 | I. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| II. |
|
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
137
ENIGMAS.
139
ENIGMA THE FIRST.
On publishing this and the two following, in the Belfast Commercial Chronicle, the scribblers and pedants throughout the neighbourhood were seized with an Enigmatic Fever, which raged for a considerable time, to the great mortification of the enlightened public. The Author became disgusted with the numerous and laughable communications he daily received, supposed to be ingenious solutions. No. 1. Starch, was answered throughout, by Mr.T.Falconer, Comedian, of the Belfast Theatre, in verse. The three following remain unanswered.
Who made me first, when, where, but few can tell,
Tho' I'm made daily for each beau and belle;
And in most countries found, such is my lot,
From the proud palace to the lowly cot.
I owe my being to the ploughman's toil;
He views me oft in summer with a smile:
Next I surround the bosoms of the fair,
Would I could guard them from the villain's snare!
By beauties in most climes am I carest,
And oft have won them lovers, 'tis confest:
I to deformity add many a charm;
Tho' base the coin, it does the world no harm.
I'm in complexion fairer far than you,
Nor is my shape to ought confin'd, I vow.
Short is my date, perhaps an hour, a year,
And when I'm put to use I disappear.
A drop of water quick my form will change,
But keep me dry, throughout the world I'll range:
I'm hot, I'm cold; let this not cause alarm;
Eat me, or drink me, faith I'll do no harm,
Yon supple tradesman calls me to his aid,
And for his blooming lovey I was made;
Their dear-lov'd cherubs, too, find me of use;
And shop-boy Jacky, strutting, pert and spruce.
I rustle thro' the ball-room 'midst the proud,
Nor yet am seen by any of the crowd;
I'm in the park, parade, and at the play,
In churches, eke in chapels, every day:
You meet me every minute in each street,
But you're too proud to know me when we meet.
In eastern climates I'm at each one's call,
In Norway, Lapland, I'm scarce known at all.
The lawyer, doctor, vicar I attend,
And have been thought a judge's, bishop's friend:
Old maids, old bachelors, my influence own;
I'm next the king, God bless him! on his throne.
That I was used by Scotia's beauteous queen,
And by her murd'rous cousin, may be seen:
Yea, each proud potentate, and gay grandee,
Must shew their pow'r accompanied by me.
The cloister'd nun admits me to her cell,
And in some dungeons I'm allow'd to dwell:
By proud, by wise, o'er Europe am I borne,
Yet still am I the lonely hermit's scorn.
Erin, a faithful friend I prove to thee,
Tho' thousands of thy sons are dup'd by me;
For I a knave have been, in many a clime,
And will remain so till the end of time.
Tho' I'm made daily for each beau and belle;
And in most countries found, such is my lot,
From the proud palace to the lowly cot.
I owe my being to the ploughman's toil;
He views me oft in summer with a smile:
Next I surround the bosoms of the fair,
Would I could guard them from the villain's snare!
By beauties in most climes am I carest,
And oft have won them lovers, 'tis confest:
I to deformity add many a charm;
Tho' base the coin, it does the world no harm.
I'm in complexion fairer far than you,
Nor is my shape to ought confin'd, I vow.
Short is my date, perhaps an hour, a year,
And when I'm put to use I disappear.
A drop of water quick my form will change,
But keep me dry, throughout the world I'll range:
I'm hot, I'm cold; let this not cause alarm;
Eat me, or drink me, faith I'll do no harm,
140
And for his blooming lovey I was made;
Their dear-lov'd cherubs, too, find me of use;
And shop-boy Jacky, strutting, pert and spruce.
I rustle thro' the ball-room 'midst the proud,
Nor yet am seen by any of the crowd;
I'm in the park, parade, and at the play,
In churches, eke in chapels, every day:
You meet me every minute in each street,
But you're too proud to know me when we meet.
In eastern climates I'm at each one's call,
In Norway, Lapland, I'm scarce known at all.
The lawyer, doctor, vicar I attend,
And have been thought a judge's, bishop's friend:
Old maids, old bachelors, my influence own;
I'm next the king, God bless him! on his throne.
That I was used by Scotia's beauteous queen,
And by her murd'rous cousin, may be seen:
Yea, each proud potentate, and gay grandee,
Must shew their pow'r accompanied by me.
The cloister'd nun admits me to her cell,
And in some dungeons I'm allow'd to dwell:
By proud, by wise, o'er Europe am I borne,
Yet still am I the lonely hermit's scorn.
Erin, a faithful friend I prove to thee,
Tho' thousands of thy sons are dup'd by me;
141
And will remain so till the end of time.
I wonder oft mankind e'er think about me,
When just as well all ranks could do without me.
I'm but a word. My meaning quick explain;
Come, study; bite your nails, then try again.
When just as well all ranks could do without me.
I'm but a word. My meaning quick explain;
Come, study; bite your nails, then try again.
One half of me is brought far o'er the waves—
One half of me our dear-lov'd country saves—
One half a glorious act or base may mean—
One third contempt or pity shews, I ween—
One half of me an useful tree will form;
It shelters many a rustic from the storm—
From half of me an heroine was nam'd,
Whose death made British cruelty much blam'd;
That half of me did ere the flood appear,
And but for it, thou hadst not now been here.
One half of me our dear-lov'd country saves—
One half a glorious act or base may mean—
One third contempt or pity shews, I ween—
One half of me an useful tree will form;
It shelters many a rustic from the storm—
From half of me an heroine was nam'd,
Whose death made British cruelty much blam'd;
That half of me did ere the flood appear,
And but for it, thou hadst not now been here.
Two thirds of me is many a courtier's pride—
Two thirds oft seen with monarchs, side by side—
Two thirds of me the traveller greets with joy—
Two thirds the seaman's mind doth oft employ—
Two thirds of me delight this earthly ball—
Two thirds of me caus'd gallant Nelson's fall—
Two thirds of me is each free-mason's boast—
Two thirds of me is oft his heart-warm toast—
Two thirds of me the curious view with awe—
Two thirds of me make man your dang'rous foe—
Two thirds of me support you o'er the flood;
Yet am I useless, rightly understood—
Two thirds of me delight a sland'rous crew,
And yet it entertains the virtuous too—
Two thirds shew what our warriors for you bear—
O brethren, let them ever be your care!
Two thirds oft seen with monarchs, side by side—
Two thirds of me the traveller greets with joy—
Two thirds the seaman's mind doth oft employ—
Two thirds of me delight this earthly ball—
Two thirds of me caus'd gallant Nelson's fall—
142
Two thirds of me is oft his heart-warm toast—
Two thirds of me the curious view with awe—
Two thirds of me make man your dang'rous foe—
Two thirds of me support you o'er the flood;
Yet am I useless, rightly understood—
Two thirds of me delight a sland'rous crew,
And yet it entertains the virtuous too—
Two thirds shew what our warriors for you bear—
O brethren, let them ever be your care!
Transpose me now, and soon perchance you'll find
What proves a benefit to all mankind;
By what old Albion is to glory led;
What 'tis secures her sons their daily bread;
What Greece and Rome for ages thought their own,
And what to many a country's yet unknown.
Transpose me, and you'll see a rising ground,
By tyrants rear'd, throughout Hibernia found.
Transpose me, and I soon become a fish,
Deem'd by each epicure a dainty dish;
'Tis not in Ireland found; not in the sea;
Not in the river—Pray, where can it be?
Transpose me, every danger I defy.
Transpose me, and as useless dross I lie.
Transpose me, I'm what various metals are;
Or like a guilty felon at the bar.
Transpose me, I'm the idol of mankind,
And hourly influence the noblest mind.
I'm source of many a pleasure, many a pain;
And hurl destruction o'er both land and main.
I caus'd Parisian blood in streams to flow,
And struck at monarchy the fatal blow.
I call a demon, he attends my call;
The peasant's wholesome cup he fills with gall.
I bid a monster that fair town destroy;
'Tis done—I view him smile with hellish joy.
I bid a mother quick dispatch her child;
'Tis o'er—that cry, how innocent! how wild!
I bid a son his parent smite to death;
I see the parent, gasping, close his breath.
I bid the murd'rer plunge his steel in gore;
He shews it reeking—what can wretch do more?
'Twas I bade Williams try the murd'rous art;
He grinn'd horrific; well perform'd his part!
In carnage now, I glory to my shame;
Now to relieve the helpless is my aim:
I succour many a brother in distress,
And fabrics rear to make their sorrows less:
The beggars bless me, curse me, this I own;
Yet pomp and pow'r I humble with a frown.
Millions by me themselves at once undo;
Millions for want of me are ruin'd too.
I level states and empires when I chuse;
And kings my mandates seldom dare refuse:
I lord it o'er the world, with tyrant sway;
Bid cities flourish, others sweep away.
For me, yon patriot loud of freedom raves;
I nod, his happy country he enslaves.
For me, the artist rears yon lofty dome;
For me the starveling whistles at his loom.
Bards strike the tuneful lyre, and I'm the theme;
Crown'd heads and low-born wretches of me drear
My country's threaten'd; I avert the blow,
And the dull rabble ever keep in awe:
From shore to shore I fly, borne on each gale;
To greet me with a smile, none ever fail.
I speak all languages, although I'm dumb;
And pity 'tis, I'm seldom overcome.
I'm dark; I'm fair; I'm light; I'm heavy found;
And am an hundred fathoms under ground.
Since time's beginning, all have own'd my skill:
Till time shall end, I must be ruler still!
What proves a benefit to all mankind;
By what old Albion is to glory led;
What 'tis secures her sons their daily bread;
What Greece and Rome for ages thought their own,
And what to many a country's yet unknown.
Transpose me, and you'll see a rising ground,
By tyrants rear'd, throughout Hibernia found.
Transpose me, and I soon become a fish,
Deem'd by each epicure a dainty dish;
'Tis not in Ireland found; not in the sea;
Not in the river—Pray, where can it be?
Transpose me, every danger I defy.
Transpose me, and as useless dross I lie.
143
Or like a guilty felon at the bar.
Transpose me, I'm the idol of mankind,
And hourly influence the noblest mind.
I'm source of many a pleasure, many a pain;
And hurl destruction o'er both land and main.
I caus'd Parisian blood in streams to flow,
And struck at monarchy the fatal blow.
I call a demon, he attends my call;
The peasant's wholesome cup he fills with gall.
I bid a monster that fair town destroy;
'Tis done—I view him smile with hellish joy.
I bid a mother quick dispatch her child;
'Tis o'er—that cry, how innocent! how wild!
I bid a son his parent smite to death;
I see the parent, gasping, close his breath.
I bid the murd'rer plunge his steel in gore;
He shews it reeking—what can wretch do more?
'Twas I bade Williams try the murd'rous art;
He grinn'd horrific; well perform'd his part!
In carnage now, I glory to my shame;
Now to relieve the helpless is my aim:
I succour many a brother in distress,
And fabrics rear to make their sorrows less:
The beggars bless me, curse me, this I own;
Yet pomp and pow'r I humble with a frown.
144
Millions for want of me are ruin'd too.
I level states and empires when I chuse;
And kings my mandates seldom dare refuse:
I lord it o'er the world, with tyrant sway;
Bid cities flourish, others sweep away.
For me, yon patriot loud of freedom raves;
I nod, his happy country he enslaves.
For me, the artist rears yon lofty dome;
For me the starveling whistles at his loom.
Bards strike the tuneful lyre, and I'm the theme;
Crown'd heads and low-born wretches of me drear
My country's threaten'd; I avert the blow,
And the dull rabble ever keep in awe:
From shore to shore I fly, borne on each gale;
To greet me with a smile, none ever fail.
I speak all languages, although I'm dumb;
And pity 'tis, I'm seldom overcome.
I'm dark; I'm fair; I'm light; I'm heavy found;
And am an hundred fathoms under ground.
Since time's beginning, all have own'd my skill:
Till time shall end, I must be ruler still!
Again transpose me; in a heavy gale,
Tars I make tremble, cowards I turn pale,
Again transpose me, and I'll quick disclose,
What to my aid each land of commerce owes:
What sail'd with Drake, with Anson, this globe round,
And Cook's companion, too, was daily found.
Transpose again, and by one half you'll see,
What's worn on princes, prelates, you, not me.
Presto! again; now certes beyond doubt,
You know what farmers seldom are without.
Tars I make tremble, cowards I turn pale,
145
What to my aid each land of commerce owes:
What sail'd with Drake, with Anson, this globe round,
And Cook's companion, too, was daily found.
Transpose again, and by one half you'll see,
What's worn on princes, prelates, you, not me.
Presto! again; now certes beyond doubt,
You know what farmers seldom are without.
Be patient, reader. Try me, oft I'll change;
Become a beast that doth the forests range:
Another, many a thrifty housewife's dread;
Another still, that by the last is fed.
Become a beast that doth the forests range:
Another, many a thrifty housewife's dread;
Another still, that by the last is fed.
Lastly; I bear the hero from the field:—
Tell what I am, or quick thy judgment yield.
Tell what I am, or quick thy judgment yield.
Carnmoney, near Belfast.
146
ENIGMA THE SECOND.
In yon fair town,
where Lagan's lazy stream
Steals softly past, and men of commerce dream;
Where wealth, where fashion, hold the gay levee,
Or dry the tear of each wan wretch they see;
Where merit ever finds a sure reward,
And each has the good wishes of our bard;
Where Drummond, learn'd, with all a poet's art,
In verse majestic, sways at will the heart;
Where Balfour
strikes her lyre, the silver sound,
Terne hears, and spreads her fame around;
Where Bunting, eager for his country's praise,
Snatches from time the songs of other days,
The harp new strings, that long aside was thrown—
Throughout the Em'rald Isle, long be it known;
Where sons of genius, bow'd by want or care,
Too little known, sing “to the desert air;”
There am I found.—Yes, I'm at each one's call,
And some to me attribute their downfall;
Strange falsehoods, these; for I would none offend,
But to the multitude would be a friend.
I'm known to kings, and am to kings unknown;
Tho' round them daily is my influence shewn.
I'm oft-times found in France's gay domain,
With sans culottes; and eke with haughty Spain;
With slovenly Mynheer, I too am seen;
And am the fav'rite of each Mandarine.
In Scotland more than Ireland am I priz'd;
In many parts of England much despis'd.
Behold yon captive in his dark dank cell,
With such as he I'm ne'er asham'd to dwell.
The insolvent debtor, from all friends exil'd,
With hazard look, where health once blooming smil'd,
The thoughts of happy years, long since flown by,
Break night's repose, and force the daily sigh;
Yet, 'mid the solemn stilness of the night,
Aided by me, ev'n he tastes pure delight;
With my assistance, he his foes may dare,
Hope's rays on him I dart—now cause despair.
I'm from afar, and little known afar—
I'm priz'd by seamen, scorn'd by many a tar:
The dauntless sailor on the giddy mast,
Draws comfort from me, 'mid the roughest blast;
He toils submissive, scorning to complain,
Laughs, jokes, and sings, then thinks of me again.
The shiv'ring centinel, I too can cheer;
Or down his manly cheek force many a tear.
The peasant, happy in his straw-roof'd cot,
Beholds me—in a trice beholds me not;
And oft a-field with him, caress'd I'm seen,
But ere next morn he knows not what I mean.
I'm seen with Bess the beggar, in the street;
Princes, alas! don't know me, when we meet.
Many they are, who know me but by name;
Many they are, I daily put to shame:
Some great men know me not, some weak ones do;
Some mortals I enrich, some ruin too.
The lawyer, doctor, parson, I befriend,
And at the grave, some heroes I attend.
Now for my colour—still am I at ease,
I'm white, red, black, blue, green, whate'er you please;
And as for form, I'm lusty now, now spare,
Now perpendicular, now round, now square;
Diagonal, and horizontal too;
Believe our author, faith he tells you true:
Now long, now short, and now so very small,
Saddle your nose, I'm scarcely seen at all.
I, Proteus like, change fifty times a-day,
But I'll be cautious, nor myself betray.
Steals softly past, and men of commerce dream;
Where wealth, where fashion, hold the gay levee,
Or dry the tear of each wan wretch they see;
Where merit ever finds a sure reward,
And each has the good wishes of our bard;
Where Drummond, learn'd, with all a poet's art,
In verse majestic, sways at will the heart;
Where Balfour
From the fire of genius, and the harmonius versification this lady has displayed, her name may rank with the first poetic favourites of her country. In her elegant Poem addressed to Hope, many passages will bear a comparison with Mr. Thomas Campbell's, on the same subject, without injuring the fair fame of our Authoress.—Her Songs, sprightly, or pathetic, are always interesting, and particularly calculated for the amusement of her countrymen. As a dramatist, she requires only the patronage of the great, to establish her fame; and make life a scene of pleasure, which has for some years been the reverse.
Terne hears, and spreads her fame around;
Where Bunting, eager for his country's praise,
Snatches from time the songs of other days,
The harp new strings, that long aside was thrown—
Throughout the Em'rald Isle, long be it known;
Where sons of genius, bow'd by want or care,
Too little known, sing “to the desert air;”
There am I found.—Yes, I'm at each one's call,
And some to me attribute their downfall;
Strange falsehoods, these; for I would none offend,
But to the multitude would be a friend.
147
Tho' round them daily is my influence shewn.
I'm oft-times found in France's gay domain,
With sans culottes; and eke with haughty Spain;
With slovenly Mynheer, I too am seen;
And am the fav'rite of each Mandarine.
In Scotland more than Ireland am I priz'd;
In many parts of England much despis'd.
Behold yon captive in his dark dank cell,
With such as he I'm ne'er asham'd to dwell.
The insolvent debtor, from all friends exil'd,
With hazard look, where health once blooming smil'd,
The thoughts of happy years, long since flown by,
Break night's repose, and force the daily sigh;
Yet, 'mid the solemn stilness of the night,
Aided by me, ev'n he tastes pure delight;
With my assistance, he his foes may dare,
Hope's rays on him I dart—now cause despair.
I'm from afar, and little known afar—
I'm priz'd by seamen, scorn'd by many a tar:
The dauntless sailor on the giddy mast,
Draws comfort from me, 'mid the roughest blast;
He toils submissive, scorning to complain,
Laughs, jokes, and sings, then thinks of me again.
The shiv'ring centinel, I too can cheer;
Or down his manly cheek force many a tear.
148
Beholds me—in a trice beholds me not;
And oft a-field with him, caress'd I'm seen,
But ere next morn he knows not what I mean.
I'm seen with Bess the beggar, in the street;
Princes, alas! don't know me, when we meet.
Many they are, who know me but by name;
Many they are, I daily put to shame:
Some great men know me not, some weak ones do;
Some mortals I enrich, some ruin too.
The lawyer, doctor, parson, I befriend,
And at the grave, some heroes I attend.
Now for my colour—still am I at ease,
I'm white, red, black, blue, green, whate'er you please;
And as for form, I'm lusty now, now spare,
Now perpendicular, now round, now square;
Diagonal, and horizontal too;
Believe our author, faith he tells you true:
Now long, now short, and now so very small,
Saddle your nose, I'm scarcely seen at all.
