Address to Zetland

The land of Cakes*" has oft been sung,
In many a poet's strain;
But never might "the land of Fish"
Such proud distinction gain.

Then I will lift the voice of praise;
To thee my strains belong; —
Thy misty hills, and humid vales,
First woke my infant song.

Oft wand'ring by thy sea-beat shore
I woo'd the pensive Muse:
Nor will the Genii of thy rocks
This votive lay refuse.

Long be thy banks, romantic Sound*!
Industry's happy seat;
And long thy fame remember'd be ; —
First trod by princely feet!

May commerce oft with spreading sail,
To Lerwick's coast repair;
And gentle peace, on halcyon plume,
For ever linger there.

And long the nymphs of Lerwick shine,
Devoid of modish art;
With beauty deck'd, and ev'ry charm
That wins the gallant heart.

And fertile prove your barren fields,
Adorn'd with waving grain,
Where nought was seen but noisome weeds,
And dreary desert plain.

And may that source of half your wealth,
The ocean's finny race,
Reward the honest fisher's toil,
And long your tables grace.

And, oh! ye Zetland lairds be kind,
And shield th' industrious poor
From hard oppression's iron rod,
And tyranny of pow'r.

Oh! think how noble 'tis to smooth
The couch of want and care;
To bid the honest tenant smile,
And sweet contentment share.

Oh! think what fond and fervent zeal
Shall sanctify your cause,
When never forc'd by pining want
To break your rigid laws.

How sweet the meed of conscious worth,
More dear than public fame !
How sweet the blessings that repose
Upon a good man's name !

Then rule with mercy—so shall Heav'n
Your fondest wishes speed ;
And joy, and peace, and plenty reign
From Scaw* to Sumburghead.

[Extract]