XXXI.
And thou, my country, Caledonia, hail!
Though bleak thy hills, and boisterous be thy shore,
Though towering high thy Sister's fame prevail,
And thou 'mong nations lift'st thy voice no more!
Time was, thou too couldst boast of Royal power;
The Patriot prince — the gifted Seer were thine,
Who strong, in danger's overwhelming hour,
Did hand to hand with dauntless ardour join,
Down thy wild glens to pour the light of Truth divine!
XXXII.
And Heaven upon the high emprise did smile.
Thy royal splendours all have pass'd away,
But, in despite of either force or guile,
Their labours bless thee to this very day!
Thy simple institutions still display
The bright conceptions of their mighty mind;
And Labour smiles, and Poverty looks gay,
And poor Misfortune dries her tears to find
Truth, Mercy, Light, and Law, and Liberty combin'd!
XXXIII.
But O beware! lest any thought of pride,
When looking at the course which thou hast run,
In thy own wisdom lead thee to confide,
And claim the merit due as all thine own!
Nor think for thee these gifts were cheaply won!
No! they were earn'd with tears, and toils, and blood!
Power's minions all in opposition shone,
And on their side, defiance breathing loud,
With dreadful tortures arm'd, gaunt persecution stood!
XXXIV.
Though Murrays, Loudons, Warristons, Argyles,
Knoxes and Melvilles, Guthries and Cargills,
And Kids, and Kings, and Camerons, and M'Kails,
And Welches, have adorned thy heath-clad hills
Yet thou hast had (authors of nameless ills)
Thy Sharps and Beatons, bloodthirsty and base;
Thy Rotheses, M'Kenzies and Dalzels,
Foul names; accurs'd to all succeeding days!
And one incarnate fiend in Graham thy page displays!
XXXV.
These, the vile tools of a perverted race,
Whom mercy could not melt, nor judgment awe;
For ever straining after Rome's embrace,
And substituting headstrong will for law.
Till pitying Heaven thy deep affliction saw,
And from their heights the maudling miscreants hurl'd;
Giving thee to the rule of great Nassau!
Who Freedom's flag with royal hands unfurl'd,
And, blessing thee, was made a blessing to the world.
XXXVI.
And under Brunswick's venerable line,
Thy blessings all have had a large increase;
How bold soe'er thy foes afar combine,
Thy vales are still th' abodes of joy and peace.
Is there a heart from fervent praise can cease,
Seeing thy tranquil stream of pleasure flow;
While bleak sterility is giving place
To all the generous labours of the Plough,
And hills and dales reflect Industry's cheerful glow?
XXXVII.
As yet the year, deep in her wintry trance,
Nor sees, nor hears, nor feels th' approaching spring,
And rudely still the boreal storms advance,
The sleet shower shaking from tempestuous wing.
Nor yet the lark essays to soar, or sing,
But, feebly cowering, seeks the sounding shore,
Where flowing tides from off their beds out-fling,
Soft periwinkles he can quiet devour,
Where all wild tones are lost in ocean's wilder roar.
XXXVIII.
And congregating still, a jarring crowd,
The linnets chattering shake the naked tree,
And the gay merle, and mellow mavis brood
In hedgerow sad, or round the farm-yard flee.
O then! when all is sickening sad to see,
On feeling hearts how powerful is the charm!
Borne up the vale the jolly Ploughman's glee,
On yonder sunny slope, sequester'd, warm,
As, by the red-breast cheer'd, again he breaks his farm.
XXXIX.
Even when the storm dark brooding on the hill,
With languor deep weighs down the listless day,
Uncheer'd, save by the bubbling of the rill,
That ebbing soft, keeps trickling on its way,
A feeling, half approaching to the gay,
Springs up, to see the Plough advancing strong,
Through the deep mist that up the valley, grey,
In masses deep, sails huge and slow along,
To hear the snorting steeds — the gaudsman's simple song.
XL.
Nor unattended — even on such a day
Some yet mute warbler, patient, plods along
The new made furrow, eager for his prey,
A few days hence to be repaid in song.
And foraging the broken clods among,
In ties of equal love perpetual bound,
The hooded crow, on sable pinions strong,
With his dull mate keeps sailing round and round,
While to his rusty caw the echoing rocks rebound.
