Poems (Campbell)/Inchdorrock
INCHDORROCK[1].
Inchdorrock, through thy fairy glade, By heav'nly contemplation led, The young enthusiast oft shall rove, And muse within thy Druid grove. And once among thy groves I stray'd, And by thy swiftly rushing river;But I no more shall seek thy shade— Adieu, sweet grove, and vale, for ever!
Thy wilderness of shrubs and flow'rs, That drink the balmy summer show'rs, And forest-branches bending low To catch the breezes as they blow;All beam as bright on fancy's eye, As when, amid thy beauties straying,I mark'd fair Nessa gliding by, The sun-beams on her blue-waves playing:
Or clamb'ring up the mountain's side, To pull the briar-rose' blushing pride; Or the wild strawb'rry, ruby red, To gather from its verdant bed;Or further down the deep'ning way, My soul to pensive thought resigning,Where the sweet woodbine's blossom'd spray Round the dark Scottish fir was twining.
Delightful spot!—ah, never more These feet shall press thy verdant shore; Or mark thy wild-flow'rs as they spring, Or hear thy woodland-warblers sing!Then why recal these fairy scenes, With such a tender, fond emotion?Oh! they must charm while mem'ry reigns, Or Nessa's blue-waves seek the ocean!
Yet wherefore sing their beauties here, 'Mid barren rocks, and vallies drear? Ah! why, but that they paint so fair The lovelier scenes remember'd there:Tor still, thy Druid groves among, (Altars to worth and virtue rearing),Fancy pourtrays the taste of Young, In many a moral charm appearing.
Though all unskilful is the hand That strikes the lyre on Thule's strand, Long since, best patron! but for thee, That hand and lyre had ceas'd to be—And spurn not thou, though late, the lay Of liveliest gratitude the token—The lyre is strung, far, far away— The hand is weak—the heart is broken!
Full soon, these barren rocks among, That simple lyre shall lie unstrung; Sorrow awoke its earliest lay, And sorrow shrouds its closing day.Among Inchdorrock's rising groves, Where health with ev'ry breeze is blending,Be thine, with happiness to rove, Virtue and peace thy steps attending!
And there may happier lyres be strung, And happier lays for thee be sung, Float o'er the stream, and sweetly swell The echoes of thy fairy dell, And may that lov'd and lovely flow'r[2] Thy fond paternal hand is rearing,Acquire new graces ev'ry hour, And ev'ry charm and grace endearing.
Oft through Inchdorrock's fragrant grove, With him, may youth and beauty rove— And seldom may his wand'ring feet Be lur'd from such a calm retreat:Or if his youthful heart beats high To leave awhile his native mountains—To rove beneath a brighter sky, Through foreign groves, by foreign fountains—
Oh! may they but enhance the more Britannia's wave-encircled shore, Dear Caledonia's mountain rills, Her forests brown, and misty hills:And when thy closing hour is near, Upon his filial breast reposingMay Death as fair and calm appear As if sweet sleep thine eyes were closing!
Inchdorrock! heave thy branches high, And bid thy balmiest zephyrs sigh; Unfold thy flowers of ev'ry hue, And roll, sweet stream! thy waters blue Wave, ye fair fields! with golden corn, Ye fruit-trees! with your load be bending;And o'er the valley, eve and morn, Be dews prolific still descending!
Inchdorrock! to thy groves adieu! These eyes no more thy groves shall view; Save when perchance, in midnight dream To wander 'neath their shade I seem;Or think I climb thy flow'ry brae, Or hear the murmur of thy river—But, ah! the vision flits with night away— Adieu, sweet spot! adieu for ever!
- ↑ Inchdorrock, or Inchdarrach, (the corner or place of oaks); a beautiful and romantic spot, on the banks of the river Ness, Inverness shire. It is the property of Mr. Young, Bookseller, of Inverness: a gentleman to whom the Authoress is most deeply and lastingly indebted.
- ↑ Hugh Frazer Young, Mr. Young's only child—a very interesting and promising boy.