Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
305
POEMS.
Solitude.
Hail, hoary Sage! immured by woods and rocks,
Remote from dissipation's gadding eye,
Who, 'neath the shade of dark umbrageous oaks,
Hast wisely shunn'd ambition's grating cry;
And who, while thousands vaguely rove, awry,
From the calm path that leads to wisdom's shrine,
Dost point thy vot'ries to the garnish'd sky,
The radiant empire of that Power Divine
By whose omnific word those countless orbs do shine.
Remote from dissipation's gadding eye,
Who, 'neath the shade of dark umbrageous oaks,
Hast wisely shunn'd ambition's grating cry;
And who, while thousands vaguely rove, awry,
From the calm path that leads to wisdom's shrine,
Dost point thy vot'ries to the garnish'd sky,
The radiant empire of that Power Divine
By whose omnific word those countless orbs do shine.
Thee, Solitude, I sing, whose placid smile
Hath woo'd me ofttimes to thy hermit cave—
Far from the crowd's ear-stunning fervid broil—
Where purling streams the wending willows lave;
Or, where wild-thyme and heath in blossom wave,
Hath held thy lucid mirror to my view—
Shown sage philosophy, abstractly grave,
The flood of mind and matter wading through;
And, though he toil'd and learn'd, scarce less his lesson grew.
Hath woo'd me ofttimes to thy hermit cave—
Far from the crowd's ear-stunning fervid broil—
Where purling streams the wending willows lave;
Or, where wild-thyme and heath in blossom wave,
Hath held thy lucid mirror to my view—
Shown sage philosophy, abstractly grave,
The flood of mind and matter wading through;
And, though he toil'd and learn'd, scarce less his lesson grew.
Ye who, enraptured, trip the dancing hall,
Or gaily circle round the racy bowl,
While from the minstrels showers of music fall,
And bright enchantment elevates the soul,
Think! For, while thus in fleeting joys ye roll,
Time's swiftest gale down life's short vista glides,
Sweeping, with irresistible control,
The race of man to death's oblivious tides,
Where horror's sable frown in awful gloom presides.
Or gaily circle round the racy bowl,
While from the minstrels showers of music fall,
And bright enchantment elevates the soul,
Think! For, while thus in fleeting joys ye roll,
Time's swiftest gale down life's short vista glides,
Sweeping, with irresistible control,
The race of man to death's oblivious tides,
Where horror's sable frown in awful gloom presides.
Nor deem the graver class of humankind
Less bless'd than you, though different be their aims;
For in sobriety they pleasures find,
Though fashion's roll exhibit not their names:
And this they do, experience sage exclaims,
Else well they might participate your joys;
But, ah! they know how riot's end defames
His conduct, justly, with her clam'rous voice,
Who haunts her wanton courts, and joins her crackling noise.
Less bless'd than you, though different be their aims;
For in sobriety they pleasures find,
Though fashion's roll exhibit not their names:
And this they do, experience sage exclaims,
306
But, ah! they know how riot's end defames
His conduct, justly, with her clam'rous voice,
Who haunts her wanton courts, and joins her crackling noise.
How stale the cold routine of vacant mirth,
Which on the mind leaves no improving trace,
But seeks its tomb soon as it finds its birth,
Close lock'd within oblivion's firm embrace!
The masquerade's low-born buffoon grimace
May tickle hearts by folly overrun,
While they who love true wisdom's hallow'd face
Such trifling aping both detest and shun,
While undiscerning crowds are by its snares undone.
Which on the mind leaves no improving trace,
But seeks its tomb soon as it finds its birth,
Close lock'd within oblivion's firm embrace!
The masquerade's low-born buffoon grimace
May tickle hearts by folly overrun,
While they who love true wisdom's hallow'd face
Such trifling aping both detest and shun,
While undiscerning crowds are by its snares undone.
Experience ask, and hist'ry's worthy page,
Then say what work, or great or good, appears
Fit reason's scrutinising eye t' engage,
Through the long lapse of nigh six thousand years,
But sprung from Solitude, whose mirror clears
From feculence opaque the mental powers?
Who wisdom's flag o'er error's urn uprears,
E'en in her solemn, scarce-frequented, bowers,
As lightly glide along the evanescent hours.
Then say what work, or great or good, appears
Fit reason's scrutinising eye t' engage,
Through the long lapse of nigh six thousand years,
But sprung from Solitude, whose mirror clears
From feculence opaque the mental powers?
Who wisdom's flag o'er error's urn uprears,
E'en in her solemn, scarce-frequented, bowers,
As lightly glide along the evanescent hours.
We praise, esteem, admire, yea, half adore
The sons of genius, modern or remote,
And, keen, their modes of acting oft explore,
While, with increasing love, we on them dote;
Yet whence, but from the lone sequester'd grot
Or study-closet, came their works abroad?
To rescue—from the sinking rabble's lot,
Forgetfulness—their names, who nobly trod
The path of wisdom fair, which leads to fame's abode.
The sons of genius, modern or remote,
And, keen, their modes of acting oft explore,
While, with increasing love, we on them dote;
Yet whence, but from the lone sequester'd grot
Or study-closet, came their works abroad?
To rescue—from the sinking rabble's lot,
Forgetfulness—their names, who nobly trod
The path of wisdom fair, which leads to fame's abode.
For what but this did Grecian poets fly
From jarring life to pure Olympus' top?
Thence flow'd their lays, doom'd ne'er in time to die,
But stand as models till life's curtain drop:
Unfetter'd fancy there had ample scope
To scan the intellectual regions round;
There reason her mysterious way did grope
Through error's furzy labyrinth profound,
While tyrant passion lay, quite vanquish'd, on the ground.
From jarring life to pure Olympus' top?
Thence flow'd their lays, doom'd ne'er in time to die,
But stand as models till life's curtain drop:
Unfetter'd fancy there had ample scope
To scan the intellectual regions round;
There reason her mysterious way did grope
Through error's furzy labyrinth profound,
While tyrant passion lay, quite vanquish'd, on the ground.
307
Learn'd great Demosthenes his powerful art
Amid society's tumultuous roar?
No: he acquired to captivate the heart
Where brawling waves howl'd on the rocky shore:
The mind's whole windings did he nice explore,
Mark'd when the potent cadence had effect—
Wielded at will their hearts who stood before
His awful presence—drawing all respect
When rousing them to arms, their freedom to protect!
Amid society's tumultuous roar?
No: he acquired to captivate the heart
Where brawling waves howl'd on the rocky shore:
The mind's whole windings did he nice explore,
Mark'd when the potent cadence had effect—
Wielded at will their hearts who stood before
His awful presence—drawing all respect
When rousing them to arms, their freedom to protect!
'Twere endless to recount the names of such
As Socrates and Plato, truly wise;
Or Aristotle, from whose wisdom much
Of Alexander's glory did arise;
Or those who dwelt beneath Italia's skies,
And rose to fame, in learning or in war;
Tully and Cæsar soon the muse espies,
And him, of song the most effulgent star
'Mong heathen bards, Virgil, who sweetest sang by far.
As Socrates and Plato, truly wise;
Or Aristotle, from whose wisdom much
Of Alexander's glory did arise;
Or those who dwelt beneath Italia's skies,
And rose to fame, in learning or in war;
Tully and Cæsar soon the muse espies,
And him, of song the most effulgent star
'Mong heathen bards, Virgil, who sweetest sang by far.
These first in Solitude were well refined
Ere in life's drama they conspicuous shone;
Their brows did fame with verdant laurels bind,
To bloom when countless millions are unknown.
To other lands, O Muse, why hast thou gone,
To cull the relicts of the mighty dead?
Thy sons, Britannia, are surpass'd by none
Who o'er the world have such bright lustre shed
As hath thee raised to be its wonder and its dread:
Ere in life's drama they conspicuous shone;
Their brows did fame with verdant laurels bind,
To bloom when countless millions are unknown.
To other lands, O Muse, why hast thou gone,
To cull the relicts of the mighty dead?
Thy sons, Britannia, are surpass'd by none
Who o'er the world have such bright lustre shed
As hath thee raised to be its wonder and its dread:
Here stands great Newton! grave, with mind serene,
Who search'd out Nature's laws, though dark and deep,
Nor erring wander'd; for the vast machine
He clear expounded, and, with potent sweep,
Exiled dull sophistry, to wail and weep
Beneath the fell contempt of after days;
Consign'd her folios, now a useless heap,
As fuel on the burning hearth to blaze—
Glorious, his name will shine while heaven her light displays:
Who search'd out Nature's laws, though dark and deep,
Nor erring wander'd; for the vast machine
He clear expounded, and, with potent sweep,
Exiled dull sophistry, to wail and weep
Beneath the fell contempt of after days;
Consign'd her folios, now a useless heap,
As fuel on the burning hearth to blaze—
Glorious, his name will shine while heaven her light displays:
Thine is a Locke, of penetration keen,
Whose hair-dividing metaphysic eye
Man's wondrous immaterial part hath seen,
And clear'd the mist that thereon long did lie:
A Milton thine, who sang, in numbers high,
Man's woeful fall, by Lucifer beguiled,
Who doth each bard, heaven-uninspired, outvie,
That struck the lyre since Sol on terra smiled,
To ward her in her course from devious rovings wild.
Whose hair-dividing metaphysic eye
Man's wondrous immaterial part hath seen,
And clear'd the mist that thereon long did lie:
A Milton thine, who sang, in numbers high,
308
Who doth each bard, heaven-uninspired, outvie,
That struck the lyre since Sol on terra smiled,
To ward her in her course from devious rovings wild.
O Nature! in what strange capricious fit
Didst thou to Shakespeare's muse such fire impart—
Such bold description, and bright flashing wit,
Such peerless knowledge of the human heart?
Doubtless to show thy power, devoid of art,
To prune proud learning's all-ambitious wing—
Conviction on the muse's sons to dart,
That, without thee, in vain they try to sing;
For never from the harp true harmony they'll bring.
Didst thou to Shakespeare's muse such fire impart—
Such bold description, and bright flashing wit,
Such peerless knowledge of the human heart?
Doubtless to show thy power, devoid of art,
To prune proud learning's all-ambitious wing—
Conviction on the muse's sons to dart,
That, without thee, in vain they try to sing;
For never from the harp true harmony they'll bring.
Much were the muse to blame, should she neglect,
When roused her country's sages to detail,
To pay the tribute of profound respect
Due to the memory of godlike Hale;
Humble, amidst true honour's prosp'rous gale;
Just, while the golden bait of bribery flow'd;
Feeling, to soothe want's supplicative wail;
Awful in judgment, to the wretch who trode
The flagrant paths of guilt which lead to death's abode.
When roused her country's sages to detail,
To pay the tribute of profound respect
Due to the memory of godlike Hale;
Humble, amidst true honour's prosp'rous gale;
Just, while the golden bait of bribery flow'd;
Feeling, to soothe want's supplicative wail;
Awful in judgment, to the wretch who trode
The flagrant paths of guilt which lead to death's abode.
Nor wants she names in heath-clad Caledon
To grace the bright saturnian roll of fame;
For, through the gloom of other days, far gone,
Her sons of genius uneclipsed flame.
In classic lore, what modern bold dare claim
Precedency to chaste Buchanan's muse?
Or thy sweet lays (which carping cynics aim
Quite to explode by sophistry profuse),
Ossian, great Celtic bard, nursed 'mid the mountain dews?
To grace the bright saturnian roll of fame;
For, through the gloom of other days, far gone,
Her sons of genius uneclipsed flame.
In classic lore, what modern bold dare claim
Precedency to chaste Buchanan's muse?
Or thy sweet lays (which carping cynics aim
Quite to explode by sophistry profuse),
Ossian, great Celtic bard, nursed 'mid the mountain dews?
A Gregory, a Ferguson, a Blair,
A Beattie, a M'Laurin, and a Keil,
Auspiciously have fallen to her share,
Whose labours have made learning's garden smile:
A Thomson, whose sweet strains the hours beguile,
As if the talisman's enchanting wand
Raised, to our still delighted eye, the while,
The varied scenery of every land,
Whose memory for aye will time's assaults withstand.
A Beattie, a M'Laurin, and a Keil,
Auspiciously have fallen to her share,
Whose labours have made learning's garden smile:
A Thomson, whose sweet strains the hours beguile,
As if the talisman's enchanting wand
Raised, to our still delighted eye, the while,
The varied scenery of every land,
Whose memory for aye will time's assaults withstand.
309
And was there patriot e'er, who fought or bled,
That with heroic Wallace can compare?
His was the undaunted soul, 'mong dangers bred,
On fields of war, or 'mid the mountain air:
His mighty mind drew inspiration there
From Solitude, the nurse of virtues strong;
And when his country's plains were plunder'd bare,
He rid her of the base marauding throng,
And raised her thistle's head, that drooping hung so long.
That with heroic Wallace can compare?
His was the undaunted soul, 'mong dangers bred,
On fields of war, or 'mid the mountain air:
His mighty mind drew inspiration there
From Solitude, the nurse of virtues strong;
And when his country's plains were plunder'd bare,
He rid her of the base marauding throng,
And raised her thistle's head, that drooping hung so long.
View these, ye sons of ever-joyous mood!
Scan their biography with critic eye!
And own the peerless power of Solitude
In aiding minds for works that never die.
Base is the soul that haunts the nauseous sty
Of riot, losing life's true halcyon joys,
While time's on wing, and merit raising high
Her roll of honour, free to all whose choice
It is to mind her call, and spurn earth's sensual toys.
Scan their biography with critic eye!
And own the peerless power of Solitude
In aiding minds for works that never die.
Base is the soul that haunts the nauseous sty
Of riot, losing life's true halcyon joys,
While time's on wing, and merit raising high
Her roll of honour, free to all whose choice
It is to mind her call, and spurn earth's sensual toys.
Nor only to the sons of science are
Her powers propitious; mild devotion, too,
From crude society sequester'd far,
Soars into ecstacies of joy still new:
Untroubled there she rapt'rous can pursue
Her hopeful prospects in the world unknown,
Beneath the fragrant birch or sable yew,
Where mourning streams sigh with incessant tone:
Her sweetest hours she spends in wild-wood shades alone.
Her powers propitious; mild devotion, too,
From crude society sequester'd far,
Soars into ecstacies of joy still new:
Untroubled there she rapt'rous can pursue
Her hopeful prospects in the world unknown,
Beneath the fragrant birch or sable yew,
Where mourning streams sigh with incessant tone:
Her sweetest hours she spends in wild-wood shades alone.
The smile of day on woods, and fields, and flowers,
Shows nature's charms far, far surpassing art,
While native music flows from blooming bowers,
With power to captivate the feeling heart:
Still, solemn, lonely night doth charms impart
To minds which are to contemplation given,
When sumless stars their twinkling splendour dart,
Of golden hue, from circumambient heaven,
While every thought that's mean is from the bosom driven:
Shows nature's charms far, far surpassing art,
While native music flows from blooming bowers,
With power to captivate the feeling heart:
Still, solemn, lonely night doth charms impart
To minds which are to contemplation given,
When sumless stars their twinkling splendour dart,
Of golden hue, from circumambient heaven,
While every thought that's mean is from the bosom driven:
Then strays the saint beside the purling brook,
In close communion with the Deity,
When through the jarring city's every nook
Rings the unhallow'd voice of revelry:
And then, too, roused to true sublimity,
Deep musing, roams the pensive child of song;
Or when ascends the lark's blithe melody
O'er freshest meads, with rushes waving long,
Tuning his dulcet lay as vaults his fancy strong:
In close communion with the Deity,
When through the jarring city's every nook
Rings the unhallow'd voice of revelry:
And then, too, roused to true sublimity,
310
Or when ascends the lark's blithe melody
O'er freshest meads, with rushes waving long,
Tuning his dulcet lay as vaults his fancy strong:
And when he casts a retrospective glance
Upon the perils of the days of yore,
When persecution's deadly sword and lance
Deep dyed these lovely wilds in human gore,
The tide of sympathy swells more and more
Within his breast, and quite o'erwhelms his soul,
For those who fought true freedom to restore,
Or, hapless, fell, to grace the martyr's roll,
Tasting the unsav'ry dregs of death's impoison'd bowl:
Upon the perils of the days of yore,
When persecution's deadly sword and lance
Deep dyed these lovely wilds in human gore,
The tide of sympathy swells more and more
Within his breast, and quite o'erwhelms his soul,
For those who fought true freedom to restore,
Or, hapless, fell, to grace the martyr's roll,
Tasting the unsav'ry dregs of death's impoison'd bowl:
Such scenes as these half-sanctified he deems,
And, frequent, paces o'er the dreary ground,
While o'er the darksome hills the lightning gleams,
And thunder from the welkin peals around;
Or haply, stretch'd upon the verdant mound,
By Roman hands uprear'd in th' olden time,
Thousands of thoughts upon his fancy bound,
And swell his soul to ecstacy sublime;
Then rolls the rapid tide of pure orig'nal rhyme:
And, frequent, paces o'er the dreary ground,
While o'er the darksome hills the lightning gleams,
And thunder from the welkin peals around;
Or haply, stretch'd upon the verdant mound,
By Roman hands uprear'd in th' olden time,
Thousands of thoughts upon his fancy bound,
And swell his soul to ecstacy sublime;
Then rolls the rapid tide of pure orig'nal rhyme:
More sweet to him the wild-fowl wailing shrill,
Or bleating lambs, far o'er the heathy moor,
Or mourning soft of lonely mountain rill,
Than theatres, where flashes wit impure;
A gifted Kean may thitherward allure
The gaping throng, by skill in mimicry;
But, to th' impassion'd mind, impart no cure,
While trips the wanton siren levity;
Remote from this lewd court dwells true philosophy.
Or bleating lambs, far o'er the heathy moor,
Or mourning soft of lonely mountain rill,
Than theatres, where flashes wit impure;
A gifted Kean may thitherward allure
The gaping throng, by skill in mimicry;
But, to th' impassion'd mind, impart no cure,
While trips the wanton siren levity;
Remote from this lewd court dwells true philosophy.
