The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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Part III.—Poems hitherto uncollected, or for the first time printed.
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
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III. Part III.—Poems hitherto uncollected, or for the first time printed.
319
THE SPOUTER.
------All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women only players;
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
Shakespeare.
And all the men and women only players;
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
Shakespeare.
INTRODUCTION.
Where is the place that mair o' life ye'll learn,
Than 'hint the scenes in some auld kintra barn,
Where two-three hungry, ragged, Spouter blades,
—Wha'd better stuck through life to spools or spades,—
Driven by stern want, the fell remorseless jaud;
Mang kintra folk do ply their kittle trade?
Than 'hint the scenes in some auld kintra barn,
Where two-three hungry, ragged, Spouter blades,
—Wha'd better stuck through life to spools or spades,—
Driven by stern want, the fell remorseless jaud;
Mang kintra folk do ply their kittle trade?
There ye may see a lang horn shottle chiel,
On whose pale face, hunger is painted weel,
As Dick the Third shout for “a horse! a horse!”
To meet young Richmond, an' the invading force:
Or else some sniftering, snivelling, ill-clad loon,
Wha wadna hae the heart a cat to droon;
As stern Macbeth, rampauging through his part,
An' for his crown stab Duncan to the heart.
Anither chiel, wha ilk day thumps his wife,
There, on the stage, acts Romeo to the life;
While whimpering Juliet for a maid is ta'en,
Although last week she bore a bastard wean,
And couldna tell, though it wad saved her life,
Wha her a mother made before she was a wife.
On whose pale face, hunger is painted weel,
As Dick the Third shout for “a horse! a horse!”
To meet young Richmond, an' the invading force:
Or else some sniftering, snivelling, ill-clad loon,
Wha wadna hae the heart a cat to droon;
As stern Macbeth, rampauging through his part,
An' for his crown stab Duncan to the heart.
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There, on the stage, acts Romeo to the life;
While whimpering Juliet for a maid is ta'en,
Although last week she bore a bastard wean,
And couldna tell, though it wad saved her life,
Wha her a mother made before she was a wife.
Or turn to Comedy: wha e'er wad think,
The chiels were hovering on starvation's brink;
Wha e'er wad think, to hear their ready joke,
That they were suffering 'neath affliction's stroke;
Or wha wad think yon funny, tumbling clown,
Wha raises laughter to the auld and young,
Beneath the fun and humour o' his part,
Concealed crushed spirits, and a breaking heart:
Yet sae it is, for down his pen he laid,
Fired by ambition for to try the trade,
At whilk great Garrick had got sic a name,
And whilk he thoucht wad lead even him to fame;
But noo he tumbles, to a score or twa
O' kintra bumpkins, in some aul' barn wa',
And sees himsel' gaun to an early grave,
Fell want and dissipation's ready slave.
The chiels were hovering on starvation's brink;
Wha e'er wad think, to hear their ready joke,
That they were suffering 'neath affliction's stroke;
Or wha wad think yon funny, tumbling clown,
Wha raises laughter to the auld and young,
Beneath the fun and humour o' his part,
Concealed crushed spirits, and a breaking heart:
Yet sae it is, for down his pen he laid,
Fired by ambition for to try the trade,
At whilk great Garrick had got sic a name,
And whilk he thoucht wad lead even him to fame;
But noo he tumbles, to a score or twa
O' kintra bumpkins, in some aul' barn wa',
And sees himsel' gaun to an early grave,
Fell want and dissipation's ready slave.
A' that, and mair, hae I richt aften seen,
When through the kintra wi' my pack I've been;
But what has brought it now just to my min',
Is an affair that happened here short-syne:
Upo' ae caul', bleak, blustry winter-day,
A Spouter blade, to our town took his way;
A lang ill-leukin' vagabond, I trow,
Dressed in a ragged coat that had been blue;
And wi' a bundle owre his shouther hung,
Tied to the en' o' a thick knotty rung;
While, by his side, trampèd a wee bit laddie,
Whose claes were like his master's, gyan duddie.
And as they slowly trudged along the street,
Plashing through dirt an' wat, wi' ill-shod feet;
Ilk aul' wife left her wheel, to rin and see
Wha that lang raggy ne'er-do-weel could be;
And as in twas and threes they gathered roun',
Wonnerin' what broucht sic gangrels to the town,
Some shook their heads, an' said—“Eh! sirs, I fear
It's for nae guid, as we owre soon will hear.”
While ithers said that—“We should thankfu' be
We ne'er had been broucht to sic misery;
But aye had haen a shelter owre our head,
An' ne'er could say that we hae wantit bread;
While some puir creatures haena where to lay
Their heads, nor yet as much as for a meal would pay.”
When through the kintra wi' my pack I've been;
But what has brought it now just to my min',
Is an affair that happened here short-syne:
Upo' ae caul', bleak, blustry winter-day,
A Spouter blade, to our town took his way;
A lang ill-leukin' vagabond, I trow,
Dressed in a ragged coat that had been blue;
And wi' a bundle owre his shouther hung,
Tied to the en' o' a thick knotty rung;
While, by his side, trampèd a wee bit laddie,
Whose claes were like his master's, gyan duddie.
And as they slowly trudged along the street,
Plashing through dirt an' wat, wi' ill-shod feet;
Ilk aul' wife left her wheel, to rin and see
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And as in twas and threes they gathered roun',
Wonnerin' what broucht sic gangrels to the town,
Some shook their heads, an' said—“Eh! sirs, I fear
It's for nae guid, as we owre soon will hear.”
While ithers said that—“We should thankfu' be
We ne'er had been broucht to sic misery;
But aye had haen a shelter owre our head,
An' ne'er could say that we hae wantit bread;
While some puir creatures haena where to lay
Their heads, nor yet as much as for a meal would pay.”
