Transactions, 67 



That proudly daring spirit, which burst forth 



Wild as the breezes of thy native North, 



Expireth not in monumental gloom. 



Nor stagnates in the dampness of the tomb ; 



No ! it still lives and breathes around thy shrine 



A kindling charm, an energy divine. 



To this lov'd spot, how many a bard unborn — 



Destined like thee his country to adorn — 



Shall come with awe to venerate thy name. 



And catch some portion of thy sacred flame. 



E'en now thy bold and spirit-breathing rhyme 



Wings its free influence thro' each distant clime. 



Far as the fame of Scotland's hills is known, 



Far as the burning and the frozen zone. 



See yonder Scottish exile, as he roves 



All faint and weary thro' Columbia's groves ; 



Let him recal thy soft and soothing strain ; 



His spirit burns, he half forgets his pain, 



And thirsts and hungers for his native plain. 



So vast the magic of thy simple song, 



To wake associations warm and strong. 



Let but the mountain daisy meet his eyes, 



A thousand fond remembrances will rise ! 



" Child of my care, farewell ! thy vivid lay 

 Delights the charms of nature to portray : 

 Sweet be thy slumbers midst these scenes belov'd. 

 Where thou so oft in pensive mood hast rov'd. 

 Thou winding Nith, that once wert proud to greet 

 His tuneful ear with voice of waters sweet, 

 Be grateful still : thou wert his favourite theme, 

 His genius bade thee flow a classic stream : 

 Still soothe his spirit with thy murmuring wave, 

 And waft a passing requiem to his grave. 

 Ye hills that round his much-lov'd valley rise, 

 And mix your misty summits with the skies, 

 You caught the echoes of his passing lyre. 

 And mourned to see your native Bard expire. 

 Spread your broad arms — an ample bulwark ! — forth, 

 Repel the ravage of the stormy north. 

 That safe protected from the tempest's rage 

 Yon sacred pile may live from age to age. 



" Yes — long as CrifFel on his ample breast 

 Reflects the golden glories of the west, 

 Long as old Queensberry's gigantic form 

 Shall brave the summer heat, the winter storm. 

 Long as the Nith from mountain urn shall flow 



