on the death of robert dundas, esq., of arniston,

late lord president of the court of session.

lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks

shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks;

down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains,

the gathering floods burst o'er the distant ins;

beneath the st the leafless forests groan;

the hollow caves return a hollow moan.

ye hills, ye ins, ye forests, and ye caves,

ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves!

unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye,

sad to your sympathetic glooms i fly;

where, to the whistling st and water's roar,

pale scotia's recent wound i may deplore.

o heavy loss, thy country ill could bear!

a loss these evil days can ne'er repair!

justice, the high vicegerent of her god,

her doubtful bnce eyed, and sway'd her rod:

hearing the tidings of the fatal blow,

she sank, abandon'd to the wildest woe.

wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den,

now, gay in hope, explore the paths of men: