If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure, Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; that he who feels contempt Which he has never used; that thought with him Is in its infancy. The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; 1795. ROB ROY'S GRAVE. The history of Rob Roy is sufficiently known: his grave is near the head of Loch Ketterine, in one of those small pinfold-like Burialgrounds, of neglected and desolate appearance, which the traveller meets with in the Highlands of Scotland. A FAMOUS man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy! And Scotland has a thief as good, She has her brave ROB ROY! Then clear the weeds from off his Grave, In honor of that Hero brave! Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart And wondrous length and strength of arm : Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave; Must scorn a timid song. Say, then, that he was wise as brave; He sought his moral creed. Said generous Rob, "What need of books? We have a passion-make a law, And, puzzled, blinded thus, we lose The creatures see of flood and field, For why?-because the good old rule That they should take, who have the power, A lesson that is quickly learned, A signal this which all can see! All freakishness of mind is checked; All kinds and creatures stand and fall Since, then, the rule of right is plain, To have my ends, maintain my rights, And thus among these rocks he lived, And Rob was lord below. So was it would at least have been Or shall we say an age too soon? Then rents and factors, rights of chase, Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains, Would all have seemed but paltry things, Not worth a moment's pains. Rob Roy had never lingered here, And to his Sword he would have said, 'Tis fit that we should do our part, Of old things all are over old, Of good things none are good enough :- I, too, will have my kings that take And, if the word had been fulfilled, As might have been, then, thought of joy! France would have had her present Boast, And we our own Rob Roy ! Oh! say not so compare them not; For Thou, although with some wild thoughts, Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love And had it been thy lot to live For thou wert still the poor man's stay, Bear witness many a pensive sigh, And by Loch Lomond's braes! And far and near, through vale and hill, The proud heart flashing through the eyes, |