THE SCOTTISH VILLAGE : OR , PITCAIRNE GREEN . WHY weeps the Genius of the arid waste , Bending thus pensive from her fulgent sky ? Can beings pure like thee of sorrow taste — Those next to Angel ever breathe a sigh ! Sage , yet unlearn'd ! 'tis now thy hour to know That the dear privilege to feel — to sigh — To bid the tear from sacred pity flow , Is not alone for man , or earth-form'd eye . Where the pre-eminence that Angels boast , If coldly conscious , in eternal rest They form a bright , insensate , vap'ry host By Heav'n's most precious gift to FEEL unblest ? The keenest feelings of the human mind Exist more keenly in the angelic frame , More elevated , poignant , and refin'd — As earth's more sordid than ethereal flame . Wonder not therefore that an Angel's brows Thus drooping , should no cheering lustre shed ; But give attention — so thy fate allows ! Whilst I record the woes for which it fled . Behold this plain , stretch'd by Creation's hand , When each chaotic element arous'd Sprung forth elastic at the dread command — Fled to its home , and there obedient hous'd . Since that first instant of the young-born time , Guiltless the moments of this plain have run ; Each closing year , and summer's happy prime , In sweet simplicity its hours have spun . The yellow broom that gilds its farthest bounds , And verdant carpet softly spread between , Mark , where light fairies nightly trip their rounds , Happy to gambol secret and unseen . Here calmest zephires waft their airy wings , And birds of solitude flit musing by , And sometimes too the bird that sweetly sings , Chants forth its pleasures to the lucid sky ; — Whilst in the blushing chambers of the west , A thousand tender dies their tints prepare , Which rapidly th' horizon round invest , Streaming prismatic glories thro' the air ! That russet mountain , on whose farthest side The modest beams of morn first ever play , Till from its top the ardent sun looks down , And gilds the valley with a bolder ray — Owns in its riven base a cavern dank , Where oozing , filter'd drops of doubtful green , Harden'd , suspended , hang like willows lank , A sparkling , jewell'd , vegetative scene ! In that resplendent grove a hermit read Mysterious nature's laws that never swerve , His life , the virtues and religion led To sanctify the space you now observe . Here , rapt in SECOND SIGHT he frequent saw The future scene appear , and fade away ; His country groan beneath the feudal law , Or glut with power , the tyrant of the day : Its neighbour England with irruptive bands Watching each turn , and shadings of its fate , To bind with manacles its warlike hands , And make it feodal to her haughtier state . At length with pride he saw his Scotland give Monarchs , to wear its rival's splendid crown ; Blest in THE UNION , saw each kingdom live — Bound in one Empire — tasting one Renown ! Sacred , to visions grand like these , was kept The varied circle this horizon bounds , And when with Seers long past , the Hermit slept , Still shadowy visitants breath'd heav'nly sounds . 'Twas thus when feuds unfilial tore the land , And horrid war her crimson flag unfurl'd , And dread rebellion , with its sanguine hand , Midst peaceful swains its sharpest mis'ries hurl'd — 'Twas thus this hallow'd spot misfortune spar'd , Nor war nor mis'ry in its precincts dwelt , No cry of woe its peaceful bound'ries scar'd , No mother by her bleeding offspring knelt . Did turbid clans e'er press this mossy heath , Have rival Thanes here proudly clash'd the shield ? 'Twas not with hostile thoughts , nor vows of death , They came not here to conquer , but to yield . Here hath the oath of mutual peace been bound , Here melting Chiefs their melting foes embrace , And all the sounds that martial joy breathes round , Erst , have reach'd Heaven , from this selected place . But rolling years have drawn their veil between , Nay ages , born of ages , past away , Since the soft calm which blest this modest green , Knew the loud clamours of a martial day : Repose and peace have hover'd near , Whilst vice and shame their haunts at distance keep ; Unknown alike to violence , and fear , Here terrors shrink not , and no sorrows weep . But now approacheth fast the hour of change ; E'en whilst I speak , the scene I vaunt is past ; Here shall no more the feath'ry fairies range — The late nocturnal revel , was their last ! See , quick advance the num'rous motley croud , Mechanics , Pedants , Traders pour along ; Their joy breaks forth in carols rude and loud , And beauty's presence animates the song . The verdant face of this once happy plain , The sharp-tooth'd mattock shall deform and tear , That evil first , and then an endless train , Follow the footsteps of yon graceful Fair ! They bid ! The future Town , submissive to their will , Rises from Earth , and spreads its skirts around — Oh ! that the marble , in its quarry still , Unhewn , unform'd , had kept its rest profound ! With it , the social evils all rush in , Th' opposing passions that distract mankind , The blazon'd crime , the sly , well-cover'd sin , Nor will one petty vice remain behind . Slander , and avarice , and pen'ry scant , The proud man's scorn , the rich man's sturdy mien , Wide-squand'ring luxury , and pallid want , All haste to form the varied , wretched scene . And shall the mighty woes of hapless love Be here unfelt ; the heart not here be torn ? Oh no ! in all their violence they'll rove — Swains shall betray , and maidens feel their scorn . Already sure , the dismal sounds I hear , The broken vow accus'd , the rending sigh — Ah see ! the love-lorn stretch'd upon her bier , Rent from all joy , she only knew to die ! False friendship too , spreads out its close-wove net , And stabs the trusting with a barbed spear ; Its arrows , black ingratitude has set — Yonder a robber skulks ; a murd'rer here ! Ah , canst thou wonder , Sage ! I mourn the hour ? Thou'st heard the cause that swell'd my starting tear ; Haste and reflect within thy secret bower — Ponder the change , and be thy grief sincere ! Here paus'd the Genius ! Age bent low its head , Its hoary tresses floating on the wind ; Oh bright Intelligence ! then firmly said , Permit a mortal to unveil his mind . Sad is your prophecy , and oh too sure Fate will its utmost latitude fill up ; Each promis'd ill 'tis fix'd we must endure , And drink from sorrow's still replenish'd cup ; — But not unmix'd the bitter draught shall flow , Not unallay'd the hov'ring mis'ries sting , Felicities shall blunt the sense of woe , And o'er it , joys their downy mantle fling . If social evils overspread thy plain , The social blessings too will haste along , And on the spot where vice shall lead its train , Illustrious virtues eagerly shall throng . Yonder rude circuit , where th' obtrusive fern In " sullen vegetation " chills the glance , A few revolving halcyon months shall turn To an all-cheering , lucid , gay expanse . SCOTLAND's GRAND STAPLE there shall glad the sight , Courting the blanching beams of day's bright orb , Who'll give enduring lustre to its white , And ev'ry slight impurity absorb : There from the loom the costly web be brought , By Pallas taught in soft festoons to rise ; Which late from Belgia , distant kingdoms sought , But now 'tis Caledonia grants the prize ! There the rich damask spread its fruit and flowers , For royal tables , and for halls of state : There the transparent lawn display its powers , To soften beauty , and new charms create . Proud Manchester will here her fame divide , Her varied works , her fashion , and her taste ; This , bind in snowy vest Horatio's side , That , flow in graceful folds from Chloe's waist . The stripe so well dispos'd , the glowing bloom Which overspreads the whole , shall here be seen : Go MANCHESTER , and weep thy slighted loom — Its arts are cherish'd now on PI'TCAIRNE GREEN ! For these , whilst Labour chants her jocund song , Shall foreign prows be pointed to our shores ; Each rival port our ample harbours throng , Pouring its tribute , for our native stores . Thus blest , this village shall some unborn age Behold a city , grac'd with many a dome ; Of note in commerce , and of arts the stage , Where taste industrious , ne'er shall want a home . If here the craving miser heaps his gold , And frowns upon the shiv'ring needy wretch ; Here shall benevolence her charger hold , And pity , wide her fost'ring arms outstretch . Soft elegance shall bid around us rise The spell all feel , but never can describe , Scarce tangible by thought , the pen it flies , Pride cannot catch it , nor importance bribe ; — Not sense , not loveliness , nor wealth , nor wit , But form'd of all , the charming phantom rose , Adorns each time and place