Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes, Would not the Home[110] step forth and gain the prize? 250 Or if this wreath of honour might adorn The humble brows of one in England born, Presumptuous still thy daring must appear; Vain all thy towering hopes whilst I am here. Thus spake a form, by silken smile and tone, Dull and unvaried, for the Laureate[111] known, Folly's chief friend, Decorum's eldest son, In every party found, and yet of none. This airy substance, this substantial shade, Abash'd I heard, and with respect obey'd. 260 From themes too lofty for a bard so mean, Discretion beckons to an humbler scene; The restless fever of ambition laid, Calm I retire, and seek the sylvan shade. Now be the Muse disrobed of all her pride, Be all the glare of verse by truth supplied. And if plain nature pours a simple strain, Which Bute may praise, and Ossian not disdain,-- Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all, Whom English infidels Macpherson call,-- 270 Then round my head shall Honour's ensigns wave, And pensions mark me for a willing slave. Two boys, whose birth, beyond all question, springs From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings-- Shepherds, of Scottish lineage, born and bred On the same bleak and barren mountain's head; By niggard nature doom'd on the same rocks To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks; Fresh as the morning, which, enrobed in mist, The mountain's top with usual dulness kiss'd, 280 Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose; Soon clad, I ween, where nature needs no clothes; Where, from their youth inured to winter-skies, Dress and her vain refinements they despise. Jockey, whose manly high-boned cheeks to crown, With freckles spotted, flamed the golden down, With meikle art could on the bagpipes play, E'en from the rising to the setting day; Sawney as long without remorse could bawl Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal: 290 Oft at his strains, all natural though rude, The Highland lass forgot her want of food; And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest, Sunk pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's breast. Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen; Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green: The plague of locusts they secure defy, For in three hours a grasshopper must die: No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there, But the cameleon, who can feast on air. 300 No birds, except as birds of passage, flew; No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo: No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear, Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here: Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran, Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan: No flowers embalm'd the air, but one white rose,[112] Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows; By instinct blows at morn, and when the shades Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades. 310