Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns ... By the late Rev. James Hamilton [i.e. J. D. Burns] |
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TO THE MEMORY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
 | Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns |  |
TO THE MEMORY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Ah! who shall soothly tell thy worth,Sweet wizard-minstrel of the north?
What muse shall sing, what tongue proclaim,
The praises of thy deathless name?
Bright is the wreath of glory bound
Thy old and honour'd head around
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As days, and months, and years progress;
But each, as silent time flows past,
Shall see it brighter than the last.
Thy harp is silent now, and mute
The whispers of thy breathing lute;
For ever hush'd the honey'd tongue,
Which, while it moved, so sweetly sung
Of noble dame and gallant knight,
Of merry dance and hardy fight,
Of trumpet-blast and din of arms,
And lovely woman's winning charms;
Of holy shrine and Gothic hall,
And warder on the castle wall,
And all the names of high degree
Wreath'd in the roll of chivalrie.
Though hush'd is now that silver tongue,
That music ceased, that harp unstrung;
Though o'er that high and haughty brow
The thick grave-damps are gathering now;
And though the rustling wild flowers wave
In fragrance, weeping o'er thy grave,
Thy spirit lives among us yet,
Thy memory we shall ne'er forget.
The voice which cried to thee, Depart!
Thrill'd deeply through a nation's heart;
Their groans fell on thy closing ear,
Their tears dropp'd thickly on thy bier.
Thou seem'st to linger sadly still
Beside each silver-voicéd rill,
To hover o'er each heathery mountain,
And haunt each glen and fairy fountain;
The beauties which thy master-hand
Strew'd thickly o'er thy father-land,
Have made thy dear, thy deathless fame,
Extend as far as Scotland's name.
Though distant may be many a shore
To which her sons have wander'd o'er,
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Seems fairer far in all their eyes,
Because she gave thy genius birth,
Than the most favour'd spot of earth.
Their children's children they shall tell
To love the land thou lovedst so well,
And in their days of weal or woe,
On Afric's sand or Lapland's snow,
Their hearts shall kindle at the thought
That Scotland was the land of Scott!
| Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns | |