"Your verses on the Unfortunate Lady," writes Campbell to
his friend, "I read with sweet pleasure; for there is a joy in grief,
when peace dwelleth in the breast of the sad.... Morose as I am in
judging of poetry, I could find nothing inelegant in the whole piece. I
hope you will in your next (since you are such a master of the
plaintive) send me some verses consolatory to a hermit; for my
sequestered situation sometimes stamps a firm belief on my mind that I
am actually an anchorite. In return for your welcome poetical effusion,
I have nothing at present but a chorus of the Jepthes of Buchanan,
written soon after my arrival in Mull:--
"Glassy Jordan, smooth meandering
Jacob's grassy meads between,
Lo! thy waters, gently wandering,
Lave thy valleys rich and green.
"When the winter, keenly show'ring,
Strips fair Salem's holy shade,
Then thy current, broader flowing,
Lingers 'mid the leafless glade.
"When, O! when shall light returning
Gild the melancholy gloom,
And the golden star of morning
Jordan's solemn vault illume?
"When shall Freedom's holy charmer
Cheer my long benighted soul?
When shall Israel, proud in armour,
Burst the tyrant's base control?" &c.
"The similarity of the measure with that of your last made me think of
sending you this piece.
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