The works of Allan Ramsay edited by Burns Martin ... and John W. Oliver [... and Alexander M. Kinghorn ... and Alexander Law] |
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The Phœnix and the Owl.
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 | The works of Allan Ramsay |  |
The Phœnix and the Owl.
Phoenix
the first, th'Arabian Lord,
And Chief of all the feather'd Kind,
A hundred Ages had ador'd
The Sun, with Sanctity of Mind.
And Chief of all the feather'd Kind,
A hundred Ages had ador'd
The Sun, with Sanctity of Mind.
Yet, mortal, he maun yield to Fate,
He heard the Summons with a Smile,
And unalarm'd, without Regret,
He form'd himsell a Fun'ral Pile.
He heard the Summons with a Smile,
And unalarm'd, without Regret,
He form'd himsell a Fun'ral Pile.
A
Howlet, Bird of mean Degree,
Poor, dosen'd, lame, and doited auld,
Lay lurking in a neighb'ring Tree,
Cursing the Sun loot him be cauld.
Poor, dosen'd, lame, and doited auld,
Lay lurking in a neighb'ring Tree,
Cursing the Sun loot him be cauld.
Said
Phœnix, Brother, why so griev'd,
To ban the Being gives thee Breath?
Learn to die better than thou'st liv'd;
Believe me, there's nae Ill in Death.
To ban the Being gives thee Breath?
Learn to die better than thou'st liv'd;
Believe me, there's nae Ill in Death.
Believe ye that? the Owl reply'd;
Preach as ye will, Death is an Ill:
When young I ilka Pleasure try'd,
But now I die against my Will.
Preach as ye will, Death is an Ill:
When young I ilka Pleasure try'd,
But now I die against my Will.
For you, a Species by your sell,
Near Eeldins with the Sun your God,
Nae Ferly 'tis to hear you tell,
Ye're tired, and incline to nod.
Near Eeldins with the Sun your God,
Nae Ferly 'tis to hear you tell,
Ye're tired, and incline to nod.
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It shou'd be sae; for had I been
As lang upon the Warld as ye,
Nae Tears shou'd e'er drap frae my Een,
For Tinsel of my hollow Tree.
As lang upon the Warld as ye,
Nae Tears shou'd e'er drap frae my Een,
For Tinsel of my hollow Tree.
And what, return'd the Arabian Sage,
Have ye t'observe ye have not seen?
Ae Day's the Picture of an Age,
'Tis ay the same thing o'er again.
Have ye t'observe ye have not seen?
Ae Day's the Picture of an Age,
'Tis ay the same thing o'er again.
Come, let us baith togither die:
Bow to the Sun that gave thee Life;
Repent thou frae his Beams did flee,
And end thy Poortith, Pain and Strife.
Bow to the Sun that gave thee Life;
Repent thou frae his Beams did flee,
And end thy Poortith, Pain and Strife.
Thou wha in Darkness took Delight,
Frae Twangs of Guilt could'st ne'er be free:
What won thou by thy shunning Light?—
But Time flees on;—I haste to die.
Frae Twangs of Guilt could'st ne'er be free:
What won thou by thy shunning Light?—
But Time flees on;—I haste to die.
Ye'r Servant, Sir, reply'd the Owl,
I likena in the Dark to lowp:
The Byword ca's that Cheil a Fool,
That slips a Certainty for Hope.
I likena in the Dark to lowp:
The Byword ca's that Cheil a Fool,
That slips a Certainty for Hope.
Then straight the zealous feather'd King
To's Aromatick Nest retir'd,
Collected Sun-beams with his Wing,
And in a spicy Flame expir'd.
To's Aromatick Nest retir'd,
Collected Sun-beams with his Wing,
And in a spicy Flame expir'd.
Mean time there blew a Westlin Gale,
Which to the Howlet bore a Coal;
The Saint departed on his Pile,
But the Blasphemer in his Hole.
Which to the Howlet bore a Coal;
The Saint departed on his Pile,
But the Blasphemer in his Hole.
He died for ever,—fair and bright;
The Phœnix frae his Ashes sprang,
Thus wicked Men sink down to Night,
While just Men join the glorious Thrang.
The Phœnix frae his Ashes sprang,
Thus wicked Men sink down to Night,
While just Men join the glorious Thrang.
| The works of Allan Ramsay | |