WALLACE AND BRUCE.
23
If shed for her, my blood shall stain
The field or scaffold not in vain.
Its voice, to efforts more sublime,
Shall rouse the spirit of her clime,
And, in the noontide of her lot,
My country shall forget me not!"
Art thou forgot? and hath thy worth
Without its glory passed from earth?—
Rest with the brave, whose names belong
To the high sanctity of song,
Chartered our reverence to control,
And traced in sunbeams on the soul:
Thine, Wallace while the heart hath still
One pulse a generous thought can thrill,