Not all the polish of a Roman court,
In highest rank, where true politeness shone,
Where learning bright display'd her radiant port,
Could Jerom's heart to virtue's mandates tone:
No: 'twas in Bethle'm's humble village, lone,
The glorious conquest o'er his lusts he won,
'Neath whose fell sway he long oppress'd did groan,
When, beaming bright, arose the gospel-sun,
Dispelling from his soul of vice the vapours dun:
In highest rank, where true politeness shone,
Where learning bright display'd her radiant port,
Could Jerom's heart to virtue's mandates tone:
No: 'twas in Bethle'm's humble village, lone,
The glorious conquest o'er his lusts he won,
'Neath whose fell sway he long oppress'd did groan,
When, beaming bright, arose the gospel-sun,
Dispelling from his soul of vice the vapours dun:
311
On sacred truths were all his thoughts transfix'd,
Incessant, pondering o'er the hallow'd page;
Hence study keen, with warm devotion mix'd,
Subdued to quiet passion's burning rage.
Such power has Solitude to disengage
The soul from objects mean, to raise her aims,
The thirst for splendid trifling to assuage,
And mark punctiliously fair Virtue's claims,
Who eternizes still her noble vot'ries' names.
Incessant, pondering o'er the hallow'd page;
Hence study keen, with warm devotion mix'd,
Subdued to quiet passion's burning rage.
Such power has Solitude to disengage
The soul from objects mean, to raise her aims,
The thirst for splendid trifling to assuage,
And mark punctiliously fair Virtue's claims,
Who eternizes still her noble vot'ries' names.
But deem not Solitude for ever dwells
On heathy hills, wild wolds, or lonely vales,
'Midst woods and rocks, and fairy-haunted dells,
Where nought obtrusive eye or ear assails:
Oft in the city all his power prevails,
Within the closet's taper-lighted bourn,
Where study pores; or pale affliction wails,
Through adverse fate, or friends laid in the urn;
Or penitence laments time lost ne'er to return:
On heathy hills, wild wolds, or lonely vales,
'Midst woods and rocks, and fairy-haunted dells,
Where nought obtrusive eye or ear assails:
Oft in the city all his power prevails,
Within the closet's taper-lighted bourn,
Where study pores; or pale affliction wails,
Through adverse fate, or friends laid in the urn;
Or penitence laments time lost ne'er to return:
There many a wight, “unnoticed and unknown,”
A life of toil and poverty expends,
And, when his latest tie on earth is gone,
For him in black appear no weeping friends;
Thus strangely, woefully, his life he ends,
In frightful Solitude, amid the throng;
More sadly drear than he who never blends
Among society, but all life-long
Dwells in the hermit-shades, and die's the same among:
A life of toil and poverty expends,
And, when his latest tie on earth is gone,
For him in black appear no weeping friends;
Thus strangely, woefully, his life he ends,
In frightful Solitude, amid the throng;
More sadly drear than he who never blends
Among society, but all life-long
Dwells in the hermit-shades, and die's the same among:
And there the sage his mental toil pursues,
With ceaseless ardour, in his still recess,
Where passion ne'er his face distorted shows,
Nor riot enters, with obscene address;
Unheard his name, till wide the teeming press
His sapient labours to the world displays;
Then lauding thousands join his name to bless,
And through the letter'd world his fame to raise,
And twine the laurel-wreath or ever-verdant bays.
With ceaseless ardour, in his still recess,
Where passion ne'er his face distorted shows,
Nor riot enters, with obscene address;
Unheard his name, till wide the teeming press
His sapient labours to the world displays;
Then lauding thousands join his name to bless,
And through the letter'd world his fame to raise,
And twine the laurel-wreath or ever-verdant bays.
But, should commercial bustle time deny
For lonely contemplation, prime of joy,
The sacred-day have we, by mandate high,
When nought obtrusive dares the mind annoy;
In acts devotional, without alloy,
Who may not join, and reap the harvest bless'd?
The themes which highest Seraphim employ
May well claim entrance to the human breast,
When, sweet, they soothe the soul with hopes of endless rest:
For lonely contemplation, prime of joy,
The sacred-day have we, by mandate high,
When nought obtrusive dares the mind annoy;
In acts devotional, without alloy,
312
The themes which highest Seraphim employ
May well claim entrance to the human breast,
When, sweet, they soothe the soul with hopes of endless rest:
A day ordain'd for spiritual delight—
Deep consultation with the inner man;
For pond'ring revelation's records bright,
Which show redemption's all-excelling plan:
Yet, oh! what swarms of wretches, direly wan,
With quenchless riot, lounge along the streets!
Who ne'er one act by wisdom's standard scan,
Nor of retirement lone partake the sweets,
But scorn, with brazen front, heaven's promises and threats!
Deep consultation with the inner man;
For pond'ring revelation's records bright,
Which show redemption's all-excelling plan:
Yet, oh! what swarms of wretches, direly wan,
With quenchless riot, lounge along the streets!
Who ne'er one act by wisdom's standard scan,
Nor of retirement lone partake the sweets,
But scorn, with brazen front, heaven's promises and threats!
Far let me wander from their converse vile,
To breathe the halcyon fragrant mountain air,
While from the east th' illuming sun doth smile,
And fields bright gleam, bespread with di'monds fair;
While birds the cheering power aloud declare,
In matins sweet, from forest, hill, and plain;
There let me usher in the day of prayer
With contemplation's soul-enriching train,
Unseen by mortal eye, save some mild early swain:
To breathe the halcyon fragrant mountain air,
While from the east th' illuming sun doth smile,
And fields bright gleam, bespread with di'monds fair;
While birds the cheering power aloud declare,
In matins sweet, from forest, hill, and plain;
There let me usher in the day of prayer
With contemplation's soul-enriching train,
Unseen by mortal eye, save some mild early swain:
Here let me trace, within the sacred code,
Him o'er whose head hung envy's dagger dire,
The darling of his father and his God,
Joseph, enslaved to glut fraternal ire;
Or Israel's destined, legislative sire,
On Midian mountains tending, lone, his flock,
Where, from the bush of sight-bedazzling fire,
God him commission'd with the awful shock
'Gainst Egypt's sons, who bound round Jacob's neck the yoke;
Him o'er whose head hung envy's dagger dire,
The darling of his father and his God,
Joseph, enslaved to glut fraternal ire;
Or Israel's destined, legislative sire,
On Midian mountains tending, lone, his flock,
Where, from the bush of sight-bedazzling fire,
God him commission'd with the awful shock
'Gainst Egypt's sons, who bound round Jacob's neck the yoke;
Or Joshua, waving red destruction's sword,
Death-edged, from God's terrific armoury,
O'er Palestine, devoted by the Lord,
To drink the blood of her cursed progeny;
Or David, famed for sacred minstrelsy,
Wand'ring the desert wild, the mountain drear,
Or pouring forth the heart-felt elegy
For those who fell, by woeful doom severe,
Upon Gilboa's hills, by sabre, bow, and spear;
Death-edged, from God's terrific armoury,
O'er Palestine, devoted by the Lord,
To drink the blood of her cursed progeny;
Or David, famed for sacred minstrelsy,
Wand'ring the desert wild, the mountain drear,
Or pouring forth the heart-felt elegy
For those who fell, by woeful doom severe,
Upon Gilboa's hills, by sabre, bow, and spear;
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Or Jeremiah, in the dungeon chill;
Or Buzi's son, by limpid Chebar's strand;
Or Daniel, raised, by God's all-ruling will,
To princely sway in Babel's distant land;
Or John the Baptist, the forerunner grand
Of Him whose love earth's every clime should see—
Who gave existence, by his sole command,
To all things in creation's bounds that be,
Yet deign'd to die for man, from sin to set him free!
Or Buzi's son, by limpid Chebar's strand;
Or Daniel, raised, by God's all-ruling will,
To princely sway in Babel's distant land;
Or John the Baptist, the forerunner grand
Of Him whose love earth's every clime should see—
Who gave existence, by his sole command,
To all things in creation's bounds that be,
Yet deign'd to die for man, from sin to set him free!
O'er themes like these how sweetly glide the hours,
Till, call'd from roaming by the village bell,
Homeward I tread, o'er dew-bespangled flowers,
And leave the sighing stream and silent dell!
There peace and pleasure, in sweet concord, dwell;
There blithe content, with brow unruffled, reigns;
There ne'er is heard rude riot's bedlam swell,
Nor base deception friendship's visage feigns;
But, glowing, mutual love prevails 'mong honest swains.
Till, call'd from roaming by the village bell,
Homeward I tread, o'er dew-bespangled flowers,
And leave the sighing stream and silent dell!
There peace and pleasure, in sweet concord, dwell;
There blithe content, with brow unruffled, reigns;
There ne'er is heard rude riot's bedlam swell,
Nor base deception friendship's visage feigns;
But, glowing, mutual love prevails 'mong honest swains.
Although retirement's soothing sweets I sing,
Entire seclusion sternly I decry:
From convents dull what good result can spring,
Whose inmates social nature's laws deny?
Or hermit, far removed from mortal eye,
In woods and caves, sad, sullen, sitting lone,
A whole life through, in wild obscurity,
Where tempest-shaken forests deeply moan—
His bed the rushy mat, his seat the mossy stone?
Entire seclusion sternly I decry:
From convents dull what good result can spring,
Whose inmates social nature's laws deny?
Or hermit, far removed from mortal eye,
In woods and caves, sad, sullen, sitting lone,
A whole life through, in wild obscurity,
Where tempest-shaken forests deeply moan—
His bed the rushy mat, his seat the mossy stone?
Ah, none! Creation's Lord hath so ordain'd
That mutual intercourse best suits our race:
Each is dependent; therefore is constrain'd
To court affiance with his brother's grace;
Nor, though exalted to the regal place,
Where riches, honours, titles, brightly blaze,
Ought squinting scorn e'er to distort his face,
Nor demon-pride his wrath malignant raise;
But fellow-love should gild his most propitious days.
That mutual intercourse best suits our race:
Each is dependent; therefore is constrain'd
To court affiance with his brother's grace;
Nor, though exalted to the regal place,
Where riches, honours, titles, brightly blaze,
Ought squinting scorn e'er to distort his face,
Nor demon-pride his wrath malignant raise;
But fellow-love should gild his most propitious days.
Thus wants, reciprocal by nature, say—
An endless Solitude for man's not meet!
Yet, in the dawn and eve of life's long day,
'Tis right her silent arbours oft to greet;
In that, to nerve the soul with knowledge sweet,
To guide through sleek temptation's mazy wood—
In this, to take a retrospect, complete,
How oft to vice we fell, to virtue stood,—
And close the chequer'd scene in solemn Solitude!
An endless Solitude for man's not meet!
Yet, in the dawn and eve of life's long day,
'Tis right her silent arbours oft to greet;
In that, to nerve the soul with knowledge sweet,
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In this, to take a retrospect, complete,
How oft to vice we fell, to virtue stood,—
And close the chequer'd scene in solemn Solitude!
Address to the Protestant.
Hail! buckler o' auld orthodoxy,
To speak and write ye need na'e proxy;
Yon louns, wha vainly tried to hoax ye
Wi' sophistry,
Wad now, I'm rede, be fain to coax ye
To quat the play.
To speak and write ye need na'e proxy;
Yon louns, wha vainly tried to hoax ye
Wi' sophistry,
Wad now, I'm rede, be fain to coax ye
To quat the play.
Doilt wights! to think that their weak gabblin'
Wad prap the tumblin' Whore o' Bab'lon,
Or that, by dint o' friendlike fablin',
To plant Rome's creeds—
My sooth, ye've garr'd them quat their quibblin',
Wi' hingin' heads.
Wad prap the tumblin' Whore o' Bab'lon,
Or that, by dint o' friendlike fablin',
To plant Rome's creeds—
My sooth, ye've garr'd them quat their quibblin',
Wi' hingin' heads.
Hech! but it gars my elbow yeuk
Wi' joy to pore upon your beuk,
That doth sae weel ilk grousome neuk
O' Popery rummage,
And ilka peacock-pinion pluck
Frae her gay plumage.
Wi' joy to pore upon your beuk,
That doth sae weel ilk grousome neuk
O' Popery rummage,
And ilka peacock-pinion pluck
Frae her gay plumage.
Ne'er, since the days o' Johnny Knox,
Wha rear'd our temple orthodox,
Has auld Papa, the wily fox,
Tholed sic a birsel,
Whilk's garr'd some herds o' his ain flocks
Maist tine their hirsel.
Wha rear'd our temple orthodox,
Has auld Papa, the wily fox,
Tholed sic a birsel,
Whilk's garr'd some herds o' his ain flocks
Maist tine their hirsel.
Sma' thanks his godship, sure, will gi'e
To yon zeal-rash vain-glorious three,
Wha boost sey to set heads wi' thee,
Wha garr'd them rin
Like thistle down out-owre the lea,
Blawn by the win'.
To yon zeal-rash vain-glorious three,
Wha boost sey to set heads wi' thee,
Wha garr'd them rin
Like thistle down out-owre the lea,
Blawn by the win'.
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Ye've raised bedeen a bonny clamour
Amang the quacks o' ghastly glamour;
His Holiness maun ca' the chamer,
Wi' grim grimace,
To see what rule o' Satan's grammar
Will fit the case.
Amang the quacks o' ghastly glamour;
His Holiness maun ca' the chamer,
Wi' grim grimace,
To see what rule o' Satan's grammar
Will fit the case.
Aha! Saint Peter's legatees,
Wha enter heaven by pick-lock keys,
Will fin' this is nae slight disease,
Purged aff by physic;
There lurks in ilka diocese
A deadly phthisic.
Wha enter heaven by pick-lock keys,
Will fin' this is nae slight disease,
Purged aff by physic;
There lurks in ilka diocese
A deadly phthisic.
Oh happy day, when Europe wide
The deep delusion shall have spied,
And thrown the brazen bands aside,
That's gall'd sae lang,
While Rome's base priestcraft's hellish pride
Triumphant rang.
The deep delusion shall have spied,
And thrown the brazen bands aside,
That's gall'd sae lang,
While Rome's base priestcraft's hellish pride
Triumphant rang.
Haud to the louns, and gi'e them't het!
Rip up ilk knavish beggarplet!
Till, on ilk Catholic chapel yett,
We plain can read,
In letters large, “A Kirk to Let,”
Since Popery's dead!
Rip up ilk knavish beggarplet!
Till, on ilk Catholic chapel yett,
We plain can read,
In letters large, “A Kirk to Let,”
Since Popery's dead!
Scawt Connaught then may shout Huzza!
Nae mair around the chapel wa'
She'll creep, bare-knee'd, wi' pinin' awe,
To won heaven's haven;
She now can read anither law,
Cleared by M'Gavin.
Nae mair around the chapel wa'
She'll creep, bare-knee'd, wi' pinin' awe,
To won heaven's haven;
She now can read anither law,
Cleared by M'Gavin.
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF HIS MAJESTY George the Third.
Green spring returns to Britain's sea-girt shore,
And birds again resume the cheerful lay,
But Britain's gen'rous sons now deep deplore
Their venerable sovereign, torn away
By death, who rules with unrelenting sway,
Nor spares the monarch more than peasant poor;
And mighty George sleeps 'neath his kindred clay
In the grim vault of death, where, all demure,
The conq'ring tyrant reigns with black and sullen lour.
And birds again resume the cheerful lay,
But Britain's gen'rous sons now deep deplore
Their venerable sovereign, torn away
By death, who rules with unrelenting sway,
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And mighty George sleeps 'neath his kindred clay
In the grim vault of death, where, all demure,
The conq'ring tyrant reigns with black and sullen lour.
His was the fate, while in the morn of life,
In splendour bright, to mount the regal throne;
And his the lot to wail incessant strife,
While, deep, his nation under war did groan:
Yet heaven, propitious, left him not to moan
Beneath the sorrows of his country's woe;
But, in that way mysterious and unknown,
Bereft his mind of reason—thus the throe
Intense of weeping grief ne'er from his soul could flow.
In splendour bright, to mount the regal throne;
And his the lot to wail incessant strife,
While, deep, his nation under war did groan:
Yet heaven, propitious, left him not to moan
Beneath the sorrows of his country's woe;
But, in that way mysterious and unknown,
Bereft his mind of reason—thus the throe
Intense of weeping grief ne'er from his soul could flow.
Though sad be life, when barr'd the gates of sense,
And strangely wild be lunacy's abode,
Yet fancy oft dispels the gloom, though dense,
And shows her florid fields for reason's road:
Such regions fair our fated monarch trod,
Nor seem'd perplex'd throughout th' enchanting scene,
Till death, obsequious to the will of God,
Wide scatter'd all the fairy visions sheen—
Changed for that land, we trust, unknown to care and teen.
And strangely wild be lunacy's abode,
Yet fancy oft dispels the gloom, though dense,
And shows her florid fields for reason's road:
Such regions fair our fated monarch trod,
Nor seem'd perplex'd throughout th' enchanting scene,
Till death, obsequious to the will of God,
Wide scatter'd all the fairy visions sheen—
Changed for that land, we trust, unknown to care and teen.
How bless'd the change! though here a monarch great,
Whose voice gave law to Europe's regions wide;
Whose arms, victorious, waved the flag of fate
On Mars' red fields and Neptune's rolling tide:
How bless'd the change! if, by the verdant side
Of life's pure stream, the victor's crown he wear,
Wreath'd with the palm of triumph, while do glide
The dulcet strains of angels on the ear,
To Him who ransom'd man by suff'rings so severe!
Whose voice gave law to Europe's regions wide;
Whose arms, victorious, waved the flag of fate
On Mars' red fields and Neptune's rolling tide:
How bless'd the change! if, by the verdant side
Of life's pure stream, the victor's crown he wear,
Wreath'd with the palm of triumph, while do glide
The dulcet strains of angels on the ear,
To Him who ransom'd man by suff'rings so severe!
In vain the human character we scan,
If pure perfection our criterion be,
Since every act and thought of fallen man
Deep tinged with guilt obscene we feel and see;
Yet, in the rank of life he moved, how free
From vice imperial was our gracious king;
Revered by all who virtue love was he;
And Britain's sons his mournful requiem sing,
While mem'ry round his tomb hails ever-blooming spring.
