their title's avow'd by my country.
but why of that epocha make such a fuss,
that gave us th' electoral stem?
if bringing them over was lucky for us,
i'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.
but, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground;
who knows how the fashions may alter?
the doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
to-morrow may bring us a halter!
i send you a trifle, a head of a bard,
a trifle scarce worthy your care;
but accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard,
sincere as a saint's dying prayer.
now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye,
and ushers the long dreary night:
but you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
your course to the latest is bright.