On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy
An aged wizard fix foot high,
With bristled hair and visage blighted,
Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and fecond-fighted.
The grizly fage in thought profound
Beheld the chief with back fo round,
Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro
O'er his paternal hills of fnow,
And into thefe tremendous fpeeches
Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Into what ills betray'd by thee,
This ancient kingdom do I fee!
Her realms unpeopled and forlorn!
Wae's me! that ever thou wert born!
Proud English loons (our clans o'ercome)
On Scottish pads fhall amble home;
I fee them drefs'd in bonnets blue,
(The spoils of thy rebellious crew)
I fee the target caft away,
And chequer'd plad become their prey,
The chequer'd plad to make a gown
For many a lass in London town.
In vain the hungry mountaineers
Come forth in all their warlike geers,
The shield, the pistol, durk, and dagger,
In which they daily wont to fwagger;
And oft have fally'd out to pillage
The hen-roofts of fome peaceful village,
Or, while their neighbours were asleep,
Have carry'd off a low-land sheep.
What boots thy high-born hoft of beggars,
Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors,
With popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians,
And Forster's troops of raggamuffins?
In vain thy lads around thee bandy,
Inflam'd with bagpipe and with brandy.
Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty,
With heart so true, and voice fo rufty,
(A loyal foul) thy troops affright,
While hoarfely he demands the fight?
Do'st thou not gen'rous Ilay dread,
The braveft hand, the wifeft head?
Undaunted do'ft thou hear th' alarms
Of hoary Athol fheath'd in arms?
Douglas, who draws his lineage down From thanes and peers of high renown, Fiery and young, and uncontrol'd,
With knights and fquires, and barons bold,
(His noble houshold-band) advances,
And on his milk-white courfer prances.
Thee Forfar to the combat dares,
Grown fwarthy in Iberian wars:
And Monroe kindled into rage
Sourly defies thee to engage;
He'll rout thy foot, though ne'er fo many,
And horfe to boot--if thou hadft any.
But fee Argyle with watchful eyes,
Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies!
Couch'd like a lion in thy way,
He waits to spring upon his prey;
While, like a herd of tim❜rous deer,
Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Led by their doughty gen'ral's skill,
From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
Is thus thy haughty promise paid
That to the Chevalier was made,
When thou didft oaths and duty barter
For dukedom, gen'ralship, and garter?
Three moons thy Jemmy fhall command,
With highland scepter in his hand,
Too good for his pretended birth.
Then down fhall fall the king of Perth.
'Tis fo decreed: for GEORGE fhall reign, And traitors be forfworn in vain.
Heav'n fhall for ever on him smile,
And bless him still with an Argyle.
While thou, purfu'd by vengeful foes,
Condemn'd to barren rocks and fnows,
And hinder'd paffing Inverlocky,
Shalt burn thy clan, and curfe poor Jocky.
O Whitton's fhades, and Hounslow's airy plain,
Thou, Kneller, tak'ft thy fummer flights in vain,
In vain thy wish gives all thy rural hours
To the fair villa, and well-order'd bowers;
To court thy pencil early at thy gates,
Ambition knocks, and fleeting Beauty waits;
The boastful Mufe, of others' fame fo fure,
Implores thy aid to make her own secure;
The great, the fair, and (if aught nobler be,
Aught more belov'd) the Arts folicit thee.
How can't thou hope to fly the world, in vain
From Europe fever'd by the circling main:
Sought by the kings of every diftant land,
And every heroe worthy of thy hand?
Haft thou forgot that mighty Bourbon fear'd
He still was mortal, till thy draught appear'd;
That Cofmo chofe thy glowing form to place
Amidft her mafters of the Lombard race?
See on her Titian's and her Guido's urns,
Her failing arts, forlorn Hefperia mourns;
While Britain wins each garland from her brow,
Her wit and freedom firft, her painting now.
Let the faint copier, on old Tyber's fhore,
(Nor mean the task) each breathing bust explore,
Line after line with painful patience trace,
This Roman grandeur, that Athenian grace;
Vain care of parts; if, impotent of soul,
Th' induftrious workman fails to warm the whole!
Each theft betrays the marble whence it came,
And a cold statue stiffens in the frame.
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