 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
157
RATHO;
A POEM TO THE KING.
TO THE Right Honourable
CHARLES Earl of Lawderdale, Lord Lieutenant and High-Sheriff of Edingburgshire; Master-General of His Majesty's Mint in Scotland, One of the Lords of Police; Superior of the Parishes of Ratho, &c.
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Nescio qua natale Solum Dulcedine Musas
Ducit, & immemores non sinit esse sui!
Ovid.
Ducit, & immemores non sinit esse sui!
Ovid.
I sing of RATHO. Help me to relate
Its past, its present, and its future State,
Ye Pow'rs celestial; and enroll, in Fame,
The Lays inscrib'd to GEORGE's sacred Name.
And thou, dread Monarch, deign a kind Regard—
Thy Smiles are Sanction, and thy Praise Reward.
For These I bend; for These permit my Pray'r;
With These, propitious, crown thy Servant's Care;
If e'er the Muse afforded Thee Delight,
If e'er a Bard found Favour in thy Sight.
Its past, its present, and its future State,
Ye Pow'rs celestial; and enroll, in Fame,
The Lays inscrib'd to GEORGE's sacred Name.
And thou, dread Monarch, deign a kind Regard—
Thy Smiles are Sanction, and thy Praise Reward.
172
With These, propitious, crown thy Servant's Care;
If e'er the Muse afforded Thee Delight,
If e'er a Bard found Favour in thy Sight.
West from Edina—Caledonian Pride,
And Wonder of the neighbouring World beside!—
A champian Country, hedg'd on every Hand
With stately Hills, adorns the Lothian Land;
By Nature form'd to give the Muse Delight,
Inspire her Rapture, and her Verse invite.
And Wonder of the neighbouring World beside!—
A champian Country, hedg'd on every Hand
With stately Hills, adorns the Lothian Land;
By Nature form'd to give the Muse Delight,
Inspire her Rapture, and her Verse invite.
Tho' here no Cedar tow'rs its ample Head;
No spicy Gums and Frankincense are spread;
No clustring Vines and rich Pomegranates glow;
No limpid Streams of Milk and Honey flow;
Tho' the blue Fig and yellow Olive fail,
And blushing Peaches shun the Wint'ry Gale:
Yet here, uncurst with Skies inclement, Groves
For Contemplation, and Repose, and Loves;
Corn, Plants, and Flowers, of native Product, spring;
Fish glad the Streams, and Birds harmonious sing;
Hawks, Hounds, and Guns, have here unbounded Scope;
And eager Sportsmen crown their rural Hope;
Here bleating Flocks and lowing Herds abound;
And sweet Content spreads Happiness around.
No spicy Gums and Frankincense are spread;
No clustring Vines and rich Pomegranates glow;
No limpid Streams of Milk and Honey flow;
173
And blushing Peaches shun the Wint'ry Gale:
Yet here, uncurst with Skies inclement, Groves
For Contemplation, and Repose, and Loves;
Corn, Plants, and Flowers, of native Product, spring;
Fish glad the Streams, and Birds harmonious sing;
Hawks, Hounds, and Guns, have here unbounded Scope;
And eager Sportsmen crown their rural Hope;
Here bleating Flocks and lowing Herds abound;
And sweet Content spreads Happiness around.
But (so Heaven's Will, all-governing, ordain'd)
Unprais'd for Ages has this Scene remain'd,
Unknown to modern Bards, or by them scorn'd,
And, now, too late, by Mitchell's self adorn'd,
Tho' none so dear, so lovely in his Sight
Of all the Lands, the Sun o'erspreads with Light!
Thus Trojan Tow'rs in Ashes long had lain,
Ere Homer's Verse restor'd their Pride again,
And with immortal Glory rais'd the Slain.
Unprais'd for Ages has this Scene remain'd,
Unknown to modern Bards, or by them scorn'd,
And, now, too late, by Mitchell's self adorn'd,
Tho' none so dear, so lovely in his Sight
Of all the Lands, the Sun o'erspreads with Light!
174
Ere Homer's Verse restor'd their Pride again,
And with immortal Glory rais'd the Slain.
But Sages, more discerning, saw this Seat,
They saw and chose it for a calm Retreat,
Before the World confest the Christian Name,
Or Albion knew the Greek and Roman Fame!
Here hoary Hermits first Possession took,
And, greatly good, their All for Heav'n forsook!
Here self taught Bards from Nature Knowledge drew,
Look'd past, and present, and the future thro',
Sung sacred Things, and sacred were confest,
Their Minds and Morals of all Men the best!
Here venerable Druids, with Renown,
Transmissive, Truths Historic handed down,
The Will of Fate oraculous explain'd,
And by their Lives immortal Honours gain'd!
Here constant Vows by Travellers were paid,
Where holy Horrours solemniz'd a Shade!
And Courtiers, weary of the World, were found
In Greens embow'ring, or on Banks embrown'd!
At last, so famous grew the sacred Place,
Heroes and Kings resolv'd to give it Grace—
First, with a glorious Principle inspir'd,
To follow Nature from the Crowd retir'd,
In Groves and Grotto's of the silent Wood,
Observ'd the Duties of the Wise and Good;
Till, by Degrees of humble Blessings cloy'd,
Blessings possess'd, and not alike enjoy'd!
