Page:Poems Douglas.djvu/200

And far the fame of that sweet bard was spread,
 And far the tones of his bold lyre were borne;
And the green diadem that crown'd his head
 Wore all the brightness of a summer morn.
And oft Doon's winding flow'ry banks along,
 The youthful Minstrel would be seen to stray;
His dark eye kindling with the lofty song,
 Then beaming softness with the plaintive lay.

He sweetly sung of all things bright and fair,
 The lowliest lower had charms to woo his eye—
The proud rose waving in the summer air—
 The daisy bending to the zephyr's sigh.
He sung of nature in her rich attire,
 And in her rudest and most awful form;
Then strains majestic trembled from his lyre,
 As his wing'd fancy soared above the storm.

No lyre like his the thrilling power possess'd—
 No hand like his so skilful swept the chords,
And all who heard his matchless lays, confess'd
 That Scotland's Minstrel was the Bard of Bards!
For years he laboured, and the light of song
 Undying honour to his country drew;
And still his growing fame was borne along,
 And still his birth-place shone with charms anew.

Yet, strange to tell, though Scotland felt the while
 Such matchless merit claimed a rich reward;
E'en when the light of genius cheered her isle,
 She loved the honour, yet forgot the Bard!