on a visit to Mrs. Gavin Hamilton at Mauchline._]

[_Probably Autumn_, 1785.]

MADAM,--Permit me to present you with the enclosed song as a small
though grateful tribute for the honour of your acquaintance. I have in
these verses attempted some faint sketch of your portrait in the
unembellished simple manner of descriptive truth. Flattery I leave to
your lovers whose exaggerating fancies may make them imagine you are
still nearer perfection than you really are.

Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers of
beauty,--as, if they are really poets of nature's making, their feelings
must be finer and their taste more delicate than most of the world. In
the cheerful bloom of spring, or the pensive mildness of autumn, the
grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty of winter, the poet feels a
charm unknown to the most of his species. Even the sight of a fine
flower, or the company of a fine woman (by far the finest part of God's
works below), has sensations for the poetic heart that the herd of men
are strangers to. On this last account, Madam, I am, as in many other
things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in introducing me to you.
Your lovers may view you with a wish--I look on you with pleasure; their
hearts in your presence may glow with desire--mine rises with
admiration.

That the arrows of misfortune, however they should, as incident to
humanity, glance a slight wound, may never reach your heart; that the
snares of villainy may never beset you in the road of life; that
innocence may hand you by the path of honour to the dwelling of
peace--is the sincere wish of him who has the honour to be, etc. R. B.