They let in Pomp and Noise, and Innocence destroy'd
They saw and chose it for a calm Retreat,
Before the World confest the Christian Name,
Or Albion knew the Greek and Roman Fame!
Here hoary Hermits first Possession took,
And, greatly good, their All for Heav'n forsook!
Here self taught Bards from Nature Knowledge drew,
Look'd past, and present, and the future thro',
Sung sacred Things, and sacred were confest,
Their Minds and Morals of all Men the best!
Here venerable Druids, with Renown,
Transmissive, Truths Historic handed down,
175
And by their Lives immortal Honours gain'd!
Here constant Vows by Travellers were paid,
Where holy Horrours solemniz'd a Shade!
And Courtiers, weary of the World, were found
In Greens embow'ring, or on Banks embrown'd!
At last, so famous grew the sacred Place,
Heroes and Kings resolv'd to give it Grace—
First, with a glorious Principle inspir'd,
To follow Nature from the Crowd retir'd,
In Groves and Grotto's of the silent Wood,
Observ'd the Duties of the Wise and Good;
Till, by Degrees of humble Blessings cloy'd,
Blessings possess'd, and not alike enjoy'd!
They let in Pomp and Noise, and Innocence destroy'd
176
Among th' Admirers of this beauteous Scene,
Shone RATHO fair, a famous Pictish Queen,
Ere Scottish Power o'erthrew her Nation's State,
And made that People Fugitives of Fate.
Fond of the Mountains, Vallies, and the Woods,
The Meads and Dales, the Forests and the Floods,
(For these, in those far distant Ages, grac'd
This rural Seat, and every where were prais'd!)
Romantic, she converts a lovely Bow'r,
Her favourite Mansion! to a Royal Tow'r,
Which, gathering by Degrees, a City grew,
(So Legends tell, and what they tell is true)
A City, known in early Times to Fame,
The Lothian Boast, and RATHO was its Name;
A Name from RATHO, Pictish Queen renown'd,
And to this Day with Veneration own'd!
Shone RATHO fair, a famous Pictish Queen,
Ere Scottish Power o'erthrew her Nation's State,
And made that People Fugitives of Fate.
Fond of the Mountains, Vallies, and the Woods,
The Meads and Dales, the Forests and the Floods,
(For these, in those far distant Ages, grac'd
This rural Seat, and every where were prais'd!)
Romantic, she converts a lovely Bow'r,
Her favourite Mansion! to a Royal Tow'r,
Which, gathering by Degrees, a City grew,
(So Legends tell, and what they tell is true)
A City, known in early Times to Fame,
The Lothian Boast, and RATHO was its Name;
A Name from RATHO, Pictish Queen renown'd,
And to this Day with Veneration own'd!
177
Now Walls and Bulwarks for Defence were rear'd,
Columns, and Spires, and Palaces appear'd!
Domes crowd on Domes, and Fanes with Temples vye!
And Courts and Castles tire the wondering Eye!
High o'er the rest th' imperial Structure shone,
Antique the Building, but of burnish'd Stone!
Along the middle Street, from End to End,
A limpid Stream did cooling Comfort lend,
Whence the great Cross of solid Rock took Name,
And to this Day is styl'd the RATHO-RAME.
Like Babel-Tow'r, it grac'd a rising Ground,
Center of all Rathonian Domes around!
From whose broad Base, so wonderful to tell,
A sacred Fluid, call'd the Rame-Stone Well,
Incessant flow'd, with various Virtues blest,
But most with Health and Joy to the Distrest!
Around whose verdant Borders oft were seen
The Moonlight Gambols of a Fairy Queen,
With her gay Train, (as Legends tell) in green:
Her all rever'd, as Genius of the Stream,
Much was she prais'd, and LADA was her Name.
Columns, and Spires, and Palaces appear'd!
Domes crowd on Domes, and Fanes with Temples vye!
And Courts and Castles tire the wondering Eye!
High o'er the rest th' imperial Structure shone,
Antique the Building, but of burnish'd Stone!
Along the middle Street, from End to End,
A limpid Stream did cooling Comfort lend,
Whence the great Cross of solid Rock took Name,
And to this Day is styl'd the RATHO-RAME.
Like Babel-Tow'r, it grac'd a rising Ground,
Center of all Rathonian Domes around!
From whose broad Base, so wonderful to tell,
A sacred Fluid, call'd the Rame-Stone Well,
Incessant flow'd, with various Virtues blest,
But most with Health and Joy to the Distrest!
178
The Moonlight Gambols of a Fairy Queen,
With her gay Train, (as Legends tell) in green:
Her all rever'd, as Genius of the Stream,
Much was she prais'd, and LADA was her Name.
Here first my Mind from Nature Knowledge brought,
Thro' gross Effects their mystic Causes sought;
Explor'd the Wonders too refin'd for Sense,
And Order found too regular for Chance.
