This rock! where Pictish chiefs held sway

This rock! where Pictish chiefs held sway, Was patriots’ boast of latter day; Men, who, by Freedom’s watch-word led, With Wallace for their country bled; First to oppose tyrannic laws, The last to leave their sovereign’s cause. Would’st thou inquire the honour’d name For whom the muse her meed would claim? Go to North Berwick’s aisles elate, And read of Lauder good and great! These ancient lairds did long retain The Bass. The solan was their crest,— And much they loved her lofty nest, Which kings had coveted in vain. “I’ll hae my auld crag back again!” Said Lauder to his lord’s request: “But come ye here in weal or woe, “My sword is ready for your foe; “As erst, in treason’s gloomy hour, “On faction’s billows wildly driven, “My holde did shelter Scotia’s flower, “When from its parent stem ’twas riven.”