Well fare the benefactors who have raised us from the ground,
Even as were raised from brutal dust our countrymen around;
Now ignorance shall furl her wing, and while our hopes aspire,
To all her native darkness she must in despair retire.
Each nook will have its scholar craft, and high in learning's scale
Will mount the inspirations of the language of the Gael.
* * * * *
Yes! now the trusty Highlander aloft shall raise his head,
As large as is his native worth, his wealthy arts shall spread;
Inventions crowd to save him from the poor man's bitter doom,
And well-taught skill, to grace with comfort's ray his humblest home.
No more o'er weakness shall exult the mighty and the proud—
No more in nakedness shall 'plain his lot the wretch aloud.
O, sure are coming nigh our hills the auspices foretold,
When he shall fail to vaunt his power who chain'd our sires of old,
In iron bands who held them fast, but now he droops with fear;
Delusion's age is past, and strife avows the smile, the tear,
That sympathy or fondness ask,—and the sad world is fain
To welcome its return to love and innocence again.
END OF VOL. V.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The present Memoir has been prepared at our request by the veteran William Jerdan, late of the Literary Gazette.