Thy dauntless voluntary line; 100
For fosse and turret proud to stand,
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, train’d to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 105
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if it come,—­as come it may,
Dun-Edin! that eventful day,—­
Renown’d for hospitable deed,
That virtue much with Heaven may plead, 110
In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deign’d to share;
That claim may wrestle blessings down
On those who fight for The Good Town,
Destined in every age to be 115
Refuge of injured royalty;
Since first, when conquering York arose,
To Henry meek she gave repose,
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe,
Great Bourbon’s relics, sad she saw. 120

Truce to these thoughts!—­for, as they rise,
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change,
For Fiction’s fair romantic range,
Or for Tradition’s dubious light, 125
That hovers ’twixt the day and night: 
Dazzling alternately and dim
Her wavering lamp I’d rather trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames, to see,
Creation of my fantasy, 130
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading men.—­
Who loves not more the night of June
Than dull December’s gloomy noon? 
The moonlight than the fog of frost? 135
But can we say, which cheats the most?

But who shall teach my harp to gain
A sound of the romantic strain,
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere
Could win the royal Henry’s ear, 140
Famed Beauclerk call’d, for that he loved
The minstrel, and his lay approved? 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem,
Decaying on Oblivion’s stream;
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 145
Marie translated, Blondel sung?—­
O! born, Time’s ravage to repair,
And make the dying Muse thy care;
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe
Was poising for the final blow, 150
The weapon from his hand could wring,
And break his glass, and shear his wing,
And bid, reviving in his strain,
The gentle poet live again;
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 155
An unpedantic moral gay,
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit
On wings of unexpected wit;
In letters as in life approved,
Example honour’d, and beloved,—­ 160
Dear Ellis! to the bard impart
A lesson of thy magic art,
To win at once the head and heart,—­
At once to charm, instruct, and mend,
My guide, my pattern, and my friend! 165