Who shall dispute thy name! Insculpt in stone in every street, We soon shall greet Thy trodden down, yet all unconquered fame! Where’er we take, even at this time, our way, Nought see we, but mankind in open air, Hammering thy fame, as Chantrey would not dare;-- And with a patient care Chipping thy immortality all day! Demosthenes, of old,--that rare old man,-- Prophetically _followed_, Mac! thy plan:-- For he, we know, (History says so,) Put _pebbles_ in his mouth when he would speak The _smoothest_ Greek! It is “impossible, and cannot be,” But that thy genius hath, Besides the turnpike, many another path Trod, to arrive at popularity. O’er Pegasus, perchance, thou hast thrown a thigh, Nor ridden a roadster only;--mighty Mac! And ‘faith I’d swear, when on that wingèd hack, Thou hast observed the highways in the sky! Is the path up Parnassus rough and steep, And “hard to climb,” as Dr. B. would say? Dost think it best for Sons of Song to keep The noiseless _tenor_ of their way? (see Gray.) What line of road _should_ poets take to bring Themselves unto those waters, loved the first!-- Those waters which can wet a man to sing! Which, like thy fame, “from _granite_ basins burst, Leap into life, and, sparkling, woo the thirst?” That thou’rt a proser, even thy birthplace might Vouchsafe;--and Mr. Cadell _may_, God wot, Have paid thee many a pound for many a blot,-- Cadell’s a wayward wight! Although no Walter, still thou art a Scot, And I can throw, I think, a little light Upon some works thou hast written for the town,-- And published, like a Lilliput Unknown! “Highways and Byeways” is thy book, no doubt, (One whole edition’s out,) And next, for it is fair That Fame, Seeing her children, should confess she had ’em;-- “Some _Passages_ from the life of Adam Blair,”-- (Blair is a Scottish name,) What are they, but thy own good roads, M‘Adam?