To Sir Walter Scott

From deserts wild and many a pathless wood
Of savage climes where I have wandered long,
Whose hills and streams are yet ungraced by song,
I bring, illustrious friend, this garland rude:
The offering, though uncouth, in kindly mood
Thou wilt regard, if haply there should be,
‘Mong meaner things, the flower simplicity,
Fresh from coy Nature’s virgin solitude.
Accept this frail memorial, honoured Scott,
Of favoured intercourse in former day —
Of words of kindness I have ne’er forgot —
Of acts of friendship I can ne’er repay:
For I have found (and wherefore say it not?)
The Minstrel’s heart as noble as his lay.