University of Virginia Library

Woe that the bard, whose thrilling song
Has poured from age to age along,
Should perish from the lists of fame,
And lose his only boon—a name.
Yet many a song of wondrous power,
Well known in cot and green-wood bower,
Wherever swells the shepherd's reed
On Yarrow's banks and braes of Tweed;
Yes, many a song of olden time,
Of rude array, and air sublime,
Though long on time's dark whirlpool tossed,
The song is saved, the bard is lost.