New Zealand Minstrelsy
Reflections over a Lark’s Nest.
As o’er a field I strolling paced my way,
With careless step, and dash’d from ev’ry spray
The glist’ning dew, which thick like diamonds hung,—
Then from her nest a lark affrighten’d sprung
At my approach,—and chirping, seemed to say;—
“Refrain thy footsteps, vagrant stranger—stay
Thy hand from mischief on my tender young;
Poor innocents! oh, do not thou them wrong;
Oh, spare them! they are all my only care;
And let them in thy love and favour share;
That I from helpless infancy may rear
Them to maturity. Yet they may cheer
Thee in thy walks, when chaunting choicest lays,—
Or teach mankind to sing his Maker’s praise!”
My pace I check’d at this the lark’s request,
Which fraught with softest sympathy my breast;
PerceptionI look’d around with careful scanning eye,
Where rose the lark. Now, there, do I descry,
Her humble habitation, low, beside
A tuft of grass. Family; SocietyFour mouths now open wide,
As asking for an alms, as I draw near
To see the nest, and tender hatch so dear
And precious to their dam. They feel mista’en,
Their mouths they shut, and huddle down again:—
So young—their eyes yet seal’d—they’ve not discern’d
Me from their mother; yet they have not learn’d
page ii A stranger’s voice. Then why should 1 extort
Myself from all humanity to hurt
Such poor defenceless creatures? Or purloin
Them from a parent’s care? Or e’er destine
Them to an unjust death?—To treat them ill
I never can,—as I’ve detested still
Such cruel deeds. But to the mother’s pray’r,
I’ll lend a willing ear. Family; Home; NatureFor, see! what care
She has bestow’d upon her little brood
to make them happy. Lo! how well is made
Her small, neat, grounded nest. Were we to scan
Its structure with minuteness, and the plan,
In which it is so carefully contrived,
Then would we ask, From whom has she derived,
Such art and knowledge? Was it e’er from man?
Or was she taught by any artizan
To build her nest? No! Nature is her guide,
From whom she wisdom learns,—how to provide
For this her progeny. And what’s designed,
Is neatly done! How softly it is lined,
For comfort to her young, her only care,
That are, as yet, of Nature’s clothing bare.
And, lo! the outward bulwarks of its form,
How well ’tis built ’gainst the usurping worm,
To save her eggs, and tender brood from harm.
What wisdom’s this? What mother could do more!
To shield her infant charge, Sing, ye that soar
Aloft! With loudest carols make the air
Resound, to cheer your mates in their domestic care.
How interesting! Family; SocietyHow agreeable
Is their behaviour! Discord ne’er can dwell
Within this habitation. There they lie
Together hugged in social harmony.
Lo! what a grand example these afford
page iii To fam’lies where wild mut’ny, much deplored,
Oft sows its dire, death-working seeds of strife,
Carroding still the sweets of social life,
With discontent and jealousy. Expel
Such fiendish feelings which torment the soul.
Here innocence and sociality
Are in this brood pourtray’d, as there they lie
In meek contentment. JoyTruly they excite,
To sympathetic feelings of delight!
Stanzas, To a Young Poet.
“Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep, where fame’s proud temple shines afar.”
Hail, friendly youth! fair orient genius!
In answer I employ my pen of steel;
Nor can my muse be so ungenerous
As not in thee a growing pleasure feel;
Nor can my soul its innate joy conceal,
To hear, in symphony, ye tune the lyre:—
Music and SongThen rouse, ye sacred Nine! your powers reveal
And kindle in his breast each quick’ning fire,
As he with inward music loves to join the choir.
Religion; SocietyAh! tender youth, ye little know what care
May dare in ambush, yet waylay thy steps;
May heaven, still kindly you in favour spare,
And guide thy feet from such engulphing traps,
Which oft arrest the progress of adepts;
Who, oft are met by barriers of scorn,
And adverse fortunes,—disappointed hopes,
’Mid which their labours painfully were borne,
Then left to meet their fates forgotten and forlorn.
SocietyOh! fly fair Flattery, whose delusive tongue
Beguiles with vain enticing words of wind—
Whose company, the root of every wrong,
If once indulged, you no escape will find,
While in its close embrace thou art confin’d—
Which Siren-like, most charmingly will lull
With praise melodious the unwary mind;
Till pride inflates thee, thus t’ensure thy fall;—
Then keen remorse will vex and harrow up thy soul.
Be noble-minded! circumspect, reserve,
ImaginationOf building fancy’s airy towers beware;
Lest heedlessly through self-conceit ye swerve,
And from thy giddy height—so press’d with care,—
Ye headlong tumble,—grasping at the air,
To break thy fall, to dreadful fate consigned—
Suffering; HonourA dire arousement! waking in despair,
When all thy hopes and prospects with the wind,
Are fled, and not a wreck of fame is left behind.
Future; HonourIs’t future praise—a vain anticipation
Of phantom fame—ye harbour in your breast?
Or is it sport? a sordid degradation
Of genius’ gift, of which thou art possess’d:
Future; Honour; SocietyThe tongue of Time will have it loud express’d,
When round th’ eventful wheel of fortune’s whirl’d,
To point thy lot high seated with the blest,
Or high exalted, be to ruin hurl’d,
Then hiss’d and scoff’d at by a scandalizing world!
Prosperity; Religion; HonourBut what ennobles more the human mind
Than meditating on the works of God:
Exciting magnanimity refined
’Bove all which wealth or honour e’er bestow’d:—
Society; HonourBut, ah! what secular’ties make inroad,
page v To vex sweet peace, or raise the tattling sneer;
A neighbour’s name with infamy to load,
Exposing virtue to opprobrious jeer:—
From such base degradations of thy muse forbear!
Society; Religion; Prosperity; ChangeGo on! and may you prosper in your sphere,
But mark attentive, e’er ye’ve gone afar,
Lest Envy should in unawares appear
Against thy hopes and prospects waging war,
Employing all, thy progress to debar:—
Why should I on such themes of grievance dwell?
Be stirr’d!—let no despondence e’er thee mar,
Aim to improve, as ye aspire t’excell;—
Be virtue’s friend! and Heav’n will bless thy muse.—
I’m like, ’mid great society’s fry,
An old book in a library,
That’s handed down from yore;
Whose boards are sadly tatter’d and torn,
Which lies there uncall’d for, neglected and lorn,
On which the damp mould gathers hoar.
Per’dventure some novice may stray,
And just pick it up by the way,
To see what’s in’t contain’d;
Aside, though unjudged, he’ll throw’t by,
With mein as disgusted, condemning he’ll cry,
“Its subject is tasteless and strain’d!”
Anew were it handsomely bound,
And gilt with elegance round,
PerceptionThe vagrant eye t’impede,
page vi Then hastily he’d snatch, and expose it to view,
To all recommend it as recently new,
And better was never indeed.
The book as it is must remain,
Till judges more candid will deign,
To scan with candour sound
Its many contents,—there the seemingly wise,
Instruction and wisdom may find to surprize,
Though yet unexplain’d, and profound.
That I’m in existence, I verily vow,
Though still 1’m unknown to the wide world around,
From heaven’s supernal, expanding concave,
To hell’s dark, infernal and soundless profound.
SocietyThough I am to all that’s angelic unknown,
With Christ, the great King, whom the Jews did despise,
A pilgrim, where’er he sojourn’d, I have trod
In poverty’s humblest, contemptuous guise.
Mark! when from the wing of the light’ning, you hear
The great resurrection proclaim’d;—then in state,
Spreading dread in a chariot of thunder I’ll ride,
Attending on Christ to the doom-giving seat:
Then woe to the righteous who hear not my fame,
The wicked are pardoned who give me a name!
Stanzas, Extemporaneously Written on a Stormy Night, Dalserf, November 4, 1833.
HomeLoud roars the wind; while round the chimney top,
The midnight spirits breathe with dol’rous groan;
And furies round the rattling windows yell,
As me to startle musing here alone.
WeatherThis is November’s desolating train!
Which strips the forest of its summer bloom,
While scenes, which once gave pleasure, waste are laid,
And all a cheerless aspect now assume.
The orchard grounds are thickly strew’d with leaves,
Which once with verdant foliage clad each bough;—
They teach a truth, important as ’tis true,
That man must from this stage of being go.
Now short, and lurid’s the withdrawing day,
As if the sun was wearied of its toil;
While cheerless night lengthens its sable shroud,
And winter storms roll in with rude turmoil.
Six hours have pass’d, since ’neath the western wave,
The sun has sunk as never more to rise;
Night reigns triumphant!—oft the wat’ry clouds
Have thickly overspread the scowling skies;
Then furiously, as heaven’s flood-gates wide
Were opened, prone in torrents poured the rain:
So, hear! amid the bawlings of the wind,
It rattles on each weather-beaten pane.
How furious every blast! as all their force
Collected strong were in each swelling gust;
Thus striving to o’erturn the peasant’s cot,
And level stately buildings with the dust.
Hark! Clyde’s loud roar commingles with the storm’s,
While down its course the heavy billows roll;
And other brimful rills augment its weight,
As forth it rushes to’ard its destined goal.
FamilyThe family ’s all abed:—thus late, I’m like
The moping owl when blinking to the moon,
As o’er the firelight list’ning to the storm,
I musing pore now near nocturnal noon.
SocietyHas ev’ry homeless wand’rer shelter found,
’Neath hospitable roof, or humbler shed?
Or has there any from th’ unfriendly door,
Been spurn’d, who has not where to lay his head?
ReligionOh Heaven! who has nature in control,
Spare! spare! oh spare! and quell the angry storm;
Oh! pity now the poor belated wretch,
The haughty niggard scorns to house from harm.
MemoryIn nights as this, still retrospection calls
To mind, War; Weatherthe unhappy nights of storm endured,
In war campaigns, and on the raging main,
Which seem’d t’engulf the tossing bark unmoor’d.*
Ocean; Weather; ReligionI feel for those, whose fates are to endure,
The midnight hazards of the stormy waves:
Oh Heaven! shield them with thy guardian pow’r,
Them ward from wrecks, and from untimely graves.
A Translation of an Episode in Ossian.
Love; LossUpon the rocks of winds, which loudly roar,
Oh weep! thou lovely maid of Inistore.
And bend thy fair head o’er the stormy waves,
Thou lovelier than the mountain ghost that moves
O’er Morven’s silence, in the glowing rays
Of yonder sun, in its meridian blaze.
For now thy youth’s laid low!—Ah! he is fallen,
Pale, pale beneath the sword of brave Cuthullen!
No more shall valour raise, nor aught that brings
Thy love again to match the blood of kings,
For Trenor, graceful Trenor, is no more!
Thy youth has died, Oh Maid of Inistore!
His gray dogs howling all at home do lie,
They see his haunting spirit passing by;
His bow unstrung now in the hall is found,
And in his hall of hinds, no more is heard his sound.
Religion; Future; LoveA Love Sonnet, written for a Young Lady to Her Lover, to whom She soon after got Married.
Oh! Heaven, mark me from above,
Thus pledging undivided love
To him my heart can most adore,
And whose affection I implore.
Believe me, Damon, I am true,
And still my soul is bent on you!
Time flies away as flies the wind,—
Oh haste the hour when we’ll be join’d,
When nothing shall us part but death,
Still loving to the latest breath.
Then oh! be kind, my suit regard,
Love in return is love’s reward;
So do accept, as I resign
My heart to thee, my Valentine.
Stanzas, extemporaneously written during the Egress of 1833, and the Ingress of1834.
See! how in uniform th’ approaching year
Advances boldly; nought its course prevents;
With its long line of infantry, while Fear
Forebodes sad changes, Hope its blest events.
See! like a courser with a flowing mane
Which on the breezes floats, it comes apace;
While Time is urgent as with slackened rein,
He pushes forward as to gain a race.
SocietyWe hail thee with triumphal shouts of joy,
Though expectation trembles in alarms;
While emulously all with either vie,
Who first will do obeisance to thy charms.
MemoryA few short minutes more, and then is past
The lingering year, as it had never been;
With all its joys and cares;— it hastens fast
T’escape, and launch us to another scene.
We vainly hope revivals will ensue,
And happiness, with each approaching year;
ImaginationWild fancy holds the picture up to view,
Full drawn, though no realities appear.
Where are some now who once saluted fond
Last year’s approach? Alas! they’re in the tomb;
FriendshipOh! Armstrong, chiefly thou, who could respond
To friendship’s pleasures, now hast met thy doom.
Memory; FriendshipFrom childhood, nought could break that genial tie,
By which our hearts in fellowship were join’d;
But Death has made a breach, which makes me sigh,
As still thy memory’s cherish’d in my mind.
