The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill Containing his Pastorals, Occasional Poems, and Elegies on Illustrious persons. Vol. I & II |
 | 1. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| 2. |
|
SAVANNAH. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
 | The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill |  |
145
SAVANNAH.
To The Immortal Memory of the Hon. Colonel JOHN MAITLAND,
Brother to James Earl of Lauderdale, &c. &c. Member of Parliament for
The District of Haddington, Dunbar, North-Berwick, Lauder, and Jedburgh;
Whose Loyalty, Conduct, and Intrepid Valour Were eminently displayed
At the Memorable Siege of Savannah, When, charging at the head
Of his Invincible Caledonians, He repulsed the Combined Forces
Of France and America, In a Most Bloody, Obstinate, and Successful Conflict,
These Stanzas are Inscribed: A Sincere but Imperfect Testimony
Of that Public Esteem and Veneration Which is justly due to the Worthy Friend
And Lover of his Country.
[_]
With invincible spirit, although wasted by a lingering sickness, The Hon. Col. John Maitland conducted Frazer's Highlanders through the various fatigues of a perplexing, laborious, and hazardous march, to withstand the hitherto successful progress of the arms of Bourbon and the revolted colonies.
The presence and heroic exertions of so great a character aroused the valour of the British forces, to discharge their important trust in the hour of danger. The council of war were on the very brink of signing a capitulation, when Col. Maitland gave his voice for a most vigorous resistance, and threatened to report the officer to his Sovereign who should propose such a cowardly surrender. The speech and spirit of the Hero entered deep into the minds of the council. They cried out with one voice “to abide the onset, to contend for the rights and glory of their country.
After many shining proofs of zeal and activity, of resolution and manly perseverance, Col. Maitland had the distinguished fortune to repulse the united forces of the enemy in that memorable and desperate assault which they made upon the British lines on the ever famous 9th of October 1779.—Count D' Estaing, Count Polaski, the French Generals Dillon and Fontaing, with the Rebel Chiefs, Price, La Motte, and Rutledge, (who was killed by the very gallant Capt. Tawse, after having twice planted the American standard on the chief redoubt), with all the flower of their troops, were either desperately wounded or slain. But behold the inscrutable ways of destiny! Scarce had Providence raised up this Deliverer of Britain, to check the growth of an unnatural rebellion, and to turn the scourge of a calamitous and bloody war against the House of Bourbon, when the joy of the victorious army, of his country, and of all good men, was damped by his death. Worn out by the most excessive toil and anxiety of mind, the Hero expired while the enemy were accomplishing their ignominious retreat.
Britons! acknowledge the hand of Heaven in all these meritorious national services of the Hon. Col. Maitland, who, in the face of envy and opposition, of peril and death, and superior to every consideration which spurs on the disappointed and malignant petulence of our most distinguished modern Pseudo-Patriots, heroically re-established the declining glory of the British arms, in one of those most important and critical moments which decide the fate of nations.
Imitate the active zeal, the unshaken loyalty, the enterprising courage, the manly ardour, and perseverance, of this truly noble and distinguished Patriot, who died, like another Wolfe, in almost the moment of victory, struggling to sustain the interests and the glory of his country, against the most formidable combinations of her enemies.
Dysart, 27th Jan. 1780.
Quis, te, Magne Cato! tacitum, te Cosse! relinquat!
Quis, Gracchi Genus! ------
Virg.
Quis, Gracchi Genus! ------
Virg.
CANTO I.
Wasted by war's annoyance rude,
Her hostile myriads closing round,
Britain, by fam'd Savannah's flood,
With scanty files maintain'd her ground.
In front, proud Bourbon, to enslave,
With fleets approach'd in dread array,
The Gallic vulture from the wave,
With keen eye hov'ring o'er his prey.
Her hostile myriads closing round,
Britain, by fam'd Savannah's flood,
With scanty files maintain'd her ground.
In front, proud Bourbon, to enslave,
With fleets approach'd in dread array,
The Gallic vulture from the wave,
With keen eye hov'ring o'er his prey.
Behind, Rebellion's ruthless train,
Worst fiends of Discord, War, and Death,
Conjoin'd to shake Britannia's reign,
With slavish ensigns croud the heath.