with graces fit , But in domestic hours supremely glows ! And who like Scotland's daughters so prepar'd To spread the fascinating sweet around ? When thro' the Sex , great Nature beauty shar'd , Who knows not , here the richest gift was found ? Thus , tho' disast'rous love should find a grave , Or mourn the violated vow of bliss , Yet here shall faithful Love the maiden save , And parents cheer her with the nuptial kiss . The song of rapture shall the bridegroom pour , As oft he wanders thro' the sunny glades , And brides shall bless the sacred binding hour ; Whisp'ring their transports in the secret shades ; For shades SHALL be , where now the thistle red Spreads o'er the heath its slender prickly stalks ; And where the tangley furze conceals its bed , There shall the grove divide its tepid If this word is objected to , it may be recollected , that though a grove in Africa would be cool , in Scotland it must be warm . walks . For Nature's self to Commerce ever yields , Commerce , whose power each hemisphere adorns — Which bids the dunny heath bloom forth in fields , And in the Desert pours the Naiades' urns . Yes , that blest power will here exert her force , And wooing sterile nature to its arms , Bid stranger riv'lets wind their silv'ry course , And native moors conceal with foreign charms . But happier still ! LEARNING shall raise the pile Design'd the fret of ages to withstand ; Within , the classic scholar form his stile , And pour instruction thro' the list'ning land . Ah ! from its walls some future sage may burst To charm or awe the centuries to come ; A THOMSON in its cells be haply nurs'd , A BLAIR shed splendor o'er the chosen dome . The Lawgiver from thence shall draw the seeds Of growing honour , dignity , and fame , Here shall ensure the future splendid meeds , That crown his labours , and extend his name . A MANSFIELD , ERSKINE , LOUGHBOROUGH shall rise , The boast of genius in untasted times , Spreading our glory round the distant skies , And mark us ENVIED by more happy climes . Philosophy's profound disciples too , Shall in its ayles a new Lyceum find ; Platonic ethics , system plain , and true , Shall there be honour'd in the tutor'd mind . A HUME ! — a second HUME from thence may shine , In lustre like the first , but oh his heart Shall humbly melt before Religion's shrine , And prompt his talents to a better part ! A ROBERTSON shall bid the copious stream Of long-collected knowledge fill his page ; Dark ages make with light reverted gleam , And bright-stept freedom trace from stage to stage . So a vast reservoir's compacted flood To bless a famish'd people spends its wealth , Pours out itself to renovate their blood — By Heaven supplied with future stores of health . A polish'd STUART too will then be known , To scatter roses o'er the slander'd Fair ; To bind the cypress round the riven crown , And steal our tears , for miseries so rare ! His name shall ever tender Beauty prize First , in the climax of the literate few , Who from the mold of time still bright arise , And ev'ry rapid cent'ry keep in view . And ah ! whilst future Bayes luxuriant spread , Shall not the Myrtle in our gardens glow ? Yes ; whilst the laurel crowns the manly head , The blossoms for the fair shall gladlier blow . A Scottish SEWARD shall demand the prize — She from whose pensive and mellifluous throat , Where e'er misfortune scowls her cheerless eyes , Is pour'd the pitying , melancholy note ! Thus the sad Nightingale throughout the night Her fond complaint rings thro' the leafy grove ; And so endears the scene , we dread the light — Detest the sprightlier note , and sorrow love . For glowing BARBAULD shall another Isle Be found , amidst some distant frozen waves , Which deck'd in all the fervors of her stile , Shall bloom like that Corsica . , she from oblivion saves . Perchance that Isle , convulsive nature tore Wrathful ! from sad Messina's once-fam'd port , When the proud marbles which adorn'd its shore , Were dash'd on rocks , and made the billows' sport . When the mad mother , and the swallow'd child , The tott'ring palace , and the tower prone , Gave at one view , ruin so vast and wild , As chills the quicken'd flesh almost to stone . Then ! in that lab'ring moment of the earth , Midst the Norwegian seas an island sprung — Let Barbauld celebrate the wond'rous birth , And all its grandeur