Poems (Hale)/The Death of Sir Walter Scott

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE DEATH OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Weep, Scotia, weep! his star is set
 Mid the rich tints of glorious fame.
Nor ever can thy sons forget
 The peerless glories of his name.

Full many a jewel thou shalt give,
 In memory's diadem to shine,
Whose name on history's page shall live,
 So loved, so honored, Scott, as thine?

Nor can the glory of thy name,
 Be to thy native land confined.
In every nation, it shall claim
 The homage due from mind to mind.

Thy resting place shall Genius seek;
 Thine shall its glowing tribute be;
While Love in low-breathed tones, shall speak
 Its incense to thy memory.

Woman her grateful meed shall bring,
 Devotion shed its holiest tear;
The poet's lay his praises sing,
 Whose matchless worth all hearts revere.

It is a guerdon pure and bright,—
 The guerdon of immortal fame.
Ah! who shall say her glorious light
 Is but the pageant of a name?

More! yes! far more! On virtue's shrine
 Alone, our hearts their homage lay.
The shrine, the homage, Scott, are thine:
 Fame's purest meed to thee we pay.