Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Harp of Renfrewshire

319
And yet be cast, a humble wreck,
Upon the tide of cold neglect-
No beacon light to lead him forth,
No haven for poor struggling worth.
To shield from scathe the humble bard,
Whose reckless freaks and biting truth,
A harvest brings of cliill regard,
To sear the heart of thoughtless youth.
I felt as if a tinge of shame
Came o'er me when I breathe the name
Of Wihon, while across my mind
Flit feelings dark and ill-defined;
It may be that the mental light
That lur'd him on, might lead astray;
Yet stern and bitter was the blight
That fell upon his early day.
Still blame not fate, though doomed to cower
Beneath the stern behest of power;
His early dreams and prospects foiled,
His pride of manhood crushed and soiled.
Were prelude signals for the flight
Of his bold spirit unresigned,
Where beamed in lineaments of light,
The splendours of unconquered mind.
No throbbing pulse or quivering nerve,
Bes]Doke the purpose that would swerve
From any task, however stern.
Where Nature's lessons he might learn.
Though danger, solitude, and toil
Beset each access to research;
No baffled energy the while,
Ere rose a barrier on the march.