by her muse be sung ! She'll lift the veil of time , and shew us how , The climate works upon the cind'ry The island on its emerging , about three years since , was said to make this appearance , and afterwards to disgorge flames . mass ; — What , the vast prospects of the unborn NOW And all its figures , in her magic glass . She'll shew that land which when beneath the skies Of soft Italia , bloom'd in scented flowers , Painted its surface with the richest dyes , And burst in hills , and gave its shade in bowers ; — She'll shew it then , divest of ev'ry sweet That once endear'd it to the eye of taste ; No flowers , no rills , the wand'ring eye shall meet — No soft embroid'ry o'er the snowy waste . But tho' not sweet , the scen'ry will be grand ! Not rills but torrents , will her muse display ; That roar when rigid winds become more bland — Grow dumb and stiffen , in the wint'ry ray . No gentle hill , but mountains vast she'll shew , Whose cracking pines confess strong Boreas' arm , Where wild volcanoes from their summits glow , And give the plains beneath an awful charm . Arcades and temples , perhaps her muse will sing , But not of marble form'd , nor part for part — O no ! Nature will here the noble sculpture bring Wildly magnificent , not cramp'd by art . Th' arrested cataract a dome will form , And rapid torrents bound , in pillars rise , Their capitals be sculptur'd from a storm — Snatch'd , as 'tis rushing from the Zemblian skies ; On these the polar sun will pour its beams , Tinting the glacid scene with shifting hues , Now strong , now fading into fainter gleams — And then at once , a ruddy blaze infuse . These are but outlines — an unskilful sketch ; A powerful Barbauld must the shadings give — No colder genius on its utmost stretch , Can bid the frigid , cheerless landschape live . Attention tired with fancied scenes like these , Recoils , and wishes for familiar hours ; Pants for the pillow'd chair , the robe of ease , And gladly yields to common life , its powers . What pen but BURNEY's then , can sooth the breast ? Who draw from nature with a skill so true ? In ev'ry varying mode it stands confest , When brought by her before th' enquirer's view . A power peculiar , all her portraits fill . When lines are bold and strong , a vulgar pen May take the sketch ; it asks no mighty skill Misers to paint , or mad , or wayward men . But human nature in its faintest dye Burney detects ; drags it to open day — Makes evident what slip'd the unmarking eye , And bids it glare , with truth's pervading ray . The huddled beings of the common mass , Who to themselves appear of equal sort , Must not in unawaken'd error pass — And sure 'tis this , is keen-ey'd Burney's fort ! Touch'd by her spear , they sudden spring to sight , But not new form'd — she shews them as they are ; She molds no character , but gives the light Which makes them clear , as Herschel sees a star ! Yes , such as these , thy plain may one day boast : Prize ! — sweet INTELLIGENCE , oh prize the change ! Laurels will then surround our letter'd coast , And here , the muses from Parnassus range . This vacant wild , till now expanse unblest ! Unknown , and useless in the general scale , Slumb'ring its ages in ignoble rest , Scorn'd , or unheeded in th' historic tale , Shall hence assume a rank , confess a name — Nor hid a barren disregarded spot , But living in the breath of future fame , Shall bless its happy , tho' its late-drawn lot . Thus stopt the Sage ; — the Genius paus'd awhile , As tho' his honied words revolving o'er ; First rais'd her eye with a celestial smile , Which seem'd to promise she would mourn no more , Then in sweet tone — Oh man of snowy years ! 'Tis truth inspires thee , and her force I own ; 'Tis she hath chid away the falling tears , And bad my fading joys again be blown . Yes ! the CREAT GUARDIAN of the gen'ral weal Ne'er gives a mis'ry , but he sends a cure ; As herbs , their antidotes will e'er reveal , In the same fields which pois'nous herbs endure . To thee I leave the bliss which just men know , Felicities which pious acts attend — O'er thy white tresses they shall ever flow , And cheer the anxious moments of thy end ! Then darting upwards as the Sage ador'd , Her golden pinions clave the liquid way , A blushing radiance mark'd the path she soar'd , Till lost amidst the blaze of azure day ! THE END .