The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD OF AUCHENCRUIVE |
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD OF AUCHENCRUIVE
Dweller in yon dungeon dark,
Hangman of creation, mark!
Who in widow-weeds appears,
Laden with unhonoured years,
Noosing with care a bursting purse,
Baited with many a deadly curse?
Hangman of creation, mark!
Who in widow-weeds appears,
Laden with unhonoured years,
Noosing with care a bursting purse,
Baited with many a deadly curse?
STROPHE
View the wither'd beldam's face:Can thy keen inspection trace
Aught of Humanity's sweet, melting grace?
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Pity's flood there never rose.
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save,
Hands that took, but never gave.
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest,
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest!
ANTISTROPHE
Plunderer of Armies! lift thine eyes(A while forbear, ye torturing fiends),
Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends?
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies!
'Tis thy trusty, quondam Mate,
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate:
She, tardy, hell-ward plies.
EPODE
And are they of no more avail,Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year?
In other worlds can Mammon fail,
Omnipotent as he is here?
O bitter mockery of the pompous bier!
While down the wretched vital part is driven,
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear,
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heaven.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |