Grow beautiful beneath his touch.
Him, in his clay-built cot,[82] the muse
Entranced, and showed him all the forms
Of fairy-light and wizard gloom
(That only gifted Poet views),
The Genii of the floods and storms,
And martial shades from Glory’s tomb.
On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse
The swain whom Burns’s song inspires?
Beat not his Caledonian veins,