ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF WALLACE.
May this day be blest, ‘mid the days of the year,
May the sweet smile of heav’n ever brighten its dawn,
And the music that wakes when its first rays appear,
Swell joyously on till those rays are withdrawn.
May the bee’s tiny bugle be heard ’round the brier—
Or when in the midst of his favourite rose;
May the breeze full of fragrance around him expire
In sighings too soft to disturb his repose.
While autumn in splendour o’er mountain and vale,
Displays her refreshing enchantment to view;
And each motionless ship, with her white hanging sail,
Is seen to repose on a mirror of blue.
To this sweet scene of peace, all so tranquil and bland,
May the heart-stirring spirit of music be given;
And the joy-song from each flow’ry nook of the land,
Meet and rise in one grand halleluja to heav’n.
For this was the day gave to Scotland a name,—
A hero,—a patriot,—the boon was divine.
The gleam of his sword led her back to her fame,
And brighten’d her pathway to liberty’s shrine.
Hail pattern of heroes! thy deeds they shall stand,
Deep-engrav’d on the hearts of the brave and the free,
Till the adamant mountains that girdle the land,
Dissolve as their snows, and run down to the sea.
Like a comet, he came irresistibly forth,
Spreading woe ’mong the foes of his dear native land;
He set—yet his light lingers still in the north,
To rouse and direct ev’ry patriot brand.
THE END.
PRINTED BY J. HUTCHISON,
FOR THE HEIRS OF D. WILLISON.