Here first my Youth, with love of Song possest,
Felt heavenly Fire, and was with Visions blest;
Here, Studious, first unlock'd the ancient Store,
And Spoils of Learning from the Classicks bore.
Here too, alas! in youthful Days, my Heart
Was first transfix'd with Love's almighty Dart;
And here my Muse first plain'd the mighty Woe
My Soul first knew, and evermore must know—
The best of Brothers and of Friends inhum'd,
When fresh his Virtues with Life's Vigour bloom'd!
Untimely snatch'd from these admiring Eyes,
Whose Image ever to my Thought must rise!
O! while his Spirit, mix'd with social Saints,
Estrang'd to Sorrow, and above Complaints,
The Earnest of eternal Bliss enjoys,
(Till, from the Dust his kindred Ashes rise,
And with it, perfect, gain Empyreal Skies;
May guardian Angels faithful Vigils keep
Around the Tomb, where now these Ashes sleep!
May no dire Horrors of a Shade surround,
Nor mortal Hands disturb, the sacred Ground!
When shall the Virtues, Loves and Graces find
A purer Body for so pure a Mind?
When, when have Cause to tend another Urn,
And, for a truer, dearer, Votary mourn?
Thro' gross Effects their mystic Causes sought;
Explor'd the Wonders too refin'd for Sense,
And Order found too regular for Chance.
Here first my Youth, with love of Song possest,
Felt heavenly Fire, and was with Visions blest;
Here, Studious, first unlock'd the ancient Store,
And Spoils of Learning from the Classicks bore.
Here too, alas! in youthful Days, my Heart
Was first transfix'd with Love's almighty Dart;
179
My Soul first knew, and evermore must know—
The best of Brothers and of Friends inhum'd,
When fresh his Virtues with Life's Vigour bloom'd!
Untimely snatch'd from these admiring Eyes,
Whose Image ever to my Thought must rise!
O! while his Spirit, mix'd with social Saints,
Estrang'd to Sorrow, and above Complaints,
The Earnest of eternal Bliss enjoys,
(Till, from the Dust his kindred Ashes rise,
And with it, perfect, gain Empyreal Skies;
May guardian Angels faithful Vigils keep
Around the Tomb, where now these Ashes sleep!
May no dire Horrors of a Shade surround,
Nor mortal Hands disturb, the sacred Ground!
When shall the Virtues, Loves and Graces find
A purer Body for so pure a Mind?
180
And, for a truer, dearer, Votary mourn?
But human Blessings are precarious still,
And Time must Nature's great Behests fulfil.
Thro' Length of Years minutest Things grow great,
And highest Glories feel Reverse of Fate.
Thrice happy RATHO, had it still remain'd
A City, or its natural Charms retain'd!
But Picts o'ercome, soon dwindled antient Pride,
And what the Conquerors left it, Time destroy'd!
And Time must Nature's great Behests fulfil.
Thro' Length of Years minutest Things grow great,
And highest Glories feel Reverse of Fate.
Thrice happy RATHO, had it still remain'd
A City, or its natural Charms retain'd!
But Picts o'ercome, soon dwindled antient Pride,
And what the Conquerors left it, Time destroy'd!
Scarce can our Eyes, with curious Search, behold
The sunk Foundations of the Walls of old!
We can but guess where stood the Imperial Dome,
Long, long engulph'd in Earth's capacious Womb!
Hardly the sacred Temples can be trac'd,
And glitt'ring Spires for ever lie disgrac'd!
The Rame-Stone, once a Monument so high,
Piercing thro' Clouds and gaining on the Sky,
Now, mouldring, scarce a Yard of Length retains,
The Prey of ever-wasting Winds and Rains!
And the clear Stream, that gently roll'd along,
In antient Times, the Bards and Lovers Song,
Now, mix'd with Mud, ignobly Passage makes,
Or, here absorpt, another Channel takes!
Where beauteous Bridges arch'd aloft before,
And Pleasure Boats row'd by from Door to Door,
Vile Steps of Stone and Logs of Wood appear,
And sordid Fragments tumble all the Year!
The sacred Well the common Lot partakes—
Health-giving Virtue now its Spring forsakes!
For vigorous Rame (as antient Bards rehearse
In venerable Tales and antique Verse)
Enamour'd, stole on LADA's gentle Charms,
Mix'd with her Soul, and melted in her Arms:
She, all abash'd, the blushing Scene forsook,
And, with her Train, in Plett a Refuge took—
Plett! hospitable Height of Land, where I,
(As Flamstead erst from Greenwich) gaz'd the Sky;
Oft, in my Youth, my happier Days, alone,
Or with a Friend, the rolling Orbs, that shone
Distant, like twinkling Tapers in the Night,
Observ'd with curious Wonder and Delight;
And oft, the Blessings of a private State
Admiring, learnt Compassion for the Great.
For ever fam'd and sacred be thy Sides,
O Hill, whence LADA weeps her silver Tides;
Like Helicon, inspiring be the Tears,
And let the Well immortal live in Verse,
Her Well, where, oft o'ercharg'd with amorous Woe,
My swelling Heart has taught my Eyes to flow,
As SYLVIA coy, or CELIA false I sung,
Or, all untun'd, my Harp on Willows hung.
