text:  "Waft me some Muse to Tweed's enchanting stream Where all the little Loves and Graces dream: _Where slowly winding the dull waters creep _ _And seem themselves to own the power of sleep;_ _Where on the surface lead like feathers swims;_ There let me bathe my yet unhallow'd limbs As once a Syrian bathed in Jordan's flood; Wash off my native stains correct that blood Which mutinies at call of English pride And deaf to prudence rolls a patriot tide