ODE TO ROBERT BURNS.
125
That ever wisely speaking, ne'er hath erred?
Ah! whose the stolid breast that is not stirred
By thy own epitaph, so tender, true,
Bright sparkling, pure as drops of crystal dew?
Ah! whose the stolid breast that is not stirred
By thy own epitaph, so tender, true,
Bright sparkling, pure as drops of crystal dew?
Thine was the honest "frater-feeling" strong,
That e'er the right approved, condemned the wrong;
And thine the manly, gentle heart, that knew
Life's sweetness, and its bitter sorrows, too.
That e'er the right approved, condemned the wrong;
And thine the manly, gentle heart, that knew
Life's sweetness, and its bitter sorrows, too.
Fair Scotia's bard of "Auld lang syne"—
Thy urn with laurel leaves we twine;
And at thy feet this wild flower lay—
Sage, poet, seer of Alloway.
Thy urn with laurel leaves we twine;
And at thy feet this wild flower lay—
Sage, poet, seer of Alloway.
