In one of his poetical effusions he speaks of describing 'fair Nature's face,' as a privilege on which he sets a high value; nevertheless, natural appearances rarely take a lead in his poetry.

It is as a human being, eminently sensitive and intelligent, and not as a poet clad in his priestly robes and carrying the ensigns of sacerdotal office, that he interests and affects us.
Whether he speaks of rivers, hills, and woods, it is not so much on account of the properties with which they are absolutely endowed, as relatively to local patriotic remembrances and associations, or as they are ministerial to personal feelings, especially those of love, whether happy or otherwise; yet it is not _always_ so.

Soon after we had passed Mosgiel Farm we crossed the Ayr, murmuring and winding through a narrow woody hollow.

His line, 'Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,' [=stole] came at once to my mind, with Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, Ayrshire streams over which he breathes a sigh, as being unnamed in song; and, surely, his own attempts to make them known were as successful as his heart could desire.
408.

*_Written on a Blank Leaf of Macpherson's 'Ossian_.' [XXVII] This poem should, for variety's sake, take its place among the itinerary Sonnets on one of the Scotch Tours.
409.