XVIII.

Then homeward all take off their fev'ral

way;

The youngling Cottagers retire to reft:

The Parent-pair their fecret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, That He who ftills the raven's clam'rous neft, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would in the way His Wisdom fees the beft, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine prefide.

XIX.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur

fprings,

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd

abroad:

Princes

Princes and Lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honeft man's the nobleft work of GOD:' And certes, in fair Virtue's heav'nly road,

The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp! a cumbrous load, Difguifing oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refin'd!

XX.

O Scotia! my dear, my native foil!

For whom my warmeft wish to heav'n is

fent!

Long may thy hardy fons of ruftic toil,

Be bleft with health, and peace, and sweet

content!

And, O! may Heav'n, their fimple lives pre

vent

From Luxury's contagion, weak and

vile !

Then

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous Populace may rife the while, And ftand a wall of fire around their much

lov'd le.

XXI.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide
That ftream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted

heart;

Who dar'd to, nobly, ftem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part,

(The Patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and re

ward!)

O never, never, Scotia's realm defert;

But ftill the Patriot, and the Patriot-Bard,

In bright fucceffion raife, her Ornament

and Guard!

MAN

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

DIRGE.

I.

WHEN chill November's furly blaft

Made fields and forests bare, One ev❜ning, as I wand'red forth Along the banks of Ayr,

I fpy'd a man, whofe aged step

Seem'd weary, worn with care;

His face was furrow'd o'er with years,

And hoary was his hair,

II.

Young ftranger, whither wand'reft thou!

Began the rev'rend Sage;

Does thirst of wealth thy ftep constrain,
Or youthful Pleasure's rage?

Or haply, preft with cares and woes,

Too foon thou haft began

To wander forth, with me, to mourn

The miferies of man.

III.

The Sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-fpreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to fupport
A haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter-fun

Twice forty times return;

And