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

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 reward!) O never, never, Scotia's realm defert;

But ftill the Patriot, and the Patriot-Bard, In bright fucceffion raife, her Ornament and

Guard!

VOL. II.

B

MAN

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A

DIRG E.
RG I

I.

WHEN chill November's furly blaft

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

I fpy'd a man, whofe aged ftep

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 miseries of man.

III.

The Sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to fupport
A haughty lordling's pride;
I've feen yon weary winter-fun
Twice forty times return;

And ev'ry time has added proofs,

That Man was made to mourn.

IV.

O Man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time?
Mif-spending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime !
Alternate Follies take the fway

Licentious Paffions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That Man was made to mourn.

V.

Look not alone on youthful Prime,
Or Manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,

Supported is his right.

But

But fee him on the edge of life,

With Cares and Sorrows worn,

'

Then Age and Want, Oh! ill-match'd pair! Show Man was made to mourn.

VI.

A few feem favourites of Fate,

In Pleasure's lap careft;

Yet, think not all the Rich and Great

Are likewife truly bleft.

But, Oh! what crowds in ev'ry land,
Are wretched and forlorn.

Thro' weary life this leffon learn,
That Man was made to mourn.

VII.

Many and sharp the num'rous ills,

Inwoven with our frame !