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Dear to his prince, by all around him blessed, Hopetoun's high claims to honour all confessed. Among his peers unrivalled, yet beloved, With mingled grace and dignity he moved. His fall they mourn.-But whither can we go, But to perceive the solemn march of woe; To see the streaming eyes of grief, and hear Her mournful tones repeated far and near?
Britannia's deathless annals shall proclaim, To distant times, the Chief's illustrious name; While in Corunna's memorating line
At once the orator and hero shine.
Nor do her armies only mourn his zeal ;
What patriot more enjoyed his country's weal?
Hostile to her hostilities, and blessed,
Her honours and prosperity increased.
Alas! as we survey his favoured Fife, His native Lothian, his domestic life, The tides of grief and mourning more prevail : Each dale and hamlet tells its cause to wail, Chiefly lorn Abercorn and Monimail *. There gratitude her benefactor lauds, There generous deeds philanthropy applauds, There friendship's lips with glowing rapture dwell On scenes of bliss; though the recitals swell The breast with pleasing pain ineffable.
* Lord Hopetoun's native parish.
But lo! to the mind's eye a form appears,
Serene and lovely, smiling, though in tears,
To speak his eulogy :- How dear to me,
His warm regard, his firm consistency;
While, by his influence, vice, afraid, abashed,
Saw her base power and machinations quashed ;
For virtue's friends and rights 'twas his to guard;
His life a model, and his smile reward.
For me and for my courts may many feel,
His firm attachment, unassuming zeal;
His high enjoyment of my sacred rites;
And taste with him devotion's pure delights!'
Thus speaks Religion:-even she must mourn
So fair a pillar from her temple torn;
Even she that softens grief, and lulls to rest
The warring passions in the troubled breast.
O! to that home, which late his presence blessed,
Now grief's abode, may she, a welcome guest,
With all her tenderest influences repair,
To bind each bursting heart, and chase despair!
O'er his lorn consort, shed her choicest balm,
And youthful bosoms, new to anguish, calm!
Till, where dark sorrow reigned, shall peace be found,
And faith and hope bid heavenly joy abound!
Rev. Dr Martin.
Not easily, my friend, can I recount
Why and how much endeared to me the mount,
Sir David Lindsay's hill; the very name
Is an attraction, and secures its fame.
History records his pauky cutting rhymes,
His quaint conceits, and pictures of the times.
'Twas here he lived, and where exists a Scot
Regards it not a venerated spot?
With the admirers fond of the sublime
And beautiful, the favourite hill I climb;
With willing feet ascending with delight,
New, varying, opening scenes regale the sight.
The vale is traced, the enraptured eye now roams
O'er fertile fields, o'er venerable domes,
Mansions of kings and many a baron bold,
And soldiers too, and saints renowned of old,
And modern elegance, on every side,
Where taste and hospitality abide.
As we ascend, new objects in the north,
South, east, and west-the sea, the Tay, the Forth,
Mountains, and shires, the wide expanded sky,
The wondering mind delightfully employ.
But lo! the Mount endeared is dearer still,
Peculiar honours draw us to the bill.
In the projected structure, see its claims
On our regards, and the inviting themes
Of sweet communion. First let humble verse
The first stone laid with honours due rehearse.
The common-place distinctions of the day,
Pomp and eclat, I do not stop to say,
Procession, architectural rites and glee,
Of every similar festivity-
These finished, let me bring you to the inn,
With many a guest, no listless crowd I ween.
The dinner o'er, and thanks to God returned,
In solemn silence the bereavement mourned,
* Uprose his friend, his feelings to declare
On the blest day, and thus addressed the chair:
My Lord of Kellie, Gentlemen of Fife,
And friends of Hopetoun, never in my life
A task more difficult, and yet more dear,
Has been assigned me, for at once the tear
Of grief and exultation warm my cheek,
While of his virtues and our loss I speak;
* Colonel Lindsay.
Yet will I speak, nor will I shrink to say
How much I glory in this festive day.
It is a day of mourning, yet delight
Predominates, contemplated aright.
Not now I think of military fame,
And all that decorates the soldier's name.
Britannia's lauding senates, nay, the age
Admire the hero, and revere the sage:
Nor diplomatic excellences yield
To military glories of the field.
The structure of memorial I prize,
'Tis philanthropic, dutiful, and wise,
For all around the monument well know
What to his generosity they owe,
And frequently and fully will proclaim
From age to age the honours of his name.
My Lord and Gentlemen! To his loved Fife Of gain and loss what was his precious life!·· Much have we to recount, and time would fail Of social and domestic to detail :·
The cares and duties and the bliss sincere
Exhibited to us-and every where,
And imitated every where insure
Enjoyments rational, exalted, pure."
And had not time prevented, I had said,
(The echo I to all the honours paid