I, Proteus like, change fifty times a-day,
But I'll be cautious, nor myself betray.
And now, dissect me, reader, if you please;
In schools I'm flogg'd, in schools I sit at ease.
I'm now a bird—am now by soldiers worn—
Next by all ages, by both sexes borne—
Our blooming sisters, pride of Britain's court,
To where the Loves and Graces still resort,
Have worn me oft; I'm ever at their call;
God grant them virtuous husbands, one and all!—
You hear me, and an useful creature see—
Now I'm the virtuous man, the villain's plea—
The carrier uses me, ay, day by day—
The tradesman too, whatever sum you pay—
You try me, every dainty I refuse,
Now greedily devour whate'er you chuse:
You see you coxcombs flutt'ring in the street;
They'll use me, ten to one, if chance they meet.
I animals can please, both great and small—
In every country, mankind on me call.
Now I'm what many thousands fain wou'd know—
I make yon Corsican our country's foe;
And shou'd the tyrant, and his sanguine host,
But rashly dare to venture on our coast,
They'll find an hundred Nelsons in command,
And Moores, and Wellingtons, throughout the land!—
On me, tho' many millions love to tread;
Grateful am I, and yield them daily bread—
An useful piece of furniture you see;
It serves our author, reader it serves thee—
Now I'm a liquid, topers think a treat;
I'm strong, I'm weak, I'm bitter, sour, and sweet—
I'm like a noisy instrument oft heard—
And now to every pleasure I'm preferr'd;
You use me, nor without me can you live;
I make you sick, and well, new vigour give
To lisping infancy and hoary age:
Shame on me war 'gainst poverty to wage!—
I many a tear provoke, cause oft a smile;
And seen in Albion's, more than Erin's Isle—
Now I adorn a city, cottage feast—
Now I become a bold, a cunning beast—
I form a part of many a female dress,
Worn by our good queen Charlotte, bluff queen Bess;
And Egypt's amorous queen bore me about,
When romping with Mark Anthony, no doubt—
I'm seen on flow'rs, each garden's gayest pride—
I'm what you eat, with fowls plac'd side by side—
Next I'm a bird, some taste, some never taste;
Near gormandizing aldermen oft plac'd—
Now I'm a name in Scripture oft thou'st read,
If e'er that best of books ran in thy head—
A name thou'lt find me in great Shakspeare's page,
He who pourtray'd the manners of each age;
Who robb'd dame Nature, oft, with matchless skill,
And leads the mind a captive at his will:
Unlike the boasted Philos of our age,
Who flatter folly, for a rabble's praise—
Now I'm an idol—Now a patriot found—
Now please the sportsman, and the crowd around—
I'm us'd in sickness, and I'm us'd in health;
And I'm a place of fashion, fame, and wealth—
Yon simp'ring quack, precise, with wig and cane,
Makes use of me, alas! too oft in vain—
Mark well what changes I can make appear;
Without me, reader, long thoud'st not been here—
Oft I refresh you—Now o'er me you ride—
I'm us'd by builders—I'm the drunkard's pride—
I'm like a hero, when he gasps in death—
I please the sportsman, when he pants for breath—
You hear me loudly call'd at each review—
You hear me bawl'd out on each race-course, too—
Now I'm a place, where men, where women meet,
Lies propagate, enjoy a social treat;
Near me, this hour, Care hides his hideous head,
But ere the next, all harmony is fled—
An artist's tool am I, whom all admire—
Now I enliven millions round the fire—
Now many a son of Erin I offend,
Now I'm their summer—now their winter friend—
Now Gripus views me oft, with greedy joy—
Now many a town and hamlet I destroy—
Of tot'ring age, you find me next the boast—
By me, alas! some hundreds have been lost—
I'm now a vowel—Now are we a pair;
Glance o'er the Chronicle, you'll find us there—
Oft I delight you, make you stand aghast—
Lastly, I'm like some houses in Belfast.
In schools I'm flogg'd, in schools I sit at ease.
149
Next by all ages, by both sexes borne—
Our blooming sisters, pride of Britain's court,
To where the Loves and Graces still resort,
Have worn me oft; I'm ever at their call;
God grant them virtuous husbands, one and all!—
You hear me, and an useful creature see—
Now I'm the virtuous man, the villain's plea—
The carrier uses me, ay, day by day—
The tradesman too, whatever sum you pay—
You try me, every dainty I refuse,
Now greedily devour whate'er you chuse:
You see you coxcombs flutt'ring in the street;
They'll use me, ten to one, if chance they meet.
I animals can please, both great and small—
In every country, mankind on me call.
Now I'm what many thousands fain wou'd know—
I make yon Corsican our country's foe;
And shou'd the tyrant, and his sanguine host,
But rashly dare to venture on our coast,
They'll find an hundred Nelsons in command,
And Moores, and Wellingtons, throughout the land!—
On me, tho' many millions love to tread;
Grateful am I, and yield them daily bread—
An useful piece of furniture you see;
It serves our author, reader it serves thee—
150
I'm strong, I'm weak, I'm bitter, sour, and sweet—
I'm like a noisy instrument oft heard—
And now to every pleasure I'm preferr'd;
You use me, nor without me can you live;
I make you sick, and well, new vigour give
To lisping infancy and hoary age:
Shame on me war 'gainst poverty to wage!—
I many a tear provoke, cause oft a smile;
And seen in Albion's, more than Erin's Isle—
Now I adorn a city, cottage feast—
Now I become a bold, a cunning beast—
I form a part of many a female dress,
Worn by our good queen Charlotte, bluff queen Bess;
And Egypt's amorous queen bore me about,
When romping with Mark Anthony, no doubt—
I'm seen on flow'rs, each garden's gayest pride—
I'm what you eat, with fowls plac'd side by side—
Next I'm a bird, some taste, some never taste;
Near gormandizing aldermen oft plac'd—
Now I'm a name in Scripture oft thou'st read,
If e'er that best of books ran in thy head—
A name thou'lt find me in great Shakspeare's page,
He who pourtray'd the manners of each age;
Who robb'd dame Nature, oft, with matchless skill,
And leads the mind a captive at his will:
151
Who flatter folly, for a rabble's praise—
Now I'm an idol—Now a patriot found—
Now please the sportsman, and the crowd around—
I'm us'd in sickness, and I'm us'd in health;
And I'm a place of fashion, fame, and wealth—
Yon simp'ring quack, precise, with wig and cane,
Makes use of me, alas! too oft in vain—
Mark well what changes I can make appear;
Without me, reader, long thoud'st not been here—
Oft I refresh you—Now o'er me you ride—
I'm us'd by builders—I'm the drunkard's pride—
I'm like a hero, when he gasps in death—
I please the sportsman, when he pants for breath—
You hear me loudly call'd at each review—
You hear me bawl'd out on each race-course, too—
Now I'm a place, where men, where women meet,
Lies propagate, enjoy a social treat;
Near me, this hour, Care hides his hideous head,
But ere the next, all harmony is fled—
An artist's tool am I, whom all admire—
Now I enliven millions round the fire—
Now many a son of Erin I offend,
Now I'm their summer—now their winter friend—
Now Gripus views me oft, with greedy joy—
Now many a town and hamlet I destroy—
152
By me, alas! some hundreds have been lost—
I'm now a vowel—Now are we a pair;
Glance o'er the Chronicle, you'll find us there—
Oft I delight you, make you stand aghast—
Lastly, I'm like some houses in Belfast.
