Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/450

416 The blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,

But now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!

Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,

But give support—the world hath given him fame!

The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled

While cheerly following where the Mighty led—

Who sleep beneath the undistinguished sod

Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,

To us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows—

The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:

She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise

The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,

Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose

The Highland Seer's anticipated woes,

The bleeding phantom of each martial form

Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;

While sad, she chaunts the solitary song,

The soft lament for him who tarries long—

For him, whose distant relics vainly crave

The Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!

'Tis Heaven—not man—must charm away the woe,

Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;