The Dying Infant.
Who knows the yearnings of a mother’s soul,
While bending o’er the babe, she dearly loves,
When dying on her knee. Her bosom heaves,
With deep drawn sighs;—Lo! ev’ry sigh’s a prayer,
As ardently she gazes on its face,
And lightly wipes its sweat bedewed brow.
Poor, helpless babe! in thee is clearly seen
The frailty of our nature, and the pains
To which we’re still subjected, and must bear
From infancy to manhood and old age.
Sweet Innocent! no cares perplex thy mind,
As patiently ye bear the afflicting rod.
But well may’st thou endure thy little ills,
They’re only for a moment, then they’re o’er,
While angels wait to tend thy soul to bliss.
Thy race shall soon be run; and soon shall end
The time appointed for thy sojourn here,
When ye’ll be freed from sorrow and from sin.
As yet, thy heart was void of worldly wiles;
No charms of earth have thy affection bound,
To make thee grieve, when thou art call’d away.
page xiii No wish hast thou to be of older date,
When thus in view of heaven’s immortal land,
Who would not wish t’ enjoy thy happy state,—
So near thy exit from this vale of tears,—
Rather than drag a life of fourscore years
In toils and misery. ’Tis true indeed,
That life is sweet to all afraid to die;
No fear of death appears to haunt thy mind;
Resigned to Heav’n, ye seem t’await His will:—
“Depart ye hence, for this is not your rest.”
How hard it is to part with what we love;—
Self makes the loss too hard to be endured,
When what we love is from our bosoms torn.
Oh! Heaven grant sweet comfort to the minds
Of grieving parents, when thou see’st fit
Them of their little darling to deprive.
’Tis Thou, alone, who lift’st our comforts high,
And when Thou wilt Thou sink’st them in the grave.
Then pour Thy Spirit’s consolating balm
Into their wounded hearts, that they may praise
Thy name in love, for all Thou dost bestow;
And when Thou should’st deprive them of Thy gift,
Enable them to say, “Thy will be done”!
A paraphrase of the148th Psalm.
Give praise all nature to the eternal Lord,
In Hallelujahs loudly raise the song;
Him glorify, and in his praise accord,
Ye depths with heights which to the heavens belong;
Ye seraphs tune the lyre, your notes prolong
T’ exalt the honours of th’ Almighty’s name.
Let heaven, earth, and sea in concert strong,
Be all alive, with love’s inspiring flame,
To sing his praise in rapt devotion’s high acclaim.
Ye hosts of angels, high your anthems raise,
While minist’ring ye prostrate round the throne,
His boundless mercies sing in endless praise,
And tell of love whose greatness is unknown;
Ye countless spheres, in adoration own
Th’ Almighty’s power,—and all the starry train,—
Sun, moon, and planets, as ye journey on
Proclaim His majesty:—protract each strain,
Nor cease till boundless space with echoes ring amain.
Thou heaven of heavens, the Godhead’s vast abode,
Still catch the sound, renew ’t in loftier praise;
Ye clouds, remember your creating God,
And dedicate to Him your loudest lays—
Extol Him, as He you at first did raise
By His command, from nothing, thus to be,
And also hath established your days
For ever to endure;—nor yet shall He
E’er make to pass away this sure and firm decree.
Whate’er the world contains in earth or air,
In concert wake, on Him your praise bestow.
Ye dragons, His almighty power declare
In your creation. And, ye floods below!
Whose stormy billows, tossing to and fro,
Oft lash the skies, in acclamation roar.
All fish which through the pathless deep do go,
His power make known, as ye your caves explore,
And joyfully His praise resound from shore to shore.
Ye awful thunders, as on high ye roll
A cannonading, to obey His will,
With hail; and snows and vapours Him extol,
Ye winds of storms, or breezes, which fulfill
His high behest, pipe forth with all your skill
page xv His glory as ye blow. And heaving, rear
Your heads ye mountains; also every hill
Exult in praise:—and every tree draw near,
From shrubs to cedars tall, to join the general cheer.
And all ye creatures of the bestial tribe,
Or wild or tame, and insects of the air,
Proclaim His greatness; let your joy ascribe
Praise for His bountifulness; and declare
Ye reptiles all His exc’llence: be not spare
Ye birds in praise, whether such as ascend,
Or perch, or walk, and whether of plumage fair,
Harmonious be your anthems without end
To him who tuned your voices—Nature’s Greatest Friend!
Should man be silent ’mid such general joy?—
Ye kings with all your people lowly bend,
And render homage due to the Most High:
All princes praise Him;—judges who pretend
To have a power o’er fellows, condescend
With them ye rule t’ exult him God alone,
Whose seat no one usurping dare ascend:
Adore Him at the footstool of His throne,
Whose blessing makes your power an image of His own.
Let youth to Him in service spend its prime,
Him praise in soul’s each sympathetic move;
Let infancy and hoary age their time
Combined employ t’ adore the God of Love;
For excellent’s His name, and far above
Both earth and heaven. Aloud His praises sing
Saints whom He loves: so, well it does behove
His own Isra’l, a tribute thus to bring
Proclaiming halleluias to the Eternal King.
Sweet home! how I hail thee, though humble and low,
For rich are thy pleasures ’bove splendour and show;
Thy charms all allure me, wherever I roam,
With fondness to seek thy enjoyments, sweet home!
Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
There is no place on earth like my dear native home.
As landscapes of mountains, and woodlands all green,
More pleasant appear when at distance they’re seen,
Than when on their summits we carelessly roam,—
So felt by the soul, are the pleasures of home.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
Yes, home! thou art prized with a hallow’d delight,
Where friendship and peace, as twin-sisters unite
In kindest embraces, all blest from above,
Whose social delights give endearments to love.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
All hail! Caledonia, dear to my breast;
Sweet land of my fathers, in thee how I’m blest!
Though storms on the wing of the dark rolling year,
Ride round thy bleak mountains, so barren, so drear.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
Still dear are thy scenes of each homely delight,
Where wildness and picturesque grandeur unite,
With wide spreading plains and high hazy hills hoar,
While down the deep glens foaming cataracts roar.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
Lo! such are thy glories where Freedom doth rove,
As free as the mountain breeze, meek as the dove;
While brave are thy sons, independent, and free,—
Thy valiant protectors by land or by sea.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
Though groves of rich spices were never thy boast,
The slave is made free when he reaches thy coast,
Where thistles grow wild, and nod proudly each plume,
To breezes full fraught with the heather’s perfume.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
Sweet land of my sires! where their ashes now rest,
Though me from thy bosom, stern Fortune should thrust,
Heav’n grant me the pleasure, where’er I may roam,
Of spending in peace my last moments at home.
Home! home! sweet, &c.
May friendship ever be revered,
When hearts to each incline,
’Twill pleasure give to future days,
To think on auld langsyne.
This heart shall beat to friendship’s tune,
Though cease to beat should thine,
Remembrance still shall cheer my soul,
To think on auld langsyne.
When worn with toil, and bent with age,
We weary must recline,
May we with pleasure then review
The days of auld langsyne.
A hapless wretch he is indeed
Who friendless must repine,
And ne’er can cast a pleasing thought
On days of auld langsyne.
When seas, wide rolling, ’tween us roar—
Though fortune cease to shine,
I’ll happy be to think of joys,
And friends of auld langsyne.
But should we ever meet again,
Then hand in hand we’ll join,
And welcome to each throb’ing breast,
The friend of auld langsyne.
All Fate! ye’ll ne’er disheart’ me,
Though fortune should desert me,
My muse shall still alert be,
Till Heaven calls me home.
What though my kin should scorn me,
Yet never I’ll forlorn be;
My heart by Hope shall borne be.
Till better days shall come.
Oh Hope! thon giv’st me pleasure—
Industry, thou’rt my treasure,
Contentment, thou’rt my measure,
Of happiness and love:
For though misfortunes fear me,
Those friends with joy to cheer me,
To comfort, they’ll draw near me,
Their faithfulness to prove.
Grace and beauty here combine,
Richer than the rose new blown;
Am’rous by her charms divine;
Can I generous love disown,
Ever wishing she were mine.
Careful Heaven! her preserve,
Unknown to love, to careful duty;
Let not youth to folly swerve,
Let not pride corrode her beauty,
Ever shall this heart incline,
Ne’er but to wish that she were mine.
Far over yon mountain, and down by a fountain,
Whose dark winding waters roll down to the sea,
There sat a young lady row’d up in her plaidie,—
’Twasbonny young Mary the flower of the lea.