After the Spouter had gaen out o' sight,
An' the auld wives had settled a' things right,
In a short time I had forgot him clean,
The same as if he never here had been;
When, leukin' frae the winnock, there I saw
His raggy callan, batterin' on the wa'
Big prentit bills—an' rinnin' out wi' speed
That I might his “announcement” quickly read,
I saw them headed “Wondrous novelty!”
In twa-inch letters, an' then “Come an' see!”
He then set forth his name was Mr. Main,
An' he had come direct frae Drury Lane,
Where baith their Majesties, the king an' queen,
Had aft wi' his performance pleaséd been;
And that he now was on his kintra tour,
That he might show the warl' his great power,—
Whilk was allowéd in the acting line,
By every ane, to be great an' sublime.
He then on the “Nobility!” did call,
“Gentry” an' “Public,” too, “in general;”
To come that night to William Watson's barn,
(This was in writing) where that they would learn
From certain pieces that he would recite
In the said barn, at eight o'clock that night,
The various passions of the human mind;
An' that a' those who might be sae inclined,
Would likewise hear some sangs, divinely sung
By Master Sprat; whase praises had been rung
Through a' the lan'; (a great deal mair was said,
Whilk noo has slippet clean out o' my head:)
Then ended wi' “The charge is just a penny,
So be in time, for the place wont hold many.”
An' the auld wives had settled a' things right,
In a short time I had forgot him clean,
The same as if he never here had been;
When, leukin' frae the winnock, there I saw
His raggy callan, batterin' on the wa'
Big prentit bills—an' rinnin' out wi' speed
That I might his “announcement” quickly read,
I saw them headed “Wondrous novelty!”
In twa-inch letters, an' then “Come an' see!”
He then set forth his name was Mr. Main,
An' he had come direct frae Drury Lane,
Where baith their Majesties, the king an' queen,
Had aft wi' his performance pleaséd been;
And that he now was on his kintra tour,
That he might show the warl' his great power,—
Whilk was allowéd in the acting line,
By every ane, to be great an' sublime.
He then on the “Nobility!” did call,
“Gentry” an' “Public,” too, “in general;”
To come that night to William Watson's barn,
(This was in writing) where that they would learn
From certain pieces that he would recite
In the said barn, at eight o'clock that night,
The various passions of the human mind;
An' that a' those who might be sae inclined,
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By Master Sprat; whase praises had been rung
Through a' the lan'; (a great deal mair was said,
Whilk noo has slippet clean out o' my head:)
Then ended wi' “The charge is just a penny,
So be in time, for the place wont hold many.”
Ye wad hae thought the whole folk i' the town,
By this time 'bout the bills were gathered roun';
An' as in crowds, they stood, an' at them read,
'Twas odd to hear the droll remarks they made.
Ane said he “wonnert the great Mr. Main,
Should lea sae gran' a place as Drury lane;
That he, an' a bit raggy chiel, thegither
'Might wanner through the lan' in sic like weather:”
While an auld wife said, “Bairns, tak' my advice,
An' gang na near the place, gif ye be wise;
For I can tell you wha ere sets a fit,
Within the barn, is bookit for the pit
Whilk has nae boddam; whare the wicked's soul,
'Mang burning brumstane lies, to roar an' howl,—
As Reverend Mr. Thump-the-Deil did say
In his discourse the tither Sabbath day.
Ye needna giggle, callans, it's as true
As I'm this precious minute telling you;
An' mair than that, ye'll maybe hae heard tell
What happened to a lad ca'd Andrew Bell,
Wha ance to Glasgow, to the warehouse gaed
(The chiel being a weaver to his trade).
Weel, in that town I trow he saw a sicht
That filled him mony a day wi' muckle fricht.
Some freens had gat him to gae to the Play,
In place o' doucely in the house to stay;
When in the nicht he waukent wi' the smell
O' brumstane, as I've heard him aften tell;
An' turnin' roun', what think ye that he saw?
Just the black Devil stan'in' at the wa',
Haudin' out in his han' a muckle book;
On whilk puir Andro did nae sooner look,
Than Clootie gied the puir lad a bit wink,
And pointed to his name—written wi' red ink;
As muckle as to say, at last, my chiel,
Ye hae been fairly gruppit by the Deil.”
She then gaed on to tell us, that if we
Gaed to the barn this nicht, we'd maybe see
Some o' her words ere lang wad come to pass:
An' then she shook her head, an' said—“Alas!
Sic unbelievin' times were never seen,
They werena like the guid aul' times that ance had been.”
By this time 'bout the bills were gathered roun';
An' as in crowds, they stood, an' at them read,
'Twas odd to hear the droll remarks they made.
Ane said he “wonnert the great Mr. Main,
Should lea sae gran' a place as Drury lane;
That he, an' a bit raggy chiel, thegither
'Might wanner through the lan' in sic like weather:”
While an auld wife said, “Bairns, tak' my advice,
An' gang na near the place, gif ye be wise;
For I can tell you wha ere sets a fit,
Within the barn, is bookit for the pit
Whilk has nae boddam; whare the wicked's soul,
'Mang burning brumstane lies, to roar an' howl,—
As Reverend Mr. Thump-the-Deil did say
In his discourse the tither Sabbath day.
Ye needna giggle, callans, it's as true
As I'm this precious minute telling you;
An' mair than that, ye'll maybe hae heard tell
What happened to a lad ca'd Andrew Bell,
Wha ance to Glasgow, to the warehouse gaed
(The chiel being a weaver to his trade).
Weel, in that town I trow he saw a sicht
That filled him mony a day wi' muckle fricht.
Some freens had gat him to gae to the Play,
In place o' doucely in the house to stay;
When in the nicht he waukent wi' the smell
O' brumstane, as I've heard him aften tell;
An' turnin' roun', what think ye that he saw?
Just the black Devil stan'in' at the wa',
Haudin' out in his han' a muckle book;
323
Than Clootie gied the puir lad a bit wink,
And pointed to his name—written wi' red ink;
As muckle as to say, at last, my chiel,
Ye hae been fairly gruppit by the Deil.”
