Has left the plain, ’twas what I fear’d,
And o’er her shoulders, careless hung,
A Caledonian plaid appear’d.
Of ancient note on Scotia’s plain,
And by her grandam often wore,
Its crimson hue was free from stain,
Which made Calista shine the more.
Yea still she shines; her radient eyes
Add lustre to the brightest day;
Each feature strikes with new surprise,