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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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The Misanthropos.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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160

The Misanthropos.

Who's yon, beneath the sullen frown
Of the impending rock,
O'ertopp'd with pines of searest brown,
Scathed by the lightning's shock?
With folded arms and downward gaze
He dernly treads the briery maze,
Where scarce the sun's all-cheering rays
Smile through the gloomy oak.
“Doubtless a sage of virtues pure!
So speaks his hermit look—
Who shuns the world's destructive lure
In this sequester'd nook.
His rural weeds and matted hair,
His musing, world-contemning air,
A philosophic aspect bear,
Which only few can brook.”
“Ah! stranger, no! thy judgment errs
Far, far, in thinking so;
The seemly ambush oft inters
A deadly lurking foe.
That troglodyte, of manner mild,
From human intercourse exiled,
Was ne'er devotion's pious child—
Ne'er felt love's melting glow.
“No hymn of praise, at eve or morn,
Flows from his rocky cell;
By hatred keen he's inly torn,
Though thus recluse he dwell.
Like pois'nous asps and adders vile,
Rove through his soul rage, hate, and guile,
Where galling discord rules the while
This miniature of hell.
“The hapless stranger, faint and fear'd,
Who wanders from his way,
Whom nature says he should have cheer'd,
He fails not to betray.

161

When surly winter, round our coast,
Smooths the deep lake with snow and frost,
Ofttimes the trav'ller there is lost,
Led by this wretch astray.
“Yet in his youth this monster base
Was learned, proud, and brave,
And glory sought, through fortune's maze,
Where thousands found their grave.
Amidst the horrent shouts of war
He drove infuriate slaughter's car;
Power hunted he, both near and far;
For this his mind did rave.
But state detection mark'd the bent
And bias of his soul;
Then quick his towering flight was spent,
Which aim'd at chief control.
Statists—the check of those who stray
Beyond the limits of their sway—
Did lop his wings—then, well-a-day!
From manhood's haunts he stole.
“And now he spends the dreary time
In universal hate,
Immured within this narrow clime,
To rail and spurn at fate.
Mark now his gait, his accent hear,
His imprecations wildly drear—
Alike unknown to love or fear:
This is the hermit's state.”