The sunk Foundations of the Walls of old!
We can but guess where stood the Imperial Dome,
Long, long engulph'd in Earth's capacious Womb!
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And glitt'ring Spires for ever lie disgrac'd!
The Rame-Stone, once a Monument so high,
Piercing thro' Clouds and gaining on the Sky,
Now, mouldring, scarce a Yard of Length retains,
The Prey of ever-wasting Winds and Rains!
And the clear Stream, that gently roll'd along,
In antient Times, the Bards and Lovers Song,
Now, mix'd with Mud, ignobly Passage makes,
Or, here absorpt, another Channel takes!
Where beauteous Bridges arch'd aloft before,
And Pleasure Boats row'd by from Door to Door,
Vile Steps of Stone and Logs of Wood appear,
And sordid Fragments tumble all the Year!
The sacred Well the common Lot partakes—
Health-giving Virtue now its Spring forsakes!
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In venerable Tales and antique Verse)
Enamour'd, stole on LADA's gentle Charms,
Mix'd with her Soul, and melted in her Arms:
She, all abash'd, the blushing Scene forsook,
And, with her Train, in Plett a Refuge took—
Plett! hospitable Height of Land, where I,
(As Flamstead erst from Greenwich) gaz'd the Sky;
Oft, in my Youth, my happier Days, alone,
Or with a Friend, the rolling Orbs, that shone
Distant, like twinkling Tapers in the Night,
Observ'd with curious Wonder and Delight;
And oft, the Blessings of a private State
Admiring, learnt Compassion for the Great.
For ever fam'd and sacred be thy Sides,
O Hill, whence LADA weeps her silver Tides;
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And let the Well immortal live in Verse,
Her Well, where, oft o'ercharg'd with amorous Woe,
My swelling Heart has taught my Eyes to flow,
As SYLVIA coy, or CELIA false I sung,
Or, all untun'd, my Harp on Willows hung.
But, Muse, a Veil of dark Oblivion cast
On thy fond Master's various Sufferings past;
No Image of long-finish'd Grief recall—
—Ophelia more than makes Amends for all.
On thy fond Master's various Sufferings past;
No Image of long-finish'd Grief recall—
—Ophelia more than makes Amends for all.
Of antient RATHO, rear'd with Cost and Pain,
How few and wretched Monuments remain!
Sometimes the Plough, from Fields adjacent, tears
The Limbs of Men, and Armour broke with Years;
Sometimes a Medal, all effac'd, is found,
And mouldring Urns are gather'd from the Ground:
But who, ah! who, can decent Honours pay,
Or sep'rate Vulgar from Imperial Clay?
Dire Fate of Mortals! Cottagers and Kings
Promiscuous lie, alike unheeded Things!
Destroying Time and the devouring Grave
Alike confound the Coward and the Brave!
Distinction's lost! no Marks of State adorn!
And RATHO looks, like Troy, a Field of Corn!
How few and wretched Monuments remain!
Sometimes the Plough, from Fields adjacent, tears
The Limbs of Men, and Armour broke with Years;
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And mouldring Urns are gather'd from the Ground:
But who, ah! who, can decent Honours pay,
Or sep'rate Vulgar from Imperial Clay?
Dire Fate of Mortals! Cottagers and Kings
Promiscuous lie, alike unheeded Things!
Destroying Time and the devouring Grave
Alike confound the Coward and the Brave!
Distinction's lost! no Marks of State adorn!
And RATHO looks, like Troy, a Field of Corn!
Yet, as in th' Ark the chosen NOAH sail'd,
When o'er the World the pouring Floods prevail'd;
So still some Remnants of primæval Grace,
From blank Oblivion, save th' imperial Place:
Some true Traditions, in the Country known,
In spite of Time, are handed careful down.
Tho', with its Walls and Battlements, are lost,
All the Records th' Inhabitants cou'd boast,
Among the Lothian Seats shines RATHO's Name,
And its new People burn with antient Flame.
As Generations in their Course decay,
(This flourishing, when That is past away)
The wither'd Leaf of pristine Glory falls,
And Buds of Virtue croud the modern Walls—
A simple, frugal, hospitable Race,
With little Wealth, but Revenues of Grace,
To Labour bred, without Ambition brave,
Chearful of Heart, and pleas'd with what they have!
When o'er the World the pouring Floods prevail'd;
So still some Remnants of primæval Grace,
From blank Oblivion, save th' imperial Place:
Some true Traditions, in the Country known,
In spite of Time, are handed careful down.
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All the Records th' Inhabitants cou'd boast,
Among the Lothian Seats shines RATHO's Name,
And its new People burn with antient Flame.
As Generations in their Course decay,
(This flourishing, when That is past away)
The wither'd Leaf of pristine Glory falls,
And Buds of Virtue croud the modern Walls—
A simple, frugal, hospitable Race,
With little Wealth, but Revenues of Grace,
To Labour bred, without Ambition brave,
Chearful of Heart, and pleas'd with what they have!
