Sir Walter Scott

Anonymous, "On the Death of Sir Walter Scott, Bart." Fraser's Magazine 6 (November 1832) 604-05.

Thy wand, O Magician! is broken—
Thy book in the ocean is buried—
The spell of thy soul hath been spoken—
And thine angel to heaven hath hurried!

His last lay the Last Minstrel hath chanted—
The last words of the Chieftain are over;
And Silence still lists, as if haunted
With the sounds that it heard, like a lover.

Thy Genius, Romance! is seen weeping
By yon abbey in ruin majestic,
Where the Wizard of Scotland is sleeping,
'Mid the wilds that to him were domestic.

His soul was at home on the mountains
His heart in the caves had much treasure;
By rivers, ravines, vales, and fountains,
He wander'd with Fancy and Pleasure.

No more shall the visions of faery,
No more shall the dreams of the Highlands,
From chambers ancestral and aery,
People continents, oceans, and islands.

O England! thy language his spirit
Long, long will enshrine and shall cherish;
And thy sons and thy daughters inherit
What their sires have decreed shall not perish.

O Scotland! revere the Departed—
Forget not the fame he hath brought thee;
To thy offspring too often false-hearted,
By his glory be gratitude taught thee.

What mother in death has forsaken
Her hero in battle victorious?—
O Scotland! with shame thou art taken,
If the Dead shall in vain have been glorious!

Then joy to the soul of the Poet!
Haste away to the land of the leal!
Thy country reveres thee — O, know it,
Where the happy alone is the real!