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Poem by Robert Burns Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Woods, on His Benefit-Night, Monday, April 16. 1787 WHEN by a generous public’s kind acclaim, That dearest meed is granted-honest fame; When here your favour is the actor’s lot, Nor even the man in private life forgot; What breast so dead to heav’nly virtue’s glow, But heaves impassion’d with the grateful throe? Poor is the task to please a barb’rous throng, It needs no Siddons’ power in Southern’s song: But here an ancient nation, fam’d afar For genius, learning high, as great in war- Hail, Caledonia! name for ever dear! Before whose sons I’m honour’d to appear! Where every science, every nobler art, That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, Is known; as grateful nations oft have found, Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream, Here holds her search, by heaven-taught Reason’s beam; Here History paints with elegance and force, The tide of Empire’s fluctuating course; Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, And Harley rouses all the god in man. When well-form’d taste and sparkling wit unite, With manly love, or female beauty bright (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace Can only charm us in the second place)- Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, As on this night, I’ve met these judges here! But still the hope Experience taught to live, Equal to judge-you’re candid to forgive. No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, With decency and law beneath his feet, Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom’s name; Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. O Thou, dread Power! whose empire-giving hand Has oft been stretch’d to shield the honour’d land, Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire; May every son be worthy of his sire; Firm may she rise with generous disdain At Tyranny’s, or direr Pleasure’s chain; Still self-dependent in her native shore, Bold may she brave grim Danger’s loudest roar, Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more. Robert Burns Robert Burns's other poems:
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