As needy Peasants destin'd to reside
Remote from Neighbours, in a Desart wide,
Studious to save what Human Wants require,
In Embers heap'd preserve the sacred Fire;
So true RATHONIANS, with unwearied Pains,
Trace ancient Paths, and dig for old Remains,
Their Predecessors Merit keep alive,
And, to be like Them, ever-labouring strive.
From Them the curious Stranger now may hear
How Men of old were summon'd far and near,
Compleat in Arms, at RATHO-RAME t'appear!
How Renfrew, Ruglin, Givin, Glasgow, Towns
Far distant, answer'd on Rathonian Downs!
How fair EDINA was design'd to rise
Where now in Ruins antient RATHO lies?
What circling Castles, Palaces, and Tow'rs,
Burroughs, and Cities, Villages, and Bow'rs,
From Gogar gay to Hatton's lofty Spires,
And all around to Norton and the Byres
Of RATHO held, to RATHO Homage paid,
RATHO, that o'er the Rest its Head display'd
High, as the Mountain Oak, or stately Pine,
O'ertops the prickly Thorn, or Ivy-clasping Vine.
Remote from Neighbours, in a Desart wide,
Studious to save what Human Wants require,
In Embers heap'd preserve the sacred Fire;
186
Trace ancient Paths, and dig for old Remains,
Their Predecessors Merit keep alive,
And, to be like Them, ever-labouring strive.
From Them the curious Stranger now may hear
How Men of old were summon'd far and near,
Compleat in Arms, at RATHO-RAME t'appear!
How Renfrew, Ruglin, Givin, Glasgow, Towns
Far distant, answer'd on Rathonian Downs!
How fair EDINA was design'd to rise
Where now in Ruins antient RATHO lies?
What circling Castles, Palaces, and Tow'rs,
Burroughs, and Cities, Villages, and Bow'rs,
From Gogar gay to Hatton's lofty Spires,
And all around to Norton and the Byres
Of RATHO held, to RATHO Homage paid,
RATHO, that o'er the Rest its Head display'd
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O'ertops the prickly Thorn, or Ivy-clasping Vine.
But not alone from History something sav'd
Shews what it was, and how their Sires behav'd—
Let Roman Walls and Monuments declare,
And what once were be known from Things that are.
Ah! had no Strife and Fury broke between,
The Scots and Picts triumphant still had been,
And modern Ages antient RATHO seen!
Shews what it was, and how their Sires behav'd—
Let Roman Walls and Monuments declare,
And what once were be known from Things that are.
Ah! had no Strife and Fury broke between,
The Scots and Picts triumphant still had been,
And modern Ages antient RATHO seen!
Yet Hope remains—as when the Mountain's Head
With scowling Shadows all around is spread,
Sudden the Lightning with a flashing Ray,
Bursts thro' the Darkness, and lets down the Day;
So ruin'd RATHO shall regain Renown,
By Royal Bounty of the British Crown.
The Time will come (a Tale Prophetic says)
But, ah! how distant! when a Sprig of Bays,
From Reliques of a sacred Wreath shall spring,
And round the Royal-Oak devoutly cling:
The Royal-Oak will condescend t'embrace
The gentle Sprig, and shield and shade the Place.
“This (says Tradition) shews a Bard will rise,
“In future Time, where now another lies!
“His Lays will charm inexorable Fate,
“And move a Monarch to restore the State
“Of RATHO.
SIRE,
The Monarch art not Thou?
And am not I the Bard, who humbly bow?
What modern Muse, but mine, from RATHO sprung?
And to what King, but Thee, has Mitchell sung?
Tho' born of Blood, by long disastrous Fate,
Debarr'd the Glories of the vulgar Great;
Yet this my Boast, my Birth-Place was a Doom,
Where stood of old a Temple and a Tomb!
What store of hallowed Bone and sacred Clay
Beneath my Bed and infant Cradle lay!
Deep in the Reliques took my Laurel Root,
And o'er the Ruins did my Branches shoot,
Branches, that now with pious Duty greet
The Royal-Oak, and bloom about his Feet!
Now, shall another Monarch be that Oak,
Of which the Sage, with Soul illumin'd, spoke?
Forbid it, Heav'n, that any Prince beside
To RATHO should restore its pristine Pride.
Leave not, O gracious Sire, so great a Thing,
So vast a Glory, to a future King.
Be it, my Master, be it only thine,
At Mitchell's Suit, to make his RATHO shine.
With scowling Shadows all around is spread,
Sudden the Lightning with a flashing Ray,
Bursts thro' the Darkness, and lets down the Day;
So ruin'd RATHO shall regain Renown,
By Royal Bounty of the British Crown.
188
But, ah! how distant! when a Sprig of Bays,
From Reliques of a sacred Wreath shall spring,
And round the Royal-Oak devoutly cling:
The Royal-Oak will condescend t'embrace
The gentle Sprig, and shield and shade the Place.
“This (says Tradition) shews a Bard will rise,
“In future Time, where now another lies!
“His Lays will charm inexorable Fate,
“And move a Monarch to restore the State
“Of RATHO.
SIRE,
The Monarch art not Thou?
