Songs and poems by the Rev. John Skinner. With a sketch of his life, by H. G. Reid |
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TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN
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 | Songs and poems |  |
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TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN
WHO DIED OF THE SMALL POX.
'Twas winter, and the sickly sun was low,
Thro' yonder fields I took my lonely way;
Musing on many a gloomy scene of woe,
As oft I wont in evening calm to stray.
Thro' yonder fields I took my lonely way;
Musing on many a gloomy scene of woe,
As oft I wont in evening calm to stray.
With languid step, advancing I perceiv'd
A passenger of aspect pale and wan;
With frequent sighs his labouring bosom heav'd,
And down his cheek the briny torrent ran.
A passenger of aspect pale and wan;
With frequent sighs his labouring bosom heav'd,
And down his cheek the briny torrent ran.
“What ails thee, friend?” I ask'd in pitying tone
Of sympathetic mood to speak relief
“Say, what's the cause that makes thee thus to moan,
And why thy visage pictur'd thus with grief?”
Of sympathetic mood to speak relief
“Say, what's the cause that makes thee thus to moan,
And why thy visage pictur'd thus with grief?”
“Shall I not moan?” the stranger sad reply'd,
“And thus in sighs my inward grief express?
How can my troubled heart its sorrows hide?
My melting soul conceal its deep distress?
“And thus in sighs my inward grief express?
How can my troubled heart its sorrows hide?
My melting soul conceal its deep distress?
“Last week a darling brother was my boast,
The last born product of my mother's womb;
This darling brother t'other day I lost,
To day I laid him in the silent tomb.
The last born product of my mother's womb;
This darling brother t'other day I lost,
To day I laid him in the silent tomb.
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“Meek his deportment, and his manners mild,
In all his carriage undisguis'd and plain;
As virgin chaste, and soft as new born child,
Comely his features, and his look serene.
In all his carriage undisguis'd and plain;
As virgin chaste, and soft as new born child,
Comely his features, and his look serene.
“Steady in principle, and in practice pure,
With modesty and manly sense endued;
His honest heart from vanity secure,
The paths of vice with just abhorrence view'd.
With modesty and manly sense endued;
His honest heart from vanity secure,
The paths of vice with just abhorrence view'd.
“Not poorly mean, nor anxious to be great,
His mind tho' lofty, and his genius bright;
Yet pleas'd and happy in his humble state,
And Music, heavenly gift, his dear delight!
His mind tho' lofty, and his genius bright;
Yet pleas'd and happy in his humble state,
And Music, heavenly gift, his dear delight!
“How gracefully, amidst th' applauding ring,
His well taught fingers mov'd the lyre along;
Whether to mirth he briskly struck the string,
Or on soft psalt'ry touch'd the sacred song!
His well taught fingers mov'd the lyre along;
Whether to mirth he briskly struck the string,
Or on soft psalt'ry touch'd the sacred song!
“Oft have I seen, when jocund friends were met,
In summer's evenings or by winter's fire;
The listening choir in emulation set!
What tongue should most th' enchanting youth admire
In summer's evenings or by winter's fire;
The listening choir in emulation set!
What tongue should most th' enchanting youth admire
“But now no more his notes shall charm the fair,
No more his Numbers soothe th' attentive Swain,
With Tullochgorum's dance-inspiring air,
Or Roslin-castle's sweet, but solemn strain.
No more his Numbers soothe th' attentive Swain,
With Tullochgorum's dance-inspiring air,
Or Roslin-castle's sweet, but solemn strain.
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“In early dawn of merit and of fame,
To wish'd-for health, from sickness just restor'd;
The loathsome pustules seiz'd his tender frame,
And sudden gave the stroke that's now deplor'd!
To wish'd-for health, from sickness just restor'd;
The loathsome pustules seiz'd his tender frame,
And sudden gave the stroke that's now deplor'd!
“'Tis this that grieves me,—this the loss I mourn,
Excuse a sorrowing brother's heavy tale;
No more shall he to earth and me return,
Nor sighs, nor tears, nor love, can now prevail!”
Excuse a sorrowing brother's heavy tale;
No more shall he to earth and me return,
Nor sighs, nor tears, nor love, can now prevail!”
He stopt, the tears again began to flow,
And sigh on sigh burst from his throbbing breast;
My feeling heart soon catch'd the poor man's woe,
And soon my eye the rising tear confest.
And sigh on sigh burst from his throbbing breast;
My feeling heart soon catch'd the poor man's woe,
And soon my eye the rising tear confest.
“Dear youth,” I cry'd, “whom heav'n has call'd away,
'Midst early innocence from this vain stage;
Safe now, we hope, in fields of endless day,
Above the follies of a sinful age!
'Midst early innocence from this vain stage;
Safe now, we hope, in fields of endless day,
Above the follies of a sinful age!
“In these bright regions fill'd with many a Saint,
Sweet be thy rest, and blest thy wakening be!
And may kind Heav'n at last in mercy grant
A happy meeting to thy friends and thee!”
Sweet be thy rest, and blest thy wakening be!
And may kind Heav'n at last in mercy grant
A happy meeting to thy friends and thee!”
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