Or noble Elgin beets the heav'n-ward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. XIV. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of GOD on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heav'n's avenging ire; Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. XV. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : How his first followers and servants sped; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: How he, who lone in Patmos banished, " Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command. XVI. Then kneeling down, to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KING, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,'* That thus they all shall meet in future days : There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. XVII. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! The Pow'r, incens'd the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul; And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. XVIII. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The * Pope's Windsor Forest. The parent pair their secret homage pay, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. XIX. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loy'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest 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, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! XX. O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And, O! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. XXI. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide heart; Who dar'd to nobly stem 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 desert ; But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! MAN |