text:  Lo when clover-swathes lay round him Or his feet the furrow press'd He could mourn the sever'd daisy Or the mouse's ruin'd nest; Woven of gloom and glory visions Haunting throng'd his twilight hour; Birds enthrall'd him with sweet music Tempests with their tones of power; Eagle-wing'd his mounting spirit Custom's rusty fetters spurn'd; Tasso-like for Jean he melted Wallace-like for Scotland burn'd! V