LANE, on the winding Earn, there
An unco tow'r, sae stern an' auld,
Biggit, by lang forgotten hands,-
Ance refuge o' the Wallace bauld.
Time's restless finger sair hath
And riv'd thy grey disjaskit wa';
But rougher hands than Time's hae daur'd
To wrang thee, bonny Gascon Ha';
O! may a muse unkent to fame,
For this dim gruesome relic sue;
'Tis linkit wi' a Patriot's name,
The truest Scotland ever knew.
Just leave in peace ilk mossy stane,
Tellin' o' nations' rivalry;
And for succeeding ages hain
Remains o' Scottish chivalry.
What tho' no monument to thee
Is biggit by thy country's hands,
Engrav'd are thine immortal deeds
On ev'ry heart in this braid land.
Rude Time may monuments ding doun,
An' tow'rs an' wa's maun a' decay;
Thy name can never pass away!
Gi'e pillar'd fame to common men,
Nae need o' cairns for ane like thee;
In ev'ry cave, wood, hill, and glen,
Wallace ! remembered aye shall be.