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The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
Marking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels :
But man, to whom alone is giv'n
A ray direct from pitying heav'n,
Glories in his heart humane
And creatures for his pleasure slain.

In these savage, liquid plains,
Only known to wand'ring swains,
Where the mossy


Far from human haunts and ways;
All on Nature you depend,
And life's poor season peaceful spend.

Or, if man's superior might
Dare invade your native right,
On the lofty ether borne,
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ;
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other springs ;
And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his slave.

Burns visited Ochtertyre and Loch-Turit in the company of Nicol, during his third northern tour. The fine humanities which distinguish “ The Mouse” and “ The Daisy,another of his productions, seem to have been active within him on this last of his Highland excursions :

“ Tell me, fellow-creatures, why

At my presence thus ye fly?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?
Common friend to you and me,

Natures gifts to all are free." He was staying, when he wrote these touching lines, with Sir William Murray of Ochtertyre. Other inspirations came upon him. He met Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, commonly called “ The Flower of Strathmore," and celebrated her beauty in that fine lyric, beginning

• Blythe, blythe, an' merry was she,

Blythe was she, but and ben ;
Blythe by the banks of Earn,

And blythe in Glenturit Glen." “ The house of Ochtertyre,” observes Chambers,“ is little and over-neat; but its situation on an eminence starting from the face of a hill, and its glorious park, and lake, and trees, and all its other sunny lovelinesses, render it, nevertheless, one of the most delightful seats in broad Scotland. It has been spoken of in terms of rapture by all literary travellers, including Burns, who spent some time here, and has rendered the adjacent vale of the Turit altogether classical by his glowing pen.”





ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ;
O’er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th’ abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
'Till fam’d Breadalbane opens to my view.-
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides ;
Th' outstretching lake, imbosomed ’mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ;
The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant pride,
The palace, rising on its verdant side ;
The lawns, wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ;
The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste;
The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream ;
The village, glittering in the noontide beam-

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Poetic ardors in my bosom swell,
Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy

cell :

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The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ;
Th’ incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods

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Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre,
And look through nature with creative fire ;
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd,
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter-rankling wounds :
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch

her scan,

And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man.

Burns, like all travellers of tąste, was struck with the magnificent scene, of which the splendid castle of the the Earl of Breadalbane can scarcely be called the chief attraction.-" The house,” says Chambers, “is after the fashion of Inverary, with circular turrets at the corners, and a minor tower rising prominent above, together with several additional portions of less altitude, though equally beautiful architecture. It contains one of the best collections of pictures in Scotland.” Among the pictures are many of the portraits of Jameson. The vale is bounded by lofty, abrupt, and finely wooded hills, and though not spacious enough to admit a well-laid lawn and park, such as adorn the baronial residences of the south, yet the stream, and vale, and upland unite in forming a landscape wondrous for its picturesque beauty. The surface of the ground is always green, and the hoary trees are of great antiquity and size.

The Poet has bestowed some happy lines on this beautiful scene :

“ The lawns, wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste;

The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste;
The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream ;

The village, glittering in the noontide beam." The images contained in these couplets are worthy of a painter, and show that Burns had a fine eye for what was striking and lovely. All that he says of it in his journal is simply, “ Taymouth described in rhyme."

The excursions of the Poet in the north were hurried and abrupt; his companions, who felt not as he felt, dragged him from rock to rock, and from hill to hill, and, watching his looks, expressed their wonder that he did not burst out into voluntary numbers, whenever they pulled him to a place which the tourists' books had taught them to admire. Professor Walker acted differentlyhe allowed Burns to choose his own points of view, and followed, rather than led him.

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