VII. At a Village in Scotland...

 O NORTH! as thy romantic vales I leave, 
And bid farewell to each retiring hill, 
Where thoughtful fancy seems to linger still, 
Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve 
That mingled with the toiling croud, no more 
I shall return, your varied views to mark, 
Of rocks winding wild, and mountains hoar, 
Or castle gleaming on the distant steep.
 
Yet not the less I pray your charms may last, 
And many a soften'd image of the past 
Pensive combine; and bid remembrance keep 
To cheer me with the thought of pleasure flown, 
When I am wand'ring on my way alone.

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