My landlady and her family were
exceedingly kind to me. I enjoyed much
pleasure in walking in the beautiful garden belonging to the house, and in
sitting in that arbour, where so many of the columns of the Montrose Review -
which have tended so much to evelate mankind, had been composed. While enjoying this scene, all the romantic
feelings of love beset by the most striking virtue, and adorned with the
grandest scenes of nature's workmanship, flashed upon my mind, and I believe
had I had time sufficient at my command I could have wrote a romantic tale, so
much was my imagination tainted by the lovely scene around, and even while I
sit and write - surrounded as I am with the beauties of nature and art, the
paintings around me and some of them fair originals standing beside me, telling
of ancestors who are smiling in the canvas from the walls who once lived and
moved, where I now am, and the consciousness that these ancestors were men and
women of no ordinary talent, and beauty, with the heart thrilling notes of the
piano, accompanied by the sweet voice of Margaret (Margret) the flower of
Montrose altogether overwhelm me and open up to me new beauties, touching a
chord of pleasure, that till now had been dead in my bosom, it was here that I
first saw beauty combined with talent, and in this scene must my mind ever look
back with inexpresible feelings of no common delight.
Margaret, the flower of Montrose
What tho' the bright fields are
enshrouded in spendour,
And enchanting the notes of
Autumns sweet songTho' the Lake 'mid the Rocks is reposing in grandeur
And the mountain Deer bounding the wild woods among
To the heart that tormented swells
in this sad bosom
In vain drops the dew from the
Lily and RoseIn vain does sweet nature spread fragrance and blessings
While far from sweet Margret the flower of Montrose
Proud boreas may swell the dark
frowning ocean
And the Bark may distracted reel
over the wavesThe skies may be tossed(?) in dreadful commotion(?)
And the warrior be hushed on the field of the brave
Yet to this sad bosom while memory
is reigning
In vain lovely nature in glory
forth goesThis heart still all comfort and joy is disdaining
While far from sweet Margret the flower of Montrose.
When evenings dark shades envelope the mountains
And Phoebus in glory spreads brightness around
As lonely I stray by the streams and the fountains
In majesty murm'ring their language profound
Still this bosom distracted does
conjure up near me
The Nymph that for beauty outvies the sweetest(?)And in journeying this world this only can charm me
The love of young Margret the flower of Montrose
In the afternoon I went to Logie a place about 4 miles
distant from Montrose where there is a spinning mill and bleachfield. I lectured about 2 1/4 hours in a schoolroom
to about l00 of an audience. Eight names
were added to the Society at the close of the lecture.
The cause is prospering in this quarter.
Typed by Betty Kay
11th May 1996, from Dan Marshall`s notes of the original journal.
©2012, copyright Alana Farrell