And am not I the Bard, who humbly bow?
What modern Muse, but mine, from RATHO sprung?
And to what King, but Thee, has Mitchell sung?
189
Debarr'd the Glories of the vulgar Great;
Yet this my Boast, my Birth-Place was a Doom,
Where stood of old a Temple and a Tomb!
What store of hallowed Bone and sacred Clay
Beneath my Bed and infant Cradle lay!
Deep in the Reliques took my Laurel Root,
And o'er the Ruins did my Branches shoot,
Branches, that now with pious Duty greet
The Royal-Oak, and bloom about his Feet!
Now, shall another Monarch be that Oak,
Of which the Sage, with Soul illumin'd, spoke?
Forbid it, Heav'n, that any Prince beside
To RATHO should restore its pristine Pride.
Leave not, O gracious Sire, so great a Thing,
So vast a Glory, to a future King.
190
At Mitchell's Suit, to make his RATHO shine.
When ALEXANDER, in Atchievements great,
Had broke alike the Theban Pow'r and State;
Entering the Town, he had his Soldiers spare;
“For Pindar's sacred dwelling Place was there!
And, for the sake of Sophocles's Muse
Athens obtain'd the Conqueror's Excuse!
Thus Syracuse, so long defended, lost,
The brave Marcellus charg'd his Roman Host,
“Not to revenge the Nation's Blood and Strife
“On venerable Archimede's Life!
So, when Ulysses round his Vengeance spread,
And all who wrong'd their absent Lord lay dead;
When ev'n Liôdes, Priest and Augur, fell,
Phemius, who drank of the Pierian Well,
Phemius, the sweet, the Heav'n-instructed Bard,
Alone was, for his sacred Virtues, spar'd!
Had broke alike the Theban Pow'r and State;
Entering the Town, he had his Soldiers spare;
“For Pindar's sacred dwelling Place was there!
And, for the sake of Sophocles's Muse
Athens obtain'd the Conqueror's Excuse!
Thus Syracuse, so long defended, lost,
The brave Marcellus charg'd his Roman Host,
“Not to revenge the Nation's Blood and Strife
“On venerable Archimede's Life!
So, when Ulysses round his Vengeance spread,
And all who wrong'd their absent Lord lay dead;
When ev'n Liôdes, Priest and Augur, fell,
Phemius, who drank of the Pierian Well,
191
Alone was, for his sacred Virtues, spar'd!
Such Instances let others boast and praise—
My Leige will do more Honour to my Lays;
Not barely save the Place where I was born,
But with superior Pow'r and Grace adorn.
My Leige will do more Honour to my Lays;
Not barely save the Place where I was born,
But with superior Pow'r and Grace adorn.
'Tis done—Behold, th' ideal Muse can see
A City built by GEORGE's great Decree!
What Domes and Tow'rs their lofty Summits rear!
How Temples shine, and crowded Courts appear!
Distinct in Rows, where-e'er my Eyes I turn,
Columns amidst a Blaze of Glory burn!
What ample Gates! and how, with airy Mounds,
A Strength of Wall the guarded City bounds!
Old RAME afresh forsakes his oozy Bed,
Again, envigour'd, lifts his azure Head!
See, from his Urn, he pours the silver Stream,
Again the Poet's and the Lover's Theme!
Bridges and Boats for Pleasure crown the Scene,
And ne'er was RATHO known so sweet and clean!
A City built by GEORGE's great Decree!
What Domes and Tow'rs their lofty Summits rear!
How Temples shine, and crowded Courts appear!
Distinct in Rows, where-e'er my Eyes I turn,
Columns amidst a Blaze of Glory burn!
What ample Gates! and how, with airy Mounds,
A Strength of Wall the guarded City bounds!
192
Again, envigour'd, lifts his azure Head!
See, from his Urn, he pours the silver Stream,
Again the Poet's and the Lover's Theme!
Bridges and Boats for Pleasure crown the Scene,
And ne'er was RATHO known so sweet and clean!
Thus when of Salem sage Haggai foretold
That its new Temple should exceed the old,
'Twas done—for Herod's Bounty gave it more
Magnificence, than e'er it had before!
That its new Temple should exceed the old,
'Twas done—for Herod's Bounty gave it more
Magnificence, than e'er it had before!
How glorious this Reverse of Fortune shows,
And how to Me she pays the Debt she owes!
To Me what noble Proofs of Love are rais'd,
Not fond of Flatt'ry, nor with Praise unpleas'd?
For, lo! rich Honours now the House adorn,
Where I, the destin'd Sprig of Bays, was born!
A pompous Palace rises in its Place,
The Pride of RATHO, and Britannia's Grace!
With Statues, Sculptures, Pictures finely drest,
And my sage Busto looking o'er the rest!
Nor Prior to Himself, nor Rotterdame
T'Erasmus, rear'd such Monuments of Fame!
And how to Me she pays the Debt she owes!
To Me what noble Proofs of Love are rais'd,
Not fond of Flatt'ry, nor with Praise unpleas'd?
193
Where I, the destin'd Sprig of Bays, was born!