Silence kept watch with boding eye
Along the bulwarks: Grief, despair,
In doubt to struggle, yield, or fly,
Distract the Chief with various care.
Worst fiends of Discord, War, and Death,
Conjoin'd to shake Britannia's reign,
With slavish ensigns croud the heath.
Silence kept watch with boding eye
Along the bulwarks: Grief, despair,
In doubt to struggle, yield, or fly,
Distract the Chief with various care.
146
For Gallia's boast
, with Gothic rage,
The stain of knighthood, and of arms,
Who spares nor feeble sex nor age,
Summons the Free with stern alarms.
“Set wide your gates! I proffer life!
“Rebels! receive your Gallic Lord!
“Nor madly brave in deadly strife
“The rage of his resistless sword.
The stain of knighthood, and of arms,
Who spares nor feeble sex nor age,
Summons the Free with stern alarms.
“Set wide your gates! I proffer life!
“Rebels! receive your Gallic Lord!
“Nor madly brave in deadly strife
“The rage of his resistless sword.
“This arm Grenada's wealthy seats
“O'erthrew, and dash'd your island pride.
“Brave not, ye slaves! the merc'less fates!
“What storm, rage, carnage, may betide.
“Three days in truce attentive weigh
“The joys our faithful vassals share,
“Beneath Gaul's mild, imperial sway;
“The vanquish'd, Death! and black Despair!
“O'erthrew, and dash'd your island pride.
“Brave not, ye slaves! the merc'less fates!
“What storm, rage, carnage, may betide.
“Three days in truce attentive weigh
“The joys our faithful vassals share,
“Beneath Gaul's mild, imperial sway;
“The vanquish'd, Death! and black Despair!
Suspence, Alarm, the ghastly Train
Which wait on war, appal the Brave;
And womens tears not shed in vain,
Their infants, lovers, fires to save.
Bereft of hope, bereft of aid,
To prop their own or country's state,
To yield the throng consult, persuade,
All vain, to stem the tides of fate!
Which wait on war, appal the Brave;
And womens tears not shed in vain,
Their infants, lovers, fires to save.
Bereft of hope, bereft of aid,
To prop their own or country's state,
To yield the throng consult, persuade,
All vain, to stem the tides of fate!
147
One shameful day depress'd had seen
Her warlike fame which climbs the skies,
The scepter'd rule of Albion's Queen,
Beneath her oceans, ne'er to rise:
Her freeborn sons enchain'd, to rue
Their worst disgrace, a Tyrant's prey;
From freedom torn, and fealty true,
To groan in bondage and dismay.
Her warlike fame which climbs the skies,
The scepter'd rule of Albion's Queen,
Beneath her oceans, ne'er to rise:
Her freeborn sons enchain'd, to rue
Their worst disgrace, a Tyrant's prey;
From freedom torn, and fealty true,
To groan in bondage and dismay.
And now th'unwelcome tidings go
Where Britain's Champion, to restrain
The savage inroads of the foe,
Encamp'd his Caledonian Train:
Maitland! far-fam'd, our stable prop
In adverse times, train'd in the field;
The Soldier's Friend, his Country's Hope,
His Prince's Pride, his People's Shield.
Where Britain's Champion, to restrain
The savage inroads of the foe,
Encamp'd his Caledonian Train:
Maitland! far-fam'd, our stable prop
In adverse times, train'd in the field;
The Soldier's Friend, his Country's Hope,
His Prince's Pride, his People's Shield.
His vig'rous prime, 'mid war's annoy,
Consum'd; not so the warrior's flame:
Great daring darted from his eye,
The hero glow'd thro' sickly frame.
True glory fires his patriot soul,
His pleading Country's Cause to save,
False Bourbon's treasons to controul,
Meet triumph! or a glorious grave!
Consum'd; not so the warrior's flame:
Great daring darted from his eye,
The hero glow'd thro' sickly frame.
True glory fires his patriot soul,
His pleading Country's Cause to save,
False Bourbon's treasons to controul,
Meet triumph! or a glorious grave!
