They gave their lore,

This, all its source and end to draw,

That, to adore.

Brydon's brave Ward (37) I well could spy,

Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;

Who call'd on Fame, low standing by,

To hand him on,

Where many a Patriot-name on high

And Hero shone.

DUAN SECOND.

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heavenly-seeming fair;
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear

Of kindred sweet,

When with an elder Sister's air

She did me greet.

THE VISION,

All hail! my own inspired Bard; In me my native Muse regard! 'Nor longer mourn thy fate is heard,

Thus poorly low!

'I come to give thee such reward

'As we bestow.

'Know, the great Genius of this Land

'Has many a light, ærial band,

Who, all beneath his high command, 6 Harmoniously,

'As Arts or Arms they understand,

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• Their labours ply.

They Scotia's race among them share;

< Some fire the soldier on to dare;

'Some rouse the Patriot up to bare

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"Corruption's heart:

Some teach the Bard, a darling care,

The tuneful art.

'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,

They ardent, kindling spirits pour;

< Or, mid the venal Senate's roar,

They, sightless, stand,

THE VISION.

• To mend the honest Patriot-lore,

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And when the Bard, or hoary Sage,
Charm or instruct the future age,

They bind the wild, poetic rage

• In energy,

Or point the inconclusive page,

Full on the

eye.

< Hence Fullarton, the brave and young; Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue; Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung

"His "Minstrel lays ;"

Or tore, with noble ardour stung,

To lower orders

< The Sceptic's bays.

sare assign'd

**The humbler ranks of Humankind,

The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind,

The Artisan ;

All chuse, as various they're inclin'd,

The various man.

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