A POEM.
43
All fresh as morn, as early summer gay,
And sweetly fragrant as the breath of May:
Health decks their comely cheeks with rosy grace,
And innocence plays cheerful o'er their face:
Love lends his pinions, swift the shepherd springs,
And to the fold the milky mothers brings. 140
Then frolic nymphs and swains with sportful glee;
Pure are their hearts, and their behaviour free:
The foaming pails, which snowy floods o'erflow,
Raised on their heads, they singing homeward go.
Such scenes adorn bright Dara's silver course,
Who amorous yields to Clyde's inferior force;
Who girds Leadhills, for wealthy mines renowned,
And Crawford's spacious downs, where flocks abound;
Where Elvin fierce, with dark Dunneeten flows,
And where his ore-stained stream Glengonnar shows. 150
Let Grecian poets sing in deathless strains,
Arcadia's mountains green, and flowery plains;
Let them with tuneful gods and shepherds throng,
And lovely nymphs, that native land of song:
Yet not famed Mænalus, great Pan's abode,
Nor fair Cyllene, by sage Hermes trod,
Prouder than Douglas' hills or Crawford's rise,
Or lift their haughty heads so near the skies:
And sweetly fragrant as the breath of May:
Health decks their comely cheeks with rosy grace,
And innocence plays cheerful o'er their face:
Love lends his pinions, swift the shepherd springs,
And to the fold the milky mothers brings. 140
Then frolic nymphs and swains with sportful glee;
Pure are their hearts, and their behaviour free:
The foaming pails, which snowy floods o'erflow,
Raised on their heads, they singing homeward go.
Such scenes adorn bright Dara's silver course,
Who amorous yields to Clyde's inferior force;
Who girds Leadhills, for wealthy mines renowned,
And Crawford's spacious downs, where flocks abound;
Where Elvin fierce, with dark Dunneeten flows,
And where his ore-stained stream Glengonnar shows. 150
Let Grecian poets sing in deathless strains,
Arcadia's mountains green, and flowery plains;
Let them with tuneful gods and shepherds throng,
And lovely nymphs, that native land of song:
Yet not famed Mænalus, great Pan's abode,
Nor fair Cyllene, by sage Hermes trod,
Prouder than Douglas' hills or Crawford's rise,
Or lift their haughty heads so near the skies:
