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heir locks, And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. The paly moon rose in the livid east, And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form, In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd: Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world.-- "My patriot son fills an untimely grave!" With accents wild and lifted arms--she cried; "Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride. "A weeping country joins a widow's tear, The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, And grateful science heaves the heart-felt sigh! "I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; I saw fair freedom's blossoms richly blow: But ah! how hope is born but to expire! Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. "My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, While empty greatness saves a worthless name! No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, And future ages hear his growing fame. "And I will join a mother's tender cares, Thro' future times to make his virtues last; That distant years may boast of other Blairs!"-- She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 72: The King's Park, at Holyrood-house.] [Footnote 73: St. Anthony's Well.] [Footnote 74: St. Anthony's Chapel.] * * * * * XCV. EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. [This little lively, biting epistle was addressed to one of the poet's Kilmarnock companions. Hugh Parker was the brother of William Parker, one of the subscribers to the Edinburgh edition of Burns's Poems: he has been dead many years: the Epistle was recovered, luckily, from his papers, and printed for the first time in 1834.] In this strange land, this uncouth clime, A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles, Nor limpet in poetic shackles: A land that prose did never view it, Except when
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