Miscellaneous Pieces,
Reading edition
IN VERSE.
TO THE RIGHT HON.
THE E——L OF K——L,
On his granting me the neat Cottage which I now inhabit.
Neat is the Cottage rear’d for me Upon this rising bank; I’ll send my hand-maid, Poesy, To Dupplin-Castle on her knee, The noble Earl to thank. Lest wrong my messenger betide, Or lest she should offend, A guardian for her I’ll provide, And to his kindness her confide,— Poor nymph she needs a friend. Will Mr L—— then introduce My handmaid into view; Perhaps his Lordship wont refuse To hear, for once, a hamlet muse Who sings with deference due; Tell how I prize this cottage bower, Commodious, new, and clean; Near where my swaddling clothes I wore, Where long my fathers dwelt before, Which more endears the scene. My ancestors are pass’d away, (So families fail apace) And soon at latest comes the day, When with myself the name of Gray Will vanish from this place:— Here bushes, braes, and rocks remind Of childhood’s happy days, When playful, ’midst companions kind, I scrambled up, or lean’d reclin’d On yonder crag’s rough base. Where dashing falls the proud cascade, Oft when a message sent, So long I there have list’ning strayed, That mother’s orders disobeyed, Brought fear of punishment. Wild berries, nut, or jetty sloe, Would tempt my venturous feet To climb, where hazardous to go, And when my own hand stript the bough, I deem’d them doubly sweet. So spring-time of my life did run, To kind indulgence us’d; If I my lessons did not shun, Though other tasks were poorly done, ’Twas wink’d at and excus’d. For oft in languid health I pin’d, Which parents view’d full sad, And wandering, freedom I did find Adown yon den, where shrubs, entwin’d With flowers of summer, spread. Though since much alter’d is my lot, And that in many ways, These times oft fill a passing thought, To banish dull reflection—sought, A dream of early days. Now smoothly gliding down the dell, My native streamlet flows, And when its waters rushing swell, The distant din will please me well, And lull me to repose. This is the very, very place, That’s to my heart most dear, For which warm thanks I would express, Though sent, indeed, in sorry dress, Yet not the less sincere. On some green spot, in weather fair, I’ll sit in sober mood, And when I breathe my native air, That blessing I will thankful share, And think it does me good. This close-built cot, in coldest day, Affords a warm retreat; And whether near or far away, I grateful wish your Lordship may Be bless’d as well as great.