His Country's Saviour,[21] mark him well!
Bold Richardton's[22] heroic swell;
The chief on Sark[23] who glorious fell,
In high command;
And He whom ruthless fates expel
His native land.

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade[24]
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race portray'd
In colours strong;
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd
They strode along.

Thro' many a wild romantic grove,[25]
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,)
In musing mood,
An aged judge, I saw him rove,
Dispensing good.

With deep-struck, reverential awe,[26]
The learned sire and son I saw,
To Nature's God and Nature's law,
They gave their lore,
This, all its source and end to draw;
That, to adore.

Brydone's brave ward[27] I well could spy,