Sweet the Bard.
[Written by John Burtt, for an anniversary of Burns held in Philadelphia.]
Sweet the bard, and sweet his strain,
Breath'd where mirth and friendship reig'n,
O'er ilk woodland, hill, and plain,
And loch o' Caledonia.
Sweet the rural scenes he drew,
Sweet the fairy tints he threw
O'er the page, to nature true,
And dear to Caledonia.
But the strain so lov'd is o'er,
And the bard so lov'd no more
Shall his magic stanzas pour
To love and Caledonia.
Ayr and Doon may row their floods,
Birds may warble through the woods,
Dews may gem the op'ning buds,
And daisies bloom fu' bonnie, O;
Lads fu' blythe and lasses fain,
Still may love, but ne'er again
Will they wake the gifted strain
O' Burns and Caledonia.
While his native vales among,
Love is felt, or beauty sung,
Hearts will beat and harps be strung
To Burns and Caledonia.