He sang from love of song; his name Dunedin’s cliff resounded:— He left her, faithful to a fame On truth and nature founded. He sought true fame, not loud acclaim; Himself and Time he trusted: For laurels crackling in the flame His fine ear never lusted. XII. He loved, and reason had to love. The illustrious land that bore him: Where’er he went, like heaven’s broad tent A star-bright Past hung o’er him. Each isle had fenced a saint recluse, Each tower a hero dying; Down every mountain-gorge had rolled The flood of foemen flying. XIII. From age to age that land had paid No alien throne submission, For feudal faith had been her Law, And freedom her Tradition. Where frowned the rocks had Freedom smiled, Sung, mid the shrill wind’s whistle— So England prized her garden Rose, But Scotland loved her Thistle. XIV. The land thus pure from foreign foot, Her growing powers thus centred Around her heart, with other lands The race historic entered. Her struggling dawn, convulsed or bright, Worked on through storms and troubles, Whilst a heroic line of kings Strove with heroic nobles. XV. Fair field alone the brave demand, And Scotland ne’er had lost it: And honest prove the hate and love To objects meet adjusted. Intelligible course was hers By safety tried or danger: The native was for native known— The stranger known for stranger. XVI. Honour in her a sphere had found, Nobility a station, The patriots’ thought the task it sought, And virtue—toleration. Her will and way had ne’er been crossed In fatal contradiction; Nor loyalty to treason soured, Nor faith abused with fiction. XVII. Can song be mute where hearts are sound? Weak doubts—away we fling them! The land that breeds great men, great deeds, Should ne’er lack bards to sing them. That vigour, sense, and mutual truth Which baffled each invader, Shall fill her marts, and feed her arts, While peaceful olives shade her. XVIII.