106 A FORGOTTEN BARD OF THE BORDER 



Oh ! how unwise are they who scorn 



Thy homely garb and humble fare, 

 Who scale the tropic's burning bourne 



Ideal happiness to share, 

 They tread the wild and plough the wave, 

 In quest of gold ; but find — a grave. 



There are who know thee but by name, 



Who spurn thy salutary laws ; 

 And count thy mark a badge of shame, 



And hold it sin to own thy cause : 

 Fools that they are ! they never knew 

 Thy guiltless pride, thy spirit true. 



• -■ Full -oft in danger's darkest day 



Thy sons have prov'd their country's shield, 



When wealth's effeminate array 

 Appeared not on the battlefield, 



'Twas theirs to grasp the patriot brand 



That dropp'd from lux'ry's nerveless hand. 



What though the hireling bard be mute 



When humble worth for notice calls ? 

 There wants not voice of harp and lute 



To hymn it high in heavenly halls. 

 Around the cell where virtue weeps 

 His nightly watch the seraph keeps. 



Surely some simple granite slab might mark the birth-place 

 of the man who wrote these noble lines! 



