POEMS. ADDRESS TO SCOTLAND. O SCOTIA! my dear native land, In chivalry excell❜d by none Full oft the arms of tyranny B And still must fail-for Scotia's sons May heap the gory field, But Caledonians never will Give up their rights, and yield. Thy peasants, in their lowly homes, Can happy rest, and sing; With fewer cares to rack their minds, And free as is their King. But yet a nobler privilege, Thrice happy land! is thine- For this thy worthies oft have trode The waste and desart wild; Ill clothed, worse fed, lonely, and sad, From home and friends exiled. For this thy holy martyrs sang And others had their heads exposed, Of shame, indeed!-eternal shame By whose blood-thirsty villany These Christian heroes fell. They were but men, nor faultless were: Before he reaches heaven. But yet by every Scot, who feels From civil and religious thrall, Their names revered shall be. Alas! there live that are named Scots, Reviling oft undoes itself, And brings its own reward; Making the object it would hurt To meet with more regard. |