| |
| THE LAMP of day, with-ill presaging glare, | |
| Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave; | |
| Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’ the dark’ning air, | |
| And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. | |
| |
| Lone as I wander’d by each cliff and dell, | 5 |
| Once the lov’d haunts of Scotia’s royal train; 1 | |
| Or mus’d where limpid streams, once hallow’d well, 2 | |
| Or mould’ring ruins mark the sacred fane. 3 | |
| |
| Th’ increasing blast roar’d round the beetling rocks, | |
| The clouds swift-wing’d flew o’er the starry sky, | 10 |
| The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, | |
| And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. | |
| |
| The paly moon rose in the livid east. | |
| And ’mong the cliffs disclos’d a stately form | |
| In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast, | 15 |
| And mix’d her wailings with the raving storm | |
| |
| Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, | |
| ’Twas Caledonia’s trophied shield I view’d: | |
| Her form majestic droop’d in pensive woe, | |
| The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. | 20 |
| |
| Revers’d that spear, redoubtable in war, | |
| Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl’d, | |
| That like a deathful meteor gleam’d afar, | |
| And brav’d the mighty monarchs of the world. | |
| |
| “My patriot son fills an untimely grave!” | 25 |
| With accents wild and lifted arms—she cried; | |
| “Low lies the hand oft was stretch’d to save, | |
| Low lies the heart that swell’d with honest pride. | |
| |
| “A weeping country joins a widow’s tear; | |
| The helpless poor mix with the orphan’s cry; | 30 |
| The drooping arts surround their patron’s bier; | |
| And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh! | |
| |
| “I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; | |
| I saw fair Freedom’s blossoms richly blow: | |
| But ah! how hope is born but to expire! | 35 |
| Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. | |
| |
| “My patriot falls: but shall he lie unsung, | |
| While empty greatness saves a worthless name? | |
| No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, | |
| And future ages hear his growing fame. | 40 |
| |
| “And I will join a mother’s tender cares, | |
| Thro’ future times to make his virtues last; | |
| That distant years may boast of other Blairs!”— | |
| She said, and vanish’d with the sweeping blast. | |
