A POEM.
165
Pride of the martial and the lettered world;
And in thy fair-limbed daughters, o'er whose cheek
Breathes blooming nature, sprightly beauties breathe;
Of azure mild their eye; the sighing loves
But just disclose the roses of their lips:
White as the driven snow their polished teeth;
Their parted bosom, with luxuriant youth
Heaves wild; and full proportion crowns the whole: 190
Nor more adorned in body, than in mind;
Of taste refined; of graceful manners plain;
Of warm unspotted faith, and feeling heart;
Whom household cares delight, the best of mates.
No lion here the traveller assails
With midnight roar; nor ruthless panther gnars;
Here prowl no wolves, and here the tusky boars
Razed out of all thy woods, as trophies hung,
Grin high emblazoned on thy childrens shields.
But trusty household guardians, mastiffs fell, 200
Nightly to watch the walls, throughout abound;
Stout terriers, that in high-hilled Sutherland
Beat up the wild-cat's lodge, and badgers rouse;
And russet blood-hounds, wont, near Annand's stream,
To trace the sly thief with avenging foot,
Close as an evil conscience, still at hand;
And in thy fair-limbed daughters, o'er whose cheek
Breathes blooming nature, sprightly beauties breathe;
Of azure mild their eye; the sighing loves
But just disclose the roses of their lips:
White as the driven snow their polished teeth;
Their parted bosom, with luxuriant youth
Heaves wild; and full proportion crowns the whole: 190
Nor more adorned in body, than in mind;
Of taste refined; of graceful manners plain;
Of warm unspotted faith, and feeling heart;
Whom household cares delight, the best of mates.
No lion here the traveller assails
With midnight roar; nor ruthless panther gnars;
Here prowl no wolves, and here the tusky boars
Razed out of all thy woods, as trophies hung,
Grin high emblazoned on thy childrens shields.
But trusty household guardians, mastiffs fell, 200
Nightly to watch the walls, throughout abound;
Stout terriers, that in high-hilled Sutherland
Beat up the wild-cat's lodge, and badgers rouse;
And russet blood-hounds, wont, near Annand's stream,
To trace the sly thief with avenging foot,
Close as an evil conscience, still at hand;
