Worse Words Poem by Douglas Scotney

Burns wrote 'Admiring Nature in her wildest grace' in 1787 on a wall above the chimney in the parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth.
Perhaps he presaged the puns that would come on Wordsworth's name (to do with the poetry of his that was bad) .
Wordsworth 1770-1850, Burns 1759-96.

'Admiring Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,

My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. -
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
The woods wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides;
Th' outstretching lake, imbosomed 'mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills;
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride,
The palace rising on his verdant side,
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste,
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste,
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream,
The village glittering in the noontide beam-

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell;
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods,
Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods-

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre,
And look through Nature with creative fire;
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd,
Misfortunes lighten'd steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds:
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch her

[scan,

And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man.'