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To these "blue isles" may'st thou in joy return, Heav'n, and the Muse, and love, thy lot befriending;And never, never, Minstrel! may'st thou mourn Thy early hopes, thy treasur'd friendships ending:But peace, and joy, and welcome, wait thee here;And ev'ry tie to feeling bosoms dear,Still warm thy heart, and bind thy fancy moreTo these rude isles, and this wild sea-beat shore.
ON HEARING SOME OF WALTER SCOTT's POEMSRECITED BYMr. E * * * * *, ADVOCATE, EDINBURGH.LERWICK, 1814.
Oft has my soul in rapt attention hung, Oh! northern harp! upon thy witch-notes wild;Harp! by the Muse of Caledonia strung, And giv'n alone to Scott, her darling child!
The Poet's fame, to time's remotest age, Till taste and genius the wide world forsake,Shall glow undying in thy deathless page, Renown'd, and matchless "Lady of the Lake!"