A pompous Palace rises in its Place,
The Pride of RATHO, and Britannia's Grace!
With Statues, Sculptures, Pictures finely drest,
And my sage Busto looking o'er the rest!
Nor Prior to Himself, nor Rotterdame
T'Erasmus, rear'd such Monuments of Fame!
But yonder, where the RAME-STONE stood of old,
The second GEORGE on Horseback, all in Gold!
Prodigious Sight! nor boastful Rome, nor Greece,
Cou'd ever shew so beautiful a Piece!
Nor cou'd their famous Progeny afford
A braver Hero and a better Lord!
For all the various Attributes of Fame,
Collected, shine compleat in GEORGE's Name.
The second GEORGE on Horseback, all in Gold!
Prodigious Sight! nor boastful Rome, nor Greece,
Cou'd ever shew so beautiful a Piece!
Nor cou'd their famous Progeny afford
A braver Hero and a better Lord!
For all the various Attributes of Fame,
Collected, shine compleat in GEORGE's Name.
194
Ye guardian Genii of the Good and Great,
Unwearied round the Royal Person wait.
Your sacred Aid the God-like Monarchs own,
Who merit first, before they mount a Throne.
You he reveres, as We his dread Command,
O! crown his Reign, as he preserves the Land,
Persists the Pattern of Imperial Sway,
Makes righteous Laws, Himself the first t'obey!
Fast by his Throne, whilst fairest Fame resides,
Let Peace and Wealth incessant roll their Tides.
And late, O! late, and but by slow Decays,
Unknown to Pain, may he conclude his Days;
To the dark Grave retiring, as to Rest;
Blessing his People, and in Blessing blest!
Unwearied round the Royal Person wait.
Your sacred Aid the God-like Monarchs own,
Who merit first, before they mount a Throne.
You he reveres, as We his dread Command,
O! crown his Reign, as he preserves the Land,
Persists the Pattern of Imperial Sway,
Makes righteous Laws, Himself the first t'obey!
Fast by his Throne, whilst fairest Fame resides,
Let Peace and Wealth incessant roll their Tides.
And late, O! late, and but by slow Decays,
Unknown to Pain, may he conclude his Days;
To the dark Grave retiring, as to Rest;
Blessing his People, and in Blessing blest!
195
Be this my Morning and my Evening-Pray'r,
My Life's true Pleasure and devoted Care,
Ambitious to resemble my great Patron, STAIR,
A Soul by Principles of Honour led;
To Truth, to Liberty, and Virtue, bred!
True to his King, his Country, and his Word!
No mercenary, cringing, cunning, Lord!
Conscious of his uncommon Worth and Parts;
But scorning mean, sinister, sordid Arts!
Whether with honest Place and Pension crown'd,
Or unrewarded, ever faithful found!
Ever the same disinterested Mind!
The finish'd Statesman, Soldier, Patriot, join'd!
Abroad, at Home, by all the Just, confest
In Peace and War the ablest and the best!
—Long may my Liege find Servants such as He!
Their Aim his Glory, more than Favour, be!
His Annals sung by nobler Bards than Me!
My Life's true Pleasure and devoted Care,
Ambitious to resemble my great Patron, STAIR,
A Soul by Principles of Honour led;
To Truth, to Liberty, and Virtue, bred!
True to his King, his Country, and his Word!
No mercenary, cringing, cunning, Lord!
Conscious of his uncommon Worth and Parts;
But scorning mean, sinister, sordid Arts!
Whether with honest Place and Pension crown'd,
Or unrewarded, ever faithful found!
Ever the same disinterested Mind!
The finish'd Statesman, Soldier, Patriot, join'd!
Abroad, at Home, by all the Just, confest
In Peace and War the ablest and the best!
196
Their Aim his Glory, more than Favour, be!
His Annals sung by nobler Bards than Me!
O! how I long to hail the happy Day,
When Majesty its Glory shall display
In CALEDONIA's antient Realm again!
A pious Wish! And may it not prove vain!
When shall EDINA, as in Times of old,
Receive her King? O! when shall SCOTS behold
A Royal Progress thro' their Native Land,
And gazing Crowds grow loyal as they stand?
Methinks, like his great Ancestors inspir'd,
The Second GEORGE complies to what's desir'd!
Io Triumphe! Countrymen and Friends,
The King a Visit to the North intends!
Prepare the Way—our gracious King will come,
As CONSTANTINE in Triumph to his ROME,
When eager Subjects on his Chariot hung,
And the proud Scene with Io Pæan rung!
With equal Joy, may duteous Subjects meet
Our glorious Liege, and his Procession greet;
Let every Tongue with Transport sound his Praise,
And every Eye, as on an Angel, gaze,
Who, like a GOD, in Glory deigns to move
The publick Wonder, and the publick Love!
O! if, from this important Æra, Peace
Might stand confirm'd, and Faction ever cease!
When Majesty its Glory shall display
In CALEDONIA's antient Realm again!
A pious Wish! And may it not prove vain!
When shall EDINA, as in Times of old,
Receive her King? O! when shall SCOTS behold
A Royal Progress thro' their Native Land,
And gazing Crowds grow loyal as they stand?
