What farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, No man can tell; but, all before their sight, A fairy train appear’d in order bright; Adown the glittering stream they featly danc’d; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc’d: They footed o’er the wat’ry glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. O had M’Lauchlan, thairm-inspiring sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, When thro’ his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland rage, Or when they struck old Scotia’s melting airs, The lover’s raptured joys or bleeding cares, How would his Highland lug been nobler fir’d, And ev’n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired! No guess could tell what instrument appear’d, But all the soul of Music’s self was heard; Harmonious concert rung in every part, While simple melody pour’d moving on the heart. The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable Chief, advanced in years; His hoary head with water-lilies crown’d, His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; Then, crown’d with flow’ry hay, came Rural Joy, And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye; All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn wreath’d with nodding corn; Then Winter’s time-bleach’d locks did hoary show, By Hospitality with cloudless brow: Next followed Courage with his martial stride, From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide; Benevolence, with mild benignant air, A female form, came from the towers of Stair; Learning and Worth in equal measures trode From simple Catrine, their long-loved abode: Last, white-robed Peace, crown’d with a hazel wreath, To rustic Agriculture did bequeath The broken iron instruments of death: At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. [Illustration: Your ruin’d formless bulk o’ stane and lime.] TAM O’ SHANTER