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"Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends."

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WRITTEN WITII A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OF FOYERS,

NEAR LOCH NESS.

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AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods
The roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods,
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds,
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,
As deep-recoiling surges foam below,
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends.
Dim seen through rising mists and ceaseless showers,
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lowers.
Still, through the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid caldron boils.

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Epistle to a young friend.

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,

A something to have sent you, Though it should serve nae other end

Than just a kind memento;
But how the subject-theme may gang,

Let time and chance determine ;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,

Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world fu' soon, my lad ;

And, Andrew, dear, believe me, You 'll find mankind an unco squad,

And muckle they may grieve ye: For care and trouble set your thought,

Even when your end's attain'd ; And a' your views may come to nought,

Where every nerve is strain'd

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