The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill :: :: University of Virginia Library

While Gallia's chief, with cruel conquests vain,
Bids clanging trumpets rend the skies,
The widow's, orphan's, and the father's sighs,
Breathe, hissing through the guilty strain;
Mild Pity hears the harrowing tones,
Mix'd with shrieks and dying groans;
While warm Humanity, afar,
Weeps o'er the ravages of war,
And, shudd'ring, hears Ambition's servile train
Rejoicing o'er their thousands slain.

But when the song to worth is given,
The grateful anthem wings its way to heaven,
Rings through the mansions of the bright abodes,
And melts to ecstasy the list'ning gods;
Apollo, on fire,
Strikes with rapture the lyre,
And the Muses the summons obey;
Joy wings the glad sound
To the worlds around,
Till all nature re-echoes the lay!
Then raise the song, ye vocal few,
Give the praise to merit due.

SONG.
[_]

Set to music by R. A. Smith.

Though dark scowling Winter, in dismal array,
Re-marshals his storms on the bleak hoary hill,
With joy we assemble to hail the great day
That gave birth to the Bard who ennobles our isle.
Then loud to his merits the song let us raise,
Let each true Caledonian exult in his praise;
For the glory of genius, its dearest reward,
Is the laurel entwin'd by his country's regard.

Let the Muse bring fresh honours his name to adorn,
Let the voice of glad melody pride in the theme,
For the genius of Scotia, in ages unborn,
Will light up her torch at the blaze of his fame.
When the dark mist of ages lies turbid between,
Still his star of renown through the gloom shall be seen,
And his rich blooming laurels, so dear to the Bard,
Will be cherished for aye by his country's regard.

RECITATIVE.

Yes, Burns, thou “dear departed shade!”
When rolling centuries have fled,
Thy name shall still survive the wreck of time,
Shall rouse the genius of thy native clime;
Bards, yet unborn, and patriots shall come,
And catch fresh ardour at thy hallow'd tomb!
There 's not a cairn-built cottage on our hills,
Nor rural hamlet on our fertile plains,
But echoes to the magic of thy strains,
While every heart with highest transport thrills.
Our country's melodies shall perish never,
For, Burns, thy songs shall live for ever.
Then, once again, ye vocal few,
Give the song to merit due.

SONG. Written to Marsh's national Air, “Britons, who for freedom bled.”
[_]

Harmonised as a glee by R. A. Smith.

Hail, ye glorious sons of song,
Who wrote to humanise the soul!
To you our highest strains belong,
Your names shall crown our friendly bowl:
But chiefly, Burns, above the rest,
We dedicate this night to thee:
Engrav'd in every Scotsman's breast
Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be!

Fathers of our country's weal,
Sternly virtuous, bold and free!
Ye taught your sons to fight, yet feel
The dictates of humanity.

But chiefly, Burns, above the rest,
We dedicate this night to thee:
Engrav'd in every Scotsman's breast
Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be!

Haughty Gallia threats our coast,
We hear her vaunts with disregard;
Secure in valour, still we boast
“The Patriot, and the Patriot-bard.”
But chiefly, Burns, above the rest,
We dedicate this night to thee:
Engraved in every Scotsman's breast
Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be!

Yes, Caledonians! to our country true,
Which Danes nor Romans never could subdue,
Firmly resolved our native rights to guard,
Let 's toast—“The Patriot, and the Patriot-bard.”

University of Virginia Library

ODE. BURNS ANNIVERSARY MEETING.

Written for, and Performed at the Celebration of, Robert Burns' Birthday, Paisley, 1807.

RECITATIVE.

SONG. [_] Set to music by R. A. Smith.

RECITATIVE.

SONG. Written to Marsh's national Air, “Britons, who for freedom bled.” [_] Harmonised as a glee by R. A. Smith.

Written for, and Performed at the Celebration of, Robert Burns'* Birthday, Paisley, 1807.*

SONG.
[_]

Set to music by R. A. Smith.

SONG. Written to Marsh's national Air, “Britons, who for freedom bled.”
[_]

Harmonised as a glee by R. A. Smith.