If pure perfection our criterion be,
Since every act and thought of fallen man
Deep tinged with guilt obscene we feel and see;
Yet, in the rank of life he moved, how free
From vice imperial was our gracious king;
Revered by all who virtue love was he;
And Britain's sons his mournful requiem sing,
While mem'ry round his tomb hails ever-blooming spring.
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Nigh threescore years he o'er our wondrous isle,
In troublous times, the golden sceptre sway'd,
And bold his daring subjects strove the while
Destruction's blow terrific to evade:
Each nerve was strung, and every effort made
To stand of tyranny the thund'ring shock;
And peace at length dispell'd war's gloomy shade,
When pride's enthralling chain in twain was broke,
And Europe was set free from slavery's galling yoke.
In troublous times, the golden sceptre sway'd,
And bold his daring subjects strove the while
Destruction's blow terrific to evade:
Each nerve was strung, and every effort made
To stand of tyranny the thund'ring shock;
And peace at length dispell'd war's gloomy shade,
When pride's enthralling chain in twain was broke,
And Europe was set free from slavery's galling yoke.
Now solemnly his passing-bell is rung,
Which from the feeling soul awakes the sigh;
And now the choir the lay of death hath sung,
That, thrilling keen, bedims the downcast eye;
And now, in death's strong fetters bound, doth lie
Britannia's king, pale, in the gelid urn,
Which speaks the solemn truth, that “all must die”—
Though pompous pride the rigid law should spurn,
And royalty superb, with hatred red, should burn!
Which from the feeling soul awakes the sigh;
And now the choir the lay of death hath sung,
That, thrilling keen, bedims the downcast eye;
And now, in death's strong fetters bound, doth lie
Britannia's king, pale, in the gelid urn,
Which speaks the solemn truth, that “all must die”—
Though pompous pride the rigid law should spurn,
And royalty superb, with hatred red, should burn!
DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF Queen Caroline.
Daughters of Britain, twine the cypress wreath
Around your polished brows like virgin snow;
And dress yourselves in sackloth, for beneath
The stroke of death lies Albion's glory low,
Queen Caroline, alas! the hapless child of woe!
Around your polished brows like virgin snow;
And dress yourselves in sackloth, for beneath
The stroke of death lies Albion's glory low,
Queen Caroline, alas! the hapless child of woe!
Hers was the soul, by dauntless virtue steel'd,
That braved the sternest shock of calumny!
Hers was the fortitude that hath reveal'd
The power of Christian magnanimity,
'Gainst hell's battalia fierce, in serried, deep array.
That braved the sternest shock of calumny!
Hers was the fortitude that hath reveal'd
The power of Christian magnanimity,
'Gainst hell's battalia fierce, in serried, deep array.
Who holds a heart that can unmoved see
Sweet innocence bereft of earthly joy?
Yet such there are in Britain's bounds, ah, me!
Who sought her every comfort to destroy,
And pleasure had in nought but what could her annoy.
Sweet innocence bereft of earthly joy?
Yet such there are in Britain's bounds, ah, me!
Who sought her every comfort to destroy,
And pleasure had in nought but what could her annoy.
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Curse on their ruthless and unmanly hearts,
Could blast the pleasure of a nation's love;
Come, retribution, mark their just deserts,
And hurl the bolt of vengeance from above
On their malignant heads who scathed the harmless dove.
Could blast the pleasure of a nation's love;
Come, retribution, mark their just deserts,
And hurl the bolt of vengeance from above
On their malignant heads who scathed the harmless dove.
Auspicious heaven beheld the quenchless ire
That burned within the bosom of each foe,
And granted in the end her warm desire
To bid adieu to every thing below,
When all was sabled o'er with persecution's woe.
That burned within the bosom of each foe,
And granted in the end her warm desire
To bid adieu to every thing below,
When all was sabled o'er with persecution's woe.
And now she's cross'd the dark eternal bourn,
Far from the grasp of enemies malign;
But mem'ry, bending o'er her gelid urn,
Shall shed the tear of sympathy benign
For Britain's injured Queen, the hapless Caroline.
Far from the grasp of enemies malign;
But mem'ry, bending o'er her gelid urn,
Shall shed the tear of sympathy benign
For Britain's injured Queen, the hapless Caroline.
Queen Caroline, the persecuted wife of George IV. died at Brandenburgh House, on Tuesday, 7th August, 1821, in the 53d year of her age.
LINES ON The Death of Buonaparte.
Can grief pervade a Britain's heart
To read the death of Buonaparte,
Whose never satiated ambition
Hath brought our land to this condition?
Yes, just reflection pensive throws
A look of sympathy on foes;
Nor can she, with invidious heart,
Wield retribution's whetted dart;
But, with a loving, pitying eye,
A British magnanimity,
Weeps o'er a fallen enemy,
Though fell as Buonaparte.
To read the death of Buonaparte,
Whose never satiated ambition
Hath brought our land to this condition?
Yes, just reflection pensive throws
A look of sympathy on foes;
Nor can she, with invidious heart,
Wield retribution's whetted dart;
But, with a loving, pitying eye,
A British magnanimity,
Weeps o'er a fallen enemy,
Though fell as Buonaparte.
Ah! who can count the thousands slain
To give his wild ambition rein!
Ah! who can weigh the load of grief,
The anguish, finding no relief,
Which o'er our land relentless hung,
While woe mark'd every eye and tongue,
When he in scales the nations weigh'd,
And his satanic sceptre sway'd?
Fleet as the wind sweeps o'er the heath,
Post after post brought news of death;
Afresh the streams of sorrow start,
But never ease the burden'd heart:
No parent's, brother's, sister's tear,
No relative's nor lover's fear,
Could melt the eye or ope the ear
Of direful Buonaparte.
To give his wild ambition rein!
Ah! who can weigh the load of grief,
The anguish, finding no relief,
Which o'er our land relentless hung,
While woe mark'd every eye and tongue,
When he in scales the nations weigh'd,
And his satanic sceptre sway'd?
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Post after post brought news of death;
Afresh the streams of sorrow start,
But never ease the burden'd heart:
No parent's, brother's, sister's tear,
No relative's nor lover's fear,
Could melt the eye or ope the ear
Of direful Buonaparte.
We pity those whom fate malign
Hath doom'd, in want or pain, to pine;
We wail the wretch whom ruthless hap
Brings to the gibbet's fatal trap,
Whose crime perhaps is treason dire,
Or murder, done in midst of ire,
Or forgery, caused by pressing want,
Or stealth, when means of life are scant.
She inly groans with stifled breath
To list the piercing knell of death;
That knell, the law's terrific nod,
Which sites him to the bar of God.
But, ah! what sympathy claims he,
The boasted friend of liberty,
Who, twenty years, by field and flood,
Drench'd Europe with her children's blood?
Much! then let Britons, Christians named,
For pity and forgiveness famed,
Bid hatred, vengeance, both depart,
While charity's warm tears do start;
Let each, within his little sphere,
Of sly ambition's wiles beware,
And mark pride's fatal, final share,
In hapless Buonaparte.
Hath doom'd, in want or pain, to pine;
We wail the wretch whom ruthless hap
Brings to the gibbet's fatal trap,
Whose crime perhaps is treason dire,
Or murder, done in midst of ire,
Or forgery, caused by pressing want,
Or stealth, when means of life are scant.
She inly groans with stifled breath
To list the piercing knell of death;
That knell, the law's terrific nod,
Which sites him to the bar of God.
But, ah! what sympathy claims he,
The boasted friend of liberty,
Who, twenty years, by field and flood,
Drench'd Europe with her children's blood?
Much! then let Britons, Christians named,
For pity and forgiveness famed,
Bid hatred, vengeance, both depart,
While charity's warm tears do start;
Let each, within his little sphere,
Of sly ambition's wiles beware,
And mark pride's fatal, final share,
In hapless Buonaparte.
The Battle of Issus,
Fought between ALEXANDER THE GREAT and DARIUS, King of Persia.
I.
Ambition! whence thy resting place?
Or hast thou none e'er found?
Alas! thy every-stinging case
Home, peace, and love have drown'd:
Thou canst not see, nor canst thou hear,
The name superior or compeer,
But instant swells thy envious soul
To sink him under thy control;
Though, to accomplish thy desire,
Whole cities blaze in vengeful fire;
Though thousands draw their latest breath
Upon the bloody field of death;
Though Pity, bathed in silent tears,
The scream of ravish'd maidens hears;
All must obey thy dire command,
Though desolation sweep the land.
Or hast thou none e'er found?
Alas! thy every-stinging case
Home, peace, and love have drown'd:
320
The name superior or compeer,
But instant swells thy envious soul
To sink him under thy control;
Though, to accomplish thy desire,
Whole cities blaze in vengeful fire;
Though thousands draw their latest breath
Upon the bloody field of death;
Though Pity, bathed in silent tears,
The scream of ravish'd maidens hears;
All must obey thy dire command,
Though desolation sweep the land.
Great Philip's conquest-loving son
Did court thy meteor glare,
Till he the Eastern world had won,
By blood, and toil, and care:
Thus, great in fame and grandeur grown,
A vanquish'd world at will his own;
Puff'd up, no longer he'll confess
He sprung was from the mortal class—
But doth assume the sovereign nod,
And doth proclaim himself a god;
Until the vine's subduing power
Did wheel around the fatal hour
Which caused him enter death's dark portal,
And claim his friendship with the mortal;
Fate's barbed dagger struck the blow,
And laid him like his fellows low.
Did court thy meteor glare,
Till he the Eastern world had won,
By blood, and toil, and care:
Thus, great in fame and grandeur grown,
A vanquish'd world at will his own;
Puff'd up, no longer he'll confess
He sprung was from the mortal class—
But doth assume the sovereign nod,
And doth proclaim himself a god;
Until the vine's subduing power
Did wheel around the fatal hour
Which caused him enter death's dark portal,
And claim his friendship with the mortal;
Fate's barbed dagger struck the blow,
And laid him like his fellows low.
Say, muse! for thou alone canst spy,
With thy bright retrospective eye,
The lapse of ages past—
Say, what eventful deeds were done,
That day, by Philip's martial son;
What numbers breathed their last.
Thy wings expand, and waft me o'er
The gulph of ages gone;
Oh bear me to Cilicia's shore,
Nor leave me there alone:
To me the battle scene unfold
Which fought was in the days of old—
The feats of valour there perform'd,
The hapless victims how deform'd,
The warriors' face, indignant burning,
Repell'd by force, with hope returning!
The din of arms, the battle shout,
The victor's fire, the conquer'd's rout!
And, when I've view'd this scene of yore,
Return me to my native shore,
With peace and freedom sweet to dwell,
Far from the noisy battle's swell.
With thy bright retrospective eye,
The lapse of ages past—
Say, what eventful deeds were done,
That day, by Philip's martial son;
What numbers breathed their last.
Thy wings expand, and waft me o'er
The gulph of ages gone;
Oh bear me to Cilicia's shore,
Nor leave me there alone:
To me the battle scene unfold
Which fought was in the days of old—
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The hapless victims how deform'd,
The warriors' face, indignant burning,
Repell'd by force, with hope returning!
The din of arms, the battle shout,
The victor's fire, the conquer'd's rout!
And, when I've view'd this scene of yore,
Return me to my native shore,
With peace and freedom sweet to dwell,
Far from the noisy battle's swell.
Loth rose the low November sun,
To gild the dark horizon;
The sight that day he sought to shun
Behind the vapours, floating dun;
A sight so dire he never cast his eyes on!
He sought it to evade in vain,
For quickly clear'd the dewy plain,
And, full before his potent ray,
The battle ranks appear'd that day:
He heard the war clang sounding high,
The wounded groan, the conquer'd sigh!
He saw the Persians backward reel
Before the glare of Grecian steel,
And, ere he kiss'd the shades of night,
The Persian army put to flight!
To gild the dark horizon;
The sight that day he sought to shun
Behind the vapours, floating dun;
A sight so dire he never cast his eyes on!
He sought it to evade in vain,
For quickly clear'd the dewy plain,
And, full before his potent ray,
The battle ranks appear'd that day:
He heard the war clang sounding high,
The wounded groan, the conquer'd sigh!
He saw the Persians backward reel
Before the glare of Grecian steel,
And, ere he kiss'd the shades of night,
The Persian army put to flight!
II.
In front appears great Alexander,
The far-famed Grecian commander,
On whose brow sat deliberation
In this momentous situation;
Cool, yet intrepid, was his mien;
He first in danger still was seen;
Undaunted views the Persian host
While others judged the cause was lost.
Ere yet the gallant bands engage,
To fire each mind with martial rage,
He thus address'd his daring few,
Who were arranged in order due:—
The far-famed Grecian commander,
On whose brow sat deliberation
In this momentous situation;
Cool, yet intrepid, was his mien;
He first in danger still was seen;
Undaunted views the Persian host
While others judged the cause was lost.
Ere yet the gallant bands engage,
To fire each mind with martial rage,
He thus address'd his daring few,
Who were arranged in order due:—
“Heroes! you see the time draws nigh
To be enslaved, or nobly die
Beneath the conq'ring foe!
Each hold, with death grasp, sword or spear,
Nor flinch a foot, in van or rear,
For all their glaring show!
Though on they move, in phalanx deep,
Sheer from the plain our files to sweep,
Withstand the shock quite undismay'd;
For lance or spear be none afraid;
Their weak effeminated front
Will yield, when once it feels your brunt;
And then, into confusion driven,
The vict'ry sure to us is given.
Remember how—in days of yore,
What hate they to our fathers bore,
When Xerxes led his countless band
To spread destruction o'er our land—
Our valiant sires them vanquish'd quite,
And put the cumbrous horde to flight.
Spoil for the spoiler there you see,
If you on plunder bent should be;
Revenge for those whose fathers fled
Before their power, or nobly bled:
Remember, that in no community
Strength lies in numbers, but in unity.
The day is ours, I see it, won
Before the setting of the sun;
Th' immortal hills our stable flanks;
‘Revenge or death’ rings through our ranks!
Our hearts are true, our cause is just,
And Persia yield before us must!”
To be enslaved, or nobly die
Beneath the conq'ring foe!
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Nor flinch a foot, in van or rear,
For all their glaring show!
Though on they move, in phalanx deep,
Sheer from the plain our files to sweep,
Withstand the shock quite undismay'd;
For lance or spear be none afraid;
Their weak effeminated front
Will yield, when once it feels your brunt;
And then, into confusion driven,
The vict'ry sure to us is given.
Remember how—in days of yore,
What hate they to our fathers bore,
When Xerxes led his countless band
To spread destruction o'er our land—
Our valiant sires them vanquish'd quite,
And put the cumbrous horde to flight.
Spoil for the spoiler there you see,
If you on plunder bent should be;
Revenge for those whose fathers fled
Before their power, or nobly bled:
Remember, that in no community
Strength lies in numbers, but in unity.
The day is ours, I see it, won
Before the setting of the sun;
Th' immortal hills our stable flanks;
‘Revenge or death’ rings through our ranks!
Our hearts are true, our cause is just,
And Persia yield before us must!”
III.
While thus the Grecian chief address'd
His dauntless warlike band,
Warm glow'd with rage each hero's breast:
Like rocks, unmoved they stand.
His dauntless warlike band,
Warm glow'd with rage each hero's breast:
Like rocks, unmoved they stand.
The Persian golden banner's glare
In vain doth gild the plain;
Or, swelling through the ambient air,
Loud rings their battle strain.
In vain doth gild the plain;
Or, swelling through the ambient air,
Loud rings their battle strain.
Now shone the sun with argent beam,
And, glitt'ring in his rays, appears
Upon the field, with furbish'd gleam,
Six hundred thousand swords and spears.
And, glitt'ring in his rays, appears
Upon the field, with furbish'd gleam,
Six hundred thousand swords and spears.
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To music sweet they moved along,
Which, echo'd through th' etherial realm,
Join'd with the shout and battle song,
Threat'ning the Grecian host to 'whelm.
Which, echo'd through th' etherial realm,
Join'd with the shout and battle song,
Threat'ning the Grecian host to 'whelm.
But, ah! how oft is boasting quash'd!
And meets a dire repulsive shock;
Like ocean's surge, to bubbles dash'd
Against the stubborn flinty rock!
And meets a dire repulsive shock;
Like ocean's surge, to bubbles dash'd
Against the stubborn flinty rock!
IV.
Darius, quite impatient grown,
Impetuous, led his army on,
In glitt'ring arms of gold;
Far follow'd a protracted train,
Which 'lumined round all Issus' plain,
As they to battle roll'd:
Impetuous, led his army on,
In glitt'ring arms of gold;
Far follow'd a protracted train,
Which 'lumined round all Issus' plain,
As they to battle roll'd:
Their gorgeous show and ardent mien
Might shake the coward's heart,
But Macedonia's sons, I ween,
Fear'd not their glare nor art.
Might shake the coward's heart,
But Macedonia's sons, I ween,
Fear'd not their glare nor art.
Now, van to van, the signal given,
As gleams the fatal light of heaven,
So darts the flash of arms!
As thunder 'mong the hills doth rattle,
So rung the clangour of the battle,
And echo's ear alarms!
As gleams the fatal light of heaven,
So darts the flash of arms!
As thunder 'mong the hills doth rattle,
So rung the clangour of the battle,
And echo's ear alarms!
In clouds th' volleying javelins fly,
And grate on helm and shield,
And oft, death-fraught, make heroes lie
Upon the blood-stain'd field.
And grate on helm and shield,
And oft, death-fraught, make heroes lie
Upon the blood-stain'd field.
Dire was the conflict of the day,
Till Persia's hope-flush'd front gave way,
And back in haste recoil'd;
Then rose aloud the Grecian shout,
“They fly! they fly! they're put to rout!
Their utmost effort 's foil'd.”
Till Persia's hope-flush'd front gave way,
And back in haste recoil'd;
Then rose aloud the Grecian shout,
“They fly! they fly! they're put to rout!
Their utmost effort 's foil'd.”
Hark! hark! the hideous jarring roar
Which runs throughout the host;
The shrieks of thousands, bathed in gore,
On point of sabres toss'd!
Which runs throughout the host;
The shrieks of thousands, bathed in gore,
On point of sabres toss'd!
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Poor Persia's monarch push'd along
Throughout the terror-smitten throng,
Unmindful of their fate;
To Ecbatana safe he fled,
While for his cause an army bled—
Heart-thrilling to relate!
