Written with a pencil over the Chimney-piece, in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth
[end of the poem 'Birks of Aberfeldy' see object 3.6174]
Written in the Hermitage at Taymouth.
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dell and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd growse and timid sheep,
My savage journey curious I pursue
Till fam'd Breadalbine opens on my view.
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
The woods wild-scatter'd clothe their towering sides
Written in the Hermitage at Taymouth.
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dell and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd growse and timid sheep,
My savage journey curious I pursue
Till fam'd Breadalbine opens on my view.
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
The woods wild-scatter'd clothe their towering sides
Th' outstretching lake, imbosomed 'mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills:
The Tay meandering 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-wandring by the Hermit's mossy cell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods,
Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods ----
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre,
And look thro' Nature with creative fire:
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half-reconcil'd,
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds
Find balm to sooth her bitter-rankling wounds:
The eye with wonder and amazement fills:
The Tay meandering 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-wandring by the Hermit's mossy cell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods,
Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods ----
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre,
And look thro' Nature with creative fire:
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half-reconcil'd,
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds
Find balm to sooth her bitter-rankling wounds:
Here heart-struck Grief might heaven-ward stretch her
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. ----
_______________________________
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. ----
_______________________________
![](https://ciim-data.nts.org.uk/media/iiif/3/pf%2F2%2F1%2F40%2F537%2FNTSBRNp07155.ptif/full/!640,640/0/default.jpg)
Key details
- Archive number
- NTS/02/25/BRN/02/35
- Alt. number
- 3.6175
- On display
- No
- Creator
- Burns, Robert (Author)
- Archive number
- NTS/02/25/BRN/02/35
- Alt. number
- 3.6175
- On display
- No
- Creator
- Burns, Robert (Author)
Description
Written with a pencil over the Chimney-piece, in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth.
Begins "Admiring Nature in her wildest grace". Written in the Hermitage at Taymouth.
Archive information
Themes
Hierarchy
-
Robert Burns, collection of poems and songs
(
a sub-fonds is a subdivision in the archival material)
- Written with a pencil over the Chimney-piece, in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth