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TO THE
REVEREND GEORGE LOUIS CAMPBELL.
My dear Friend,
I know of no one with whose name I
could more appropriately inscribe the following
poem than with yours. The scene of it is laid in
your very extensive parish; which, though it
does not afford to the poetic gaze Rowers, showy
blossoms, and fragrant woods, the luxurious pro¬
ducts of a kinder and more benignant sky, is
still rich and varied in scenery which has a
healthful influence on the inhabitants. Still in
this apparently very barren region some flowers,
whose virtues possess surpassing endurance,
unobtrusively flourish. The delicate violet tim¬
idly lives in the shelter of the rocks; the stately
primrose on the moist clayey braes or in the
secret nooks, unfolds its leaves of purity; and
while on one path we are favoured with the
looks of the hardy but modest daisy, on another
our vision delighted wanders the gay waste of
the purple bells of the heather. The long lochs
and the deep inland lakes teeming with life; as
well as the rugged stony hills which are its dis¬
tinctive features, have each a sublimity and a

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