VII.

Daughter of the poet's mother! Here we hail thee with delight; Shower'd be every earthly blessing On thy locks of silver white!-- Sons of Burns, a hearty welcome, Welcome home from India's strand, To a heart-loved land far dearer, Since your glorious Father's land:-- Words are worthless--look around you-- Labour'd tomes far less could say To the sons of such a father, Than the sight of such a day!