Anne Grant (Энн Грант)

Addressed to Mrs. Dunlop

ON READING BURNS'S LETTERS TO THAT LADY

VALLESIA, whose illustrious blood,
Deriv'd from chiefs of mighty name,
Who long their country's barrier stood,
Still glows with honour's purest flame:
Oh, long may life's declining ray
On thee with mildest radiance shine,
And selfish prayers protract the day
That bears thee hence to joys divine!
For thee, awakes each tuneful lyre,
Each guardian virtue hovers round,
The "voice of Coila" leads the choir,
And Coila's hills return the sound!
Sweet voice, that first awak'd thy ear,
When languor spread its thickest gloom,
Sweet hills, whose echoes lov'd to bear
His wood-notes to VALLESIA 's dome.
Though cold the hand that wak'd the lyre,
And mute the voice that tun'd the lay;
That spark of pure celestial fire,
That warm'd the strain, shall ne'er decay.
While Wealth and Power, with cold regard,
Beheld the Muse's darling Son!
He wak'd that lay:--his best reward,
The smile of nature--and thy own.
'Twas thine, in Fortune's lowest vale
The crush'd, neglected flower to spy,
And bid its fragrant sweets exhale,
And latent beauties charm the eye.
Nor only to the poet's lay,
Hast deign'd with kind regard to bend,
But through life's short and stormy day,
Consol'd him with the name of Friend :
That name, his best and dearest boast,
Whene'er his erring steps would stray,
Rever'd, belov'd, and honour'd most,
Recall'd him back to wisdom's way.
And when the wounds of Anguish bled,
Thy kindness dropt the healing balm;
And when the storm of Passion fled,
Thy counsel breath'd the sacred calm.
And when Misfortune's tempest low'r'd,
Thy kind assisting hand was near;
And when Remorse its sorrows pour'd,
'Twas thine to wipe the bitter tear.
Thou knew'st, well read in wisdom's lore,
What failings with our virtues blend;
Than truth and honour sought no more,
Nor vainly hop'd a faultless friend.
For this, the Muse that sings unknown
Shall strew thy evening path with flowers;
And halcyon Peace her olive crown
Shall hang on thy sequester'd bowers.
For this from India's bright domains
Thy sons the blood-stain'd laurel bring,
For this again their native plains,
With loud acclaim triumphant ring!
While in thy kind maternal shade
We see another WALLACE  rise,
Whose early steps, to honour led,
His country views with kindling eyes:
And while his deep indented spears
Protect her thistle's hallow'd stem;
And while her rampant lion rears
To guard the British diadem:
And while a Scottish pulse beats high,
Accordant to her hero's name,
And while in Valour's ardent eye
Oppression wakes th' indignant flame:
And while, through all her winding vales
Sad SCOTIA for her poet mourns,
And far as Britain's conquering sails
Extends the deathless name of BURNS :
And while kind Friendship's generous breast
Swells with the tide of sympathy,
Or suns declining gild the west,
VALLESIA'S name shall never die!
When wealth and pride, without a name,
Are swept to drear oblivion's gloom,
The Muse's never-dying flame
Shall kindle odours on thy tomb.
There , Praise shall purest incense breathe,
And Fancy fairest garlands twine,
And CALEDONIA bless the wreath
That decks VALLESIA 's simple shrine.

1. Inscription on a Garden Seat
2. The Aged Bard’s Wish
3. An Epistle to a Friend
4. Written in One of the Duke of Athole’s Walks at Blair
5. Peaceful Shades

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