She then gaed on to tell us, that if we
Gaed to the barn this nicht, we'd maybe see
Some o' her words ere lang wad come to pass:
An' then she shook her head, an' said—“Alas!
Sic unbelievin' times were never seen,
They werena like the guid aul' times that ance had been.”
But, faith, to me her lecture was in vain,
It didna keep me back frae Mr. Main;
For aff I set, an' comin' near the door,
There stood the Spouter, wha did loudly roar
To “Be in time, an' come right quickly in,
For I am just a-going to begin;
An' if you do not soon secure your places,
The door, ere long, will be shut in your faces.
An' if ye miss this opportunity,
The like of it ye ne'er again may see;
For I can tell you, 'tis not every day
Such a famed actor will a visit pay
Unto your town, for—” here I stopped his speech
By haudin' out a penny in his reach;
An', walkin' in, sat down before a screen
That in its day had ance a bed-mat been;
Although wi' dirt an' patches 'twas sae covered,
What it had been could scarcely be discovered.
It didna keep me back frae Mr. Main;
For aff I set, an' comin' near the door,
There stood the Spouter, wha did loudly roar
To “Be in time, an' come right quickly in,
For I am just a-going to begin;
An' if you do not soon secure your places,
The door, ere long, will be shut in your faces.
An' if ye miss this opportunity,
The like of it ye ne'er again may see;
For I can tell you, 'tis not every day
Such a famed actor will a visit pay
Unto your town, for—” here I stopped his speech
By haudin' out a penny in his reach;
An', walkin' in, sat down before a screen
That in its day had ance a bed-mat been;
Although wi' dirt an' patches 'twas sae covered,
What it had been could scarcely be discovered.
As soon as I had cast aroun' my een
I scarcely could believe what there was seen,
For that whilk had been made for to appear,
When in the bill, a “brilliant chandelier,”
Was just a girr, that frae the laft hung down
Wi' cannels here an' there stuck on't a' roun';
An' in place o' the instrumental ban',
Whilk was to have been unequalled in the lan',
Before the screen, wi' a bit fiddle, sat
His raggy laddie, ca'd Adolphus Sprat;
An' scruntit “Owre the hills an' far awa,”
In tones far waur than sharpenin' a saw;
An' I but tell the truth, whan I allege,
Ere lang he had set a' our teeth on edge.
“Stop that damn'd fiddle!” roared a kintra lout,
“Or by the Lord! ye'll hae to let me out;
I never heard sic scraichin' a' my life,
The soun' gangs through an' through ane, like a knife.”
“Up wi' the hippen!” cried anither chap,
An' then wi' feet and hands began to rap.
“What are ye chirtin' at?” anither cries,
“I want you to sit up,” the first replies;
“Ye hae as muckle room as ony twa
In that place there—between you an' the wa'.”
But “Silence, silence,” ilka ane did roar
As Mr. Main cam' in, an' shut the door;
An', loutin' down, creeped in behind the screen,
Whare he was hid frae the spectators' een.
I scarcely could believe what there was seen,
For that whilk had been made for to appear,
When in the bill, a “brilliant chandelier,”
Was just a girr, that frae the laft hung down
Wi' cannels here an' there stuck on't a' roun';
An' in place o' the instrumental ban',
Whilk was to have been unequalled in the lan',
324
His raggy laddie, ca'd Adolphus Sprat;
An' scruntit “Owre the hills an' far awa,”
In tones far waur than sharpenin' a saw;
An' I but tell the truth, whan I allege,
Ere lang he had set a' our teeth on edge.
“Stop that damn'd fiddle!” roared a kintra lout,
“Or by the Lord! ye'll hae to let me out;
I never heard sic scraichin' a' my life,
The soun' gangs through an' through ane, like a knife.”
“Up wi' the hippen!” cried anither chap,
An' then wi' feet and hands began to rap.
“What are ye chirtin' at?” anither cries,
“I want you to sit up,” the first replies;
“Ye hae as muckle room as ony twa
In that place there—between you an' the wa'.”
But “Silence, silence,” ilka ane did roar
As Mr. Main cam' in, an' shut the door;
An', loutin' down, creeped in behind the screen,
Whare he was hid frae the spectators' een.
Ere lang the tingle o' a bell was heard,
An' when the screen was drawn up, there appeared
The Spouter, wi' his arms on his breast crossed,
As if in deep reflection he was lost.
An' coming forret, he made a low bow,
Saying—“Gentlemen an' ladies, I will now
Begin the night's performance with some rhymes
Made on a circumstance of bye-past times;
Where an attempt is made, for once, to show
What dire effects of misery an' woe,
Such bloody feuds oft brought upon the Land.”
So saying, the Spouter raiséd up his hand;
An' while he towards the audience took a lamp,
Broucht down his richt foot wi' an awfu' stamp,
An' when the screen was drawn up, there appeared
The Spouter, wi' his arms on his breast crossed,
As if in deep reflection he was lost.
An' coming forret, he made a low bow,
Saying—“Gentlemen an' ladies, I will now
Begin the night's performance with some rhymes
Made on a circumstance of bye-past times;
Where an attempt is made, for once, to show
What dire effects of misery an' woe,
Such bloody feuds oft brought upon the Land.”
So saying, the Spouter raiséd up his hand;
An' while he towards the audience took a lamp,
Broucht down his richt foot wi' an awfu' stamp,
And thus began:—
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THE SIEGE.
“To horse! to horse! my merry men,
Why sit you feasting there?
When, from within yon dungeon's wall,
Your captive friends for vengeance call
In accents of despair.”
Why sit you feasting there?
When, from within yon dungeon's wall,
Your captive friends for vengeance call
In accents of despair.”
“What mean those words,” bold Stanley said;
“What mean those words I hear?
What mean those words you now have said?
Where be those friends who call for aid,
While we sit idling here?”
“What mean those words I hear?
