. . . . . . Crochallan came:
The old cock'd hat, the brown surtout the same;
His grisly beard just bristling in its might
('Twas four long nights and days to shaving night);
His uncomb'd, hoary locks, wild-staring, thatch'd
A head for thought profound and clear unmatch'd;
Yet, tho' his caustic wit was biting rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

. . . . . . Crochallan came:
The old cocked hat, the brown frock-coat the same;
His grisly beard just bristling in its might
(It was four long nights and days to shaving night);
His uncombed, hoary locks, wild-staring, thatched
A head for thought profound and clear unmatched;
Yet, though his caustic wit was biting rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.