Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee

With an Impression of the Author's Portrait.

     Revered defender of beauteous Stuart,
     Of Stuart, a name once respected;
     A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart,
     But now 'tis despis'd and neglected.

     Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye,
     Let no one misdeem me disloyal;
     A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh,
     Still more if that wand'rer were royal.

     My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne:
     My fathers have fallen to right it;
     Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
     That name should he scoffingly slight it.

     Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
     The Queen, and the rest of the gentry:
     Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine;
     Their title's avow'd by my country.

     But why of that epocha make such a fuss,
     That gave us th' Electoral stem?
     If bringing them over was lucky for us,
     I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.

     But, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground;
     Who knows how the fashions may alter?
     The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
     To-morrow may bring us a halter!

     I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,
     A trifle scarce worthy your care;
     But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
     Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

     Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye,
     And ushers the long dreary night:
     But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
     Your course to the latest is bright.


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