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.