To Cambuskenneth strait he pass, A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. As should on princes' nuptials wait. The bridal of the Maid of Lorn. S CONCLUSION. Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way; And graced thy numbers with no friendly name, Into these two brief words !-there was a claim By generous friendship given—had fate allow'd, It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud! All angel now-yet little less than all, While still a pilgrim in our world below! What 'vails it us that patience to recall, Which hid its own, to sooth all other woe; What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest glow 1 Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair: And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know, That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair, Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there! |