What mean those words you now have said?
Where be those friends who call for aid,
While we sit idling here?”
“Within the cursed castle walls,
Of your fierce enemy;
Full fifty of your bravest men,
Are lying—who this day were ta'en,
And I alone got free.”
Of your fierce enemy;
Full fifty of your bravest men,
Are lying—who this day were ta'en,
And I alone got free.”
Up started brave Lord Stanley then,
Saying, “By the blessed rood,
He for this deed shall sorely pay,
Ere yonder sun has set to-day,
With his heart's dearest blood.
Saying, “By the blessed rood,
He for this deed shall sorely pay,
Ere yonder sun has set to-day,
With his heart's dearest blood.
“And now my friends, to arms! to arms;
And let us quick to horse;”
And soon five hundred men amain,
Were hurrying onwards o'er the plain;
In sooth a goodly force.
And let us quick to horse;”
And soon five hundred men amain,
Were hurrying onwards o'er the plain;
In sooth a goodly force.
And coming to the castle strong,
Lord Stanley loudly calls:
Deliver up to me those men
Which you took prisoners, and then
Shut up within these walls.”
Lord Stanley loudly calls:
Deliver up to me those men
Which you took prisoners, and then
Shut up within these walls.”
326
The warder answered him with scorn:
“Your men you ne'er will see;
For ere the sun has reached his height,
All those ta'en prisoners in the fight
Their punishment shall dree.”
“Your men you ne'er will see;
For ere the sun has reached his height,
All those ta'en prisoners in the fight
Their punishment shall dree.”
“Archers, advance!” Lord Stanley cried;
And from each ready bow
The arrows speedily were sent,
Rattling against the battlement,
Then dropping down below.
And from each ready bow
The arrows speedily were sent,
Rattling against the battlement,
Then dropping down below.
Those in the castle now began,
From loopholes in the wall,
To shoot on the invading force;
And soon from off his gallant horse,
Many a brave knight did fall.
From loopholes in the wall,
To shoot on the invading force;
And soon from off his gallant horse,
Many a brave knight did fall.
“Attack the gate!” again he cried,
And soon each willing hand
Made the blows rattle thick as hail;
To force the gate they could not fail,
Nought might such force withstand.
And soon each willing hand
Made the blows rattle thick as hail;
To force the gate they could not fail,
Nought might such force withstand.
When from the castle's lofty top—
Oh! horrible to view!—
The gory heads and mangled limbs
Of those who'd prisoners been within,
Down on the foe they threw!
Oh! horrible to view!—
The gory heads and mangled limbs
Of those who'd prisoners been within,
Down on the foe they threw!
Who, struck with horror at the sight,
Turned round, and fled away;
And long and grievously did mourn
At their disconsolate return,
And what they'd seen that day.
Turned round, and fled away;
And long and grievously did mourn
At their disconsolate return,
And what they'd seen that day.
327
As soon's the Spouter had got through his piece,
Some cried hurra! an' ithers hissed like geese.
“Saves! that's an awfu' bluidy tale,” says ane,
“Do ye think ere sic cruelty was done?”
“Aye was't, man” said his neebour, “mony a time
I've heard it tell't though ne'er before in rhyme.
It happened, man, no far frae whare we are:
But guidsake! what's the matter wi' the girr,
That it's gaun up an' down at sic a rate?
I see it's that wee blastit sinner Pate.
I say, Pate, keep yer fingers aff that string,
An' silence there, the callan's gaun to sing.”
As Master Sprat, began fu' loud to roar,
A sang nane o' us e'er had heard before,
About “Young Jeannie,” when—“Oh! damn young Jeannie,”
A fellow cried, “come gie us something funny;”
Anither said, “Man, Jock, let him alane;
I say, my laddie, just begin again,
An' pick as short a ane, as e'er ye can;
For I can tell ye what it is, my man,
Gif that yer singing be ought like yer fiddling,
The best that we can say o't, is—it's middling.”
Some cried hurra! an' ithers hissed like geese.
“Saves! that's an awfu' bluidy tale,” says ane,
“Do ye think ere sic cruelty was done?”
“Aye was't, man” said his neebour, “mony a time
I've heard it tell't though ne'er before in rhyme.
It happened, man, no far frae whare we are:
But guidsake! what's the matter wi' the girr,
That it's gaun up an' down at sic a rate?
I see it's that wee blastit sinner Pate.
I say, Pate, keep yer fingers aff that string,
An' silence there, the callan's gaun to sing.”
As Master Sprat, began fu' loud to roar,
A sang nane o' us e'er had heard before,
About “Young Jeannie,” when—“Oh! damn young Jeannie,”
A fellow cried, “come gie us something funny;”
Anither said, “Man, Jock, let him alane;
I say, my laddie, just begin again,
An' pick as short a ane, as e'er ye can;
For I can tell ye what it is, my man,
Gif that yer singing be ought like yer fiddling,
The best that we can say o't, is—it's middling.”
YOUNG JEANNIE.
A SONG.
Young Jeannie, when the owlets flew,
Oft went to meet her lover;
Where bonnie flowers were bathed in dew,
And timorous cowered the plover.
Oft went to meet her lover;
Where bonnie flowers were bathed in dew,
And timorous cowered the plover.
As roun' gaed time, young Jeannie hied
To hear young Johnnie's story;
An' aft her tender heart it sighed
O'er tales o' love an' glory.
To hear young Johnnie's story;
An' aft her tender heart it sighed
O'er tales o' love an' glory.
328
But far frae her young Johnnie's gane,
Forsaking his young dearie;
And now she wanders out alane—
Heartbroken, sad, an' eerie.
Ahint yon clouds the wan moon peeps,
A-chasing o' the gloamin';
An' casts dark shadows o'er the steeps
Where beauteous Jeannie's roamin'.
Forsaking his young dearie;
And now she wanders out alane—
Heartbroken, sad, an' eerie.
