The precepts fage they wrote to many a land: How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

Saw in the fun a mighty angel ftand;

And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command.

XVI.

Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KING,

The Saint, the Father, and the Husband,

prays:

Hope fprings exulting on triumphant wing*,

That thus they all fhall meet in future days: There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to figh, or fhed the bitter tear,

*Pope's Windfor Foreft.

Together

Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In fuch fociety, yet ftill more dear;
While circling Time moves round in an eter-

nal sphere.

XVII.

Compar'd with this how poor Religion's pride,

In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! The Pow'r, incens'd, the Pageant will defert, The pompous ftrain, the facerdotal stole; But haply, in fome Cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleas'd the language of the

Soul;

And in his Book of Life the inmates poor en

roll.

XVIII.

Then homeward all take off their fev'ral way; The youngling Cottagers retire to reft:

The Parent-pair their fecret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, That He who ftills the raven's clam'rous neft, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would in the way His Wifdom fees the beft, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine prefide.

XIX.

From fcenes like thefe, old Scotia's grandeur fprings,

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd

abroad:

Princes

Princes and Lords are but the breath of Kings, 'An honeft man's the nobleft work of God:" And certes, in fair Virtue's heav'nly road,

The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind ; What is a lordling's pomp! a cumbrous load, Difguifing oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of Hell, in wickednefs refin'd!

XX.

O Scotia! my dear, my native foil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is. fent!

Long may thy hardy fons of ruftic toil,

Be bleft with health, and peace, and sweet

content!

And, O! may Heav'n, their fimple lives pre

vent

From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous Populace may rise the while,
And ftand a wall of fire around their much-

lov'd Ifle.

XXI.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide

That ftream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted

heart;

Who dar'd to, nobly, ftem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the fecond glorious part, (The Patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, infpirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never, Scotia's realm defert;

But ftill the Patriot, and the Patriot-Bard, In bright fucceffion raife, her Ornament and

Guard!

VOL. II.

B

MAN