For what exalts the human, or, it spurns
What bars its flight to truth—all stars aglow,
That form God's trail to joy for man below?—
Sole trail, as time, who peers through grief, discerns.
O Caledonia, by thy Burn's brave song,
And deeds of Wallace and Paul Jones for Right,
Thy mother knows thee in the dark of night,
And claps thee heart-close. She cries out: "Be strong,
Soul of my soul! though not a Boswell quite,
Still, be whole man! remember Glencoe's wrong."