XVIII.

Then homeward all take off their fev'ral way;

The youngling Cottagers retire to rest:

The Parent-pair their fecret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, That He who ftills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would in the way His Wifdom fees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine prefide.

XIX.

From scenes like thefe, old Scotia's grandeur

fprings,

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd

abroad:

Princes

Princes and Lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honeft man's the nobleft work of GOD:'

And certes, in fair Virtue's heav'nly road,

The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind What is a lordling's pomp! a cumbrous load, Difguifing oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refin'd!

XX.

O Scotia! my dear, my native foil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is

fent!

Long may thy hardy fons of ruftic toil,

Be bleft with health, and peace, and fweet

content!

And, O may Heav'n, their fimple lives pre

vent

From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then

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

lov'd IДle.

XXI.

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 fecond glorious part, (The Patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,

His friend, infpirer, 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

1

MAN

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

DIRG E.

I.

WHEN chill November's furly blast

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

I spy'd a man, whofe aged step

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 step constrain,
Or youthful Pleafure'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 seen yon weary winter-fun

Twice forty times return;