Poems (Sewell)/On Reading Dr, Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides
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ON READINGDr. JOHNSON'S TOURTOTHE HEBRIDES.
In various climes, beyond the pow'rs of Art,
Still lib'ral Nature plays her friendly part.
Britannia's clime, her plenteous soil may boast,
And her fair garden decks Italia's coast!
Ev'n sultry India owns her lib'ral care,
And fragrant plants perfume the conscious air.
Nor thou, oh Scotland! mourn thy dreary lot,
Nor deem thy niggard clime was quite forgot:
What tho' thy shaggy cliffs and desart plain,
Seem widely spread in Sorrow's sad domain;
What tho' thy trav'ller dreads the piercing blast,
Eas'd are his toils, by courtesy, at last!
How sweet the social smile, which cheers a guest,
And soothes the stealing hour of welcome rest!—
O blame not Nature!—ev'n here she's kind,
But gave her beauties to the cultur'd mind;
Thy sons she made (blest country!) bold and free,
And grac'd thy daughters, sweet Macleod, like thee!
Still lib'ral Nature plays her friendly part.
Britannia's clime, her plenteous soil may boast,
And her fair garden decks Italia's coast!
Ev'n sultry India owns her lib'ral care,
And fragrant plants perfume the conscious air.
Nor thou, oh Scotland! mourn thy dreary lot,
Nor deem thy niggard clime was quite forgot:
What tho' thy shaggy cliffs and desart plain,
Seem widely spread in Sorrow's sad domain;
What tho' thy trav'ller dreads the piercing blast,
Eas'd are his toils, by courtesy, at last!
How sweet the social smile, which cheers a guest,
And soothes the stealing hour of welcome rest!—
O blame not Nature!—ev'n here she's kind,
But gave her beauties to the cultur'd mind;
Thy sons she made (blest country!) bold and free,
And grac'd thy daughters, sweet Macleod, like thee!