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rightfu' King, We left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear, We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear, For I maun cross the main. He turned him right and round about Upon the Irish shore; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear, Adieu for evermore. The sodger from the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear, Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep; I think on him that's far awa, The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear, The lee-lang night, and weep. _Burns._ XLVII VENICE Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee And was the safeguard of the West: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a maiden City, bright and free; No guile seduced, no force could violate; And, when she took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reached its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great is passed away. _Wordsworth._ XLVIII DESTINY It is not to be thought of that the Flood Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,' Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. _Wordsworth._ XLIX THE MOTHERLAND
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