| Citation |
VGW(HU.771.040
4 Apr 1771:41 (1027)
From the Scots' Magazine.
THE BARDS OF SCOTLAND. An Elegy. By J. Tait.
---those who tuneful wak'd th'enchanting lyre. [signed]
Thomson.
Bless'd be the fields, renown'd in ancient days,
Where thousand bards have own'd the muses smile;
Who once with glory sung their simple lays,
Though now they add to dark oblivion's spoil.
Bless'd be the isle where Ossiah rais'd the song!
. . . [3 lines and 8 verses ]
Still of thy beauties, Scotia, should I sing,
Thy rural haunts, thy sweetly flowing streams,
Thy fertile fields, where plenty spreads her wings,
And health and fragrance dance in sunny beams.
. . . [2 verses ]
Come then, ye muses, lead me by the hand,
While I attempt your Thomson's worth to tell,
Attune my lyre, give me the magick wand,
Which can dark errour's gathering clouds dispel.
Tutor my numbers, fire my youthful mind,
Exalt my soul on fancy's airy wing;
Then shall my accents flow in strains refin'd,
And not unworthy of the theme I sing.
. . . [2 verses ] Edinburgh, November 20, 1770.
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