To Miss Jean And Miss Isabella Monro, With Two Bottles Of The Otta Of Roses Poem by Hector Macneill

Tost rudely round this whirling sphere,
Estrang'd from all he valued dear;
Shut out from beauty's bright'ning ray;
The social night, the tranquil day;
Involv'd in tumults wild uproar,
And dropt on India's burning shore;
Behold a woe-worn wand'rer roam,
Far from his friends and native home!
'Thus 'scap'd from storm and battles rage,
Shall I,' he cried, 'new ills engage!
Shall I, by care and fortune crost,
Droop sorrowing on a foreign coast;
And whelm'd at last in hopeless gloom,
Sink unlamented to the tomb!'

'Perish the thought!' a seraph cries,
(A seraph wafted from the skies.)
'Perish the thought! a softer ray
Yet comes to guide thy wilder'd way.
What though rude mirth and tempests roar,
And fortune frowning locks her store;
What though no converse reigns refin'd,
And lov'd Miranda's left behind;
A brighter morn will yet appear,
To chase the gloom and gild the year:
A milder dawn o'erspread the grove,
A warmer theme attune to love;
When freedom's sun bright o'er the main
Illumes fair Albion's cliffs again;
And glittering high on mountain hoar
Proclaims afar lov'd Scotia's shore;
Where friendship waits in smiles array'd,
To bind the wound that fate has made;
And sympathy, with melting eye,
To catch the tale and heave the sigh;
And mild oblivion, kind to cast
A dark'ning shade on suff'rings past.
'Meanwhile,' she said, 'this gift receive,
And henceforth, wand'rer, cease to grieve;
For know, in this a virtue rare,
(A passport likewise to the fair.)
Can cheer dejection's languid gloom,
And rich, to beauty yield perfume!
Guard then this treasure, and when fate
Conducts thee safe, or soon or late,
Where Fortha's wanderings gently glide
Through fields that wave their cultur'd pride,
There, while again, thou wander'st o'er
Each dear lov'd spot, oft trod before;
Or from Strevlina's height serene
Survey'st around the pictur'd scene,
Of view'st sublime her castled towers
From A---'s sheltering bowers
Where social mirth wan care beguiles,
Midst female virtues, female smiles;
While hope's fond joys past sorrows heal,
Let breasts like thine fresh ardour feel,
To mark each virtue as it springs,
And as the muse impassion'd sings,
On maids of worth this gift bestow,
A ******; a *********; a M******.'

Charm'd with the tale, with sighs I prest
The welcome treasure to my breast;
Here dwell, I cried, till fate once more
Conducts me safe to Scotia's shore!
Till free from tumult's madd'ning strife,
Once more I taste a poet's life;
And female smiles to soothe and cheer,
And love to cheat the lingering year:
Here rest, I cried, till heav'n bestows
Your ******'s your *********'s, your M******'s!

The seraph smil'd, and instant flew!
The canvass spread, Eolus blew!
From India's shores and burning skies,
O'er waves the Gibraltar flies.
Blow, blow, ye breezes! oft I said,
While seas the ling'ring voyage delay'd;
Blow, blow, ye breezes! oft I cried,
While sleep her balmy rest denied:
Yet midst my watchings, cares, and rest,
Still clasp'd the treasure to my breast!

Reliev'd from cares that lately spread
A tempest round a wand'rer's head,
Arriv'd at length, where tumults cease,
And all within is hope and peace,
The warning seraph whispers low,
'Remember Worth, and each M*****!'

Go! partner of my throbbing heart!
To gentler breasts thy balm impart!
Go! - to you social bow'rs repair,
Far softer forms thy sweets shall share!
Go! and while odours from thee break
Round Jane or Bella's snowy neck,
Tell them from me, no sweets refin'd
Can match the tender female mind;
Nor Persia's rose, that blooms so fair,
With Virtue's charms can e'er compare,
No! nor rich Ceylon's spicy gales,
Nor fam'd Arabia's scented vales,
A balm so grateful can diffuse,
To wake and animate the muse,
As that which shook from Friendship's wing,
Attunes the lyre's according string,
And prompts e'en bards like me to sing!