hey start and shift,
like fortune's favors, tint as win.
by heedless ce i turn'd mine eyes,
and, by the moonbeam, shook to see
a stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
attir'd as minstrels wont to be.
had i a statue been o' stane,
his daring look had daunted me;
and on his bo grav'd in,
the sacred posy—“libertie!”
and frae his harp sic strains did flow,
might rous'd the slumb&# dead to hear;
but oh, it was a tale of woe,
as ever met a briton's ear!
he sang wi' joy his former day,
he, weeping, wailed his tter times;
A Vision(2/3)