Such is the theme the flatt'ring songsters chuse, And oh, how worthy of the theme the muse! While, lo! a youth arises in the north Of royal virtues as of royal birth; Of worth, which in the dawn of ages, shewn Without the claim of birth, had gain'd a throne. Tho' in him ev'ry grace and glory join To add new lustre to the Stewart's line; [Sidenote: _fol._ 409.] Tho' Vict'ry makes the youthful Charles her care, No bard attends on his triumphal car. On firmer base he builds his sure applause, Recover'd freedom and protected laws. Say, Scotland, say, for thou must surely know; You felt the rapture, and you feel the woe. Say, when he trode upon the kindly earth, The genial soil which gave his fathers birth, Did not his outstretched hand with bounty spread Paternal blessings on thy children's heads; Hush them to peace amidst the din of war, And still the matron's sigh and virgin's fear? Bid peaceful plenty wave along the plain The untouch'd harvest of the golden grain? Did not the youth, enliven'd with his flame, Glow for the fight and ardent pant for fame? Strove not each rev'rend sage and hoary sire His worth to honour and his sense admire? Did not his form, with ev'ry beauty grac'd, Raise a chaste rapture in each virgin's breast? But when he quits the scene of soft delight, The graceful measure for the deathful fight, Say, saw thy plains (where many a deathless name, Where Bruce, where Wallace, fought their way to fame, Where Douglas, race heroick, nobly rose, Secur'd thy freedom and expell'd thy foes)-- Saw they e'er one amongst the chieftain throng, So ripe in glory and in years so young; Whose pride not more to vanquish than to save, In conquest gentle as in action brave? Like Philip's son, victorious in the course With skill superiour and inferiour force; Like Xenophon, secure midst hostil bands, [Sidenote: _fol._ 410.] He led his glorious few from distant lands, And join'd to sense of head the fire of heart, Of one the courage, and of one the art. While virtue lives, while honour has a name, While acts heroic fill the rolls of fame, First in the list shall Gladesmuir have a place, And Falkirk-plain, mark, Hawley! thy disgrace. Now change the scene and show the sad reverse, Where winter blasts th' autumnal smiles disperse; Where the fierce Hanover directs the storm And Hawley joys his mandates to perform. To whom compar'd an Alva's name is sweet, Brave in the field tho' cruel in the State.