| |
| AFAR 1 the illustrious Exile roams, | |
| Whom kingdoms on this day should hail; | |
| An inmate in the casual shed, | |
| On transient pity’s bounty fed, | |
| Haunted by busy memory’s bitter tale! | 5 |
| Beasts of the forest have their savage homes, | |
| But He, who should imperial purple wear, | |
| Owns not the lap of earth where rests his royal head! | |
| His wretched refuge, dark despair, | |
| While ravening wrongs and woes pursue, | 10 |
| And distant far the faithful few | |
| Who would his sorrows share. | |
| |
| False flatterer, Hope, away! | |
| Nor think to lure us as in days of yore: | |
| We solemnize this sorrowing natal day, | 15 |
| To prove our loyal truth-we can no more, | |
| And owning Heaven’s mysterious sway, | |
| Submissive, low adore. | |
| |
| Ye honored, mighty Dead, | |
| Who nobly perished in the glorious cause, | 20 |
| Your King, your Country, and her laws, | |
| From great DUNDEE, who smiling Victory led, | |
| And fell a Martyr in her arms, | |
| (What breast of northern ice but warms!) | |
| To bold BALMERINO’S undying name, | 25 |
| Whose soul of fire, lighted at Heaven’s high flame, | |
| Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim: | |
| Nor unrevenged your fate shall lie, | |
| It only lags, the fatal hour, | |
| Your blood shall, with incessant cry, | 30 |
| Awake at last, th’ unsparing Power; | |
| As from the cliff, with thundering course, | |
| The snowy ruin smokes along | |
| With doubling speed and gathering force, | |
| Till deep it, crushing, whelms the cottage in the vale; | 35 |
| So Vengeance’ arm, ensanguin’d, strong, | |
| Shall with resistless might assail, | |
| Usurping Brunswick’s pride shall lay, | |
| And STEWART’S wrongs and yours, with tenfold weight repay. | |
| |
| PERDITION, baleful child of night! | 40 |
| Rise and revenge the injured right | |
| Of STEWART’S royal race: | |
| Lead on the unmuzzled hounds of hell, | |
| Till all the frighted echoes tell | |
| The blood-notes of the chase! | 45 |
| Full on the quarry point their view, | |
| Full on the base usurping crew, | |
| The tools of faction, and the nation’s curse! | |
| Hark how the cry grows on the wind; | |
| They leave the lagging gale behind, | 50 |
| Their savage fury, pitiless, they pour; | |
| With murdering eyes already they devour; | |
| See Brunswick spent, a wretched prey, | |
| His life one poor despairing day, | |
| Where each avenging hour still ushers in a worse! | 55 |
| Such havock, howling all abroad, | |
| Their utter ruin bring, | |
| The base apostates to their God, | |
| Or rebels to their King. | |
