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'Twas thine, my sorrowing soul to soothe, When rack'd and torn by many a grief,My rugged, slipp'ry path to smooth, And give my swelling heart relief.
Farewell, my friend! may peace be thine, Content, and health, and love, and joy;And never may a grief like mine, Dear girl! thy bosom's peace alloy!
TO ELIZA L. G. SUTHERLAND. 1810.
The sky is blue, the fields are gay, And calm the bosom of the deep;Then wilt thou come with me, and stray By Tomnahurich's haunted steep?
When gain'd the steep ascent we'll pause, And rest us on the mossy ground,While fancy's ready pencil draws The little fairies dancing round.
Though high the scorching sun may glow, And steep and weary is the way,The lovely scenes that spread below Shall all our labour well repay.