Ahint yon clouds the wan moon peeps,
A-chasing o' the gloamin';
An' casts dark shadows o'er the steeps
Where beauteous Jeannie's roamin'.
When Master Sprat had squeakit owre his sang,
Wi' cheers an' ruffin' the aul' barn-wa's rang.
An' down he sat, an' up his fiddle took,
And—while he owre his shouther cast a look—
Began “The Weaver's March” wi' a' his micht;
When some cried out—“Man! ye're no playin' richt,
That's near about as like ‘God Save the King,’
I'll tak' my aith, as ony ither thing.”
While ithers took his part, saying—“Stop yer bletherin',
The callan's doing unco weel, considerin';
But, wheesht, ye bitches, there's the Spouter's bell!
An' let us hear what he's now got to tell.”
When, in he cam', an' screwin' up his face
Began an' tell't the weaver's waefu' case;
To be a warning to a' love-born chiels
Never to lea their wark to grunt amang the fiel's:—
Wi' cheers an' ruffin' the aul' barn-wa's rang.
An' down he sat, an' up his fiddle took,
And—while he owre his shouther cast a look—
Began “The Weaver's March” wi' a' his micht;
When some cried out—“Man! ye're no playin' richt,
That's near about as like ‘God Save the King,’
I'll tak' my aith, as ony ither thing.”
While ithers took his part, saying—“Stop yer bletherin',
The callan's doing unco weel, considerin';
But, wheesht, ye bitches, there's the Spouter's bell!
An' let us hear what he's now got to tell.”
When, in he cam', an' screwin' up his face
Began an' tell't the weaver's waefu' case;
To be a warning to a' love-born chiels
Never to lea their wark to grunt amang the fiel's:—
THE FORLORN WEAVER.
On Cartha's fair banks, 'neath a tree,
That threw its broad branches around,
A weaver, most piteous to see,
Disconsolate lay on the ground:
He sighed for his Sally so fair,
Who off with another had gone,
And left the poor swain in despair,
At his cruel fortune to mourn.
That threw its broad branches around,
A weaver, most piteous to see,
Disconsolate lay on the ground:
He sighed for his Sally so fair,
Who off with another had gone,
And left the poor swain in despair,
At his cruel fortune to mourn.
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“Ah, why should I live now!” he cried;
“Ah, what signifies life now to me!
When she, who should have been my bride,
Is married to Willie M'Gee:
I'm sure if the weather was hot,
I would end all my woes in the Linn;
So I'll e'en muse upon my sad lot,
Till ance that the summer comes in.
“Ah, what signifies life now to me!
When she, who should have been my bride,
Is married to Willie M'Gee:
I'm sure if the weather was hot,
I would end all my woes in the Linn;
So I'll e'en muse upon my sad lot,
Till ance that the summer comes in.
“Then down to the river I'll go,
With my pockets well filled with old leads;
And hurried on by my woe,
Soon lie a cold corse 'mang the reeds.
Then will the false fair one sad mourn
That her cruelty drove me that road;
And shed bitter tears, as I'm borne
Along to be laid 'neath the sod.”
With my pockets well filled with old leads;
And hurried on by my woe,
Soon lie a cold corse 'mang the reeds.
Then will the false fair one sad mourn
That her cruelty drove me that road;
And shed bitter tears, as I'm borne
Along to be laid 'neath the sod.”
So saying, he chanced to look round,
And, seeing his faither draw nigh,
He raiséd himself from the ground,
And heaved up a heart-bursting sigh,—
Saying, “Ah! he is bringing a stick
To drive me away to the shop;
So I'd better myself take off quick—
'Twould be folly here longer to stop.”
And, seeing his faither draw nigh,
He raiséd himself from the ground,
And heaved up a heart-bursting sigh,—
Saying, “Ah! he is bringing a stick
To drive me away to the shop;
So I'd better myself take off quick—
'Twould be folly here longer to stop.”
And then the poor swain said,—“Alas!”
And ran swiftly along Cartha's side;
When, stumbling among the long grass,
He fell headlong into the deep tide.
When, in accents of horror, he cried—
“Help! help! or I'll quickly be drowned!”
And hurrying down to the side
We drew the poor mortal on ground.
And ran swiftly along Cartha's side;
When, stumbling among the long grass,
He fell headlong into the deep tide.
When, in accents of horror, he cried—
“Help! help! or I'll quickly be drowned!”
And hurrying down to the side
We drew the poor mortal on ground.
330
Where—streaming with water—his head
He hung like a penitent thief;
And, shaking and shivering, thus said
In a voice of deep sorrow and grief—
“From this day, a promise I make
That I'll ne'er talk of drowning again;”
And then, giving his head a guid shake,
He scamperéd home o'er the plain.
He hung like a penitent thief;
And, shaking and shivering, thus said
In a voice of deep sorrow and grief—
“From this day, a promise I make
That I'll ne'er talk of drowning again;”
And then, giving his head a guid shake,
He scamperéd home o'er the plain.
While he was rantin' owre the weaver's woes,
Loud roars of laughter aftentimes arose:
An' when the waefu' tale was a' gane through,
An aul' man near me said “Think ye that's true?”
“I dinna ken, what do you think yoursel'?”
Said I, as down the screen before us fell.
“I think it's true,” quo' he, “for weel I min'
Something gae like it, that I saw langsyne.
A tailor chiel (I'll ca' him Willie Goose,
To tell his richt name wad be o' no use)
Had been sair slichted by a bonnie lass;
An' soon as e'er he heard o't, the puir ass
Baith said and swore that he wad tak' his life,
Either by hanging, drowning, or a knife.
Sae up he jumpit, on his bonnet pat,
An' hurried aff to a bit nice quait spat;
Whare, neath some sauchs, the water ran fu' deep,
The banks at that place being gayen steep;
An' jumpit in, thinkin' he was his lane,
But twa three o' us after him had gane;
Partly to see the fun, partly to save
The silly callan frae a watery grave.
Weel, soon as ever he had jumpit in
(I'm sure the water scarce had wat his skin),
He roared for help as loud as he could shout,
An' struggled hard's he could for to win out.
An' down we gaed, an' made him promise fair
That he wad do the like o' that nae mair;
An' then I helped to draw him out mysel'—
But isna that the ringin' o' the bell?
Sae I will tell you a' the rest again,—
We'll stop an' hearken, now, to Mr. Main.”
Loud roars of laughter aftentimes arose:
An' when the waefu' tale was a' gane through,
An aul' man near me said “Think ye that's true?”
“I dinna ken, what do you think yoursel'?”
Said I, as down the screen before us fell.
“I think it's true,” quo' he, “for weel I min'
Something gae like it, that I saw langsyne.
A tailor chiel (I'll ca' him Willie Goose,
To tell his richt name wad be o' no use)
Had been sair slichted by a bonnie lass;
An' soon as e'er he heard o't, the puir ass
Baith said and swore that he wad tak' his life,
Either by hanging, drowning, or a knife.
Sae up he jumpit, on his bonnet pat,
An' hurried aff to a bit nice quait spat;
Whare, neath some sauchs, the water ran fu' deep,
The banks at that place being gayen steep;
An' jumpit in, thinkin' he was his lane,
But twa three o' us after him had gane;
Partly to see the fun, partly to save
The silly callan frae a watery grave.
Weel, soon as ever he had jumpit in
(I'm sure the water scarce had wat his skin),
He roared for help as loud as he could shout,
An' struggled hard's he could for to win out.
331
That he wad do the like o' that nae mair;
An' then I helped to draw him out mysel'—
But isna that the ringin' o' the bell?
Sae I will tell you a' the rest again,—
We'll stop an' hearken, now, to Mr. Main.”
Weel, up the screen was haurlet in a crack,
An' in he cam' an' gied “Rabbie's Mistak'.”
An, Lord! sic laughin' ran frae wa' to wa',
To hear how Rabbie doitert through the snaw
Armed wi' a muckle gun, out ower his shouther,
An' loaded weel wi' pocks o' lead an' pouther;
An' how at last the puir unfort'nate tumphy,
Wi' a lead bullet, murdered his ain grumphy,—
The bodie being sae blin', he didna ken
His ain sow frae a maukin in the glen.
An' in he cam' an' gied “Rabbie's Mistak'.”
An, Lord! sic laughin' ran frae wa' to wa',
To hear how Rabbie doitert through the snaw
Armed wi' a muckle gun, out ower his shouther,
An' loaded weel wi' pocks o' lead an' pouther;
An' how at last the puir unfort'nate tumphy,
Wi' a lead bullet, murdered his ain grumphy,—
The bodie being sae blin', he didna ken
His ain sow frae a maukin in the glen.
Then Master Sprat got up again to sing
Some verses made on the return o' Spring;
(An' while he sang, he played upon the fiddle),
But had to stop ere he got to the middle;
For sic a hissing soon was raised at him—
I ne'er in a' my life heard sic a din.
Whistlin' through fingers, yells, an' awfu' squeels,
Maist made ane think they were a core o' deils
Let loose frae Hell, the laddie to torment,—
Sae aff the stage by them he soon was sent.
Some verses made on the return o' Spring;
(An' while he sang, he played upon the fiddle),
But had to stop ere he got to the middle;
For sic a hissing soon was raised at him—
I ne'er in a' my life heard sic a din.
Whistlin' through fingers, yells, an' awfu' squeels,
Maist made ane think they were a core o' deils
Let loose frae Hell, the laddie to torment,—
Sae aff the stage by them he soon was sent.
“A stage to let!” then out a fellow cried,
An' in cam' Mr. Main, wi' warlike stride;
As if he'd been some auld grim mail-clad knight,
Ready to join his faes in deadly fight;
An' makin' us a bow, began to gie
This waefu' tale o' woe an' cruelty:—
An' in cam' Mr. Main, wi' warlike stride;
As if he'd been some auld grim mail-clad knight,
Ready to join his faes in deadly fight;
An' makin' us a bow, began to gie
This waefu' tale o' woe an' cruelty:—
THE RIVALS.
Lone, on the side of a high towering hill,
From whose mist-shrouded top pours many a rill;
Near where fierce Calder, down the craggy steep,
Brawls to the Loch, with wild impetuous sweep;
There, safely sheltered from the howling storm,
Stood a neat cottage of inviting form;
Where lived a soldier, home from war's alarms,
With his fair daughter, rich in beauty's charms.
From whose mist-shrouded top pours many a rill;
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Brawls to the Loch, with wild impetuous sweep;
There, safely sheltered from the howling storm,
Stood a neat cottage of inviting form;
Where lived a soldier, home from war's alarms,
With his fair daughter, rich in beauty's charms.
Round her fair form her golden ringlets strayed,
And every grace adorned this charming maid;
But, oh! sad grief her matchless beauty bred,
And streams of blood in deadly strife was shed!
For though she lived retired, her only care
To please her father, and his love to share.
Yet many a fierce encounter oft was fought
By fiery rivals, who her hand had sought.
And every grace adorned this charming maid;
But, oh! sad grief her matchless beauty bred,
And streams of blood in deadly strife was shed!
For though she lived retired, her only care
To please her father, and his love to share.
Yet many a fierce encounter oft was fought
By fiery rivals, who her hand had sought.
The Lord of Semple loved this blooming flower,
And oft had wished he had her in his power
Safe in the Peel, his stronghold on the lake,
Where he would her his wife by force soon make,—
Although he knew, she'd said she'd share the board
Of Fulton, Authenbathie's noble lord;
Who oft in secret wooed the mountain maid,
And of his hand, an offer oft had made.
And oft had wished he had her in his power
Safe in the Peel, his stronghold on the lake,
Where he would her his wife by force soon make,—
Although he knew, she'd said she'd share the board
Of Fulton, Authenbathie's noble lord;
Who oft in secret wooed the mountain maid,
And of his hand, an offer oft had made.
One night, when the moon shone o'er hill and glade,
The Lord of Semple, in full pomp arrayed,
Passed quickly round yon distant murmuring flood,
Intent to burn the cottage in the wood.
And when he orders gave his men to burn
The cot, he swiftly o'er the plain did spurn
With the two bravest of his valiant men,
And onwards hurriéd by Calder glen;
The Lord of Semple, in full pomp arrayed,
Passed quickly round yon distant murmuring flood,
Intent to burn the cottage in the wood.
And when he orders gave his men to burn
The cot, he swiftly o'er the plain did spurn
With the two bravest of his valiant men,
And onwards hurriéd by Calder glen;
To where the maid her lover ofttimes met
When the bright sun far in the west had set;
And there alone, retiréd in the shade,
He found her waiting, and thus to her said—
“Oft have I stooped to woo thee for my bride,
Yet thou my love and passion didst deride;
But, now, I come to woo and win by force!”
So saying, he bound her fast upon a horse:
When the bright sun far in the west had set;
And there alone, retiréd in the shade,
He found her waiting, and thus to her said—
333
Yet thou my love and passion didst deride;
But, now, I come to woo and win by force!”
So saying, he bound her fast upon a horse:
And said—“My gallant men, the path is wide;
Be quick, and gain the river's western side!”
Quick flew the horses o'er the distant plain,
Then crossed the bridge, and the loch side they gain.
There, from the beach a fisher's boat they take.
And speedily crossed the calm and placid lake;
And in the Peel secure the maiden bound,
Where nought but water did the place surround.
Be quick, and gain the river's western side!”
Quick flew the horses o'er the distant plain,
Then crossed the bridge, and the loch side they gain.
There, from the beach a fisher's boat they take.
And speedily crossed the calm and placid lake;
And in the Peel secure the maiden bound,
Where nought but water did the place surround.
When Fulton came and found the cottage burned,
He swiftly o'er the plain his charger spurned;
And, madly dashing past yon glittering rill,
Quickly attained the summit of the hill:
When, looking to the Peel, there met his view
His bride, and off in swift pursuit he flew,—
And quickly found a boat, and crossed the lake,
To conquer or to die for his love's sake.
He swiftly o'er the plain his charger spurned;
And, madly dashing past yon glittering rill,
Quickly attained the summit of the hill:
When, looking to the Peel, there met his view
His bride, and off in swift pursuit he flew,—
And quickly found a boat, and crossed the lake,
To conquer or to die for his love's sake.
Young Fulton's boat had scarcely crossed the flood
When Castle Semple's lord before him stood,
And drawing near him, in derision said—
“Come ye, young man, to claim yon beauteous maid?”
Then forth he drew his sword, a glittering sight,
And in a posture stood, prepared for fight;
Then rose young Fulton's wrath; a fiery glow
O'er-spread his face, and crimson dyed his brow.
When from the Peel, a wild and dismal cry
When Castle Semple's lord before him stood,
And drawing near him, in derision said—
“Come ye, young man, to claim yon beauteous maid?”
Then forth he drew his sword, a glittering sight,
And in a posture stood, prepared for fight;
Then rose young Fulton's wrath; a fiery glow
O'er-spread his face, and crimson dyed his brow.
Shot on their ears, and rung along the sky;
Then swift as lightning, Fulton drew his blade,
And cried, “I come! I come unto thy aid!”
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Each in his turn aimed at his rival's life;
Till both their footing missed, and, with a shock,
Plunged headlong o'er the black and rugged rock
Into the dark, deep, wide encircling flood,
Dying the lake's clear surface with their blood;
The maid this seeing from the tower on high,
Threw herself down as quick as arrows fly;
For in dire madness, she had ta'en a leap
O'er the blood-stained rock, and rugged steep,
Into the blood-dyed water of the lake:
And thus she perished for her lover's sake.
To cheer us up, after this tale o' wae,
Master Sprat cam' an' gied us “Hogmenae,”—
A funny sang made on some cheery blades,
Wha for ae nicht had left their noisy trades
To hae a spree, an' drink the auld year out;
An' faith they had richt sport, ye needna doubt:
For ane ca'd Brodie, cryin' out “Nae clash,”
Fell aff his seat wi' a most awfu' crash;
An' ane ca'd Andrew sang wi' a' his micht
“Hummle dum tweedle,” an' “Blythe was the nicht,”—
Till ilka ane, wi' drink an' fun grown weary,
Gaed stauchrin' hame, richt blithe an' unco cheery.
Master Sprat cam' an' gied us “Hogmenae,”—
A funny sang made on some cheery blades,
Wha for ae nicht had left their noisy trades
To hae a spree, an' drink the auld year out;
An' faith they had richt sport, ye needna doubt:
For ane ca'd Brodie, cryin' out “Nae clash,”
Fell aff his seat wi' a most awfu' crash;
An' ane ca'd Andrew sang wi' a' his micht
“Hummle dum tweedle,” an' “Blythe was the nicht,”—
Till ilka ane, wi' drink an' fun grown weary,
Gaed stauchrin' hame, richt blithe an' unco cheery.
“Encore! encore!” then roun' the auld barn rang
As soon as Master Sprat got owre his sang;
An' some began to cry for Mr. Main,
While ithers roared “Come, gie's that sang again!”
Till, forced wi' cheers an' ruffin' to come back,
He rattled owre this new sang in a crack:—
As soon as Master Sprat got owre his sang;
An' some began to cry for Mr. Main,
While ithers roared “Come, gie's that sang again!”
Till, forced wi' cheers an' ruffin' to come back,
He rattled owre this new sang in a crack:—
335
OWRE STEEP ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
A SONG.
Owre steep rocky mountains, bleak, barren, an' wild,
Sae wearied, I dannert alane;
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,
Conveyed me awa to her hame.
