To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land wind, from woods of palm, And orange groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytian seas. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee-there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb : But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her soldier, closing with the foe, Talk of thy doom without a sigh: That were not born to die, BURNS. TO A ROSE, BROUGHT FROM NEAR ALLOWAY KIRK, IN AYRSHIRE, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1822. WILD ROSE of Alloway! my thanks: Like thine, beneath the thorn-tree's bough, We've crossed the winter sea, and thou And will not thy death-doom be mine, The doom of all things wrought of clay,And withered my life's leaf like thine, Wild rose of Alloway? Not so his memory, for whose sake The memory of Burns-a name That calls, when brimmed her festal cup, A nation's glory, and her shame, In silent sadness up. A nation's glory-be the rest Forgot-she 's canonized his mind; And it is joy to speak the best We may of human kind. I've stood beside the cottage bed Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath; A straw-thatched roof above his head, A straw-wrought couch beneath. And I have stood beside the pile, His monument-that tells to Heaven Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot, The pride that lifted Burns from earth, The rich, the brave, the strong; |