Reader, an author little known to fame,
But one whose labours may some notice claim,
(Proud if his song, or enigmatic lay
Can soothe a sorrowing brother on his way)
Again has dar'd to trespass on thy time,
And pardon craves; he lives not by his rhyme;
But wou'd amuse some friends, when labour's o'er—
This cost him three hours study, and not more.
But one whose labours may some notice claim,
(Proud if his song, or enigmatic lay
Can soothe a sorrowing brother on his way)
Again has dar'd to trespass on thy time,
And pardon craves; he lives not by his rhyme;
But wou'd amuse some friends, when labour's o'er—
This cost him three hours study, and not more.
Carnmoney, Feb. 25, 1812.
153
ENIGMA THE THIRD.
Reader, not in pompous verse I sing,
Nor with the Sons of Genius hope to vie;
Ne'er have I drank at the Castalian spring,
Yet oft to please a rustic groupe I try:
For this, my Muse beguiles the hours of leisure—
O may my light effusion yield thee pleasure!
Nor with the Sons of Genius hope to vie;
Ne'er have I drank at the Castalian spring,
Yet oft to please a rustic groupe I try:
For this, my Muse beguiles the hours of leisure—
O may my light effusion yield thee pleasure!
In ev'ry state, throughout the globe, I'm found,
Where'er the steps of man imprint the ground;
Now seen with monarchs, side by side;
Now with the beggar, and his bride;
Oft I'm thought a welcome guest;
Oft with thorns I wound the breast,
And feel for no man;
To crush the noble mind,
Thro' all ranks of mankind,
Alas! is but too common!
From Ganges banks to Mississippi's shore,
Or where the icy streams of Tornè roar,
To man I've been a friend;
Proud to assist the high, the low,
I'm virtue's pride, am vice's foe,
And thus may I remain till time shall have an end.
The wretch bow'd down by care and toil,
Feels death approaching with a smile,
A ray of comfort oft derives from me;
Now numbers boldly me abuse,
And well they may, with fair excuse,
For thousands I've destroyed, by land and sea.
I'm nam'd in many a poet's page;
Dramatists force me on the stage;
Old Chaucer, Shak speare, Dryden, Cowper, Burns,
Have sung of me by turns;
And Scott, the adventurous chief of song,
Whose lays of chivalry, sweet and strong,
A captive bind the heart,
When of former days,
He the manners pourtrays,
Names me with a poet's art.
Historians, politicians, 'gainst me rage,
In scribbling fury;
I've been oppress'd by many a great law sage,
And eke the brainless jury.
Many there are who little think about me,
And if my deeds are nam'd they shrug and doubt me.
Reader, dost thou visit church,
Or leave the parson in the lurch?
Thou'rt fond, perchance, of play or ball;
Whether thou think'st retirement sweet,
Or lov'st to lounge the street,
I'm ever at thy call.
To no one colour can I be confin'd;
Eyes I have, but oft am blind;
As to size, I'm long, I'm short,
A giant, now a pigmy's sport;
Immoveable, now move at ease,
Oppress, delight, and many teaze:
Like some great men at court, too much I say
About myself; agreed: and now, I pray,
Dissect me, gentle reader, if you please.
Where'er the steps of man imprint the ground;
Now seen with monarchs, side by side;
Now with the beggar, and his bride;
Oft I'm thought a welcome guest;
Oft with thorns I wound the breast,
And feel for no man;
To crush the noble mind,
Thro' all ranks of mankind,
Alas! is but too common!
From Ganges banks to Mississippi's shore,
Or where the icy streams of Tornè roar,
154
Proud to assist the high, the low,
I'm virtue's pride, am vice's foe,
And thus may I remain till time shall have an end.
The wretch bow'd down by care and toil,
Feels death approaching with a smile,
A ray of comfort oft derives from me;
Now numbers boldly me abuse,
And well they may, with fair excuse,
For thousands I've destroyed, by land and sea.
I'm nam'd in many a poet's page;
Dramatists force me on the stage;
Old Chaucer, Shak speare, Dryden, Cowper, Burns,
Have sung of me by turns;
And Scott, the adventurous chief of song,
Whose lays of chivalry, sweet and strong,
A captive bind the heart,
When of former days,
He the manners pourtrays,
Names me with a poet's art.
Historians, politicians, 'gainst me rage,
In scribbling fury;
I've been oppress'd by many a great law sage,
And eke the brainless jury.
Many there are who little think about me,
And if my deeds are nam'd they shrug and doubt me.
155
Or leave the parson in the lurch?
Thou'rt fond, perchance, of play or ball;
Whether thou think'st retirement sweet,
Or lov'st to lounge the street,
I'm ever at thy call.
To no one colour can I be confin'd;
Eyes I have, but oft am blind;
As to size, I'm long, I'm short,
A giant, now a pigmy's sport;
Immoveable, now move at ease,
Oppress, delight, and many teaze:
Like some great men at court, too much I say
About myself; agreed: and now, I pray,
Dissect me, gentle reader, if you please.
You'll find a beast; a bird; a tree;
What's seen in Heaven, but not by you or me;
What cheers the seaman far at sea;
The sportsman's dear delight:
Part of the head; a wholesome liquor,
Priz'd by prelate and by vicar;
And what procures the beggar many a mite.
A part of the female dress,
Worn long ere the days of queen Bess;
A British bard oft nam'd;
A senator justly fam'd;
An Indian fruit;
An useful brute;
A prison, where the wildest oft are tam'd.
