I see in thee what Scotland ever gave Her chosen children, else in gifts so poor, The music of the mountain and the moor, And the heart's echo her sweet poets have. Lest music's magic should thy soul enslave, Enkindling feelings vague and insecure, Thy stern land gave, to make her gifts endure, Conscience and thought deep toned as Fingal's Cave. With music dowered, but with mind as well, I pray thee shock the sheaves of Scottish song, Bind with thy gold of larger harmony, From scattered pipes symphonic strains compel, As they who do not to our race belong, Have waked to fame the airs of Hungary. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE SONG OF MARION'S MEN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A VISION OF THE VOICE OF YAHVEH by AMOS A JAPANESE DWARF TREE by ISABEL ANDERSON KINDNESS TO ANIMALS by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY IN ANSWER TO QUESTION FROM GREEK GRAMMAR: WHAT FUTURES SPEAK by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |