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RECITATIVE. Mr.WILLIAM McLAREN. WHILE Gallia's chief, with cruel conquests vain, Bids clanging trumpets rend the skies, The widow's, orphan's, and the father's sighs, Breathe hissing through the guilty strain; Mild Pity hears the harrowing tones, Mixed with shrieks and dying groans; While warm Humanity, afar, Weeps o'er the ravages of war, And, shudd'ring, hears Ambition's servile train Rejoicing o'er their thousands slain. But when the song to worth is given, The grateful anthem wings its way to heaven, Rings through the mansions of the bright abodes, And melts to ecstasy the list'ning gods; Apollo, on fire, Strikes with rapture the lyre, And the Muses the summons obey; Joy wings the glad sound, To the worlds around, Till all Nature re-echoes the lay! Then raise the song, ye vocal few, Give the praise to merit due. SONG. Set to Music by Mr.R.A.SMITH, And sung by Messrs. SMITH, STUART, and BLAIKIE. Tho dark scowling Winter, in dismal array, Re-marshals his storms on the bleak hoary hill, With joy we assemble to hail the great day That gave birth to the Bard who ennobles our isle. Then loud to his merits the song let us raise, Let each true Caledonian exult in his praise; For the glory of genius, its dearest reward, Is the laurel entwin'd by his country's regard. Let the Muse bring fresh honours his name to adorn, Let the voice of glad melody pride in the theme, For the genius of Scotia, in ages unborn, Will light up her torch at the blaze of his fame. When the dark mist of ages lies turbid between, Still his star of renown through the gloom shall be seen, And his rich blooming laurels, so dear to the Bard, Will be cherished for ay by his country's regard. RECITATIVE. By Mr.WILLIAM McLAREN. Yes, Burns, thou "dear departed shade!" When rolling centuries have fled, Thy name shall still survive the wreck of time, Shall rouse the genius of thy native clime; Bards, yet unborn, and patriots shall come, And catch fresh ardour at thy hallow'd tomb- There's not a cairn-built cottage on our hills, Nor rural hamlet on our fertile plains, But echoes to the magic of thy strains, While ever heart with highest transport thrills: Our country's melodies shall perish never, For Burns, thy songs shall live for ever. Then once again, ye vocal few, Give the song to merit due. SONG. Written to Marsh's National Air, "Britons who for freedom bled." Harmonised as a Glee by Mr.R.A.SMITH, And sung by Messrs.SMITH, STUART, and BLAIKIE. Hail, ye glorious sons of song, Who wrote to humanise the soul! To you our highest strains belong, Your names shall crown our friendly bowl: But chiefly, Burns, above the rest We dedicate this night to thee; Engrav'd in every Scotsman's breast Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be! Fathers of our country's weal, Sternly virtuous, bold and free! Ye taught your sons to fight, yet feel The dictates of humanity. But chiefly, Burns, above the rest We dedicate this night to thee; Engrav'd in every Scotsman's breast Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be! Haughty Gallia threats our coast, We hear their vaunts with disregard, Secure in valour, still we boast "The Patriot and the Patriot Bard." But chiefly, Burns, above the rest We dedicate this night to thee; Engrav'd in every Scotsman's breast Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be! Yes, Caledonians! to our country true, Which Romans nor Danes never could subdue, Firmly resolved our native rights to guard, Let's toast-"The Patriot and the Patriot Bard."
© Copyright Len Nicholson, 1996, 1997, 1998