Throughout the terror-smitten throng,
Unmindful of their fate;
To Ecbatana safe he fled,
While for his cause an army bled—
Heart-thrilling to relate!
A sumptuous spoil lies now exposed
At Alexander's will;
Such riches never Greece disclosed,
The envious breast to fill.
At Alexander's will;
Such riches never Greece disclosed,
The envious breast to fill.
But, mark! the mild Pellean youth
Here stray'd not from the path of truth,
Nor brake stern virtue's law;
By no unruly passion driven,
He acted as if conscious heaven
His conduct's chart did draw:
Here stray'd not from the path of truth,
Nor brake stern virtue's law;
By no unruly passion driven,
He acted as if conscious heaven
His conduct's chart did draw:
And had he still this path pursued
Through all his after life,
With glory had his steps been strew'd,
And shunn'd much toil and strife.
Through all his after life,
With glory had his steps been strew'd,
And shunn'd much toil and strife.
The captive ladies, pale with fear,
Heaved many a sigh, dropp'd many a tear,
For this, their hapless lot;
But, when the conq'ror's conduct shone
With chaste protection, all anon
The dread of harm forgot.
Heaved many a sigh, dropp'd many a tear,
For this, their hapless lot;
But, when the conq'ror's conduct shone
With chaste protection, all anon
The dread of harm forgot.
V.
The combat's o'er at set of sun,And now, the night's cold air to shun,
The weary Greeks retire to tent,
After a day in bloodshed spent.
Now murky night o'erspreads the plain,
Where wounded lie among the slain;
Across the field wild groans are driven
Within the bleaky blast of heaven;
Half dead half living many lie,
Who heave the deep unheeded sigh,
And writhe beneath the rankling smart
Of death's chill dagger in their heart!
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VI.
The full-orb'd moon rose in the east,
And shone with golden gleam;
The wolf, voracious, hied to feast
Beneath her flaunting beam;
Red glared the field in Luna's light,
And show'd a drear heart-rending sight;
Harsh, o'er the plain, the live-long night
Was heard the vulture's scream!
And shone with golden gleam;
The wolf, voracious, hied to feast
Beneath her flaunting beam;
Red glared the field in Luna's light,
And show'd a drear heart-rending sight;
Harsh, o'er the plain, the live-long night
Was heard the vulture's scream!
Soft Pity saw th' inhuman scene,
And buried the ill-fated slain;
Yet roves the wild hyena, growling,
Among the trenches nightly prowling;
And bloody wolf, carniv'rous rover,
Likes o'er the gory field to hover.
And buried the ill-fated slain;
Yet roves the wild hyena, growling,
Among the trenches nightly prowling;
And bloody wolf, carniv'rous rover,
Likes o'er the gory field to hover.
VII.
Return, return! oh potent sun!
And bring sweet spring again
To clothe with grass the plain,
That swains the sight of blood may shun.
And bring sweet spring again
To clothe with grass the plain,
That swains the sight of blood may shun.
I know yet o'er the fallen brave
The rank green grass shall gaily wave;
That flowers shall deck the verdant mead,
Where many a daring heart did bleed;
That lambs shall frisk upon the mound
That wraps the mould'ring heroes round;
And, where once rung the battle-swell,
In peace, the husbandman shall dwell.
The rank green grass shall gaily wave;
That flowers shall deck the verdant mead,
Where many a daring heart did bleed;
That lambs shall frisk upon the mound
That wraps the mould'ring heroes round;
And, where once rung the battle-swell,
In peace, the husbandman shall dwell.
VIII.
No more, sweet Muse, o'er Asian shores
With thee I long to wander;
Great Persia now, and all her stores,
Belong to Alexander.
With thee I long to wander;
Great Persia now, and all her stores,
Belong to Alexander.
I envy not such hard-earn'd treasure,
Nor yet to forfeit life for pleasure;
But grant me Peace, and I'll consent
With Poverty to live content.
Let kings for crowns, indignant, war;
Let merchants search for wealth afar;
Let statesmen wrangle and debate;
Give titles to the rich and great;
For me, no other boon I crave,
While I on earth a being have,
But freedom from internal strife—
A competence to keep in life,—
The rest I have from nature free,
Else, Fancy, they belong to thee;
Thy roamings, amidst daily toil,
Can summer's longest day beguile:
Can, while the sun doth vertic beam,
Me stretch beside the cooling stream;
Or, while the world lies clad in snow,
Recall can July's genial glow;
Can change the harsh ear-grating drum
To nurse's sleep-invoking hum;
The thunder rolling through the sky
Sweet as the infant's lullaby!
Nor yet to forfeit life for pleasure;
But grant me Peace, and I'll consent
With Poverty to live content.
Let kings for crowns, indignant, war;
Let merchants search for wealth afar;
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Give titles to the rich and great;
For me, no other boon I crave,
While I on earth a being have,
But freedom from internal strife—
A competence to keep in life,—
The rest I have from nature free,
Else, Fancy, they belong to thee;
Thy roamings, amidst daily toil,
Can summer's longest day beguile:
Can, while the sun doth vertic beam,
Me stretch beside the cooling stream;
Or, while the world lies clad in snow,
Recall can July's genial glow;
Can change the harsh ear-grating drum
To nurse's sleep-invoking hum;
The thunder rolling through the sky
Sweet as the infant's lullaby!
Let envy throw her barbed shafts,
To gain the field of fame,
Give me but fancy's halcyon draughts,
Though none should know my name.
To gain the field of fame,
Give me but fancy's halcyon draughts,
Though none should know my name.
Elegy
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. W. CREIGHTON.
Loud howl'd the wind, dark hung the sable cloud
O'er Sol's bright face, like midnight's ebon shroud,
While he, far south, in Sagittarius reigns,
And drops his rays on Afric's sultry plains.
O'er Sol's bright face, like midnight's ebon shroud,
While he, far south, in Sagittarius reigns,
And drops his rays on Afric's sultry plains.
Chill crystal icicles hung on the trees;
Wild rung the hail, borne by the boreal breeze;
The river, buried, was not seen to flow,
Immured by crusting ice and smoth'ring snow.
Wild rung the hail, borne by the boreal breeze;
The river, buried, was not seen to flow,
Immured by crusting ice and smoth'ring snow.
When thus stern winter raged throughout the isle,
And ruthlessly 'gainst mortals warr'd the while,
Relentless fate did throw his death-fraught dart,
And struck bright virtue's champion to the heart.
And ruthlessly 'gainst mortals warr'd the while,
Relentless fate did throw his death-fraught dart,
And struck bright virtue's champion to the heart.
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He's gone! his spirit wings her flight on high,
Swift, through the stellar orbs that gem the sky,
And prostrate falls before the throne above,
Prelusive to her endless song of love.
Swift, through the stellar orbs that gem the sky,
And prostrate falls before the throne above,
Prelusive to her endless song of love.
O happy change to her! no more to know
The strong assaults of earth's malignant foe;
And there to join the grand angelic choir,
Who touch, with hand sublime, the golden lyre!
The strong assaults of earth's malignant foe;
And there to join the grand angelic choir,
Who touch, with hand sublime, the golden lyre!
Ah me! keen anguish fills my bursting heart,
With such a benefactor now to part;
To see him laid in earth's damp gelid urn,
Thence, till time's latest day, ne'er to return.
With such a benefactor now to part;
To see him laid in earth's damp gelid urn,
Thence, till time's latest day, ne'er to return.
And there he lies, the friend of God and man,
Who squared his life by the Almighty's plan;
Subdued each vice, each virtue did improve;
His groundwork, sure, was universal love.
Who squared his life by the Almighty's plan;
Subdued each vice, each virtue did improve;
His groundwork, sure, was universal love.
His sage instructions, and his mien so mild,
Time's longest, dullest hours, have oft beguiled;
To guide oft-erring youth his greatest care,
To show them virtue's path, and keep them there.
Time's longest, dullest hours, have oft beguiled;
To guide oft-erring youth his greatest care,
To show them virtue's path, and keep them there.
Grieved was Elisha for his master, torn
From earth, though heavenward in a chariot borne;
And grieved was I to see my guardian's head
Interr'd within the chamber of the dead.
From earth, though heavenward in a chariot borne;
And grieved was I to see my guardian's head
Interr'd within the chamber of the dead.
What though no cloister'd shrine surround his tomb,
Sweet shall he rest until the day of doom!
Round which remembrance oft shall pensive sigh,
While tears conglobe her retrospective eye.
Sweet shall he rest until the day of doom!
Round which remembrance oft shall pensive sigh,
While tears conglobe her retrospective eye.
Here does he lie! wrapp'd in a heavenly sleep,
For whom the virtuous and the learned weep;
Warmer remember'd than the hero great
Who, in Westminster Abbey, lies in state.
For whom the virtuous and the learned weep;
Warmer remember'd than the hero great
Who, in Westminster Abbey, lies in state.
And when the trump of doom shall loudly ring,
To judgment an assembled world to bring,
He'll rise to share the glorious interview,
Where, of the great on earth, will be but few.
To judgment an assembled world to bring,
He'll rise to share the glorious interview,
Where, of the great on earth, will be but few.
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Elegy ON THE LATE J. F. SURGEON.
Wow! wha frae death will guard us now?
Our warden's fa'n, sae stainch and true!
Matches like him death met but few—
I'd maist said nane;
To health we a' may bid adieu,
Since Jamie's gane.
Our warden's fa'n, sae stainch and true!
Matches like him death met but few—
I'd maist said nane;
To health we a' may bid adieu,
Since Jamie's gane.
Kilbride his death may mourn for ever;
Kilbride his peer may look for never;
He's wafted o'er that fatal river,
Recrossed by nane;
And wha frae death will us deliver,
Since Jamie's gane?
Kilbride his peer may look for never;
He's wafted o'er that fatal river,
Recrossed by nane;
And wha frae death will us deliver,
Since Jamie's gane?
His worth is a' the clachan's crack;
We wish, but canna bring him back;
We've roopit Robin's shop o' black,
Oursel's to cleed;
Nae consolation can we tak',
Since Jamie's dead.
We wish, but canna bring him back;
We've roopit Robin's shop o' black,
Oursel's to cleed;
Nae consolation can we tak',
Since Jamie's dead.
He was weel liked ilka where
For healin' heads when they were sair;
The middle ward o' Lanarkshire
May loudly maen;
His peregal she'll meet nae mair!
Och! Jamie's gane!
For healin' heads when they were sair;
The middle ward o' Lanarkshire
May loudly maen;
His peregal she'll meet nae mair!
Och! Jamie's gane!
Lament him, O ye mithers a',
Wha aften for the howdie ca';
Your tears he banish'd far awa
In time o' pain;
His like auld Scotlan' never saw;
But now he's gane.
Wha aften for the howdie ca';
Your tears he banish'd far awa
In time o' pain;
His like auld Scotlan' never saw;
But now he's gane.
Mair skill in's single pow there lay
Than a' the Glasgow faculty,
Wha ance wad pierced for dropsy
A wife wi' wean,
Whase time was tauld, even to a day,
By Jamie gane.
Than a' the Glasgow faculty,
Wha ance wad pierced for dropsy
A wife wi' wean,
Whase time was tauld, even to a day,
By Jamie gane.
329
Wi' whittles Jamie ne'er was rash,
Our legs and arms to cut and slash;
Nor yet wi' vomits, and sic trash,
To gar us graen;
Now we maun thole ilk gamrell hash,
Since Jamie's gane.
Our legs and arms to cut and slash;
Nor yet wi' vomits, and sic trash,
To gar us graen;
Now we maun thole ilk gamrell hash,
Since Jamie's gane.
Saturday in Glasgow.
Wide through the cloudless lift o' blue
The twilight bright advances,
Till owre the Shotts knowes, wet wi' dew,
The sun effulgent glances:
The mountains' streams, gilt wi' his beams,
Like silver, twinkle clear;
The birds o' sang, the woods amang,
Salute the tunefu' ear
Fu' sweet this morn.
The twilight bright advances,
Till owre the Shotts knowes, wet wi' dew,
The sun effulgent glances:
The mountains' streams, gilt wi' his beams,
Like silver, twinkle clear;
The birds o' sang, the woods amang,
Salute the tunefu' ear
Fu' sweet this morn.
On this fair scene the Muse, in pain,
Throws back an e'e o' pity,
As down the brae I bouncin' ga'e
To view famed Glasgow city;
Whare mist and reek, wi' darksome smeek,
Defy the solar blaze;
Whase inmates pale may sair bewail
The absence o' his rays
Sae aft by day.
Throws back an e'e o' pity,
As down the brae I bouncin' ga'e
To view famed Glasgow city;
Whare mist and reek, wi' darksome smeek,
Defy the solar blaze;
Whase inmates pale may sair bewail
The absence o' his rays
Sae aft by day.
Frae a' the airts the sour milk carts,
Bot custom or embargo,
Reel fast and thrang the roads alang,
Fraught wi' their sinfu' cargo;
While mony a mouth, sair parch'd wi' drouth,
Is waitin' their arrival,
That late yestreen had whisky'd been,
And's needin' a revival
O' health this day.
Bot custom or embargo,
Reel fast and thrang the roads alang,
Fraught wi' their sinfu' cargo;
While mony a mouth, sair parch'd wi' drouth,
Is waitin' their arrival,
That late yestreen had whisky'd been,
And's needin' a revival
O' health this day.
330
Now mony a stiff and spavet horse
Toils 'neath the great coal-waggon,
Urged to exert its utmost force,
Through terror o' a flaggin';
While some, mair skeich, wi' head fu' heich,
Are prancin' trim and trig,
As at their heels bright glancin' reels
The coach, landau, or gig,
Superb this day.
Toils 'neath the great coal-waggon,
Urged to exert its utmost force,
Through terror o' a flaggin';
While some, mair skeich, wi' head fu' heich,
Are prancin' trim and trig,
As at their heels bright glancin' reels
The coach, landau, or gig,
Superb this day.
The barracks' drum, wi' thund'rin' din,
Swells through her echoin' regions,
And to parade, rude, swearin', rin
Her boist'rous vassal legions:
Now down the street, to music sweet,
Straucht for the Green they're airtin',
While schule-weans, keen to please their een,
Are frae their beuks desertin'
In droves this day:
Swells through her echoin' regions,
And to parade, rude, swearin', rin
Her boist'rous vassal legions:
Now down the street, to music sweet,
Straucht for the Green they're airtin',
While schule-weans, keen to please their een,
Are frae their beuks desertin'
In droves this day:
Wi' gleamin' steel, wide owre the fiel',
The weel-train'd ranks are spreadin';
While awkward squads, without cockades,
Wi' ill-timed pace are treadin':
Here, washerwives, wi' ban'less tongues,
'Mang freathin' graith are splashin';
There, servant lasses, stark and young,
The stour frae carpets dashin',
Like reek, this day.
The weel-train'd ranks are spreadin';
While awkward squads, without cockades,
Wi' ill-timed pace are treadin':
Here, washerwives, wi' ban'less tongues,
'Mang freathin' graith are splashin';
There, servant lasses, stark and young,
The stour frae carpets dashin',
Like reek, this day.
Mark yon black gang, that daily thrang
Beside the jail, their hame,
Wi' visage din, japann'd wi' sin,
And void o' fear and shame!
While owre ilk motion, gleg as fire,
The police lads are watchin',
And, as light-finger'd deeds transpire,
Most dext'rously they're catchin'
Ilk blade this day.
Beside the jail, their hame,
Wi' visage din, japann'd wi' sin,
And void o' fear and shame!
While owre ilk motion, gleg as fire,
The police lads are watchin',
And, as light-finger'd deeds transpire,
Most dext'rously they're catchin'
Ilk blade this day.
Now troopin' to the warehouse, thrang
The wabsters skeichly bicker,
Some hopin' tap-room mirth ere lang,
While some are far mair sicker;
The men, victorious, on the van,
'Neath national burdens groanin';
The wives are tempted maist to ban,
While dearth o' tea bemoanin'
Right sair are they.
The wabsters skeichly bicker,
Some hopin' tap-room mirth ere lang,
While some are far mair sicker;
331
'Neath national burdens groanin';
The wives are tempted maist to ban,
While dearth o' tea bemoanin'
Right sair are they.
Hech! what a het'rogeneous scene,
Wi' business and wi' folly;
Some 'neath misfortune's burden grain,
While ithers rant fu' jolly.
Here skulks a chiel o' noble soul,
Wi' empty pouches pinin',
There struts a weel-clad jobbernowl,
Wha is on sirloins dinin'
Profuse ilk day.
Wi' business and wi' folly;
Some 'neath misfortune's burden grain,
While ithers rant fu' jolly.
Here skulks a chiel o' noble soul,
Wi' empty pouches pinin',
There struts a weel-clad jobbernowl,
Wha is on sirloins dinin'
Profuse ilk day.
Wi' bloomin' cheek, and manners meek,
Now lovely maids are seen
Neist tawdry bawds, the glaikit jades,
Wi' drumlie lustfu' een.
'Neath pond'rous burdens porters grain,
And sweat through stark oppression,
While stout gigantic tailors vain
Dose at their slim profession,
In ease, this day.
Now lovely maids are seen
Neist tawdry bawds, the glaikit jades,
Wi' drumlie lustfu' een.
'Neath pond'rous burdens porters grain,
And sweat through stark oppression,
While stout gigantic tailors vain
Dose at their slim profession,
In ease, this day.
Now scavengers, wi' clawts and brooms,
The streets are trimmin' tightly,
Whare sights less fair than fiel'-pea blooms
Are there deposed nightly.
The barbers glib, wi' razors keen,
Are beards and whiskers mawin';
And fill their fabs wi' cash fu' bien,
Though blood they're aften drawin'
Frae plouks this day.
The streets are trimmin' tightly,
Whare sights less fair than fiel'-pea blooms
Are there deposed nightly.
The barbers glib, wi' razors keen,
Are beards and whiskers mawin';
And fill their fabs wi' cash fu' bien,
Though blood they're aften drawin'
Frae plouks this day.
Hark! the wild skraich o' fishwives' snell
Rings echoin' up the closses;
And auctioneers, wi' wit right fell,
Joke owre the dyvours' losses.
Here fiddlers strike the dulcet strings,
By gapin' crowds surrounded,
And there a sair-maim'd sailor sings
How he in war was wounded,
Right loud, this day.
Rings echoin' up the closses;
And auctioneers, wi' wit right fell,
Joke owre the dyvours' losses.
Here fiddlers strike the dulcet strings,
By gapin' crowds surrounded,
And there a sair-maim'd sailor sings
How he in war was wounded,
Right loud, this day.
332
On this han' moves the solemn hearse
And sable-clad procession,
Whare gloom, beyond the power o' verse
To paint, hold full possession;
On that a chaise like lightning flies,
Scarce frae tap-gallop stoppin',
Whase inmates, bound in love's soft ties,
To Gretna-Green elopin'
Are, fast, this day.
And sable-clad procession,
Whare gloom, beyond the power o' verse
To paint, hold full possession;
On that a chaise like lightning flies,
Scarce frae tap-gallop stoppin',
Whase inmates, bound in love's soft ties,
To Gretna-Green elopin'
Are, fast, this day.
Wi' weavers and tambourers, thrang
The warehouse lobby's fillin',
Wha shore to leave the Corks ere lang,
Wi' scarce a single shillin'.
Some ware their mite wi' muckle mense,
'Gaint neist week's wants providin';
While ithers, void o' savin' sense,
Are State affairs decidin'
Owre th' ale this day.
The warehouse lobby's fillin',
Wha shore to leave the Corks ere lang,
Wi' scarce a single shillin'.
Some ware their mite wi' muckle mense,
'Gaint neist week's wants providin';
While ithers, void o' savin' sense,
Are State affairs decidin'
Owre th' ale this day.
Thrang, thrang the taproom boxes grow;
Ilk core for news is ca'in';
Some greedily a speldin' chow,
Some cut-and-dry are blawin';
On argument some enter keen,
And mark state errors primely;
And some, to physic aff the spleen,
Swill down the drink, sublimely,
In pints this day.
Ilk core for news is ca'in';
Some greedily a speldin' chow,
Some cut-and-dry are blawin';
On argument some enter keen,
And mark state errors primely;
And some, to physic aff the spleen,
Swill down the drink, sublimely,
In pints this day.
Hence starved and ragged wives and weans,
In want's drear hovels pinin',
While husbands are, wi' frantic brains,
In alehouse senates shinin':
Whare, spendin' cash, they drink and clash,
And Britain's weelfare plan;
Till speechless gabs and empty fabs
Break up the doilt divan,
When drunk are they.
In want's drear hovels pinin',
While husbands are, wi' frantic brains,
In alehouse senates shinin':
Whare, spendin' cash, they drink and clash,
And Britain's weelfare plan;
Till speechless gabs and empty fabs
Break up the doilt divan,
When drunk are they.
Waesucks! for Britain's frail state bark,
That aft to leeward veers,
Were she to ride the tempest dark
Mann'd by sic timoniers:
Though wi' misconduct aft her crew
Ha'e been severely branded,
Yet han's like thir, fu' weel I trow,
Had her completely stranded
Lang ere this day.
That aft to leeward veers,
Were she to ride the tempest dark
Mann'd by sic timoniers:
333
Ha'e been severely branded,
Yet han's like thir, fu' weel I trow,
Had her completely stranded
Lang ere this day.
The New Street like a beeskep bungs
In riot-like condition,
Whare butchers, wi' unhallow'd tongues,
For profit risk perdition:
Here ladies, wi' mercantile air,
Amang the stands are clav'rin',
While servants' faces plain declare,
They inly curse their hav'rin',
Sae vain, this day.
In riot-like condition,
Whare butchers, wi' unhallow'd tongues,
For profit risk perdition:
Here ladies, wi' mercantile air,
Amang the stands are clav'rin',
While servants' faces plain declare,
They inly curse their hav'rin',
Sae vain, this day.
Here struts a flunky, liv'ry-clad,
Fraught wi' a noble roast;
There flytes a souter's wife, half mad,
Anent a sheep's pluck's cost:
Some wauchle hame wi' sirloins fat
In baskets on their hainches,
While ithers cater for the pat
Guid fresh cow-heel, or painches
Fu' clean, this day.
Fraught wi' a noble roast;
There flytes a souter's wife, half mad,
Anent a sheep's pluck's cost:
Some wauchle hame wi' sirloins fat
In baskets on their hainches,
While ithers cater for the pat
Guid fresh cow-heel, or painches
Fu' clean, this day.
This day the Briggate hand-me-downs
Cleed mony strange riffrandies;
Poor, naked, scawt Hibernian louns
Come forth equipp'd like dandies;
Wi' backs to braid-claith strangers quite,
And hurdies to hale trews,
Nae wonder that they feel delight
When struttin in surtouts,
Right spree, this day.
Cleed mony strange riffrandies;
Poor, naked, scawt Hibernian louns
Come forth equipp'd like dandies;
Wi' backs to braid-claith strangers quite,
And hurdies to hale trews,
Nae wonder that they feel delight
When struttin in surtouts,
Right spree, this day.
Here too the kail-pat shops, sae bien,
Are in a perfect bustle,
Whare lab'rin' chaps, wi' stomachs keen,
For service strive and justle;
For soup and kail, and beef and ale,
A' airts at ance they're cryin',
While lasses rin, amidst the din,
To stop their mouths, a' fryin'
Wi' heat this day.
Are in a perfect bustle,
Whare lab'rin' chaps, wi' stomachs keen,
For service strive and justle;
For soup and kail, and beef and ale,
A' airts at ance they're cryin',
While lasses rin, amidst the din,
To stop their mouths, a' fryin'
Wi' heat this day.
334
Wersh waefu' gear he gets, wha here
Dines when the pats are eekit;
Sma' toil will he ha'e pith to dree—
Experience weel can speak it:
Half-hunger'd drabs, wi' tasteless gabs,
Amang sic graith may slabber;
To me a treat, before sic meat,
Beer-scones and bonny-clabber
Would be ilk day.
Dines when the pats are eekit;
Sma' toil will he ha'e pith to dree—
Experience weel can speak it:
Half-hunger'd drabs, wi' tasteless gabs,
Amang sic graith may slabber;
To me a treat, before sic meat,
Beer-scones and bonny-clabber
Would be ilk day.
Mark poverty, in countless forms,
Frae door to door slow creepin';
Sae toss'd by bitter fortune's storms,
Nae wonder that she's weepin'.
Some listen to her waefu' tale,
And cheer her abject face;
Some, haughty and unfeelin', rail,
Unmindfu' o' her case,
Sae sad, this day.
Frae door to door slow creepin';
Sae toss'd by bitter fortune's storms,
Nae wonder that she's weepin'.
Some listen to her waefu' tale,
And cheer her abject face;
Some, haughty and unfeelin', rail,
Unmindfu' o' her case,
Sae sad, this day.
Around the Poors' House, age and want
United, thrang are must'rin';
Their bodies frail, and faces gaunt,
Might quell youth's vogie blust'rin':
Hail! ye, o' heaven-expanded heart,
Wha plann'd this institution,
And sae judiciously impart,
Wi' weekly distribution,
Supply this day.
United, thrang are must'rin';
Their bodies frail, and faces gaunt,
Might quell youth's vogie blust'rin':
Hail! ye, o' heaven-expanded heart,
Wha plann'd this institution,
And sae judiciously impart,
Wi' weekly distribution,
Supply this day.
Fast frae his heicht the sultry sun
Down western skies is slidin',
While some for health, and some for fun,
On Clyde steam-boats are glidin':
Here tars, wi' faces black as sweeps',
Toil at the block and tackle;
And there the sharp tidewaiter keeps
Accounts o' rum and treacle,
Fu' sly, this day.
Down western skies is slidin',
While some for health, and some for fun,
On Clyde steam-boats are glidin':
Here tars, wi' faces black as sweeps',
Toil at the block and tackle;
And there the sharp tidewaiter keeps
Accounts o' rum and treacle,
Fu' sly, this day.
Blithe commerce here hauds a' a-steer,
To beet the back and wame,
And lets us pree the gusty bree
O' foreign lands at hame;
Here moors, weel stow'd, the herrin' yawl,
Graced wi' a guid sprit cable,
'Langside o' whilk the fishwives brawl
As a' the tongues o' Babel
Were lowsed this day.
To beet the back and wame,
And lets us pree the gusty bree
O' foreign lands at hame;
335
Graced wi' a guid sprit cable,
'Langside o' whilk the fishwives brawl
As a' the tongues o' Babel
Were lowsed this day.
Fu' mony a bing o' cod and ling
Lies here for sale right handy;
And barrels big, to let us swig
Dutch gin and fell French brandy:
A' kinds o' food, and drink, and drugs,
To fatten and to clean ye,
Ye'll get, that grow—I'll lay my lugs—
'Tween Ailsa Craig and China,
In rowth, ilk day.
Lies here for sale right handy;
And barrels big, to let us swig
Dutch gin and fell French brandy:
A' kinds o' food, and drink, and drugs,
To fatten and to clean ye,
Ye'll get, that grow—I'll lay my lugs—
'Tween Ailsa Craig and China,
In rowth, ilk day.
Now nicht throws east her dusky wing,
To rouse the thievish varlets,
And thrang frae a' the closses spring
Great troops o' lustfu' harlots;
Some, late enlisted in the trade,
Show beauty's fadin' roses;
While ithers, lang in lech'ry bred,
Display sair flatten'd noses,
At the lamps, this nicht.
To rouse the thievish varlets,
And thrang frae a' the closses spring
Great troops o' lustfu' harlots;
Some, late enlisted in the trade,
Show beauty's fadin' roses;
While ithers, lang in lech'ry bred,
Display sair flatten'd noses,
At the lamps, this nicht.
But here the Muse maun draw the screen,
For she recoils wi' scunner:
To paint the brothel's scenes obscene
Would gar e'en Pagans won'er!
Here, revelling till morning dawn
In odious dissipation,
They break the fetters o' comman',
And laugh at stark damnation
Baith nicht and day.
For she recoils wi' scunner:
To paint the brothel's scenes obscene
Would gar e'en Pagans won'er!
Here, revelling till morning dawn
In odious dissipation,
They break the fetters o' comman',
And laugh at stark damnation
Baith nicht and day.
In allusion to the farm servants—for pocket-money, not always spent by them in the most sober way—occasionally watering the milk on their way to the city.
Address to Line Water.
Dear stream, upon thy banks sae green
I pass'd my infant years away,
A sportive boy, wi' glancin' een,
And flaxen ringlets wavin' gay.
To gather pebbles purely white,
That in thy crystal waves did shine,
I aften waded wi' delight
Amang thy purlin' fords, O Line.
I pass'd my infant years away,
A sportive boy, wi' glancin' een,
And flaxen ringlets wavin' gay.
336
That in thy crystal waves did shine,
I aften waded wi' delight
Amang thy purlin' fords, O Line.
Then was unknown the frown o' care,
Then all was glad wi' pleasure's smile,
Then was not laid sly vice's snare,
For then it could not me beguile:
Day after day sped lightly on,
While but the present I did min',
And nought but Eden-bliss was known
By me, upon the banks o' Line.
Then all was glad wi' pleasure's smile,
Then was not laid sly vice's snare,
For then it could not me beguile:
Day after day sped lightly on,
While but the present I did min',
And nought but Eden-bliss was known
By me, upon the banks o' Line.
But human pleasures vanish fast
As morn's faint dawnin' frae the skies,
When bright the blazin' sun at last
Doth owre the gilt horizon rise;
And fair my morning's magic dawn
Awoke, foreshowin' no decline,
Till time display'd th' enchantin' lawn,
Delusive all, when far frae Line.
As morn's faint dawnin' frae the skies,
When bright the blazin' sun at last
Doth owre the gilt horizon rise;
And fair my morning's magic dawn
Awoke, foreshowin' no decline,
Till time display'd th' enchantin' lawn,
Delusive all, when far frae Line.
Half mix'd wi' pleasure and wi' woe,
Sensations strange my bosom burn,
When retrospection back doth throw
A look on joys ne'er to return.
Anticipation nought can spy
To equal those sweet days divine,
When, 'neath the summer evenin' sky,
I gambol'd on the banks o' Line.
Sensations strange my bosom burn,
When retrospection back doth throw
A look on joys ne'er to return.
Anticipation nought can spy
To equal those sweet days divine,
When, 'neath the summer evenin' sky,
I gambol'd on the banks o' Line.
Ah! who can tell whence springs in man
This veneration for the place
Where time to him her march began;
A love which nothing can efface?
Ah, none! but yet I feel the power
Around my heart the bands entwine,
Which shall, till life's last dreary hour,
Make dear to me thy banks, O Line.
This veneration for the place
Where time to him her march began;
A love which nothing can efface?
Ah, none! but yet I feel the power
Around my heart the bands entwine,
Which shall, till life's last dreary hour,
Make dear to me thy banks, O Line.
What though less deck'd wi' cooling shades
Of birks and aspens by thee waving?
What though the murmuring cascades
Be few, thy brink wi' eddies laving?
Yet dearer far than woods and rocks,
Where grandeur rude and gloom combine,
Are thy green mounds, where bleating flocks
Browse on thy lovely banks, O Line.
Of birks and aspens by thee waving?
What though the murmuring cascades
Be few, thy brink wi' eddies laving?
337
Where grandeur rude and gloom combine,
Are thy green mounds, where bleating flocks
Browse on thy lovely banks, O Line.
Could reason hope to find that joy
Which youth once felt serenely pure?
While I, an ambling harmless boy,
Roam'd artless wi' the fisher's lure!
To gain that pleasure, now all fled,
Each other aim I would resign;
And, roused to transport, fondly tread
Thy sweet, but distant banks, O Line.
Which youth once felt serenely pure?
While I, an ambling harmless boy,
Roam'd artless wi' the fisher's lure!
To gain that pleasure, now all fled,
Each other aim I would resign;
And, roused to transport, fondly tread
Thy sweet, but distant banks, O Line.
But no glad prospect opens bright
To gild sad sorrow's frowning gloom;
All seems a dark and dreary night,
And ended by the lonely tomb.
Still, while I tread the sterile ground,
I'll muse on joys I felt langsyne,
Which youth, ere known to care, hath found
Upon thy verdant banks, O Line.
To gild sad sorrow's frowning gloom;
All seems a dark and dreary night,
And ended by the lonely tomb.
Still, while I tread the sterile ground,
I'll muse on joys I felt langsyne,
Which youth, ere known to care, hath found
Upon thy verdant banks, O Line.
Robert Goscar, a shoemaker, at that time in the employment of the author's father, in West Linton, Peebles-shire.
An Address to Calder Water.
Hail, stream! by whose romantic side
The care-dispelling muse
First pour'd the rapture-raising tide
Of pleasure so profuse!
To me thy banks are ever gay,
At sober eve or rising day;
Whether the gladsome smile of spring
Excite the tuneful train to sing—
Or summer deck the cooling bowers
With sweetly simple woodland flowers—
Or autumn blight with yellow hue
Thy verdant shades, so fair to view—
Or winter, howling through the air,
Wild, from thy trees the foliage tear:
For still with thee I friendship claim;
A friendship warm—sublime;
Remote from pride, remote from fame,
Where pleasure's harp doth chime!
The care-dispelling muse
First pour'd the rapture-raising tide
Of pleasure so profuse!
To me thy banks are ever gay,
At sober eve or rising day;
Whether the gladsome smile of spring
Excite the tuneful train to sing—
Or summer deck the cooling bowers
With sweetly simple woodland flowers—
Or autumn blight with yellow hue
Thy verdant shades, so fair to view—
Or winter, howling through the air,
Wild, from thy trees the foliage tear:
338
A friendship warm—sublime;
Remote from pride, remote from fame,
Where pleasure's harp doth chime!
Ofttimes, among thy birken shades,
In pensive musing mood,
Or on thy primrose-tinted glades,
I've roam'd in solitude.
While fancy's scenes I stray'd among,
Melodious flow'd the blackbird's song;
And, faintly falling on the ear,
Was heard the linn, of cadence drear;
And Phœbus, beaming on the rocks,
Display'd their loosely-waving locks
Of ivy, brier, birk, and broom,
Of pleasant scent and beauteous bloom,
Where sweetly humm'd the honey-bee,
Unheard, unseen, to all but me,
Who there would pass the moments fleet,
Till, through the waving trees,
At Sol's decline, soft zephyr, sweet,
Would pour the fanning breeze.
In pensive musing mood,
Or on thy primrose-tinted glades,
I've roam'd in solitude.
While fancy's scenes I stray'd among,
Melodious flow'd the blackbird's song;
And, faintly falling on the ear,
Was heard the linn, of cadence drear;
And Phœbus, beaming on the rocks,
Display'd their loosely-waving locks
Of ivy, brier, birk, and broom,
Of pleasant scent and beauteous bloom,
Where sweetly humm'd the honey-bee,
Unheard, unseen, to all but me,
Who there would pass the moments fleet,
Till, through the waving trees,
At Sol's decline, soft zephyr, sweet,
Would pour the fanning breeze.
Soft swelling, 'mong the echoing rocks,
At ruddy, beaming morn,
In pursuit of the robber fox,
The huntsman blows the horn;
While, loud, the clam'rous noise of hounds
Among the woods and rocks resounds.
Sly reynard tries, with every guile,
The murd'rers from his path to wile;
Oft in thy streams, to kill the track,
He treads, to cheat the fatal pack,
Who, yelling, scent; but all in vain;
No tainted air thy fords retain;
While he, far on the upland heath,
By thee rescued, escapes from death:
But, like the felon freed from jail,
With nature unsubdued,
He makes the shepherd sore bewail
His plund'ring deeds renew'd.
At ruddy, beaming morn,
In pursuit of the robber fox,
The huntsman blows the horn;
While, loud, the clam'rous noise of hounds
Among the woods and rocks resounds.
Sly reynard tries, with every guile,
The murd'rers from his path to wile;
Oft in thy streams, to kill the track,
He treads, to cheat the fatal pack,
Who, yelling, scent; but all in vain;
No tainted air thy fords retain;
While he, far on the upland heath,
By thee rescued, escapes from death:
But, like the felon freed from jail,
With nature unsubdued,
He makes the shepherd sore bewail
His plund'ring deeds renew'd.