What caused in Scotia many a broil,
And oft disturb'd the Em'rald Isle;
A female name;
What calls forth shame;
What robs the beauteous face of many a smile.
What thousands dread;
What thousands tread;
What thousands yearly seek:
What thousands ruin daily;
What thousands mount on gaily;
What spreads a blush on many a lovely cheek.
What hurls destruction o'er the land and main,
And gives to millions pleasure, millions pain—
Leaving a houseless wretch the peaceful swain.
What's oft the poor man's food;
What gamesters love to hold;
What's giv'n for each man's good;
What's dearer far than gold:
What yields to multitudes delight;
What many a good man's ruin proves;
What's hateful to the villain's sight;
What woman dearly loves.
A town in France, which gave a tyrant birth;
A part much gaz'd at in the female shape:
An useful earth;
A well-known cape.
An English bishop's see;
What many cannot do;
What each one ought to be;
What's touch'd but by a few.
A Greek philosopher; Scottish duke;
A word much us'd in the sacred book;
A marshal of France, well known;
A dismal shout;
What few are without;
A botanist fam'd the world throughout;
A sportsman, best pleas'd, when alone.
A fish; what's mostly found in a street;
That which affords a nourishing sweet;
A river, the poet's theme;
A fruit that yields a delicious treat;
What oft'times contains an animal's meat;
A manure some useful deem.
What travels with speed;
What serves you in need
With liquors, the best and the worst;
What bears you on high;
What time's measur'd by;
A title of old
Giv'n by fame, we are told,
To heroes, but now to base sycophants sold,
Whose names are by nations accurs'd.
What's seen in Heaven, but not by you or me;
What cheers the seaman far at sea;
The sportsman's dear delight:
Part of the head; a wholesome liquor,
Priz'd by prelate and by vicar;
And what procures the beggar many a mite.
A part of the female dress,
Worn long ere the days of queen Bess;
156
A senator justly fam'd;
An Indian fruit;
An useful brute;
A prison, where the wildest oft are tam'd.
What caused in Scotia many a broil,
And oft disturb'd the Em'rald Isle;
A female name;
What calls forth shame;
What robs the beauteous face of many a smile.
What thousands dread;
What thousands tread;
What thousands yearly seek:
What thousands ruin daily;
What thousands mount on gaily;
What spreads a blush on many a lovely cheek.
What hurls destruction o'er the land and main,
And gives to millions pleasure, millions pain—
Leaving a houseless wretch the peaceful swain.
What's oft the poor man's food;
What gamesters love to hold;
What's giv'n for each man's good;
What's dearer far than gold:
What yields to multitudes delight;
What many a good man's ruin proves;
What's hateful to the villain's sight;
What woman dearly loves.
157
A part much gaz'd at in the female shape:
An useful earth;
A well-known cape.
An English bishop's see;
What many cannot do;
What each one ought to be;
What's touch'd but by a few.
A Greek philosopher; Scottish duke;
A word much us'd in the sacred book;
A marshal of France, well known;
A dismal shout;
What few are without;
A botanist fam'd the world throughout;
A sportsman, best pleas'd, when alone.
A fish; what's mostly found in a street;
That which affords a nourishing sweet;
A river, the poet's theme;
A fruit that yields a delicious treat;
What oft'times contains an animal's meat;
A manure some useful deem.
What travels with speed;
What serves you in need
With liquors, the best and the worst;
What bears you on high;
What time's measur'd by;
158
Giv'n by fame, we are told,
To heroes, but now to base sycophants sold,
Whose names are by nations accurs'd.
Enough, good-natur'd Muse, thy rambling cease,
Still at my cabin thou'rt a welcome guest:
Long may we virtuous pleasures try t'increase,
For man's a riddle, and this life's a jest!
Still at my cabin thou'rt a welcome guest:
Long may we virtuous pleasures try t'increase,
For man's a riddle, and this life's a jest!
Carnmoney, near Belfast.
159
ENIGMA THE FOURTH.
Reader, a vagrant Muse, mid' these bleak hills,
With dreams poetic, oft our Author fills;
Bids him again the advent'rous task engage,
To please, surprise, in this enlighten'd age:
Bold this, indeed! Methinks you soft exclaim;
Hush, friend! to please is still our Author's aim:
Weak is his lyre, yet tun'd in virtue's praise,
To goodness, not to wealth, he homage pays.
Th' exordium, egotistic, pray excuse,
He courts not flattery, but for candour sues;
Proud if thou smil'st on his unpolish'd line,
Rhyme is his hobby.—Reader, what is thine?
With dreams poetic, oft our Author fills;
Bids him again the advent'rous task engage,
To please, surprise, in this enlighten'd age:
Bold this, indeed! Methinks you soft exclaim;
Hush, friend! to please is still our Author's aim:
Weak is his lyre, yet tun'd in virtue's praise,
To goodness, not to wealth, he homage pays.
Th' exordium, egotistic, pray excuse,
He courts not flattery, but for candour sues;
Proud if thou smil'st on his unpolish'd line,
Rhyme is his hobby.—Reader, what is thine?
I benefit mankind, am useless found;
Now irritate, delight whole nations round;
Am seen mid' splendid domes, in lowliest cot;
Now thought worth thousands, now not worth a groat:
Now on the waters, now in air am seen;
Now many a fathom in the earth have been:
Great Newton I delighted, all allow,
He saw me for the benefit of you;
And Swift, eccentric genius, Erin's pride,
With him oft have I wander'd side by side.
My size oft varies, I'm both great and small;
Now seen by numbers, now not seen at all:
Now I occasion many a heart-felt joy;
Now hopes and pleasures quickly I destroy:
Whole provinces with me have nought to do:
The great man prizes me, the base one too.
I'm seen in dungeons, not in every jail;
My loss the world oft did, oft will bewail.
I'm brought after by ev'ry fav'ring breeze,
Yet Britain's sons can make me at their ease;
Her daughters, too, caress me, with a smile,
Long be they happy as they're void of guile!
For ne'er did Nature, since she tried her art,
Form beings more to captivate the heart;
And while mirth, goodness, claim his deep regard,
Still they'll enjoy the praises of our bard.
Near rivers now I'm seen, with anxious stare;
Go wander Eden's banks, you'll find me there.