And thou, my country, Caledonia, hail!
Though bleak thy hills, and boisterous be thy shore,
Though towering high thy Sister's fame prevail,
And thou 'mong nations lift'st thy voice no more!
Time was, thou too couldst boast of Royal power;
The Patriot prince — the gifted Seer were thine,
Who strong, in danger's overwhelming hour,
Did hand to hand with dauntless ardour join,
Down thy wild glens to pour the light of Truth divine!
XXXII.
And Heaven upon the high emprise did smile.
Thy royal splendours all have pass'd away,
But, in despite of either force or guile,
Their labours bless thee to this very day!
Thy simple institutions still display
The bright conceptions of their mighty mind;
And Labour smiles, and Poverty looks gay,
And poor Misfortune dries her tears to find
Truth, Mercy, Light, and Law, and Liberty combin'd!
XXXIII.
But O beware! lest any thought of pride,
When looking at the course which thou hast run,
In thy own wisdom lead thee to confide,
And claim the merit due as all thine own!
Nor think for thee these gifts were cheaply won!
No! they were earn'd with tears, and toils, and blood!
Power's minions all in opposition shone,
And on their side, defiance breathing loud,
With dreadful tortures arm'd, gaunt persecution stood!
XXXIV.
Though Murrays, Loudons, Warristons, Argyles,
Knoxes and Melvilles, Guthries and Cargills,
And Kids, and Kings, and Camerons, and M'Kails,
And Welches, have adorned thy heath-clad hills
Yet thou hast had (authors of nameless ills)
Thy Sharps and Beatons, bloodthirsty and base;
Thy Rotheses, M'Kenzies and Dalzels,
Foul names; accurs'd to all succeeding days!
And one incarnate fiend in Graham thy page displays!
XXXV.
These, the vile tools of a perverted race,
Whom mercy could not melt, nor judgment awe;
For ever straining after Rome's embrace,
And substituting headstrong will for law.
Till pitying Heaven thy deep affliction saw,
And from their heights the maudling miscreants hurl'd;
Giving thee to the rule of great Nassau!
Who Freedom's flag with royal hands unfurl'd,
And, blessing thee, was made a blessing to the world.
XXXVI.
And under Brunswick's venerable line,
Thy blessings all have had a large increase;
How bold soe'er thy foes afar combine,
Thy vales are still th' abodes of joy and peace.
Is there a heart from fervent praise can cease,
Seeing thy tranquil stream of pleasure flow;
While bleak sterility is giving place
To all the generous labours of the Plough,
And hills and dales reflect Industry's cheerful glow?
XXXVII.
As yet the year, deep in her wintry trance,
Nor sees, nor hears, nor feels th' approaching spring,
And rudely still the boreal storms advance,
The sleet shower shaking from tempestuous wing.
Nor yet the lark essays to soar, or sing,
But, feebly cowering, seeks the sounding shore,
Where flowing tides from off their beds out-fling,
Soft periwinkles he can quiet devour,
Where all wild tones are lost in ocean's wilder roar.
XXXVIII.
And congregating still, a jarring crowd,
The linnets chattering shake the naked tree,
And the gay merle, and mellow mavis brood
In hedgerow sad, or round the farm-yard flee.
O then! when all is sickening sad to see,
On feeling hearts how powerful is the charm!
Borne up the vale the jolly Ploughman's glee,
On yonder sunny slope, sequester'd, warm,
As, by the red-breast cheer'd, again he breaks his farm.
XXXIX.
Even when the storm dark brooding on the hill,
With languor deep weighs down the listless day,
Uncheer'd, save by the bubbling of the rill,
That ebbing soft, keeps trickling on its way,
A feeling, half approaching to the gay,
Springs up, to see the Plough advancing strong,
Through the deep mist that up the valley, grey,
In masses deep, sails huge and slow along,
To hear the snorting steeds — the gaudsman's simple song.
XL.
Nor unattended — even on such a day
Some yet mute warbler, patient, plods along
The new made furrow, eager for his prey,
A few days hence to be repaid in song.
And foraging the broken clods among,
In ties of equal love perpetual bound,
The hooded crow, on sable pinions strong,
With his dull mate keeps sailing round and round,
While to his rusty caw the echoing rocks rebound.