Sawney, the nobler ruler of the clan,
Had number'd o'er the riper years of man,
Graceful in stature, ravishing his mien,
To make a conquest was but to be seen.
Fired by ambition he resolved to roam
Far from the famine of his native home,
To seek the warmer climate of the south,
And at one banquet feast his eyes and mouth.
In vain the am'rous highland lass complain'd,
The son of monarchs would not be restrain'd;
Clad in his native many-colour'd suit,
Forth struts the walking majesty of Bute.
His spacious sword to a large wallet strung,
Across his broad capacious shoulders hung:
As from the hills the land of promise rose
A secret transport in his bosom glows:
A joy prophetic until then unknown
Assur'd him all he view'd would be his own.
New scenes of pleasure recreate his sight,
He views the fertile meadows with delight;
Still in soliloquy he prais'd the view,
Nor more was pleased with future scenes at Kew.
His wonder broke in murmurs from his tongue,
No more the praise of highland hills he sung,
Till now a stranger to the cheerful green
Where springing flowers diversify the scene,
The lofty elm, the oak of lordly look,
The willow shadowing the bubbling brook,
The hedges blooming with the sweets of May
With double pleasure mark'd his gladsome way.
Having through varying rural prospects past,
He reach'd the great metropolis at last.
Here fate beheld him as he trudg'd the street,
Bare was his buttocks and unshod his feet,
A lengthening train of boys displayed him great,
He seem'd already minister of state.
The Carlton Sybil saw his graceful mien,
And straight forgot her hopes of being Queen.
She sigh'd, she wish'd; swift virtuous Chudleigh flew To bring the Caledonian swain to Kew;
Then introduced him to her secret cell,
What further can the modest numbers tell?
None rode the broomstaff with so good a grace,
Or pleased her with such majesty of face;
Enraptur'd with her incubus she sought
How to reward his merit as she ought.
Resolved to make him greatest of the great
She led him to her hidden cave of state;
There spurs and coronets were placed around,
And privy seals were scatter'd on the ground;
Here piles of honorary truncheons lay,
And gleaming stars made artificial day;
With mystic rods whose magic power is such
They metamorphose parties with a touch.
With flags of all varieties of hue.
These, said the Sybil, from this present hour
Are thine, with every dignity of power.
No statesman shall be titularly great,
None shall obtain an office in the state
But such whose principles and manners suit
The virtuous temper of the Earl of Bute;
All shall pursue thy interest, none shall guide
But such as you repute are qualified.
No more on Scotland's melancholy plain
Your starving countrymen shall drink the rain,
But hither hasting on their naked feet,
Procure a place, forget themselves, and eat.
No southern patriot shall oppose my will,
If not my look, my Treasurer can kill;
His pistol never fails in time of need,
And who dares contradict my power shall bleed.
A future Barrington will also rise
With blood and death to entertain my eyes.
But this forestalls futurity and fate,
I'll choose the present hour to make thee great.
He bow'd submission, and with eager view
Gazed on the wither'd oracle of Kew.
She seized a pendant garter, and began
To elevate the ruler of the clan,
Girt round his leg the honour'd trifle shone,
And gather'd double lustre from the throne;
With native dignity he fill'd the stall,
The wonder, jest, and enmity of all.
Not yet content with honorary grace,
The Sybil, busy for the sweets of place,
Kick'd out a minister, the people's pride,
And lifted Sawney in his place to guide.
The Leader of the Treasury he rose,
Whilst fate mark'd down the nation's future woes.
Mad with ambition his imperious hand
Scattered oppression through a groaning land;
Still taxes followed taxes, grants supplies,
With every ill resulting from excise.
Not satisfied with this unjust increase,
He struck a bolder stroke, and sold the peace;
The Gallic millions so convinced his mind
On honourable terms the treaty's sign'd.
But who his private character can blame, Or brand his titles with a villain's name? Upon an estimation of the gains
He stoop'd beneath himself to take the reins,
A good economist he serv'd the crown,
And made his master's interest his own.
His starving friends and countrymen applied,
To share the ministry, assist to guide;
Nor ask'd in vain :-his charitable hand
Made Plenty smile in Scotland's barren land,
Her wandering sons for poverty renown'd
Places and pensions, bribes or titles found.
Far from the south, was humble merit fled,
And on the northern mountains rear'd her head;
And genius having rang'd beyond the Tweed,
Sat brooding upon bards who could not read;
Whilst courage, boasting of his highland might,
Mentions not Culloden's inglorious flight,
But whilst his lordship fills the honour'd stall,
Ample provision satisfies them all.
The genius sings his praise, the soldier swears
To mutilate each murm'ring caitiff's ears;
The father of his country they adore,
And live in elegance unknown before.
Nor yet unthankful he for power and place,
He praised the Sybil with distinguish'd grace."
Around this mystic sun of liquid gold
A swarm of planetary statesmen roll'd;
Though some have since as ministers been known,
They shone with borrow'd lustre not their own:
In ev'ry revolution day and night
From Bute they caught each particle of light;
He destin'd out the circles they fulfil,
Hung on the bulky nothing of his will.
How shall I brand with infamy a name Which bids defiance to all sense of shame?
* Twelve lines, unfit for publication, are here omitted.-ED.
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