Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives,In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined,Accept the gift; though humble he who gives,Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.
So may no ruffian-feeling in my breast,Discordant, jar thy bosom-chords among;But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song,
Or Pity’s notes, in luxury of tears,As modest Want the tale of woe reveals;While conscious Virtue all the strains endears,And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals.