Classic Poem

BOOK I. ODE VII .

TO THE EARL OF STAIR .

Let others in exalted lays
The lofty dome of Hopetoun praise,
Or where of old, in lonely cell,
The musing druid wont to dwell:
Or with the sacred sisters roam,
Near holy Melrose' ruin'd dome:
There are who paint with all their might
The fields where Fortha's streams delight;
That winding through Stirlina's plain,
Rolls beauteous to the distant main:
Or, faithful to the farmer's toil,
Extol fair Lothian's fertile soil;
Where Ceres her best gifts bestows,
And Edin town her structures shows.
Nor me delight those silvan scenes,
Those chequer'd bowers and winding greens;
Where art and nature join to yield
Unnumber'd sweets to Mariefield:
Nor yet that soft and secret shade,
Where fair Aboyn asleep is laid;
Where gay in sprightly dance no more
She dreams her former triumphs o'er.
These scenes can best entice my soul,
Where smooth Blancatria's waters roll:
Where beauteous Hume in smiling hour,
Plucks the green herb or rising flow'r;
Pleas'd on the borders to behold
The apple redden into gold.
But whate'er place thy presence boast,
Let not, O Stair! an hour be lost.
When the rough North and angry storm,
Nature's lovely looks deform;
The South restores the wonted grace,
And wipes the clouds from Heaven's face.
So thou to finish all thy care,
The flask of brisk Champaign prepare;
Invite thy friends, with wise design,
And wash the ills of life with wine:
Whether beneath the open sky,
Stretch'd in the tented couch to lie,
Thy fate ordains; to shine again
Great on some future Blenheim's plain;
Higher to raise thy deathless name
Triumphant to sublimer fame:
Or, if secure from feverish heat,
Newliston cover thy retreat,
Where wit conspires with love's delights,
To grace thy days and bless thy nights.
When Fergus led, in days of yore,
His exil'd bands to Scotia's shore;
The godlike founder of our state,
Sustain'd the shocks of adverse fate:
Yet brave, disdaining to repine,
Around his brows he bound the vine:
Let's follow still without delay
Wherever fortune shows the way;
Courage, my lads, let none despair,
When Fergus leads, 'tis base to fear:
With better auspice shall arise
Our empire in the northern skies:
Beauty and valour shall adorn
Our happy offspring yet unborn:
Now fill the glass, come fill again,
To-morrow we shall cross the main.