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They chant their artless notes in simple guise ;

They tune their hearts, by farthe noblest aim:

Then homeward all take off their several way;
Perhaps “Dundee's "wild-warbling measures

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : rise, Orplaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name ;

The parent-pair their secret homage pay, Or noble “ Elgin" beets the heavenward flame,

And proffer up to heaven the warm request, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :

That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest,

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ;

Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide ; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine pre-

The priest-like father reads the sacred page,

How Abram was the friend of God on high ; From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage

With Amalek's ungracious progeny,

That makes herloved at home, revered abroad; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ;

“An honest man'sthe noblest work of God!" Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;

And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road,
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ;

The cottage leaves the palace far behind :
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. What is a lordling's pomp? —a cumbrous load,

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,

Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined !
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in heaven the second name, O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil !

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is
How his first followers and servants sped ;

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land;

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,

content ! And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by And, 0, may Heaven their simple lives prevent Heaven's command.

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile !
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,

A virtuous populace may rise the while,
Then, kneeling down, to heaven's eternal King, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved

The saint, the father, and the husband prays : isle.





O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide, That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart;

Who dared 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!



GLORY to thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, 0, keep me, King of kings,
Beneath thy own almighty wings!

Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done;
That with the world, myself, and thee
1, ere I sleep, at peace may be.


Teach me to live, that I may
The grave as little as my bed;
To die, that this vile body may
Rise glorious at the judgment-day.

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Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart & gather to the eyes

In looking on the happy Autumn fields, And thinking on the days that are no more.

Sony N




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The World is too much with us; late and soon, Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born !

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
Little we see in nature that is ours;

May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light,
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! And never but in unapproached light
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon,

Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,

Bright effluence of bright essence increate. The winds that will be howling at all hours

Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, whose fountain who shall tell ? before the sun, For this, for everything, we are out of tune ;

Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice It moves us not. -Great God! I'd rather be Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,

The rising world of waters dark and deep, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Won from the void and formless infinite.
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd horn. In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight

Through utterand through middle darkness borne,
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre,

sung of Chaos and eternal Night,

Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down DAYBREAK.

The dark descent, and up to reascend, A WIND came up out of the sea,

Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, And said, “O mists, make room for me!” And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou

Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in Vaia It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail on,

To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; Ye mariners, the night is gone."

So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, And hurried landward far away,

Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Crying, “Awake! it is the day."

Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt

Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, It said unto the forest, “Shout !

Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Hang all your leafy banners out !"

Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, And said, “O bird, awake and sing !"

Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget

Those other two equalled with me in fate,
And o'er the farms, “O chanticleer, So were I equalled with them in renown,
Your clarion blow; the day is near!” Blind Thamyris and blind Mæonides,
It whispered to the fields of corn,

And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : "Bow down, and hail the coming morn!"

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move

Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird It shouted through the belfry-tower, Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid "Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour.” Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,

Seasons return, but not to me returns
And said, “Not yet! in quiet lie.”

Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,

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