Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/88

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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
By stately tow'r or palace fair,Or ruins pendent in the air,Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, I could discern;Some seemed to muse, some seem'd to dare,With feature stern.
My heart did glowing transport feel,To see a Race heroic wheel,And brandish round the deep-dy'd steelIn sturdy blows;While back-recoiling seem'd to reelTheir Suthron foes.
His Country's Saviour, mark him well!Bold Richardton's heroic swell;The Chief on Sark who glorious fell,In high command;And He whom ruthless fates expelHis native land.
There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shadeStalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,I mark'd a martial Race, pourtray'dIn colours strong;Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'dThey strode along.
Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,(Fit haunts for Friendship or for LoveIn musing mood,)An aged Judge, I saw him rove,Dispensing good.
With deep-struck reverential aweThe learned Sire and Son I saw,To Nature's God and Nature's lawThey gave their lore,This, all its source and end to draw,That, to adore.
Brydon's brave Ward I well could spy,Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;Who call'd on Fame, low standing by,To hand him on,Where many a Patriot name on high,And Hero shone.
DUAN SECOND.
With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair;A whisp'ring throb did witness bear,Of kindred sweet,When with an elder Sister's airShe did me greet.
'All hail! my own inspired Bard!In me thy native Muse regard!Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,Thus poorly low!I come to give thee such rewardAs we bestow.
'Know, the great Genius of this landHas many a light, aërial band,Who, all beneath his high command,Harmoniously,As Arts or Arms they understand,Their labours ply.
'They Scotia's Race among them share;Some fire the Soldier on to dare;Some rouse the Patriot up to bareCorruption's heart:Some teach the Bard, a darling care,The tuneful art.
''Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,They, ardent, kindling spirits pour;Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar,They, sightless, stand,To mend the honest Patriot lore,And grace the hand.
'And when the Bard, or hoary Sage,Charm or instruct the future age,They bind the wild, Poetic rageIn energy,Or point the inconclusive pageFull on the eye.
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