Then clear the weeds from off his Grave, In honour of that Hero brave! Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave; 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 *Miss Wordsworth mentions in her Journal that the lady who told them the legends concerning Rob Roy, said "he was a good man." The creatures see of flood and field, With them no strife can last; they live In For why?—because the good old rule That they should take, who have the power, A lesson that is quickly learned, 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, Oh! say not so; compare them not ; For Thou, although with some wild thoughts, Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love The liberty of man. And, had it been thy lot to live For thou wert still the poor man's stay, Bear witness many a pensive sigh Of thoughtful Herdsman when he strays * The reader will recognise more of the power of irony and satire in this, than in any other of the author's poems.—ED. Alone upon Loch Veol's heights, And by Loch Lomond's braes! And, far and near, through vale and hill, The proud heart flashing through the eyes,* A POET'S EPITAPH.† ART thou a Statist in the van Of public conflicts trained and bred ? ‡ A Lawyer art thou ?-draw not nigh! Art thou a Man of purple cheer? * And kindle like a fire new-stirred.-Edit. 1815. †This poem was composed in the winter of 1798-99 at Goslar, while the poet walked up and down by the margin of the frozen pond in the public garden of that place. It is a curious illustration of the little connection which often subsists between a poet's thoughts, and the scenes or circumstances which actually surround him. Art thou a statesman in the van Of public business trained and bred ?-Edit. 1815. § Go, carry to some other place The hardness of thy coward eye, The falsehood of thy sallow face.-Edit. 1815. |