While Poesy, whose lore refin'd

At once instructs and charms the mind,

Indulgent marks with aspect kind

Her favorite Caledonie ;

And though in every land she sways

Her sceptre, and her power displays;

She pours her brightest, strongest blaze
Of light on Caledonie.

There, soaring high above a crowd

Of Poets with each grace endow'd

Shines Burns, conspicuous, peerless, proud,

The Bard of Caledonie!

Unrivall'd Poet! o'er thy grave

Shall bloom the wreath which Coila gave;

And mournful in the breeze shall wave

Thy thistle, Caledonie.

Though bursting on the dazzl'd sight,

Thy genius, like some meteor bright

Effulgent blaz'd, then sunk in night;

Yet still shall Caledonie

O'er all thy crimes and follies weep:

And mourn, in anguish proud and deep,

That, all unstrung, should idly sleep

The Lyre of Caledonie.

Short slumber; for by fancy fir'd

By feats of Border chiefs inspir'd,

Scott now invokes, with zeal untir'd,

The muse of Caledonie.

Of peerless maids in beauty's prime,

Of knighthood's dauntless deeds sublime,

Of tales which charm'd in olden time

The ear of Caledonie

8

The minstrel sings: with fond delight,

Enraptur'd fancy wings her flight

To feudal days, ere Albion's might
Had conquer'd Caledonie.

But dares my trembling hand to stray

Those cords along, whence rose the Lay Of Chivalry's unclouded day,

Sacred to Caledonie ?

Vain, vain the task! like morning dew,

As bright, as clear, as transient too,

The vision fades—A long adieu

To bonnie Caledonie.

THE THISTLE,

ADDRESS'D TO THE AUTHOUR OF CALEDONIE,

By a Scotch Lady.

THE lily of France in your song is pourtray'd,
Nor forgotten the sweet English rose;

Let the shamrock of Erin expand its green leaf,
While the thistle undauntedly grows.

The thistle of Scotland! her boast and her pride,

Who e'er tried to pluck it must know,

Like her brave hardy sons it resists the fell gripe,

Should the merciless spoiler accomplish his aim, Full soon would his triumph be o'er;

For its seedlings in haughty defiance should rise,

And brave the attack as before.

Though beauty and sweetness distinguish the rose,

To the robber how easy a prey!

The ruthless invader derides all its thorns,

And bears its gay blossoms away.

While arm'd at all points with its prickles around,
The thistle asserts its proud reign;

It heeds not the soil, or the climate, but decks
The bleak mountain and fertiliz'd plain.

And why should it not? when by nature design'd
With the bright English rose to compare ;
What it has not in beauty it makes up in strength;
May they mingle in luve ever mair.