On different days we took, during the most beautiful spring, strolls of many miles into distant dales and villages, and on the wild brown moors. Now we sate by a moorland stream, talking of many absorbing things in the history of the poetry and the religion of our country, and I could plainly see that my ancient friend had in him the spirit of an old Covenanter, and that, had he lived in the days of contest between the church of kings and the church of God, he would have gone to the field or the stake for his faith as triumphantly as any martyr of those times. It was under the influence of one of these conversations that I could not avoid addressing to the old man the following youthful stanzas, which, though they may exhibit little poetry, testify to the patriotism which his language inspired: My friend! there have been men To whom we turn again After contemplating the present age, And long, with vain regret, That they were living yet, Virtue's high war triumphantly to wage. Men whose renown was built Not on resplendent guilt-- Not through life's waste, or the abuse of power, But by the dauntless zeal With which at truth's appeal, They stood unto the death in some eventful hour. But he who now shall deem, Because among us seem No dubious symptoms of a realm's decline-- Wealth blind with its excess 'Mid far-diffused distress, And pride that kills, professing to refine-- He who deems hence shall flow The utter overthrow Of this most honored and long happy land, Little knows what there lies Even beneath his eyes, Slumbering in forms that round about him stand. Little knows he the zeal Myriads of spirits feel In love, pure principle, and knowledge strong; Little knows he what men Tread this dear land again, Whose souls of fire invigorate the throng. My friend! I lay with thee Beneath the forest tree, When spring was shedding her first sweets around. And the bright sky above Woke feelings of deep love, And thoughts which traveled through the blue profound. I lay, and as I heard-- The joyful faith thus stirred, Shot like Heaven's lightning through my wondering breast I heard, and in my thought Glory and greatness wrought, And blessing God--my native land I blest.