Proud rock! thou’st seen a motley race

Proud rock! thou’st seen a motley race, Since here St Baldred rear’d his cell; Like shadows o’er thy rugged face, I see their forms around me swell: There gleams the Pict a warrior brave, And Covenanter plodding grave; And murderous Pirate, bath’d in gore, Frowning defiance on the shore; Where silken-streamer’d barges flock, Plied dusky chiefs in light carrock; And where the modern villa glows, Huts like the Indian wigwam rose; And lands were bleak where tempest’s scowl’d, And monsters ‘mid the brushwood prowl’d; In marshes deep the otter play’d, Lit by the vapour’s deadly shade; Till culture on the ploughshare smiled, And gardens glitter’d in the wild!— Ere Meikle, with inventive mind, Abridged the labours of mankind. Man also changed;—’twas but in name His selfish passions were the same! With more of specious shew and art He bore conceal’d a savage heart! Was there in Goran’s gloomy reign A darker page, of redder stain, Than that which British annals show’d, When persecution’s torches glow’d, And men were at their altars shriven, Because, as conscience bid, they worshipp’d heaven!