Methinks, like his great Ancestors inspir'd,
The Second GEORGE complies to what's desir'd!
Io Triumphe! Countrymen and Friends,
The King a Visit to the North intends!
197
As CONSTANTINE in Triumph to his ROME,
When eager Subjects on his Chariot hung,
And the proud Scene with Io Pæan rung!
With equal Joy, may duteous Subjects meet
Our glorious Liege, and his Procession greet;
Let every Tongue with Transport sound his Praise,
And every Eye, as on an Angel, gaze,
Who, like a GOD, in Glory deigns to move
The publick Wonder, and the publick Love!
O! if, from this important Æra, Peace
Might stand confirm'd, and Faction ever cease!
But howsoe'er a Rebel-Race behave,
Open, ye Gates of RATHO, to receive
The British King, your Patron ever dear!
Let grateful Gladness in each Face appear!
Meet him, conducted by your noble Head,
(Proud to be led, as LAWDERDALE to lead)
Ye Habitants renown'd, both great and small,
Let Loyalty and Love transport you all,
To hail the Hand, from whence your Blessing springs,
And praise the best of all the British Kings,
A King, who takes no Lustre from a Throne,
But, by his Virtues, dignifies his Crown!
Open, ye Gates of RATHO, to receive
The British King, your Patron ever dear!
Let grateful Gladness in each Face appear!
198
(Proud to be led, as LAWDERDALE to lead)
Ye Habitants renown'd, both great and small,
Let Loyalty and Love transport you all,
To hail the Hand, from whence your Blessing springs,
And praise the best of all the British Kings,
A King, who takes no Lustre from a Throne,
But, by his Virtues, dignifies his Crown!
Ye generous Bards of ALBION's frosty North,
Too little known, tho' not the least in Worth,
Awake, awake—a Theme, like This, might warm
The coldest Breast, and brightest Fancy charm.
Let distant Ages in your Numbers view
The first of Monarchs and of Poets too.
With faithful Care discharge your glorious Trust.
O sing great GEORGE, and save yourselves from Dust.
Too little known, tho' not the least in Worth,
Awake, awake—a Theme, like This, might warm
The coldest Breast, and brightest Fancy charm.
Let distant Ages in your Numbers view
The first of Monarchs and of Poets too.
With faithful Care discharge your glorious Trust.
O sing great GEORGE, and save yourselves from Dust.
199
Let Inspiration leave me and my Lays,
When I turn silent in my Sov'reign's Praise.
From my right Hand and sounding Lyre depart
Poetic Cunning, when I move my Heart,
O RATHO, darling Native Seat, from Thee,
Like Salem sweet, or Eden blest, to Me!
When I turn silent in my Sov'reign's Praise.
From my right Hand and sounding Lyre depart
Poetic Cunning, when I move my Heart,
O RATHO, darling Native Seat, from Thee,
Like Salem sweet, or Eden blest, to Me!
But shou'd reluctant Fate suspend the Bliss
Of such a lovely, sacred Scene, as This—
Shou'd Second GEORGE his Royal Ear refuse,
And scorn the gentle Courtship of the Muse—
Have Prophecies and Legends all prov'd vain,
Or Bards pronounc'd in an ambiguous Strain—
If neither Brunswick be the destin'd Oak,
Nor I the Bays, of whom the Sages spoke—
This solemn Purpose in my Soul I fix,
And swear by RAME, a River dread as Styx,
RATHO, like Thebes, shall rise again in Fame,
And, with Amphion, MITCHELL find a Name!
Of such a lovely, sacred Scene, as This—
Shou'd Second GEORGE his Royal Ear refuse,
And scorn the gentle Courtship of the Muse—
Have Prophecies and Legends all prov'd vain,
Or Bards pronounc'd in an ambiguous Strain—
If neither Brunswick be the destin'd Oak,
Nor I the Bays, of whom the Sages spoke—
200
And swear by RAME, a River dread as Styx,
RATHO, like Thebes, shall rise again in Fame,
And, with Amphion, MITCHELL find a Name!
Poets of God's Omnipotence partake!
From nothing we can Worlds of Wonder make!
Sure to survive, when Time shall whelm in Dust
The Arch, the Marble, and the mimick Bust!
Let others rise by Labours not their own—
Out of myself be struck my bright Renown!
Yet rather perish, with my Life, my Praise,
Than RATHO shine not in immortal Lays.
Dearer than Fame be still my Country's Good,
And for its Glory cheap esteem'd my Blood;
In the true Briton, sunk the Scholar's Boast,
And the proud Poet, in the Patriot lost.
From nothing we can Worlds of Wonder make!
Sure to survive, when Time shall whelm in Dust
The Arch, the Marble, and the mimick Bust!
Let others rise by Labours not their own—
Out of myself be struck my bright Renown!
Yet rather perish, with my Life, my Praise,
Than RATHO shine not in immortal Lays.
Dearer than Fame be still my Country's Good,
And for its Glory cheap esteem'd my Blood;
In the true Briton, sunk the Scholar's Boast,
And the proud Poet, in the Patriot lost.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |