ROSLIN! thy scattered beauties, rich and wild,
Lie like a garden-map before me spread;
In all thy fairy scenes I gladly tread,
Where sleeps the sun-smile—and the breeze so mild
Enamoured sighs, as to thy presence wed.
Down through thy vale—so lovely and so sweet,
Yet so retiring, like some blushing maid
Apprized of her own beauty—oft I meet,
Two pensive lovers whispering their vows.
Thy woods and thy ravines, thy rocks and caves,
Contain the gleams of grandeur, o'er the brows
Of thy dark crags, the heath-flower freely waves.
Here Drummond sung, sweetly and well, for he
In thy retreats became inspired by thee.