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Broadside ballad entitled 'Burns, Old Scotland's Son of Song'
Burns, Old Scotland's Son of Song,
Thine was the grand, the magic lyre,
With strains all nations do admire.
Man and nature's faithful bard,
While echo whispers her regard.
While Music breathes her sweetest tone,
We'll strike the harp of Caledon
For Burns, Old Scotland's Son of Song.
Thou wast neglected in thy day,
Scotland little knew thy worth,
Of the star that glistened in the north.
Who weeps for Mary and for thee,
The shrine of Scottish minstrelsy.
The noble monument and bust
May add a lustre to thy lay,
Before thy laurels shall decay,
Leap wildly from their rocky urns,
We'll sing the merry songs of Burns.
Probable period of publication:
1860-1890 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.70(8a)