SONNETS, Written in the Highlands of Scotland, in the Year 1767, SONNET VII

Had I but met whence Nature bade expect That just return of tenderness exprest, That mutual generosity of mind, And liberal turn, which judging from my breast I fondly thought to others were consign'd, Always reluctant meanly to suspect: I should not far, far from my native home, With numerous cares in my sad bosom pent Have hither e'er prolong'd my wandering tread; Not willingly, but driven by fate to roam. I should not then have press'd this cheerless bed, To sharp reflection, more than pain, a prey, Chewing the cud of bitter discontent, Where these high hills the Lomond Lake survey.