Whose is that noble, dauntless brow?
And whose that eye of fire?
And whose that generous princely mien,
E’en rooted foes admire?
Stranger! to justly show that brow,
And mark that eye of fire,
Would take His hand, whose vernal tints
His other works admire.
Bright as a cloudless summer sun,
With stately port he moves;
His guardian Seraph eyes with awe
The noble Ward he loves.
Among the illustrious Scottish sons
That chief thou may’st discern,
Mark Scotia’s fond-returning eye,—
It dwells upon Glencairn.