And yield, the next, a broken trust,
To earth, to ashes, and to dust.
Master of Abbotsford
No more thou art!
But prouder trace and mightier word,
Than palace-dome or arch sublime
Have ever won from wrecking time,
Do keep thy record in the heart.
Thou, who with tireless hand didst sweep
Away the damps of ages deep,
And fire with wild, baronial strain
The harp of chivalry again,
And bid its long-forgotten swell
Thrill through the soul, farewell! farewell!
Thou, who didst make from shore to shore
Bleak Caledonia's mountains hoar,
Her clear lakes bosomed in their shade,
Her sheepfolds scattered o'er the glade,
Her rills with music leaping down,
The perfume of her heather brown,
Familiar, as their native glen,
To differing tribes of distant men,
Patriot and bard! Edina's care
Shall keep thine image fresh and fair,
Embalming to remotest time
The Shakspeare of her tuneful clime.
Thursday, October 1, 1840.
