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Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield 1 view'd: Her form majestic droop'd in pensive wo,
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurld, That like a deatnful meteor gleam'd afar,
And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world :“My patriot Son fills an untimely grave !"
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried “Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save,
Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride! “ A weeping country joins a widow's tear,
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; The drooping arts surround their patron's bier,
And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh. "I saw my sons resume their ancient fire;
I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richily blow; But, ah! how hope is born but to expire!
Relentless fate has laid this guardian low. “My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung,
While empty greatness saves a worthless name? No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue,
And future ages hear his growing fame. 6 And I will join a mother's tender cares,
Thro’ future times to make his virtues last, That distant years may boast of other Blairs:"?
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast.
TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS
BUST AT EDNAM, BOXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS.
WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood,
Unfolds her tender mantle green,
Or tunes Æolian strains between;
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade,
The progress of the spiky blade;
By Tweed erects his aged bead,
Each creature on his bounty fed;
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of suows :
So long, sweet poet of the year,
Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won;
Proclaims that Thomson was her son.
FOR THE AUTHORS' FATHER.
OʻYE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains,
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend ; Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. The pitying heart that felt for human wo ;
The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe
“For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side*."
FOR R. A. ESQ.
Know thou, O stranger to the fame
ON A FRIEND.
An honest man here lies at rest,
A BARD'S EPITAPH.
Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Let him draw near :
And drap a tear.
Is there a Bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng,
O, pass not by! But with a frater-feeling strong,
Here heave a sigh.
Is there a man, whose judgment clear,
Wild as the wave;
Sarvey this grave.
And softer flame,
And stain'd his name!
Reader attend-whether thy soul
In low pursuit ;
Is wisdom's root.
ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,
Born in peculiar circumstances of Family Distréss.
SWEET Flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,
And ward o' monie a pray'r,
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!