339
Far dearer themes the muse can spy,
In lovely hues pourtray'd—
The lovers, warm with beaming eye,
Beneath the birken shade;
There, breathing soft the mutual flame,
Devoid of every vicious aim,
While all the mystic charms of feeling
Across their raptured souls are stealing,
And cheerful hope's propitious smile
Down life's long vista beams the while.
Long may such lovely scenes pervade
Thy every meadow, grove, and glade,
From where thou leav'st the bleak muir side
Down to the fertile banks of Clyde.
Hail, Calder! ever dear to me,
As on thy banks I stray,
Still roams the muse, in ecstasy,
On boundless wing, away!
In lovely hues pourtray'd—
The lovers, warm with beaming eye,
Beneath the birken shade;
There, breathing soft the mutual flame,
Devoid of every vicious aim,
While all the mystic charms of feeling
Across their raptured souls are stealing,
And cheerful hope's propitious smile
Down life's long vista beams the while.
Long may such lovely scenes pervade
Thy every meadow, grove, and glade,
From where thou leav'st the bleak muir side
Down to the fertile banks of Clyde.
Hail, Calder! ever dear to me,
As on thy banks I stray,
Still roams the muse, in ecstasy,
On boundless wing, away!
An Address to the Mains Castle.
Auld, lanely, dull, and eldritch tower,
Thou lang wi' time hast warsled dour,
And tholed the pith o' mony a shower,
Rain, hail, and snaw:
Far distant be the destined hour
Whan thou maun fa'.
Thou lang wi' time hast warsled dour,
And tholed the pith o' mony a shower,
Rain, hail, and snaw:
Far distant be the destined hour
Whan thou maun fa'.
Disjeskit, like some faithless Jew,
Thy ha's are visited by few,
Except the howlet and the dow,
Wha haunt thy wa's;
Or thy black correspondin' yew,
The bield o' craws.
Thy ha's are visited by few,
Except the howlet and the dow,
Wha haunt thy wa's;
Or thy black correspondin' yew,
The bield o' craws.
To after times thou handest doun
The tricks o' vile Dunrode, the loon!
Wha fley'd the kintra roun' and roun'
Wi' cruel deeds;
By him, some 'neath the ice did drown,
Some tint their heads.
The tricks o' vile Dunrode, the loon!
Wha fley'd the kintra roun' and roun'
Wi' cruel deeds;
By him, some 'neath the ice did drown,
Some tint their heads.
340
And thou can witness bear thysel'
That aft, within thy gloomy cell,
Forth issues mony an irksome yell
Frae restless spectres,
Wha in your eerie chaumers dwell,
And haud their lectures.
That aft, within thy gloomy cell,
Forth issues mony an irksome yell
Frae restless spectres,
Wha in your eerie chaumers dwell,
And haud their lectures.
Whan winter frae the stormy wast
Drives o'er the plains the roarin' blast,
And clouds the yellow moon o'ercast,
Then, in thy biggin,
The whoop and yell o' ghaists ring fast
Frae floor to riggin'.
Drives o'er the plains the roarin' blast,
And clouds the yellow moon o'ercast,
Then, in thy biggin,
The whoop and yell o' ghaists ring fast
Frae floor to riggin'.
Aft roun' thy wa's the fairies meet,
And haud their balls, to music sweet:
They bob and wheel, wi' motion fleet,
Till Crawford granes;
Syne aff they scour, wi' lichtsome feet,
Across the plains.
And haud their balls, to music sweet:
They bob and wheel, wi' motion fleet,
Till Crawford granes;
Syne aff they scour, wi' lichtsome feet,
Across the plains.
And nightly, in thy murky cell,
Grim Hecate, wi' her hags o' hell,
Wi' gruesome charm and cantrip spell,
Stirs Dunrode up,
To drink the sour ingredients fell
O' their cursed cup.
Grim Hecate, wi' her hags o' hell,
Wi' gruesome charm and cantrip spell,
Stirs Dunrode up,
To drink the sour ingredients fell
O' their cursed cup.
I see the tortured monster stan',
Wi' the black bicker in his han',
Obedient to their stern comman',
Scour aff his potion,
While roun' him laughs the wrunkled ban',
Wi' de'il devotion.
Wi' the black bicker in his han',
Obedient to their stern comman',
Scour aff his potion,
While roun' him laughs the wrunkled ban',
Wi' de'il devotion.
Ilk gruesome grub and reptile vile
That shelters in auld Scotland's isle
In scunnersome hotch-potch they boil,
To feast the villain!
Whilk brings to min' his acts o' guile
Done in this dwellin'.
That shelters in auld Scotland's isle
In scunnersome hotch-potch they boil,
To feast the villain!
Whilk brings to min' his acts o' guile
Done in this dwellin'.
The ghaists o' them he wrang'd before
Rehearse his wicked tricks o' yore;
Wi' horror sweatin' at ilk pore
Hell's fire he feels;
Till, breinge, the broom-staves o' the core
Upon him reels.
Rehearse his wicked tricks o' yore;
341
Hell's fire he feels;
Till, breinge, the broom-staves o' the core
Upon him reels.
“Swith!” loud they cry, wi' eerie skirl,
And aff to Styx the skellum whirl;
Syne Hecate on the roof doth dirl,
Wi' 'chantress'-wan',
And, quick, at her conjurin' tirl,
They flee aff-han'.
And aff to Styx the skellum whirl;
Syne Hecate on the roof doth dirl,
Wi' 'chantress'-wan',
And, quick, at her conjurin' tirl,
They flee aff-han'.
Thus pass the dreary nights away
Of mony a dull and cheerless day
Within thy caverns cauld and grey,
Till echo rings,
Roused by the cock's shrill morning lay,
When twilight springs.
Of mony a dull and cheerless day
Within thy caverns cauld and grey,
Till echo rings,
Roused by the cock's shrill morning lay,
When twilight springs.
In feudal pride, frae aff thy wa'
A score o' his ain pleughs he saw,
Drawn by his milk-white horses braw,
On his ain lawn;
And yet, watreck, he met his fa'
Frae his ain han'.
A score o' his ain pleughs he saw,
Drawn by his milk-white horses braw,
On his ain lawn;
And yet, watreck, he met his fa'
Frae his ain han'.
Cursed by the laws o' God and man,
Frae ill to waur the tyrant ran,
Till Ruin's fell Herculean han',
Past a' remead,
Low laid him, ghastly, pale, and wan,
Amang the dead!
Frae ill to waur the tyrant ran,
Till Ruin's fell Herculean han',
Past a' remead,
Low laid him, ghastly, pale, and wan,
Amang the dead!
For, ere he bade the yirth fareweel,
The wretch had neither hame nor biel',
But died, like ony beggar chiel',
For fau't o' meat;
Syne slippit to his frien' the de'il—
Oh, vile retreat!
The wretch had neither hame nor biel',
But died, like ony beggar chiel',
For fau't o' meat;
Syne slippit to his frien' the de'il—
Oh, vile retreat!
And now, auld venerable ruin,
Keen winter's sleety blasts are brewin',
Wha, gut and ga' indignant spewin',
May blaw thee owre,
A rubbish heap, through days ensuin',
'Neath Time's grim power.
Keen winter's sleety blasts are brewin',
Wha, gut and ga' indignant spewin',
May blaw thee owre,
A rubbish heap, through days ensuin',
'Neath Time's grim power.
342
An Address to the Kirktoun Pharisees.
Hech, sirs! how lang will discord rule ye?
And Satan, wi' his wiles, befool ye?
Wha keeps ye in malignant broolyie
O' girnin' ire;
And, whan he does your comfort spoolyie,
Legs aff like fire.
And Satan, wi' his wiles, befool ye?
Wha keeps ye in malignant broolyie
O' girnin' ire;
And, whan he does your comfort spoolyie,
Legs aff like fire.
“Was e'er in Scotlan' heard or seen,”
'Twixt Johnnie Groats and Gretna Green,
Sic hatred fell, and bitin' spleen,
In ony flock?
The tear stan's in religion's een
At sic a shock.
'Twixt Johnnie Groats and Gretna Green,
Sic hatred fell, and bitin' spleen,
In ony flock?
The tear stan's in religion's een
At sic a shock.
Ne'er, since the days o' Johnnie Knox,
Wha rear'd our temple orthodox,
Were sic unchristian jeers and mocks
Gi'en ane anither;
Some swear “their zeal is a' a hoax
O' pride thegither.”
Wha rear'd our temple orthodox,
Were sic unchristian jeers and mocks
Gi'en ane anither;
Some swear “their zeal is a' a hoax
O' pride thegither.”
Ilk sheep that feeds by glen or hill,
'Tween Logoch-moor and Nerston-mill,
Lament that death, wi' dagger chill,
Your herd has slain!
Wha fed you aye wi' care and skill;
But now he's gane!
'Tween Logoch-moor and Nerston-mill,
Lament that death, wi' dagger chill,
Your herd has slain!
Wha fed you aye wi' care and skill;
But now he's gane!
For never wad he let you stray
Amang the mires o' heresy,
Whare some Socinian sharp craw-tae
Might lie unseen;
But aye on Calvin's sunny brae
O' pasture green.
Amang the mires o' heresy,
Whare some Socinian sharp craw-tae
Might lie unseen;
But aye on Calvin's sunny brae
O' pasture green.
Nae tod nor corbie e'er durst venture
Within your bught or fauld to enter;
Ilk silly ewe he'd cannie tent her,
For fear o' skaith,
Or snugly in some out-house pent her,
To draw her breath.
Within your bught or fauld to enter;
Ilk silly ewe he'd cannie tent her,
For fear o' skaith,
Or snugly in some out-house pent her,
To draw her breath.
343
But now, alake! on ilka brae
We hear scaith'd ewies sairly mae,
Wha've fawn to lawless tups a prey—
Brutes void o' conscience;
Sair will they rue the luckless day
They wroucht sic nonsense.
We hear scaith'd ewies sairly mae,
Wha've fawn to lawless tups a prey—
Brutes void o' conscience;
Sair will they rue the luckless day
They wroucht sic nonsense.
Your neist new herd your kail will cool,
Because ye thus ha'e play'd the fool;
He'll perch ye on the creepie-stool,
That seat o' fame,
To whinge and sab, and cry, oh dool!
And sweat wi' shame.
Because ye thus ha'e play'd the fool;
He'll perch ye on the creepie-stool,
That seat o' fame,
To whinge and sab, and cry, oh dool!
And sweat wi' shame.
And waesocks! now, for M---e L---ke,
How will she stan' this fatal shock?
Ye've torn the rowan aff her rock,
Wi' stainchless greed;
Ye've gi'en her trade a deadly stroke,
And spoil'd her bread.
How will she stan' this fatal shock?
Ye've torn the rowan aff her rock,
Wi' stainchless greed;
Ye've gi'en her trade a deadly stroke,
And spoil'd her bread.
I doubt, my frien's, your clishmaclaver
'Bout extra zeal is a' a haver,
For mony a rude and drunken shaver
Has join'd your clan;
A slower pace and visage graver
Ne'er saint a man.
'Bout extra zeal is a' a haver,
For mony a rude and drunken shaver
Has join'd your clan;
A slower pace and visage graver
Ne'er saint a man.
Whaever thinks a lengthen'd face
Is a ne'er-failin' sign o' grace,
Will some day sairly turn the chase
Upon their creed;
'Tis fools that do this test embrace—
Ay! fools indeed.
Is a ne'er-failin' sign o' grace,
Will some day sairly turn the chase
Upon their creed;
'Tis fools that do this test embrace—
Ay! fools indeed.
Nae mair, in warmth o' holy zeal,
Ye fervent pray for ithers' weal,
Or Charity's thick mantle sweel
About their failin's;
But trumpet, loud as ye can squeel,
Their knavish dealin's.
Ye fervent pray for ithers' weal,
Or Charity's thick mantle sweel
About their failin's;
But trumpet, loud as ye can squeel,
Their knavish dealin's.
I fear your sanctimonious faces,
Your whinings grave, at burial graces,
Your wild, devotional grimaces,
And eldritch gesture,
Were but the quirks o' hell's sly preses,
Your lang-served maister.
Your whinings grave, at burial graces,
344
And eldritch gesture,
Were but the quirks o' hell's sly preses,
Your lang-served maister.
Hypocrisy! thou arrant rogue,
Why thus molest our synagogue?
Why, serpent-like, thus lie incog.
Your frien's to slay?
Avaunt! thou impious demagogue,
Fast! fast away!
Why thus molest our synagogue?
Why, serpent-like, thus lie incog.
Your frien's to slay?
Avaunt! thou impious demagogue,
Fast! fast away!
O Justice, man! come back amang us,
And clout the loons wha sairly wrang us;
For grim extortion will o'ergang us—
Sae will ambition;
And waukit conscience tint its stang has,
And's near perdition.
And clout the loons wha sairly wrang us;
For grim extortion will o'ergang us—
Sae will ambition;
And waukit conscience tint its stang has,
And's near perdition.
Ye auld bell-wathers, grave and sage,
Sworn faes, till death, 'gainst patronage,
Be hoolie! lest your holy rage
Create a split;
Your conduct something doth presage
That's extra yet.
Sworn faes, till death, 'gainst patronage,
Be hoolie! lest your holy rage
Create a split;
Your conduct something doth presage
That's extra yet.
And if ye disunite the core,
Fareweel to freedom evermore!
Ye'll sweat, in wrath, at every pore,
And curse the day
That frae your guid auld mither's door
Ye went astray.
Fareweel to freedom evermore!
Ye'll sweat, in wrath, at every pore,
And curse the day
That frae your guid auld mither's door
Ye went astray.
Fu' weel I ken ye'd ne'er rebel,
Nor, girnin', shaw your rancour fell
'Gainst patronage; gif ye yoursel'
But ruled the roast,
Ye'd turn the spate, baith snack and snell,
At ithers' cost.
Nor, girnin', shaw your rancour fell
'Gainst patronage; gif ye yoursel'
But ruled the roast,
Ye'd turn the spate, baith snack and snell,
At ithers' cost.
O conscience, had ye but a hearin',
Ye'd gi'e thae pawkie loons a clearin',
Wha murgon us wi' gibin', jeerin',
And gar us greet;
Their Janus-faces wad appear then
A vile black leet.
Ye'd gi'e thae pawkie loons a clearin',
Wha murgon us wi' gibin', jeerin',
And gar us greet;
Their Janus-faces wad appear then
A vile black leet.
345
Syne wad we ken what wiles and quirks,
What queer intrigues, and faulds and lirks,
Are used by them wha rule the kirks,
To raise their fame;
And how they wield black scandal's dirks,
And vice declaim.
What queer intrigues, and faulds and lirks,
Are used by them wha rule the kirks,
To raise their fame;
And how they wield black scandal's dirks,
And vice declaim.
For a' your fervent clubs o' prayer,
At whilk ye aft did rout and rair,
The soun' is hush'd for evermair
Out o' this place;
Oh, worthy frien's, I doubt it sair,
Your fawn frae grace.
At whilk ye aft did rout and rair,
The soun' is hush'd for evermair
Out o' this place;
Oh, worthy frien's, I doubt it sair,
Your fawn frae grace.
Sin' Robin Aiton's worthy head
Was laid amang the silent dead,
The tempter, wi' malignant feid,
Has won amang ye,
And garr'd ye rive in rags your creed—
And, trugs, he'll bang ye!
Was laid amang the silent dead,
The tempter, wi' malignant feid,
Has won amang ye,
And garr'd ye rive in rags your creed—
And, trugs, he'll bang ye!
Nae mair the tailor's zealous face
Presides within the holy place;
The change is great—alase! alase!
We see him now,
In drunken meetings, next the brace,
Aft spewin' fu'.
Presides within the holy place;
The change is great—alase! alase!
We see him now,
In drunken meetings, next the brace,
Aft spewin' fu'.
And mony ithers, I am tauld,
Wha o' their gifts were crouse and bauld,
Hae turn'd out, now, luke-warm—yea, cauld
As boards o' ice;
Sae fares our nei'bour gospel fauld,
By Nick's device.
Wha o' their gifts were crouse and bauld,
Hae turn'd out, now, luke-warm—yea, cauld
As boards o' ice;
Sae fares our nei'bour gospel fauld,
By Nick's device.
But, guidsake, sirs! repair this skaith,
Before that ye resign your breath;
For, gin stern fate ance gi'e his aith,
He'll no draw back;
Repentance that's delay'd till death
'S no worth a plack.
Before that ye resign your breath;
For, gin stern fate ance gi'e his aith,
He'll no draw back;
Repentance that's delay'd till death
'S no worth a plack.
346
Lynda and Dormac of Cassimere.
At Achnagar, on Indus' strand,
The paradise of India's land,
Dwelt Lynda, pride of all the plain,
Who vice did treat still with disdain;
For her full many a heart did sigh,
For her was moisten'd many an eye;
And many tales of love she heard,
And was the theme of many a bard;
Yet unavailing all was still,
For reason sway'd her pliant will.
On her the sun ne'er vertic shone;
She ne'er traversed the torrid zone;
From home no farther she'd appear
Than the clear lake of Cassimere;
Or hills which Cabul do surround,
To mark the roving Tartars' bound.
The paradise of India's land,
Dwelt Lynda, pride of all the plain,
Who vice did treat still with disdain;
For her full many a heart did sigh,
For her was moisten'd many an eye;
And many tales of love she heard,
And was the theme of many a bard;
Yet unavailing all was still,
For reason sway'd her pliant will.
On her the sun ne'er vertic shone;
She ne'er traversed the torrid zone;
From home no farther she'd appear
Than the clear lake of Cassimere;
Or hills which Cabul do surround,
To mark the roving Tartars' bound.
In rich palanquin would she ride,
With eastern pomp, without its pride;
Or lonely by the river rove,
And list the music of the grove:
She to religion did incline,
While that with mercy would combine;
But rites contained in Brahma's code
She thought offended nature's God.
With eastern pomp, without its pride;
Or lonely by the river rove,
And list the music of the grove:
She to religion did incline,
While that with mercy would combine;
But rites contained in Brahma's code
She thought offended nature's God.