Anon his hasty trumpets sound,
His vet'rans croud in stern array;
The Chief imparts the tidings round,
The Britons hear without dismay.
“Haste on, ye Brave! your Country cries!
“Fierce wolves of France and Faction wait:
“The Freeborn, chains, shame, death, defy;
“Your swords decide an empire's fate.”
His vet'rans croud in stern array;
The Chief imparts the tidings round,
The Britons hear without dismay.
148
“Fierce wolves of France and Faction wait:
“The Freeborn, chains, shame, death, defy;
“Your swords decide an empire's fate.”
On vengeance bent, with hearts so true
O'er marshy wastes they burst their way:
'Mid hosts of foes they struggle through,
Like Nubian lions to their prey.
Savannah's gates the wish'd relief
Invite, where fears irres'lute reign,
And doubtful cares distract the Chief
To yield, or Britain's right maintain.
O'er marshy wastes they burst their way:
'Mid hosts of foes they struggle through,
Like Nubian lions to their prey.
Savannah's gates the wish'd relief
Invite, where fears irres'lute reign,
And doubtful cares distract the Chief
To yield, or Britain's right maintain.
Forlorn with toil, in dust and sweat,
With Cato's spirit Maitland stood:
Resistance urg'd with bold debate,
And rous'd to arms the list'ning crowd.
“Freedom your lot, or endless shame!
“Your Country pleads in ev'ry vein;
“And dares he boast a Briton's name,
“Who scorns her glory to sustain!
With Cato's spirit Maitland stood:
Resistance urg'd with bold debate,
And rous'd to arms the list'ning crowd.
“Freedom your lot, or endless shame!
“Your Country pleads in ev'ry vein;
“And dares he boast a Briton's name,
“Who scorns her glory to sustain!
“Her sinking scale one great effort
“O'er public shame and loss shall raise:
“One glorious hour her high report
“Redeem from stain of adverse days.
“Let cowards skulk; to brave alarms,
“Hark! Glory calls! In Heav'n I trust,
“Bourbon shall bow to British arms;
“Her laurels soil in blood and dust.
“O'er public shame and loss shall raise:
“One glorious hour her high report
“Redeem from stain of adverse days.
“Let cowards skulk; to brave alarms,
“Hark! Glory calls! In Heav'n I trust,
“Bourbon shall bow to British arms;
“Her laurels soil in blood and dust.
149
“O Heav'ns! to turn war's headlong tide
“With ruin on th'insulting foe!
“Their vaunted trophies' guilty pride,
“In vengeance' crimson'd fields laid low.
“This palm I crave, thro' fire and death;
“Eternal infamy entwine
“The coward's ignominious wreath!
“ To triumph! and to die, be mine!”
“With ruin on th'insulting foe!
“Their vaunted trophies' guilty pride,
“In vengeance' crimson'd fields laid low.
“This palm I crave, thro' fire and death;
“Eternal infamy entwine
“The coward's ignominious wreath!
“ To triumph! and to die, be mine!”
His speech, like rain to drooping flow'rs,
Lost courage thro' the host convey'd;
They shine in arms, and from their tow'rs
The bloody sign for war display'd.
The brazen tires, destruction fell,
Watch to disgorge the foes among,
Peals from the spire war's dreadful knell,
Fierce faces o'er the bulwarks throng.
Lost courage thro' the host convey'd;
They shine in arms, and from their tow'rs
The bloody sign for war display'd.
The brazen tires, destruction fell,
Watch to disgorge the foes among,
Peals from the spire war's dreadful knell,
Fierce faces o'er the bulwarks throng.
Yet e'er they turn to work of death,
For feeble sex the heralds plead:
“Meet refuge in your ships bequeath,
“Nor see the child and mother bleed!
“Pity! weak infancy, or age,
“Or helpless Women, harm receive;
“Harmless themselves: from battle's rage,
“The loss and glory wait the Brave.”
For feeble sex the heralds plead:
“Meet refuge in your ships bequeath,
“Nor see the child and mother bleed!
“Pity! weak infancy, or age,
“Or helpless Women, harm receive;
“Harmless themselves: from battle's rage,
“The loss and glory wait the Brave.”
150
The plund'ring Goth with merc'less frown,
As fierce he drew his thirsty sword,
“No terms for yon devoted Town!
“Save what the rage of storm afford.
“Presumption vain, which dar'd impede
“The Gallic Monarch's sov'reign sway;
“E'er long, he cried, shall victim bleed!
“That Rebel States may rue the day.”
As fierce he drew his thirsty sword,
“No terms for yon devoted Town!
“Save what the rage of storm afford.
“Presumption vain, which dar'd impede
“The Gallic Monarch's sov'reign sway;
“E'er long, he cried, shall victim bleed!
“That Rebel States may rue the day.”
He said; and, with infernal roar,
Their freight the thund'ring cannon cast;
Attend the fiends of death and gore,
The welkin rings with sulph'rous blast.
Six furious days, thro' groaning air,
Red fire, iron hail, destruction, ride;
Six dreadful nights, with horrent glare,
Their walls sustain the fiery tide.
Their freight the thund'ring cannon cast;
Attend the fiends of death and gore,
The welkin rings with sulph'rous blast.
Six furious days, thro' groaning air,
Red fire, iron hail, destruction, ride;
Six dreadful nights, with horrent glare,
Their walls sustain the fiery tide.
Protracted broil, with erring rage,
The dastard foe urge on afar;
The Heroes, burning to engage,
Pour from the lines for closer war.
The conflict grew where-e'er they turn,
In closing strife their salcions ring:
A thousand lances round them burn:
A thousand deaths are on the wing.
The dastard foe urge on afar;
The Heroes, burning to engage,
Pour from the lines for closer war.
The conflict grew where-e'er they turn,
In closing strife their salcions ring:
A thousand lances round them burn:
A thousand deaths are on the wing.
There toil'd Moncrieff of dauntless soul,
The British Thunder skill'd to guide,
Like Mars, whose mad'ning chariots roll
Thro' raging Conflict's purple tide.
Valiant M'Pherson, Fraser, Grahame,
Like wolves assail, unquell'd by wounds:
The path of conquest leads to fame,
'Mid fire, and death, with glory crown'd.
The British Thunder skill'd to guide,
Like Mars, whose mad'ning chariots roll
Thro' raging Conflict's purple tide.
151
Like wolves assail, unquell'd by wounds:
The path of conquest leads to fame,
'Mid fire, and death, with glory crown'd.
The battle swerv'd along the field,
Deep gor'd with dol'rous horns afar,
The Goth recalls behind his shield
His broken files, the wreck of war.
Nor quell'd by foul discomfiture,
Like wrathful dragon, for his prey,
Gath'ring her train with guileful lure,
He watch'd for a decisive day.
Deep gor'd with dol'rous horns afar,
The Goth recalls behind his shield
His broken files, the wreck of war.
Nor quell'd by foul discomfiture,
Like wrathful dragon, for his prey,
Gath'ring her train with guileful lure,
He watch'd for a decisive day.
153
CANTO II.
Dark was the morn with low'ring shade,
No swart star twinkled thro' the gloom;
With raging storm the Gauls invade,
And Rebel Hosts to seal their doom.
Full soon the circling trench was pass'd;
Fierce tribes, with desp'rate ardour stung,
To scale the wall like furies press'd;
Within, lament and uproar rung.
No swart star twinkled thro' the gloom;
With raging storm the Gauls invade,
And Rebel Hosts to seal their doom.
Full soon the circling trench was pass'd;
Fierce tribes, with desp'rate ardour stung,
To scale the wall like furies press'd;
Within, lament and uproar rung.
Wild, in the van, with flaming brand,
The furious Goth drew ev'ry eye;
As dread he strove, with chosen band,
To scale and fire the turrets high.
Grim by his side, in Treason's guise,
With rebel ensigns, Lincoln stood;
The hireling Pole, Polasky, hies,
Like falcon, bent on spoil and blood.
The furious Goth drew ev'ry eye;
As dread he strove, with chosen band,
To scale and fire the turrets high.
Grim by his side, in Treason's guise,
With rebel ensigns, Lincoln stood;
The hireling Pole, Polasky, hies,
Like falcon, bent on spoil and blood.
154
Long hung the war in doubtful scale,
On death resolv'd before they yield,
Till savage numbers 'gan prevail
With perseverance o'er the field.
Pale fear o'er all the bulwarks sped,
Despair unmans the Chieftain's soul,
Their fire no more destruction spread,
Their swords no more the Goth controul.
On death resolv'd before they yield,
Till savage numbers 'gan prevail
With perseverance o'er the field.
Pale fear o'er all the bulwarks sped,
Despair unmans the Chieftain's soul,
Their fire no more destruction spread,
Their swords no more the Goth controul.
And now the flying route give way,
Redoubled axes rend the gates,
The murd'rers mark their trembling prey,
The sword of bloody Slaughter waits.
One raging hour had sunk thy tow'rs,
Savannah, sack'd with fire and sword;
And Britain, crush'd by barb'rous powr's,
Had bow'd in thrall to Gallic lord.
Redoubled axes rend the gates,
The murd'rers mark their trembling prey,
The sword of bloody Slaughter waits.
One raging hour had sunk thy tow'rs,
Savannah, sack'd with fire and sword;
And Britain, crush'd by barb'rous powr's,
Had bow'd in thrall to Gallic lord.
When He, by guardian angels led,
To turn the scale of death and shame,
From Lincoln vanquish'd, Maitland sped,
To die, or save his country's fame.
Like lion rous'd, all dust and blood,
'Mid the wild waste of war he flew:
These he transfix'd in wrathful mood,
These headlong down the walls he threw.
To turn the scale of death and shame,
From Lincoln vanquish'd, Maitland sped,
To die, or save his country's fame.
Like lion rous'd, all dust and blood,
'Mid the wild waste of war he flew:
These he transfix'd in wrathful mood,
These headlong down the walls he threw.
Again Britannia's banners fly,
His trumpets sound her fierce acclaim,
Beneath his steel what numbers die,
Or refuge seek in flight and shame.
Where victor Tawse, with glorious wound,
Like tyger panting o'er his prey,
'Gainst hosts of foes maintain'd the mound,
The Caledonians hew their way.
His trumpets sound her fierce acclaim,
Beneath his steel what numbers die,
Or refuge seek in flight and shame.
155
Like tyger panting o'er his prey,
'Gainst hosts of foes maintain'd the mound,
The Caledonians hew their way.
With bold Moncrieff's congenial soul,
An empire's fate, in throat of death,
The Hero turns with shame and dole,
Dashing proud Gallia's drooping wreath.
As two fierce winds the tempest gloom,
With flashing lightning fraught, dispel
O'er Caspian brine, they stamp the doom
Of Bourbon: Slaughter stalks the vale.
An empire's fate, in throat of death,
The Hero turns with shame and dole,
Dashing proud Gallia's drooping wreath.
As two fierce winds the tempest gloom,
With flashing lightning fraught, dispel
O'er Caspian brine, they stamp the doom
Of Bourbon: Slaughter stalks the vale.
The Goth, his fiercest champions slain,
Beheld, and flies with ghastly wound.
Polasky, soil'd by lawless stain
Of war, expires before the mound.
Stern Rutlidge, Price, and Odwin brave,
Amid their mangled brigades lay.
Not Dillon's soldier-skill could save,
Nor Grasse escape the bloody fray.
Beheld, and flies with ghastly wound.
Polasky, soil'd by lawless stain
Of war, expires before the mound.
Stern Rutlidge, Price, and Odwin brave,
Amid their mangled brigades lay.
Not Dillon's soldier-skill could save,
Nor Grasse escape the bloody fray.
Veiling in night his foul remorse,
Lincoln, ignoble traitor! fled.
Deep guilt, pale fear, impel his course,
To leave the dying and the dead.
Gnashing with rage, fell grief, and pain,
The crest-fall'n Goth essay'd to hide
Bourbon's deep wound: then o'er the main,
Disgraceful, stems th'indignant tide.
Lincoln, ignoble traitor! fled.
Deep guilt, pale fear, impel his course,
To leave the dying and the dead.
156
The crest-fall'n Goth essay'd to hide
Bourbon's deep wound: then o'er the main,
Disgraceful, stems th'indignant tide.
“And with thee go! that foulest stain
“Of Bourbon's crown, to latest times,
“False faith of Kings, not sworn in vain,
“To mask the guilt of blackest crimes:
“Rebellion's impious steel to guide
“The sons to pierce the Parents breast,
“Reckless what vengeance may betide
“Their own, by Treason's fiend opprest.”
“Of Bourbon's crown, to latest times,
“False faith of Kings, not sworn in vain,
“To mask the guilt of blackest crimes:
“Rebellion's impious steel to guide
“The sons to pierce the Parents breast,
“Reckless what vengeance may betide
“Their own, by Treason's fiend opprest.”
And now the happy bands combine,
Glad victors o'er the barb'rous foe,
In dangers join'd, now join'd in wine,
And mirth, their conscious hearts o'erflow.
Britain's high fame and rights secure
From Gallic fang and war's annoy,
Heaven's rod to humble guilty pow'r,
To Heav'n ascends their pious joy.
Glad victors o'er the barb'rous foe,
In dangers join'd, now join'd in wine,
And mirth, their conscious hearts o'erflow.
Britain's high fame and rights secure
From Gallic fang and war's annoy,
Heaven's rod to humble guilty pow'r,
To Heav'n ascends their pious joy.
Their civic wreaths the Victor greet,
And homage due, as to his tent,
Sunk down in glorious dust and sweat,
Borne by his faithful guards he went.
“Your praise, Brave Friends! to Heav'n is due;
“The Hero spoke with plaintive sound:
“Britain triumphs! proud France shall rue
“In future woes this rankling wound!”
And homage due, as to his tent,
Sunk down in glorious dust and sweat,
Borne by his faithful guards he went.
“Your praise, Brave Friends! to Heav'n is due;
“The Hero spoke with plaintive sound:
“Britain triumphs! proud France shall rue
“In future woes this rankling wound!”
157
Then, sad to see, all ghastly pale,
A mortal qualm the CHIEF opprest;
Cold sweats his trembling limbs assail,
Convulsion heaves his manly breast:
Whether heroic soul, enshrin'd
In mansion frail of mortal dust,
On highest deeds intent, rejoin'd
Her kindred train, the brave and just;
A mortal qualm the CHIEF opprest;
Cold sweats his trembling limbs assail,
Convulsion heaves his manly breast:
Whether heroic soul, enshrin'd
In mansion frail of mortal dust,
On highest deeds intent, rejoin'd
Her kindred train, the brave and just;
Or, like Hyperion, having run
His glorious race, for brighter skies
Departed, like the setting sun,
Rob'd in his own ethereal dyes.
In speechless woe hung o'er the CHIEF
His Caledonians: help is vain!
The hoary vet'ran droops in grief,
The host lament an Hero slain.
His glorious race, for brighter skies
Departed, like the setting sun,
Rob'd in his own ethereal dyes.
In speechless woe hung o'er the CHIEF
His Caledonians: help is vain!
The hoary vet'ran droops in grief,
The host lament an Hero slain.
In death he cries, “Farewell, ye Brave!
“Conscience unfading palms bequeaths,
“His Prince and Country's rights to save,
“Maitland cou'd die a thousand deaths.
“Fate cuts frail life! my lot is cast!
“Immortal, loos'd from mortal frame:
“Britain triumphs! from envious blast,
“Oh! save your SOLDIER's honest fame!”
“Conscience unfading palms bequeaths,
“His Prince and Country's rights to save,
“Maitland cou'd die a thousand deaths.
“Fate cuts frail life! my lot is cast!
“Immortal, loos'd from mortal frame:
“Britain triumphs! from envious blast,
“Oh! save your SOLDIER's honest fame!”
158
With smile of conscious triumph burst
That heart which cou'd for Britain die;
Cou'd soil proud plumes of France in dust;
Not villain Envy's shafts defy.
Where Percy, Douglas, Wolfe, repose,
With ev'ry high immortal name,
'Mid heav'nly hosts, the Victor goes
Beyond the flight of mortal fame.
That heart which cou'd for Britain die;
Cou'd soil proud plumes of France in dust;
Not villain Envy's shafts defy.
Where Percy, Douglas, Wolfe, repose,
With ev'ry high immortal name,
'Mid heav'nly hosts, the Victor goes
Beyond the flight of mortal fame.
Oh! hadst thou led with fair command
Her host o'er Ashley's blood-stain'd field!
Where shrunk the vanquish'd loit'ring band
Behind thy Caledonian shield:
Thy Country ne'er had mourn'd in vain,
Nor Freedom wept in tears of blood:
Nor Malice mean, with guileful stain,
Thy blazon of bright Fame withstood.
Her host o'er Ashley's blood-stain'd field!
Where shrunk the vanquish'd loit'ring band
Behind thy Caledonian shield:
Thy Country ne'er had mourn'd in vain,
Nor Freedom wept in tears of blood:
Nor Malice mean, with guileful stain,
Thy blazon of bright Fame withstood.
Ah! round thy trophied arch of praise
Envy's insidious harpies fly!
With vengeful fangs to rend the bays
Which loyal Valour hung on high:
Vain strife! on eagle-pinions borne,
Thy Worth's acclaim to heav'n shall go,
Whilst Malice rides the blast of Scorn,
Felon! to reap where others sow!
Envy's insidious harpies fly!
With vengeful fangs to rend the bays
Which loyal Valour hung on high:
Vain strife! on eagle-pinions borne,
Thy Worth's acclaim to heav'n shall go,
Whilst Malice rides the blast of Scorn,
Felon! to reap where others sow!
159
Who yonder! gild the the ethereal steep,
Bright Truth! dread Justice! awful train!
With Caledonia o'er the deep,
The vengeful demons to enchain.
Ye Fiends! to Erebus! they cry,
A nation's voice is in the sound:
Lo! where she hastes, of fearless eye,
To guard her SOLDIER's hallow'd ground.
Bright Truth! dread Justice! awful train!
With Caledonia o'er the deep,
The vengeful demons to enchain.
Ye Fiends! to Erebus! they cry,
A nation's voice is in the sound:
Lo! where she hastes, of fearless eye,
To guard her SOLDIER's hallow'd ground.
“Peace! to thy Patriot dust, the Brave,
“And Free, shall yearly pilgrims come:
“And oft suspend the dashing wave
“To weep at MAITLAND's hallow'd tomb.
“The Realm you sav'd with loss of life,
“Each spring shall flow'ry wreaths bestow:
“Her village Maids, with pious strife,
“Fresh garlands on thy marble throw.
“And Free, shall yearly pilgrims come:
“And oft suspend the dashing wave
“To weep at MAITLAND's hallow'd tomb.
“The Realm you sav'd with loss of life,
“Each spring shall flow'ry wreaths bestow:
“Her village Maids, with pious strife,
“Fresh garlands on thy marble throw.
“Where silver winding Fortha glides,
“In grief, her rural BOWER's among;
“Or devious Tweed in murmurs chides
“The Swains' Arcadian dance, and song;
“Scotland, while Autumn annual wears
“The garb of Wo, her loss shall mourn;
“And brightest eyes with pearly tears
“In HATTON's GROVE bedew thine urn.
“In grief, her rural BOWER's among;
“Or devious Tweed in murmurs chides
“The Swains' Arcadian dance, and song;
“Scotland, while Autumn annual wears
“The garb of Wo, her loss shall mourn;
“And brightest eyes with pearly tears
“In HATTON's GROVE bedew thine urn.
“On Britain's bleeding heart be writ
“My SON's best monument, true praise!
“And herald Fame the theme transmit,
“To fire her youth in future days!
“But praise is weak: the Muse who sings
“Thy dirge may not improve tehy fame;
“And they who soar on bolder wings
“Shall borrow from thy DEATHLES's NAME.
“My SON's best monument, true praise!
“And herald Fame the theme transmit,
“To fire her youth in future days!
160
“Thy dirge may not improve tehy fame;
“And they who soar on bolder wings
“Shall borrow from thy DEATHLES's NAME.
Dysart, 27th Jan. 1780.
| The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill | |