HADST thou been sitting yet in Lincoln's chair,

A different voice had pealed across the sea,

Another hand had struck a deeper key,

A larger note had pulsed upon the air.

Thou, in whose blood our Scotland hath a share--

As once on thine own soil august and free

Thyself didst not unproudly tell to me

'Mid talk of statecraft wise and songcraft fair--

Thou hadst not watched our throes with breast supine,

Nor dost thou now, nor doth thy mighty land.

Something of her vast soul we understand,

And well we know, that in this hour malign,

Not human heart she lacks, but tongue divine,

To rouse the thunders lulled in her right hand.