If e'er on earth was beauty's queen,
Young Lynda was the same, I ween,
And the great boast of Cyprus' isle
Had disappear'd in Lynda's smile.
The Grecian bards had changed their theme,
Had they beheld this nymph supreme.
Young Lynda was the same, I ween,
And the great boast of Cyprus' isle
Had disappear'd in Lynda's smile.
The Grecian bards had changed their theme,
Had they beheld this nymph supreme.
The fame of Lynda swiftly spread,
Which to her many lovers led;
'Mong whom did to her mansion steer
Young Dormac, Prince of Cassimere;
Charm'd by her captivating grace,
He thought her scarce of mortal race.
She night and day was in his mind;
In nothing could he pleasure find,
Save in the company of her
Whom he did to all earth prefer.
'Mong India's beauties found he none
He could admire but her alone;
And oft in transport he'd extol
This only darling of his soul.
He sued that she would be his wife,
For with her was his joy in life;
Placed all his riches in her power,
Which heaven abundantly did shower;
So, after many a fond essay,
They set the pompous nuptial day.
Which to her many lovers led;
'Mong whom did to her mansion steer
Young Dormac, Prince of Cassimere;
Charm'd by her captivating grace,
He thought her scarce of mortal race.
She night and day was in his mind;
In nothing could he pleasure find,
347
Whom he did to all earth prefer.
'Mong India's beauties found he none
He could admire but her alone;
And oft in transport he'd extol
This only darling of his soul.
He sued that she would be his wife,
For with her was his joy in life;
Placed all his riches in her power,
Which heaven abundantly did shower;
So, after many a fond essay,
They set the pompous nuptial day.
“Oh, well-away! sweet Lynda cried,
Could not young Dormac be denied?
Ah, no! the potent god of love
Can every obstacle remove.
Methinks I could, without a sigh,
Hear the grave Bramin's deathless tie;
And, should my Dormac first expire,
I'd mount for him the fatal pyre,
And thus would I resign my breath
With him whom I do love to death.”
Could not young Dormac be denied?
Ah, no! the potent god of love
Can every obstacle remove.
Methinks I could, without a sigh,
Hear the grave Bramin's deathless tie;
And, should my Dormac first expire,
I'd mount for him the fatal pyre,
And thus would I resign my breath
With him whom I do love to death.”
The day arrived, and Dormac came
His greatest earthly bliss to claim,
In all the glow of eastern grandeur,
Of Soubah-pride and garnish'd splendour;
With stately elephants, array'd
In golden tissue, rich display'd;
And Lynda left her sire's abode,
And with her Dormac homeward rode,
In all the flush of nuptial joy,
Devoid of mixture or alloy.
But wild revenge did rudely rave
In Vender's bosom, of Devave,
Whose love, rejected, turn'd to hate,
And seal'd the lovers' bloody fate.
A Tartar leader he had been,
Who many foughten fields had seen;
But insurrection made him leave
Parch'd Eskerdu for green Devave:
There heard he of gay Lynda's fame,
And off in suit of her he came,
Who loathed his rude unpolish'd look,
And still his company forsook.
His greatest earthly bliss to claim,
In all the glow of eastern grandeur,
Of Soubah-pride and garnish'd splendour;
With stately elephants, array'd
In golden tissue, rich display'd;
And Lynda left her sire's abode,
And with her Dormac homeward rode,
In all the flush of nuptial joy,
Devoid of mixture or alloy.
But wild revenge did rudely rave
In Vender's bosom, of Devave,
Whose love, rejected, turn'd to hate,
And seal'd the lovers' bloody fate.
A Tartar leader he had been,
Who many foughten fields had seen;
But insurrection made him leave
Parch'd Eskerdu for green Devave:
There heard he of gay Lynda's fame,
And off in suit of her he came,
348
And still his company forsook.
He hired a band of ruffians vile,
Who traced the marriage route the while,
Till it arrived at Cassimere,
And enter'd Dormac's castle there,
Whence rang the sound of festival,
Both night and day, within the hall;
Such mirth as hotter blew the fire
Of Vender's breast, deep fraught with ire:
For he ere long did strike the blow
Which turn'd this joy to deepest woe.
Who traced the marriage route the while,
Till it arrived at Cassimere,
And enter'd Dormac's castle there,
Whence rang the sound of festival,
Both night and day, within the hall;
Such mirth as hotter blew the fire
Of Vender's breast, deep fraught with ire:
For he ere long did strike the blow
Which turn'd this joy to deepest woe.
One day this lovely pair did rove
Within the fragrant cooling grove,
Beside the clear unruffled lake,
And, sweet, of mutual love they spake:
But Vender, with his ruthless band,
Did lie in ambush nigh at hand,
Who rush'd upon the hapless pair,
And instantly did slay them there.
No pity did the caitiff show,
For Vender pity never knew,
Else had mild Lynda's angel face
Deterr'd him from his purpose base.
He sank their bodies in the lake,
And did himself to flight betake.
The servants all in Dormac's dome
Did weary for their coming home:
The night arrived, but came not they;
The sun arose with radiant ray,
But Dormac, with his Lynda sweet,
Return'd no more, their friends to greet.
The wood was search'd all round and round,
But the fond pair could not be found:
Hence goes this tale through Cassimere,
That they were tired of staying here,
And had fled up into the air,
To dwell along with Bramah there.
Within the fragrant cooling grove,
Beside the clear unruffled lake,
And, sweet, of mutual love they spake:
But Vender, with his ruthless band,
Did lie in ambush nigh at hand,
Who rush'd upon the hapless pair,
And instantly did slay them there.
No pity did the caitiff show,
For Vender pity never knew,
Else had mild Lynda's angel face
Deterr'd him from his purpose base.
He sank their bodies in the lake,
And did himself to flight betake.
The servants all in Dormac's dome
Did weary for their coming home:
The night arrived, but came not they;
The sun arose with radiant ray,
But Dormac, with his Lynda sweet,
Return'd no more, their friends to greet.
The wood was search'd all round and round,
But the fond pair could not be found:
Hence goes this tale through Cassimere,
That they were tired of staying here,
And had fled up into the air,
To dwell along with Bramah there.
349
LAMENT On the Dearth of Tobacco.
Frien's o' the spleuchan and the mull,
Come, let us join, wi' true good-will,
To forward a Tobacco Bill
To Parliament;
Nor cease to pray and flyte, until
Some aid be sent.
Come, let us join, wi' true good-will,
To forward a Tobacco Bill
To Parliament;
Nor cease to pray and flyte, until
Some aid be sent.
Guid-guide's! was e'er the like o't heard?
Frae that sma' weed to be debarr'd!
Is this the promised great reward
They shored us lang,
Wha did them and their country guard
Frae en'mies strang?
Frae that sma' weed to be debarr'd!
Is this the promised great reward
They shored us lang,
Wha did them and their country guard
Frae en'mies strang?
Awa'! we winna be content
Till they've done something thereanent:
For instance, ta'en three-score per cent.
Aff our Tobacco:
That wad be news 'tween this and Lent
For folk to crack o'!
Till they've done something thereanent:
For instance, ta'en three-score per cent.
Aff our Tobacco:
That wad be news 'tween this and Lent
For folk to crack o'!
Drinkers may mourn the dearth o' maut,
And curers grudge the price o' saut,
And miser's dread they'll die for faut,
Wi' ruefu' face;
But mulls and spleuchans toom to claut
'S a sadder case.
And curers grudge the price o' saut,
And miser's dread they'll die for faut,
Wi' ruefu' face;
But mulls and spleuchans toom to claut
'S a sadder case.
Wow, sirs! it pains the heart indeed
To be deprived o' what we need:
Oh! had that dear Virginian weed
Ne'er cross'd the waves!
But what sair words? since we're decreed
To be its slaves.
To be deprived o' what we need:
Oh! had that dear Virginian weed
Ne'er cross'd the waves!
But what sair words? since we're decreed
To be its slaves.
Scarce dare ane tak' a pinch o' snuff,
Or, wi' a lichted pipe, play fuff,
Beside a jug o' reamin' stuff,
In taprooms snug,
Lest famine for a fortnight cuff
Our sairest lug.
Or, wi' a lichted pipe, play fuff,
Beside a jug o' reamin' stuff,
In taprooms snug,
Lest famine for a fortnight cuff
Our sairest lug.
350
O Ministers o' our frail state,
Whase word can stamp the bill o' fate,
Nae langer wrangle and debate,
Wi' logic skill,
Else we maun starve, “nae distant date,”
Wha toom the mull!
Whase word can stamp the bill o' fate,
Nae langer wrangle and debate,
Wi' logic skill,
Else we maun starve, “nae distant date,”
Wha toom the mull!
Nae doubt but cash ye sairly need;
But letna greenin' turn to greed;
Weel we supported that sad feid
Ye had wi' France,
By whilk ye've led us a' indeed
A bonnie dance.
But letna greenin' turn to greed;
Weel we supported that sad feid
Ye had wi' France,
By whilk ye've led us a' indeed
A bonnie dance.
The waes o' war we lang did mourn,
And pray'd that peace might soon return;
But, och! in famine's dreary urn
Her blessings lie,
And hafflins we the favour spurn,
Wi' grieved sigh.
And pray'd that peace might soon return;
But, och! in famine's dreary urn
Her blessings lie,
And hafflins we the favour spurn,
Wi' grieved sigh.
Owre ruin's deep abyss ye hover:
Retrench, retrench! or, faith, ye're over!
Ilk placeman snib, that wons 'tween Dover
And Johnnie Groats;
Likewise Clan-W---fe, frae poor Hanover,
Might wear waur coats.
Retrench, retrench! or, faith, ye're over!
Ilk placeman snib, that wons 'tween Dover
And Johnnie Groats;
Likewise Clan-W---fe, frae poor Hanover,
Might wear waur coats.
Syne might cash in our pouches jingle,
And ilka nerve wi' pleasure tingle,
And folk in social pleasure mingle,
To break a joke,
While seated round the bleezin' ingle,
To tak' their smoke.
And ilka nerve wi' pleasure tingle,
And folk in social pleasure mingle,
To break a joke,
While seated round the bleezin' ingle,
To tak' their smoke.
But, leezanee! I greatly doubt
This change will never come about:
Our statesmen may baith darn and clout
The constitution,
Yet rapid comes, beyond dispute,
Its dissolution.
This change will never come about:
Our statesmen may baith darn and clout
The constitution,
Yet rapid comes, beyond dispute,
Its dissolution.
The curse o' debt hings owre the nation,
Beyond the power o' liquation:
A thousand millions! what taxation
Could stap its gab?
Item—a sultan-coronation,
To fleece our fab!
Beyond the power o' liquation:
351
Could stap its gab?
Item—a sultan-coronation,
To fleece our fab!
Oh war! thou offspring of the devil,
And source o' mony a waefu' evil,
Whether thou foreign be or civil,
Want's in thy train;
Hence dear Tobacco will us grieve still—
A matchless bane.
And source o' mony a waefu' evil,
Whether thou foreign be or civil,
Want's in thy train;
Hence dear Tobacco will us grieve still—
A matchless bane.
Whi'sonmonday.
Whan summer's e'e beams o'er the lea,
To cleed the fields wi' green,
And blithesome lambs frisk roun' their dams,
Whilk charms the shepherds' een;
As blithe and thrang as youngsters spang
To a Communion Sunday,
The kintra roun' swear care to drown,
By haudin' Whi'sonmonday,
Fu' brisk and gay.
To cleed the fields wi' green,
And blithesome lambs frisk roun' their dams,
Whilk charms the shepherds' een;
As blithe and thrang as youngsters spang
To a Communion Sunday,
The kintra roun' swear care to drown,
By haudin' Whi'sonmonday,
Fu' brisk and gay.
Scarce had the laverocks tuned their throats,
To hail the risin' sun,
Whan owre the fields, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses had begun
To airt straucht aff to Glasgow-town,
Their trysted joes to see;
Or buy a braw new cap or gown,
Wi' the orras o' their fee,
Aff-hand that day.
To hail the risin' sun,
Whan owre the fields, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses had begun
To airt straucht aff to Glasgow-town,
Their trysted joes to see;
Or buy a braw new cap or gown,
Wi' the orras o' their fee,
Aff-hand that day.
But yonder comes the highlan'-clan!
Careerin' down the hill;
The tough-lung'd piper leads the van,
Wha thrums his chanter shrill;
At “owre the hills and far awa'”
He blaws wi' Gaelic fire,
Whilk raises in their bosoms a'
A hame-sent warm desire,
Wi' zeal that day.
Careerin' down the hill;
The tough-lung'd piper leads the van,
Wha thrums his chanter shrill;
352
He blaws wi' Gaelic fire,
Whilk raises in their bosoms a'
A hame-sent warm desire,
Wi' zeal that day.
Rude cowpers, wi' their livin' stock,
Alang the roads now scour,
While poor, less skeich, but better folk,
Maun toddle through the stour;
Yet thae maun ha'e, to quench their drouth,
Guid rum or sunkots better;
While thir get noucht, to weet their mouth,
But sma' swipes or sheuch water
On sic a day.
Alang the roads now scour,
While poor, less skeich, but better folk,
Maun toddle through the stour;
Yet thae maun ha'e, to quench their drouth,
Guid rum or sunkots better;
While thir get noucht, to weet their mouth,
But sma' swipes or sheuch water
On sic a day.
Forth comes a breinge o' kintra beaux,
Wi' siller graith a' glancin';
Thought erst broucht up 'mang rags and brose,
They're now on race-horse prancin';
Oh waefu' pride! thou's ill to bide;
Thou mak's fools sae uncivil,
They'll cry, “by G---, quick, clear the road,
Or else we'll to the devil
You ride this day.”
Wi' siller graith a' glancin';
Thought erst broucht up 'mang rags and brose,
They're now on race-horse prancin';
Oh waefu' pride! thou's ill to bide;
Thou mak's fools sae uncivil,
They'll cry, “by G---, quick, clear the road,
Or else we'll to the devil
You ride this day.”
Ah, lads! though now ye are right spree,
In fortune's rays a-baskin',
Ye'll, aiblins, yet drink o' the bree
That ye ha'e lang been maskin';
Wi' wine and tea ye are richt bauld,
And toss your heads fu' vogie;
But yet, I fear, wi' puirtith cauld,
Your wonted parritch cogie
Ye'll claw some day.
In fortune's rays a-baskin',
Ye'll, aiblins, yet drink o' the bree
That ye ha'e lang been maskin';
Wi' wine and tea ye are richt bauld,
And toss your heads fu' vogie;
But yet, I fear, wi' puirtith cauld,
Your wonted parritch cogie
Ye'll claw some day.
Now mony a scowry prick-the-loop,
And ragged rowly-powly,
Flock to the fair, a mangled group,
Wi' broken legs and bowly:
Here Lucky Grant tak's up her stan',
The gangrel sweetie seller,
Though glib-tongued sisters, at ilkhan',
Are shorin' now, to bell her
At the trade this day.
And ragged rowly-powly,
Flock to the fair, a mangled group,
Wi' broken legs and bowly:
Here Lucky Grant tak's up her stan',
The gangrel sweetie seller,
Though glib-tongued sisters, at ilkhan',
Are shorin' now, to bell her
At the trade this day.
353
Oh, waes my heart! for Straven John;
Whare now will he appear?
He may sab out, Ochon! ochon!
And drap a briny tear;
For sic outlandish skybalds now
Ha'e ta'en the dicin' trade,
I doubt he's ruin'd, stick and stow—
I fear his fortune's fled
For guid and a'.
Whare now will he appear?
He may sab out, Ochon! ochon!
And drap a briny tear;
For sic outlandish skybalds now
Ha'e ta'en the dicin' trade,
I doubt he's ruin'd, stick and stow—
I fear his fortune's fled
For guid and a'.
But first let's stap to the wynd-head,
To see what's doin' there,
Whare knavery, wi' stainchless greed,
Are nursed wi' special care.
Heich, man! there stan's a bonnie show
O' coosers and o' yawds;
And oaths are rife as Ays and Noes
W' thir rough cowper lads
I' the fair this day.
To see what's doin' there,
Whare knavery, wi' stainchless greed,
Are nursed wi' special care.
Heich, man! there stan's a bonnie show
O' coosers and o' yawds;
And oaths are rife as Ays and Noes
W' thir rough cowper lads
I' the fair this day.
Ane swears—“Before I sell 't for less
I wish I may be d---d:”
His frien', wha weel the price can guess,
Says—“Hoot! ye lang ha'e shamm'd:
Come, here's a maik: let's see your han':
I've gi'en the fairest bodds:”
The graceless wight lang does na' stan'
To cast awa' the odds,
Though pounds, this day.
I wish I may be d---d:”
His frien', wha weel the price can guess,
Says—“Hoot! ye lang ha'e shamm'd:
Come, here's a maik: let's see your han':
I've gi'en the fairest bodds:”
The graceless wight lang does na' stan'
To cast awa' the odds,
Though pounds, this day.
Wi' lyin' here, and swearin' there,
The match o't ne'er was heard;
For siccan cheatin' Truth stan's greetin',
As if frae earth debarr'd:
Their language fell resembles hell,
By ought that we can learn;
Justice and conscience gang for nonsense,
Their sauls are sae forfain
And foul this day.
The match o't ne'er was heard;
For siccan cheatin' Truth stan's greetin',
As if frae earth debarr'd:
Their language fell resembles hell,
By ought that we can learn;
Justice and conscience gang for nonsense,
Their sauls are sae forfain
And foul this day.
The outskirt o' the scene is fill'd
Wi' cattle clean worn out;
Far better had they a' been kill'd,
Than live to join the rout:
Their hides sae holed, they scarce dare face
The tanner's sharp inspection;
Nor will their meagre carcase grace
The kennel's rough dissection,
On ony day.
Wi' cattle clean worn out;
Far better had they a' been kill'd,
Than live to join the rout:
354
The tanner's sharp inspection;
Nor will their meagre carcase grace
The kennel's rough dissection,
On ony day.
The horse-fair bye, straucht aff they hie
To see the raree-shows,
And doun the street they houp to meet
Their dear-lo'e'd trysted joes,
Wha through the toun ha'e ta'en their roun',
To glour at shawls and gowns,
For whilk they 'mang, and inward pang;
Their greenin' naething drowns
I' the shops this day.
To see the raree-shows,
And doun the street they houp to meet
Their dear-lo'e'd trysted joes,
Wha through the toun ha'e ta'en their roun',
To glour at shawls and gowns,
For whilk they 'mang, and inward pang;
Their greenin' naething drowns
I' the shops this day.
Now ilka pair forgather'd are,
And to the auld-brig scour,
For mountebanks, wi' nimble shanks,
Are out, them to allure:
Their tinsy claise, a' glancin' clear,
Enchant the sordid heart;
Chaps stan' na here a crown to tear
Wha'd scarce a tester part
Frae the purse yon day.
And to the auld-brig scour,
For mountebanks, wi' nimble shanks,
Are out, them to allure:
Their tinsy claise, a' glancin' clear,
Enchant the sordid heart;
Chaps stan' na here a crown to tear
Wha'd scarce a tester part
Frae the purse yon day.
“Eh! Rab,” quo' Maggie, “tak' us in
To see the spaewife horse;”
Robin, the revel to begin,
Fu' frankly draws his purse:
But Maggie, hapless lass! ne'er greins
To see a show sinsyne,
For powny tauld what—'mang the beans—
Ae nicht she chanced to tyne,
That luckless day.
To see the spaewife horse;”
Robin, the revel to begin,
Fu' frankly draws his purse:
But Maggie, hapless lass! ne'er greins
To see a show sinsyne,
For powny tauld what—'mang the beans—
Ae nicht she chanced to tyne,
That luckless day.
Here, Master Punch his squeakin' powers
Displays, wi' eldritch face;
There, Tam o' Shanter's devil lours,
Wi' brimstone-burn'd grimace;
Here's lions, doun frae Lon'on tower,
Bears, elephants, and monkeys;
There's wheel-o'-fortune's lucky bags,
That fraught wi' slee begunk is,
At times, this day.
Displays, wi' eldritch face;
There, Tam o' Shanter's devil lours,
Wi' brimstone-burn'd grimace;
Here's lions, doun frae Lon'on tower,
Bears, elephants, and monkeys;
There's wheel-o'-fortune's lucky bags,
That fraught wi' slee begunk is,
At times, this day.
355
Oh sic a soun', a' roun' and roun'!
Drums, trumpets, clar'nets, fiddles,
And cymbals clank, our lugs to drown;
The tambourine it diddles:
The sun's low sinkin' in the wast,
Whilk marks the gloamin' near;
And baxter chiel's, their labour past,
Set a things in a steer,
In a blink, this nicht.
Drums, trumpets, clar'nets, fiddles,
And cymbals clank, our lugs to drown;
The tambourine it diddles:
The sun's low sinkin' in the wast,
Whilk marks the gloamin' near;
And baxter chiel's, their labour past,
Set a things in a steer,
In a blink, this nicht.
Their sport is mischief everywhere;
Nought else them fun affords;
Dead bawdrons flap throughout the fair;
Doun reel the sweetie boords:
A' order's turn'd to riot quick,
And feichten now is rife;
Weel wault is mony a hazle stick,
Enough to tak' a life
Ilk stroke, this nicht.
Nought else them fun affords;
Dead bawdrons flap throughout the fair;
Doun reel the sweetie boords:
A' order's turn'd to riot quick,
And feichten now is rife;
Weel wault is mony a hazle stick,
Enough to tak' a life
Ilk stroke, this nicht.
The kintra stirroks, fley'd o' skaith,
Frae this wanchancie crowd
Slip hameward wi' their lasses, laith
To thole their usage rude:
Ilk' chiel', fu' coshlie, wi' his dear,
Talks o' the day's fell feats;
As skelpin' up the hills they steer,
Their lo'esome heart aft beats,
Fu' thick, that nicht.
Frae this wanchancie crowd
Slip hameward wi' their lasses, laith
To thole their usage rude:
Ilk' chiel', fu' coshlie, wi' his dear,
Talks o' the day's fell feats;
As skelpin' up the hills they steer,
Their lo'esome heart aft beats,
Fu' thick, that nicht.
But nae sic topics can attract
The brawlers left ahin';
But neives aff heads and shoulders crack,
And glaur ilk e'e does blin':
The police lads daur scarce appear
To keep the toun in peace,
Their red-neck'd coats are useless here
To gar the brawlers cease
This roughsome nicht.
The brawlers left ahin';
But neives aff heads and shoulders crack,
And glaur ilk e'e does blin':
The police lads daur scarce appear
To keep the toun in peace,
Their red-neck'd coats are useless here
To gar the brawlers cease
This roughsome nicht.
See, now the grand attack is made
Upon the caravans,
And open on the street are laid
Apes, sloths, and pelicans:
Ye'd think, to see this cage o' brutes,
By thir fell louns disseckit,
Whan, breingin wi' their claws and cloots,
That Noah's ark was wreckit
This luckless nicht.
Upon the caravans,
And open on the street are laid
Apes, sloths, and pelicans:
356
By thir fell louns disseckit,
Whan, breingin wi' their claws and cloots,
That Noah's ark was wreckit
This luckless nicht.
Hech! guidsake, sirs! what jarrin' soun's
Frae ilka nook now come;
The cursin' o' mischievous loons
Maist breaks the lug's thin drum.
But darkness now pervades the lift,
And noucht mair can be seen;
So I, this tuilyie fierce to shift,
Will toddle up the Green,
Straucht hame, this nicht.
Frae ilka nook now come;
The cursin' o' mischievous loons
Maist breaks the lug's thin drum.
But darkness now pervades the lift,
And noucht mair can be seen;
So I, this tuilyie fierce to shift,
Will toddle up the Green,
Straucht hame, this nicht.
A well-known fair, held at Glasgow upon the first Monday after the 28th of May; or, if Monday fall on the 28th, on that day.
It is a lamentable truth, that the most indecorous behaviour is often exhibited upon country Sacramental occasions.
The Twalt' o' August.
Ye muirfowl wha did fernyear shun
The smedum o' the Sportman's gun,
For life's sake! cease, awhile, to won
Upon the heath;
Else, sprawling, bleedin', on the grun,
Ye'll meet your death.
The smedum o' the Sportman's gun,
For life's sake! cease, awhile, to won
Upon the heath;
Else, sprawling, bleedin', on the grun,
Ye'll meet your death.
The twalt' o' August now's come roun',
And, now! there is an unco soun'
O' pointers, fresh frae Glasgow toun,
Wi' noses gleg,
Wha'll snock ye out, baith up and down;
Sae, guidsake, leg!
And, now! there is an unco soun'
O' pointers, fresh frae Glasgow toun,
Wi' noses gleg,
Wha'll snock ye out, baith up and down;
Sae, guidsake, leg!
Wi' birr, haste, lea' the uplan' fells;
Nae back-look cast on heather-bells;
But shelter in our howms and dells
'Mong cornfields snug;
Then they may range the muirs themsel's,
And claw their lug.
Nae back-look cast on heather-bells;
But shelter in our howms and dells
'Mong cornfields snug;
Then they may range the muirs themsel's,
And claw their lug.
But, waesucks! nature has nae gi'en ye
Sic wiles as might frae danger screen ye;
And, though game-keepers aft befrien' ye
Frae poacher louns,
Their tyrant lords do sairly glean ye,
Wi' their platoons.
Sic wiles as might frae danger screen ye;
357
Frae poacher louns,
Their tyrant lords do sairly glean ye,
Wi' their platoons.
And there they come, devoid o' feelin',
In phaetons, chaises, coaches, reelin',
Wi' swarms o' flunkies, pechin', speelin'
The heather-braes;
While leesh-freed spaniels blithe are squeelin'—
Your deadly faes.
In phaetons, chaises, coaches, reelin',
Wi' swarms o' flunkies, pechin', speelin'
The heather-braes;
While leesh-freed spaniels blithe are squeelin'—
Your deadly faes.
Deed, lads! ye are nae thrang at hame;
I wonder that ye think na shame
To rise sic steer, pursuin' game
Through muirs and mosses;
Sic deeds will never raise your fame
'Boon downricht asses.
I wonder that ye think na shame
To rise sic steer, pursuin' game
Through muirs and mosses;
Sic deeds will never raise your fame
'Boon downricht asses.
E'en our auld crack-brain'd lustfu' knight,
Boost steer his course up to the heicht,
Resolved to won baith day and nicht,
In's house-like tent,
Though scarcely he, for want o' sicht,
Kens corn frae bent.
Boost steer his course up to the heicht,
Resolved to won baith day and nicht,
In's house-like tent,
Though scarcely he, for want o' sicht,
Kens corn frae bent.
Nane e'er could libel you wi' wyte,
Gin 'twere to fill a hungry kite;
But, faith, I dread, 'tis through delight
O' bloody fowlin',
At whilk poor dogs ye whauk and hyte,
And haud them yowlin'.
Gin 'twere to fill a hungry kite;
But, faith, I dread, 'tis through delight
O' bloody fowlin',
At whilk poor dogs ye whauk and hyte,
And haud them yowlin'.
Confound you and your cringin' valets,
Wha bear your blasted powther wallets;
Gae hame, among your pimps and callets,
In stews obscene,
Whare ye may row on hanty pallets,
In acts unclean.
Wha bear your blasted powther wallets;
Gae hame, among your pimps and callets,
In stews obscene,
Whare ye may row on hanty pallets,
In acts unclean.
Your vile contaminated blood
Boils, like the tempest-waken'd flood,
Throughout your veins, by riot rude,
Malignant, raised,
Whilk lea's ye aft in crankous mood,
Baith doilt and daised.
Boils, like the tempest-waken'd flood,
Throughout your veins, by riot rude,
Malignant, raised,
Whilk lea's ye aft in crankous mood,
Baith doilt and daised.
358
Syne, to recruit baith saul and body,
Ye lea' a-while the reekin' toddy,
And in some hackney, gig, or noddy
Ye tak the fiel',
While covies, frae their snug abode, aye
Before you reel.
Ye lea' a-while the reekin' toddy,
And in some hackney, gig, or noddy
Ye tak the fiel',
While covies, frae their snug abode, aye
Before you reel.
Plump, sonsie, harmless, toddlin' things,
Wha chirr amang the mountain springs,
Aft maun you pine, wi' gory wings,
Frae deadly guns;
But yet your state nae pity brings
Frae thae base Huns.
Wha chirr amang the mountain springs,
Aft maun you pine, wi' gory wings,
Frae deadly guns;
But yet your state nae pity brings
Frae thae base Huns.
Ye paitriks too, though now ye hide
'Mang yellow corn-fields wavin' wide,
The persecution's blast maun bide,
Fell, fell indeed;
And, dyin', welter side-by-side,
Through their cursed greed.
'Mang yellow corn-fields wavin' wide,
The persecution's blast maun bide,
Fell, fell indeed;
And, dyin', welter side-by-side,
Through their cursed greed.
And you, ye hiddlins whiddin' hares,
Whan winter's breath wi' rancour rairs,
Will taste the poacher's wily snares,
'Bout kail-yard dykes,
And sloungin grews, aft unawares,
Vile worryin' tykes.
Whan winter's breath wi' rancour rairs,
Will taste the poacher's wily snares,
'Bout kail-yard dykes,
And sloungin grews, aft unawares,
Vile worryin' tykes.
Though I could view wi' tearless e'e,
By hunter's han's, tod-lowrie dee,
Yet suff'rin' innocence to me
Brings grief, I vow;
Withouten bluster, brag, or lee,
As truth 'tis true.
By hunter's han's, tod-lowrie dee,
Yet suff'rin' innocence to me
Brings grief, I vow;
Withouten bluster, brag, or lee,
As truth 'tis true.
My malison upon you a'!
Wha stifle feeling's glorious law;
This trade I canna brook ava,
Sae, while I've breath,
My cauldest love to you I'll shaw,
And hettest wraith.
Wha stifle feeling's glorious law;
This trade I canna brook ava,
Sae, while I've breath,
My cauldest love to you I'll shaw,
And hettest wraith.
359
STANZAS ON READING IN THE GLASGOW HERALD THE ACCOUNT OF LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE OF A MONUMENT In Memory of Robert Burns.
Hail! Scotia's free-born, gen'rous band,
Who merit still reward,
Who memo'rise, in order grand,
Your country's boasted Bard!
But why this monumental cost?
The fame of Burns can ne'er be lost!
Who merit still reward,
Who memo'rise, in order grand,
Your country's boasted Bard!
But why this monumental cost?
The fame of Burns can ne'er be lost!
Till Chimborazo's summits high
Sink beneath the ocean wave,
Remembrance shall, with tearful eye,
Rove round his laurell'd grave;
For while his varied muse we trace,
We meet each true poetic grace.
Sink beneath the ocean wave,
Remembrance shall, with tearful eye,
Rove round his laurell'd grave;
For while his varied muse we trace,
We meet each true poetic grace.
Though Gothic gloom again return,
And spread all Europe o'er,
Fame's sacred, safe, and golden urn
Would soon his works restore;
Since, under fate's auspicious hand,
His strains ring sweet in every land.
And spread all Europe o'er,
Fame's sacred, safe, and golden urn
Would soon his works restore;
Since, under fate's auspicious hand,
His strains ring sweet in every land.
Oh how the magic of his lyre
Thrills through the feeling soul!
So potently his force and fire
In native torrents roll:
Nor roams he e'er for imagery
Among the groves of Thessaly.
Thrills through the feeling soul!
So potently his force and fire
In native torrents roll:
Nor roams he e'er for imagery
Among the groves of Thessaly.
The Lugar, Logan, Nith, and Doon,
By bards neglected long,
Now sweetly glide, through many a tune,
In Caledonia's song;
For every scene that caught his eye
He stamp'd with immortality.
By bards neglected long,
Now sweetly glide, through many a tune,
In Caledonia's song;
For every scene that caught his eye
He stamp'd with immortality.
His was the gifted power to paint
Love's various-working glow;
Or pour the bosom-rending 'plaint
Of misery and woe;
Or laughter's comic nerves excite;
Or sting with satire's vip'rous bite.
Love's various-working glow;
Or pour the bosom-rending 'plaint
Of misery and woe;
Or laughter's comic nerves excite;
Or sting with satire's vip'rous bite.
360
What though but lowly was his lot
Through life's tempestuous gale;
The russet robe—the lonely cot—
Which want did oft assail!
His mind intrepid braved the blast,
And reach'd fame's glorious fane at last.
Through life's tempestuous gale;
The russet robe—the lonely cot—
Which want did oft assail!
His mind intrepid braved the blast,
And reach'd fame's glorious fane at last.
His patriot soul for Scotia swell'd,
To raise her name in song;
And, though from learning's light expell'd,
His fervid genius, strong,
Such warm effusions to the world displays
As wreath his mem'ry with unfading bays.
To raise her name in song;
And, though from learning's light expell'd,
His fervid genius, strong,
Such warm effusions to the world displays
As wreath his mem'ry with unfading bays.
Hail, Scotia's sons! who thus unite
With meritorious aim,
To 'grave his worth in letters bright
Upon the roll of fame!
That all who view this splendid pile
May recollect the Bard of Kyle!
With meritorious aim,
To 'grave his worth in letters bright
Upon the roll of fame!
That all who view this splendid pile
May recollect the Bard of Kyle!
An Address to Poverty.
My gaunt attendant here below,I judge thee still my greatest foe:
Thou bar accursed to every pleasure
I'm teased by thee beyond all measure:
Acquaintance with thee gains no love,
I here protest by all above.
Hope once half-promised time would be
That I should bid adieu to thee;
Yet still I see thy haggard face,
And, spurning, feel thy cold embrace.
Hope is an ignis fatuus bright
That oft has lured me, by her light,
Onward to castles built on sand,
Through many a visionary land;
And, after all her roamings vain,
Me left on want's blank arid plain.
Nought now avails my grief to cure—
Fate's roll me dooms a weaver poor.
361
VERSES ON SEEING A Trout in a Small Pool,
IN THE DROUGHT OF SUMMER, 1821.
Swift, timid captive of the stream,
Why start with wild alarm?
Think not that I, to take thy life,
Would bare a plund'ring arm.
Why start with wild alarm?
Think not that I, to take thy life,
Would bare a plund'ring arm.
Base were the wretch, unfit to live,
That could make thee his prey;
'Twere rank extortion, direly wreak'd
On poor necessity.
That could make thee his prey;
'Twere rank extortion, direly wreak'd
On poor necessity.
The savage, who, from fields and floods,
His daily wants supplies,
Is blameless, though, in quest of food,
He banish feeling's ties:
His daily wants supplies,
Is blameless, though, in quest of food,
He banish feeling's ties:
But what excuse can he produce
To salve the ruthless deed,
Who, out of wanton cruelty,
Could make thee hapless bleed!
To salve the ruthless deed,
Who, out of wanton cruelty,
Could make thee hapless bleed!
Oh would it not increase thy fears,
I'd free thee from that shallow;
Then, in the deep wide limpid linn,
Thou'dst glide, swift as the swallow!
I'd free thee from that shallow;
Then, in the deep wide limpid linn,
Thou'dst glide, swift as the swallow!
The sun that now, so fiery hot,
Drinks moisture from the main,
But fills the sky with humid clouds,
To slake the earth with rain.
Drinks moisture from the main,
But fills the sky with humid clouds,
To slake the earth with rain.
Then shalt thou down the foaming stream
From bondage be set free,
To roam at large the swollen floods
In perfect liberty.
From bondage be set free,
To roam at large the swollen floods
In perfect liberty.
362
On Hypocrisy.
EXTEMPORARY.
The rose's dye is deepest in the shade,And black Hypocrisy is best unseen;
That by the sun's fair light is paler made,
And this, when tried by truth, doth prove unclean:
True gold with honour stands the rigid test,
But base alloy, unheeded, passes best.
Lines to a Young Lady,
WITH A SONG.
How dang'rous is the art of Poesy,If 'tis possess'd by one that's prone to guile;
Best it can dress the tale of flattery,
And, like a knave, put on a mimic smile.
Oh let it ne'er be said in Britain's isle,
Her bards use flattery to deceive the fair;
But if, to gain a heart, they use each wile,
And are successful, may they solemn swear,
Ne'er to change, till death, with direful visage, stare!
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |