The wise old man, who gleaned the social tale
And thoughtful jest and roguish whim, that grew
Freely on Scotland's soil when Scotland knew
To be herself, nor lusted to assume
Smooth English ways--that they might live and bloom
With freshness, ever old and ever new
In human hearts. Thrice happy he who knows
With sportive light the cloudy thought to clear,
And round his head the playful halo throws
That plucks the terror from the front severe: