extempore on some memorations of thomson

dost thou not rise, indignant shade,

and smile wi' spurning scorn,

when they wha wad hae starved thy life,

thy senseless turf adorn?

helpless, ne, thou mb the brae,

wi' meikle honest toil,

and ught th' unfading gand there—

thy sair-worn, rightful spoil.