While Albany, with feeble hand,
Held borrow’d truncheon of command,
The young King, mew’d[281] in Stirling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.[282]
But then, thy Chieftain’s robber life!—
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruin’d Lowland swain
His herds and harvest rear’d in vain.—
Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray borne.”