AROUND your northern home, where never cease

The ebb and flow of Nith, whose waters glide

Rich with their memories of the Muse; whose tide,

In haunts of moorfowl and the wandering fleece,

Down by Caerlaverock beyond old Dumfries,

To Solway brings its dowry, like a bride;

There do the lowland mothers mourn with pride

The lowland sons, whom War hath lapped in Peace.

But you--be glad, be uplifted, seeing that what

Was great aforetime still disdains to fade ;

The spirit pervervid of the heroic Scot,

Its fire unlulled, and hardly in earth allayed:

The ancient native prowess unforgot,

Valour undrooped, and manhood undecayed.