She lean’d ’neath a willow; the soft fog her pillow;
With heart fill’d with sorrow, the tear in her e’e,
While watching the motion of the restless ocean,
For Donald her true love was far on the sea.
The skies widely darken’d, but Mary still hearken’d,
To hear what she could through the roar of the main,—
And still sorely weeping, as watch she was keeping,
Oft sighing, “I’ll ne’er see my Donald again!”
The waves high were lashing, ’gainst rocks loudly dashing,
While much she his abscence in sighs would deplore,—
“Oh, is he returning!”—she cried sadly mourning,—
“Or will he be lost ’mid the storm’s angry roar.”
“Ah! surely he’s wrecked,”—but soon she is checked,
By spying a boatie much tossed on the sea:
“Oh! is it his spirit? and well he does merit
My love in return for his true love to me.”
The time soon elapsed, young Mary was clasped
Fast into the arms of her lover again:—
“Oh! is this my dearie? Oh! speak! why so eerie?
For I am thy Donald now come from the main.”
“When waves big were swelling, ’twas sadly repelling,
When conscience did speak, and the tempest did roar;
To think, when we parted, ye seemed broken hearted,
And often I feared I would ne’er make the shore.”—
page xx “Oh! Donald, ye cheer me; thank Heav’n now ye’re near me;
I long thought ye’d been by some danger o’ercome:”—
“Oh! now never fear thee, my ain dearest deary;
Awa’frae thee, Mary, nae mair I shall roam.”
The Flower of Clyde.
Were I the lord of great estates,
And wealthy to extreme,
I’d let all wond’ring people see,
Who I do most esteem.
But would I e’er my love confess,
She’d never deign to me,
For I’m a humble shepherd swain.
And she’s of high degree.
The rose that blows in Sharon’s vale,
I never can compare
With the sweet flower of winding Clyde,
That blooms so fresh and fair:
She in her garden to the sun
Of fortune smiles so fair,
And nodding loads the passing breeze
With sweet perfumes so rare.
O could 1 reach her lofty stalk,
She would not long be there;
For I would plant her in my breast,
And bless her beauty fair.
Though I at distance may admire,
And never can enjoy;—
Oh! Heaven shield her from each storm
That would her charms destroy.
The Lover’s Request.
Ah! who can feel that tender passion
Glowing in a lover’s breast,
Inspired with joys at love’s persuasion,
Felt, but cannot be express’d?
Though often slighted most severely,
Hers my heart doth still remain,
Fondly inquiring most sincerely,
Shall we never love again?
How Cupids round my slumbers hover,
Pointing me her likeness fair!
But fancy’s freaks, I soon discover,
Fly, to change my joys to care.
While glows my breast, to love her dearly,
tFae, why should’st thou me refrain,—
Let me but ask this once sincerely,
Shall we never love again?
Oh! cease to tease me perturbation,
Retrospection loves to scan
My joys and cares in close rotation,
Since that hour our loves began.
Hopeful fancy—blissful vision—
Fondly I your joys retain;
Hasten, O Time! that blest decision
When we’ll dearly love again.
A Patriotic Breathing.—An Ode.
Let joy pervade our isle;
Britannia seems to smile;
For long her bosom heaved with pain,
And long her tears have flowed in vain,
As still she scorn’d with proud disdain,
A despot’s sordid knavery.
No wonder she’s undone,
Since each unfilial son
For corrupt interest did convoke,
Enrobed in hypocritic cloak,
On Freedom’s neck to bind the yoke,
Of galling wretched slavery.
Let honour rouse each soul,
’Bove tyranny’s control;—
Let every heart his freedom shield,
And never to despondence yield,
But on new Constitution’s field,
Display true manlike bravery.
Hark! from the oppressor’s thralls,
On us Britannia calls,
To shield her liberties and laws—
To give promotion to her cause—
To raze corruptions without pause—
And freedom free from slavery.
Remember days of old,
And ancestors so bold,
Who for their rights have fought and bled,
And ever scorn’d tyrannic dread,
And rather choosed the gory bed,
Than yield to abject slavery.
May Scotia ne’er complain,
Or vex her Sovereign’s reign,—
Let Freedom’s banners be unfurl’d,
And waved o’er the surrounding world,
And from their seats have tyrants hurl’d,
To reap the fruits of knavery.