Now irritate, delight whole nations round;
Am seen mid' splendid domes, in lowliest cot;
Now thought worth thousands, now not worth a groat:
Now on the waters, now in air am seen;
Now many a fathom in the earth have been:
160
He saw me for the benefit of you;
And Swift, eccentric genius, Erin's pride,
With him oft have I wander'd side by side.
My size oft varies, I'm both great and small;
Now seen by numbers, now not seen at all:
Now I occasion many a heart-felt joy;
Now hopes and pleasures quickly I destroy:
Whole provinces with me have nought to do:
The great man prizes me, the base one too.
I'm seen in dungeons, not in every jail;
My loss the world oft did, oft will bewail.
I'm brought after by ev'ry fav'ring breeze,
Yet Britain's sons can make me at their ease;
Her daughters, too, caress me, with a smile,
Long be they happy as they're void of guile!
For ne'er did Nature, since she tried her art,
Form beings more to captivate the heart;
And while mirth, goodness, claim his deep regard,
Still they'll enjoy the praises of our bard.
Near rivers now I'm seen, with anxious stare;
Go wander Eden's banks, you'll find me there.
Now Reader, some strange things I'll bring to view,
Dissect me carefully, you'll own 'tis true.
I'm dark, I'm pale, I'm feeble, and I'm strong;
I'm light, I'm heavy, short am I, and long;
For me you call, I'm with you day by day;
Aid young and old, wise, foolish, grave, and gay.
I'm fruit; I'm fish; I'm insect, bird, and beast;
Next I delight the glutton at a feast:
A poet, patriot, gen'ral, king I turn,
And now o'er me, in tears, the afflicted mourn.
You worship me, and now of me complain;
Then think of me, and ask what news from Spain.
Yon connoiseur now views me o'er and o'er,
Stares, rubs his eye-glass, squints at me once more:
Swears I'm invaluable: what does he mean?
I own I please the beggar and the queen.
Yon artless ploughman, whistling o'er the lea,
Hears me, delighted; Reader, I've pleas'd thee.
Now I'm a highwayman, great London's dread;
And now from me are thousands daily fed.
I'm on yon mountain, in that woody glen;
Mankind I daily serve; alas! what then,
They disregard me, use me night and day;
Praise, and abuse me; what's the reason, pray?
You see me, and you quick let fall a tear;
You hear from me, aye, daily through the year:
O'er me you laugh and joke, carouse and sing.
I'm beggar's bev'rage, and can please a king.
Now I'm the rustic's pride, the miser's dream;
Now I'm a river, many a poet's theme;
The drunkard's joy; the studious artist's toast;
The robber's dread; and many a farmer's boast.
Now children wear me; now by age I'm worn;
By me, with great delight, the Cockney's borne:
Yon gamester I enrich, and him undo;
Yon party I enliven, vex them too.
You see me in the ball-room, in the street
You hear me, and oft fly me when we meet.
I from the main save many a gallant tar;
I'm made for soldiers, us'd in peace and war:
I hide each beauteous object from your view,
You pray for me, and many I undo:
I give you plenty, and each hope destroy;
Know, friends, from me each blessing you enjoy:
I claim the pity of each passer by,
Call forth the manly tear, the heart-felt sigh.
Man's notice I have sought in every age,
The young, the old, the ideot, and the sage;
They gaze on me, each season, with delight,
I in a moment vanish from their sight.
Mark well you busy crew with ceaseless mirth,
For me, they mole-like daily toil in earth;
A thousand various forms I quick assume,
And now your garrets, painted halls illume.
I, tyrant like, cause streams of blood to flow;
I'm used by beauty, yet am beauty's foe:
For various purposes am still employ'd,
Have states delighted, and have men destroy'd.
By me aloft, methinks I see you borne;
Sad change, alas! I make you each one's scorn:
I turn you frightful in your country's eyes,
But ne'er destroy your hope beyond the skies.
By me all ages, nations have been charm'd,
And anger of his rage is quick disarm'd;
Th' untutor'd Indian, nature's simplest child,
My pow'r confesses oft, in raptures wild.
I'm now an herb, still grateful to your nose;
A reptile, and in man disgust oft cause;
I'm provinces; I'm rivers; many a town;
And now on me with horror you look down.
Now I'm an article of useful food;
Now do, what ev'ry mortal should do, good;
Snatch pale-fac'd suff'rers from the yawning grave:
Much evil, too, for millions I enslave.
I'm like a sland'rous vixen, o'er her tea,
She deals out scandal, gazing oft on me;
I'm next a card, she's eager to behold;
Now I adorn her head, or young, or old.
The British tar sees me with greedy joy:
Mankind I now defend, mankind destroy.
I'm parent own'd of universal good,
Form'd by th' all-wise Creator, ere the flood;
My influence is own'd in every clime,
And must continue till the end of time.
Observe yon motley groupe of young and old,
Toys, health, wealth, freedom, bartering for gold;
Our nation's glory, and her foul disgrace,
Where men like brutes are purchas'd, I'm that place.
You work, exquisite from the artist's hand,
That Genius o'er the midnight taper plann'd,
Where beauty, grace, taste, science are combin'd,
I'll quick destroy, nor leave a wreck behind.—
In fam'd St. Stephens, alias Wrangler's Hall,
Where men for office and for freedom bawl,
Where patriotic weathercocks hold forth,
And unfledg'd statesmen scowl on modest worth;
There oft I'm seen with traitors, cheek by jole;
And ev'n in council, great men I controul.
Behold you wretched hovel on the moor,
You'll see me, if you enter but the door;
Look in the palace, and you'll find me there;
I'm in the play-house, market, crowd, and fair.
I'm with the Regent oft, am oft his pride,
Woe to all those who would his steps misguide!
Thro' him, may suff'ring mortals hope for peace;
Thro' him, may all religious discord cease!
I'm black, I'm white, I long, I short am found;
Soaring in air; now groveling on the ground:
I'm silent, noisy, eloquent, and dumb,
Of size gigantic, and but like Tom Thumb:
Now many a fathom deep, in ocean lie;
Now out of sight, above the clouds I fly.—
Yon toil-worn exile, prey to want and grief,
To whom Hope soothing gives a faint relief,
Views me; and Fancy paints in colours true,
Scenes youth pourtray'd, when sorrows were but few:
Loves, friendships cherish'd, tear his tortur'd breast;
He weeps, and looks to Heav'n alone for rest.—
Observe yon sinner, on the bed of death;
Mark the deep groan, the short-drawn closing breath;
Hope tells another hour may ease his pain,
But ne'er let Hope deceive the giddy brain:
Him, how I torture! Conscience acts her part,
Soon life's red current ceases round his heart.
