Robert Burns' Poem Written on the Wall of a Pub

The Kenmore Hotel claims to be Scotland's Oldest Inn, founded in 1572. One of the cozy parlours in the inn is known as the "Poetıs Room," because Robert Burns wrote a poem in pencil on the chimney piece of this parlour on the 29th August 1787. The inn is situated where the River Tay begins, spilling out of beautiful Loch Tay. A short distance away is Taymouth Castle, home of the Marquise Breadalbane ("bree-DAWL-ban"), a Campbell, who owned all the land from here to Oban on the west coast. Also close by is the Hermit's Cave, mentioned in the poem. The bike group got a private tour of Taymouth Castle, led by a colorful old man who did some of the restoration work. We also visited the Hermit's Cave on our Highlands Adventure Safari.
   The poet and Mr. Nichols arrived at the inn on 29 August 1787. Robert Burns noted in his journal for that day, "Taymouth -- described in rhyme -- meet the Hon. Charles Townsend." Burns is said to have composed the poem standing on the nearby bridge over the River Tay. Here is the poem:

Admiring nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
The haunt of coveyed grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious I persue
Till famed Breadalbane opens to my view,
The meeting cliffs, each deep sunk glen divides,
The woods, wild scattered, clothe their ample sides;
The outstretching lake embosomed 'mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills;
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride;
The palace rising on its verdant side;
The lawns woodfringed in Nature's native taste;
The hillockes dropt in Nature's careless haste;
The arches striding o'er the new born stream;
The village glittering in the noontide beam.

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods
The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods.

Here Poesie might wake her heav'n-taught lyre,
And look through nature with creative fire,
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconciled,
Misfortune's lightened steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds;
And heart felt Grief might Heavenward stretch her scan,
And injured Worth forget and pardon man.