A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon[150-9] his might, Guid faith, he mauna[150-10] fa'[150-11] that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may-- As come it will for a' that-- That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree,[150-12] and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, When man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brithers be for a' that!
[149-1] _Wha_ is the Scotch form of _who_. It modifies _a man_, understood, after _is there_.
[149-3] _Hamely_ means _homely_, in the sense of _simple_, or _common_.
[149-4] Hodden-gray is coarse woolen cloth.
[149-5] _Gie_ is the Scotch contraction for _give_.
[150-6] A birkie is a conceited, forward fellow.
[150-7] _Ca'd_ is a contracted form of _called_.
[150-8] A coof is a stupid person, a blockhead.
[150-12] _Bear the gree_ means _carry off the victory_.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
George III, King of England, was by no means fortunate in his sons, for there was in the most of them little of which a father could be proud. Edward, Duke of Kent, the fourth son, was by far the best; he was honorable, generous and charitable, so much so in fact that he lived far beyond the small income which his royal father was willing to allow him. This son married, and to him was born on the twenty-fourth of May, 1819, in the Palace of Kensington at London, a daughter.