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That to thy brow was soon assign’d

The wreath of praise.

Anon, with nobler daring blest,
The wild notes throbbing at thy breast,
Of friends, wealth, learning unpossess'd,

Thy fervid mind Tow'rds fame's proud turrets boldly pressid,

And pleas'd mankind.

But what avail'd thy pow'rs to please,
When want approach'd and pale disease;
Could these thy infant brood appease

That wail'd for bread? Or could they, for a moment, ease

Thy wo-worn head?

Applause, poor child of minstrelsy,
Was all the world e'er gave to thee;
Unmov’d, by pinching penury

They saw thee torn,
And now, kind souls! with sympathy,

Thy loss they mourn.

Oh! how I loath the bloated train,
Who oft had heard thy dulcet strain ;

Yet, when thy frame was rack'd with pain,

Could keep aloof, And eye with opulent disdain

Thy lowly roof.

Yes, proud Dumfries, oh! would to Heaven Thou hadst from that cold spot been driven, Thou mightst have found some shelt'ring haven

On this side Tweed: Yet, ah! e'en here, poor bards have striven,

And died in need.

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True genius scorns to flatter knaves,
Or crouch amidst a race of slaves;
His soul, while fierce the tempest raves,

No tremor knows,
And with unshaken nerve he braves

Life's pelting woes.

No wonder, then, that thou shouldst find
Th' averted glance of half mankind;
Shouldst see the' sly, slow, supple mind

To wealth aspire,
While scorn, neglect, and want, combin'd

To quench thy fire. VOL. II.

P

While wintry winds pipe loud and strong,
The high-perch'd storm-cock pours his song;
So thy Eolian lyre was strung

: 'Midst chilling times; Yet clearly didst thou roll along

Thy“ routh of rhymes."

And oh ! that routh of rhymes shall raise
For thee a lasting pile of praise.
Haply some wing, in these our days,

Has loftier soar'd :
But from the heart more melting lays

Were never pour'd.

Where Ganges rolls his yellow tide,
Where blest Columbus' waters glide!
Old Scotia's sons, spread far and wide,

Shall oft rehearse,
With sorrow some, but all with pride,

Thy 'witching verse.

In early spring, thy earthly bed
Shall be with many a wild flow'r spread;
The violet there her sweets shall shed,

In humble guise,

And there the mountain-daisy's head

Shall duly rise.

While darkness reigns, should bigotry,
With boiling blood, and bended knee,
Scatter the weeds of infamy

O'er thy cold clay, Those weeds, at light's first blush, shall be

Soon swept away.

And when thy scorners are no more,
The lonely glens, and sea-beat shore,
Where thou hast croon'd thy fancies o'er

With soul elate,
Oft shall the bard at eve explore,

And mourn thy fate. VERSES

ON THE

DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS,

BY

MRS GRANT OF LAGGAN.*

What adverse fate awaits the tuneful train !
Has OTWAY died and SPENCER liv'd in vain ?
In vain has Collins, Fancy's pensive child,
Pour'd his lone plaints by Arun's windings wild?
And SAVAGE, on Misfortune's bosom bred,
Bared to the howling storm his houseless head?
Who gentle SHENSTONE's fate can hear unmov'd,
By virtue, elegance, and genius lov’d?
Yet, pensive wand'ring o'er his native plain,
His plaints confessed he lov'd the Muse in vain;
Chill Penury invades his favourite bower,
Blasts every scene, and withers every flower;

* Author of “ The Highlanders,” and other Poems.“ Letters from the Mountains," &c.

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