Next, view the man of worth, at life's sad close,
The look serene the Christian's hope he shews;
Him I afflict in vain. He patient bears
Aches, sickness, poverty; nor e'er despairs:
Firm, convinc'd life's race is nearly run,
He gratefully exclaims, God's will be done!
The Ruler of the Winds, thus, if he please,
A healing gives to sorrow or disease.
Dissect me carefully, you'll own 'tis true.
161
I'm light, I'm heavy, short am I, and long;
For me you call, I'm with you day by day;
Aid young and old, wise, foolish, grave, and gay.
I'm fruit; I'm fish; I'm insect, bird, and beast;
Next I delight the glutton at a feast:
A poet, patriot, gen'ral, king I turn,
And now o'er me, in tears, the afflicted mourn.
You worship me, and now of me complain;
Then think of me, and ask what news from Spain.
Yon connoiseur now views me o'er and o'er,
Stares, rubs his eye-glass, squints at me once more:
Swears I'm invaluable: what does he mean?
I own I please the beggar and the queen.
Yon artless ploughman, whistling o'er the lea,
Hears me, delighted; Reader, I've pleas'd thee.
Now I'm a highwayman, great London's dread;
And now from me are thousands daily fed.
I'm on yon mountain, in that woody glen;
Mankind I daily serve; alas! what then,
They disregard me, use me night and day;
Praise, and abuse me; what's the reason, pray?
You see me, and you quick let fall a tear;
You hear from me, aye, daily through the year:
O'er me you laugh and joke, carouse and sing.
I'm beggar's bev'rage, and can please a king.
162
Now I'm a river, many a poet's theme;
The drunkard's joy; the studious artist's toast;
The robber's dread; and many a farmer's boast.
Now children wear me; now by age I'm worn;
By me, with great delight, the Cockney's borne:
Yon gamester I enrich, and him undo;
Yon party I enliven, vex them too.
You see me in the ball-room, in the street
You hear me, and oft fly me when we meet.
I from the main save many a gallant tar;
I'm made for soldiers, us'd in peace and war:
I hide each beauteous object from your view,
You pray for me, and many I undo:
I give you plenty, and each hope destroy;
Know, friends, from me each blessing you enjoy:
I claim the pity of each passer by,
Call forth the manly tear, the heart-felt sigh.
Man's notice I have sought in every age,
The young, the old, the ideot, and the sage;
They gaze on me, each season, with delight,
I in a moment vanish from their sight.
Mark well you busy crew with ceaseless mirth,
For me, they mole-like daily toil in earth;
A thousand various forms I quick assume,
And now your garrets, painted halls illume.
163
I'm used by beauty, yet am beauty's foe:
For various purposes am still employ'd,
Have states delighted, and have men destroy'd.
By me aloft, methinks I see you borne;
Sad change, alas! I make you each one's scorn:
I turn you frightful in your country's eyes,
But ne'er destroy your hope beyond the skies.
By me all ages, nations have been charm'd,
And anger of his rage is quick disarm'd;
Th' untutor'd Indian, nature's simplest child,
My pow'r confesses oft, in raptures wild.
I'm now an herb, still grateful to your nose;
A reptile, and in man disgust oft cause;
I'm provinces; I'm rivers; many a town;
And now on me with horror you look down.
Now I'm an article of useful food;
Now do, what ev'ry mortal should do, good;
Snatch pale-fac'd suff'rers from the yawning grave:
Much evil, too, for millions I enslave.
I'm like a sland'rous vixen, o'er her tea,
She deals out scandal, gazing oft on me;
I'm next a card, she's eager to behold;
Now I adorn her head, or young, or old.
The British tar sees me with greedy joy:
Mankind I now defend, mankind destroy.
164
Form'd by th' all-wise Creator, ere the flood;
My influence is own'd in every clime,
And must continue till the end of time.
Observe yon motley groupe of young and old,
Toys, health, wealth, freedom, bartering for gold;
Our nation's glory, and her foul disgrace,
Where men like brutes are purchas'd, I'm that place.
You work, exquisite from the artist's hand,
That Genius o'er the midnight taper plann'd,
Where beauty, grace, taste, science are combin'd,
I'll quick destroy, nor leave a wreck behind.—
In fam'd St. Stephens, alias Wrangler's Hall,
Where men for office and for freedom bawl,
Where patriotic weathercocks hold forth,
And unfledg'd statesmen scowl on modest worth;
There oft I'm seen with traitors, cheek by jole;
And ev'n in council, great men I controul.
Behold you wretched hovel on the moor,
You'll see me, if you enter but the door;
Look in the palace, and you'll find me there;
I'm in the play-house, market, crowd, and fair.
I'm with the Regent oft, am oft his pride,
Woe to all those who would his steps misguide!
Thro' him, may suff'ring mortals hope for peace;
Thro' him, may all religious discord cease!
165
Soaring in air; now groveling on the ground:
I'm silent, noisy, eloquent, and dumb,
Of size gigantic, and but like Tom Thumb:
Now many a fathom deep, in ocean lie;
Now out of sight, above the clouds I fly.—
Yon toil-worn exile, prey to want and grief,
To whom Hope soothing gives a faint relief,
Views me; and Fancy paints in colours true,
Scenes youth pourtray'd, when sorrows were but few:
Loves, friendships cherish'd, tear his tortur'd breast;
He weeps, and looks to Heav'n alone for rest.—
Observe yon sinner, on the bed of death;
Mark the deep groan, the short-drawn closing breath;
Hope tells another hour may ease his pain,
But ne'er let Hope deceive the giddy brain:
Him, how I torture! Conscience acts her part,
Soon life's red current ceases round his heart.
Next, view the man of worth, at life's sad close,
The look serene the Christian's hope he shews;
Him I afflict in vain. He patient bears
Aches, sickness, poverty; nor e'er despairs:
Firm, convinc'd life's race is nearly run,
He gratefully exclaims, God's will be done!
The Ruler of the Winds, thus, if he please,
A healing gives to sorrow or disease.
166
Full three hours' study hath this trifte cost;
Now patient Reader, should thy time seem lost,
Henceforth my Muse will other themes pursue—
Enigmatists, I bid you all adieu.
Now patient Reader, should thy time seem lost,
Henceforth my Muse will other themes pursue—
Enigmatists, I bid you all adieu.
Carnmoney, near Belfast.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |