The press, or literary chit-chat A Satire [by J. H. Reynolds] |
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![]() | The press, or literary chit-chat | ![]() |
XXI.
The pibroch's spirit-stirring strainNow sounded o'er the startled plain;
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Unto the royal presence press'd.
First came six thistle-bearers on,
Then six who heaved a granite stone
Of most prodigious size;
The next a sprig of heather bore,
Then came of pipers near a score
With each two kilted thighs;
Next Grant, the venerable dame,
And Baillie, often-lauded name,
And Hamilton and Brunton too
Appear'd to render fealty due
To mighty Gog, who courteous view'd
Their forms as they around him stood—
Grant, who delights the spells t'unfold
Which rugged Nature's children hold;
Baillie, who with a magic wand
Hath made the passions round her stand;
The others—ah! forbear my strain,
Nor take such hallow'd names in vain,
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And nations throng around their bier!
![]() | The press, or literary chit-chat | ![]() |