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And He whom ruthless fates expel
His native land.
There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade
In colours strong;
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd
They strode along.
Thro many a wild, romantic grove,b
An aged Judge, I saw him rove,
With deep-struck reverential awes
This, all its source and end to draw;
That, to adore.
Brydone's brave wardd I well could spy,
Where many a Patriot-name on high,
WITH musing deep, astonish'd stare,
a Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of K said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near family seat of the Montgomeries of Coil's-field, where his bu. place is still shewn.
b Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk.
e Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor Stewart. d Colonel Fullarton.
When, with an elder sister's air,
All hail! my own inspired Bard!
I come to give thee such reward
Know the great Genius of this land,
As arts or arms they understand,
They Scotia's race among them share ;
Some teach the Bard, a darling care,
'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,
They, sightless, stand,
To mend the honest Patriot-lore,
And when the Bard, or hoary Sage,
Or point the inconclusive page
Hence Fullarton, the brave and young;
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue;
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung
Or tore, with noble ardour stung,
To lower orders are assign'd,
All choose, as various they 're inclin'd
When yellow waves the heavy grain,
And some instruct the shepherd train
Some hint the lover's harmless wile :
And makes his cottage-scenes beguile
Some, bounded to a district-space,
Of rustic Bard;
And careful note each op'ning grace,
Of these am I-Coila my name;
And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame,
Thy natal hour.
e David Hume.
Coila, from Kyle, a district in Ayrshire, so called, saith tradition, from Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish monarch
With future hope, I oft would gaze,
Fir'd at the simple artless lays
I saw thee seek the sounding shore
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar,
Or when the deep green-mantled earth
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth
When ripen'd fields and azure skies,
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong,
I taught thee how to pour in song,
I saw thy pulse's madd'ning play,
By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray
Was light from Heaven.
I taught thy manners-painting strains,
Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
With Shenstone's art; with Gray, the moving flow Warm on the heart.
Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose,
Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,
Then never murmur nor repine;
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine,
A rustic Bard.
To give my counsels all in one,
With soul erect;
And trust the Universal Plan
Will all protect.
g In South America, famed for its gold mings.