An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, Brawls over rock and wild cascade, And, foaming brown with doubled speed, Hurries its waters to the Tweed. No longer Autumn's glowing red Upon our Forest hills is shed; . No more, beneath the evening beam, Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam; Away hath pass'd the heather-bell That bloom'd so rich on Needpath-fell; Sallow his brow, and russet bare Are now the sister-heights of Yare. The wither'd sward and wintry sky, And far beneath their summer hill, As deeper moans the gathering blast. My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, As best befits the mountain child, Feel the sad influence of the hour, Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower Again shall paint your summer bower; Again the hawthorn shall supply The garlands you delight to tie; The wild birds carol to the round, And while you frolic light as they, To mute and to material things But oh! my Country's wintry state The mind that thought for Britain's weal, The hand, that grasp'd the victor steel? The vernal sun new life bestows Even on the meanest flower that blows; But vainly, vainly may he shine, Where Glory weeps o'er NELSON's shrine; And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallow'd tomb! Deep graved in every British heart, Say to your sons,-Lo, here his grave, Short, bright, resistless course was given Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, Roll'd, blazed, destroy'd,—and was no more. Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth, Who bade the conqueror go forth, And launch'd that thunderbolt of war On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar ; Who, born to guide such high emprize, For Britain's weal was early wise; Copenhagen. Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, For Britain's sins, an early grave! And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the freeman's laws. Had'st thou but lived, though stripp'd of power, A watchman on the lonely tower, Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, When fraud or danger were at hand; By thee, as by the beacon-light, Our pilots had kept course aright ; |