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
That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted

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!) 0 never, never, Scotia's realm desert:

But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!

MAN

MAN

WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A

DIRGE.

I.

WHEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spy'd a man, whose aged step

Seem'd weary, worn with care;

His face was furrow'd o'er with years, And hoary was his hair.

II.

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?
Began the rev'rend sage;

Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure's rage?

Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast 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 support
A haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter-sun
Twice forty times return;
And ev'ry time has added proofs,
That man was made to mourn,

IV.

O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!

Mis-spending all thy precious hours;

Thy glorious youthful prime!

Alternate

Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

V.

Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:

But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn,

Then age and want, Oh! ill-match'd pair!
Show man was made to mourn,

VI.

A few seem favourites of fate,

In pleasure's lap carest;

Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest

But, Oh! what crowds in every land,

Are wretched and forlorn ;

Thro'

weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn,

VII.

Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Inwoven with our frame!

More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!

And man, whose heav'n-erected face The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

VIII.

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth

To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

IX.

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave-
-By Nature's law design'd,

Why was an independent wish
Ere planted in my mind?