And Other Poems.
97
Our new land is a reflex of thy face,
Its features in the same rough mould were cast.
Yet, unlike thee, Tradition finds no place,
A cloud of Barbarism shades the past;
No Wallace here to kindle Freedom’s fire—
No Bruce to light the patriotic flame—
No Burns, to strike the grand melodious Lyre—
No Scott, to trumpet forth his country’s fame—
No Bard of Hope, no Ettrick Shepherd, here;
No Ferguson, no plaintive Tannahill—
Its features in the same rough mould were cast.
Yet, unlike thee, Tradition finds no place,
A cloud of Barbarism shades the past;
No Wallace here to kindle Freedom’s fire—
No Bruce to light the patriotic flame—
No Burns, to strike the grand melodious Lyre—
No Scott, to trumpet forth his country’s fame—
No Bard of Hope, no Ettrick Shepherd, here;
No Ferguson, no plaintive Tannahill—
Hush, Scotia’s spirit drops a burning tear;
The precious pearl thaws Death’s dark frozen chill.
Hark to her voice: “Poor mortal, Time can not
Efface the memory of the great and good;
They live within the breast of each true Scot,
Though far he roams across the giant flood.
The gems that sparkle o’er the azure span
That Heaven’s Architect has built on high,
Recede at dawn from the rude gaze of man,
Yet still, unquenched, they sparkle in the sky.
And thus it is that bards and heroes stay
A time below here, to illume mankind,
Then take their flight to shine in Heaven’s day.
Those leave their thoughts, and these their deeds behind.
The precious pearl thaws Death’s dark frozen chill.
Hark to her voice: “Poor mortal, Time can not
Efface the memory of the great and good;
They live within the breast of each true Scot,
Though far he roams across the giant flood.
The gems that sparkle o’er the azure span
That Heaven’s Architect has built on high,
Recede at dawn from the rude gaze of man,
Yet still, unquenched, they sparkle in the sky.
And thus it is that bards and heroes stay
A time below here, to illume mankind,
Then take their flight to shine in Heaven’s day.
Those leave their thoughts, and these their deeds behind.
Then say not, mortal, that my glorious band
Have no existence on this golden shore.
O’er all the world, where’er my children stand,
My heroes’ fame shall live for evermore.”
Have no existence on this golden shore.
O’er all the world, where’er my children stand,
My heroes’ fame shall live for evermore.”