Wi' bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched,
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor;
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun',
An' shaded the seat at her door.
Sae wearied, I dannert alane;
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,
Conveyed me awa to her hame.
Wi' bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched,
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor;
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun',
An' shaded the seat at her door.
We sat ourselves down to a rural repast,—
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,—
While frae her black e'e sweet glances she cast,
Love slyly crept into my breast.
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said,
In accents both sweet and divine,
“I hae rich anes rejected, an' great anes denied,
Yet tak' me, dear laddie, I'm thine.”
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,—
While frae her black e'e sweet glances she cast,
Love slyly crept into my breast.
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said,
In accents both sweet and divine,
“I hae rich anes rejected, an' great anes denied,
Yet tak' me, dear laddie, I'm thine.”
Her air was sae modest, her voice was sae sweet,
An' rural, yet sweet were her charms;
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,
An' clasped the dear maid in my arms.
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep,
By the side o' yon clear wimplin' stream;
An' resting on each other's bosom we sleep,
In cheerfu' bless'd, happy, sweet dreams.
An' rural, yet sweet were her charms;
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,
An' clasped the dear maid in my arms.
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep,
By the side o' yon clear wimplin' stream;
An' resting on each other's bosom we sleep,
In cheerfu' bless'd, happy, sweet dreams.
Together we stray owre yon green heathery braes,
An' range through the wild grassy fen;
Or rest by the side o' some clear gushing rill,
That rins down to wild Calder glen.
To pomp an' great riches she ne'er was inclined,
But is glad in her humble descent;
So cheerfu' we live in our ain rural cot,
Bless'd, happy, an' always content.
An' range through the wild grassy fen;
Or rest by the side o' some clear gushing rill,
That rins down to wild Calder glen.
To pomp an' great riches she ne'er was inclined,
But is glad in her humble descent;
So cheerfu' we live in our ain rural cot,
Bless'd, happy, an' always content.
336
This second sang was scarcely at a close,
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose;
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek.
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries.
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies;
“For, gi he dinna keep out o' my licht,
I'm damn'd, my man, but I'll gie you a fricht.”
“Come, stop your bletherin' there, ye graceless loon,
For, see! the Spouter's coming: quick, sit down!”
The folk aroun' them cried; as Mr. Main
Cam' walkin' in, to gie a tale again.
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose;
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek.
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries.
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies;
“For, gi he dinna keep out o' my licht,
I'm damn'd, my man, but I'll gie you a fricht.”
“Come, stop your bletherin' there, ye graceless loon,
For, see! the Spouter's coming: quick, sit down!”
The folk aroun' them cried; as Mr. Main
Cam' walkin' in, to gie a tale again.
THE BENIGHTED PEDLAR.
A TALE.
Cauld blew the blast, an' on the plain
In torrents fell the blatterin' rain,
As a puir packman chiel,
Wha on the muir had tynt his road,
Gaed trudgin' 'neath his heavy load,
In search o' some bit biel,
In torrents fell the blatterin' rain,
As a puir packman chiel,
Wha on the muir had tynt his road,
Gaed trudgin' 'neath his heavy load,
In search o' some bit biel,
Whare he micht shelter frae the wet,
Or aiblins a nicht's lodgin' get;
For since the break o' day,
Bendin' aneath his heavy pack,
He'd trampit on wi' wearied back
Alang his lanesome way.
Or aiblins a nicht's lodgin' get;
For since the break o' day,
Bendin' aneath his heavy pack,
He'd trampit on wi' wearied back
Alang his lanesome way.
When, standing in a dreary spot,
An auld half-ruined shepherd's cot
The weary pedlar saw,
Whilk had fac'd mony a windy blast
Since it had haen a traveller last
Within its totterin' wa's.
An auld half-ruined shepherd's cot
The weary pedlar saw,
Whilk had fac'd mony a windy blast
Since it had haen a traveller last
Within its totterin' wa's.
337
For aff its rugged rafters black,
Mony a fierce storm had tirred the thack
An' left them stanin' bare;
While the auld, broken, shattered door,
Torn aff its hinges, on the floor
Kept out the blast nae mair.
Mony a fierce storm had tirred the thack
An' left them stanin' bare;
While the auld, broken, shattered door,
Torn aff its hinges, on the floor
Kept out the blast nae mair.
The wearied pedlar hurried in,
A' wat an' drookit to the skin,
Syne threw his burden down;
An' having quickly struck a licht,
Ere lang a bleezin' fire shone bricht,
On the black wa's a' roun'.
A' wat an' drookit to the skin,
Syne threw his burden down;
An' having quickly struck a licht,
Ere lang a bleezin' fire shone bricht,
On the black wa's a' roun'.
When having dried his dreepin' claise,
The broken door he up did raise,
Syne laid him down to rest;
When he fan' something awfu' caul,
That seemed to freeze his verra saul,
Pressin' upo' his breast.
The broken door he up did raise,
Syne laid him down to rest;
When he fan' something awfu' caul,
That seemed to freeze his verra saul,
Pressin' upo' his breast.
He started up in awfu' fricht,
An' by the fading fire's dull licht,
He saw near whare he lay:
A fleesome-looking spectre stan',
Haudin' an ell-wan' in his han'
Wi' face a' pale as clay.
An' by the fading fire's dull licht,
He saw near whare he lay:
A fleesome-looking spectre stan',
Haudin' an ell-wan' in his han'
Wi' face a' pale as clay.
Its throat was cut frae ear to ear,
An', as the pedlar glowered wi' fear,
It fixed on him its e'e;
Syne pointed to the cottage door;
When out the frichted chiel did roar—
“In Gude's name, wha are ye?”
An', as the pedlar glowered wi' fear,
It fixed on him its e'e;
Syne pointed to the cottage door;
When out the frichted chiel did roar—
“In Gude's name, wha are ye?”
338
It answered—“I'm a packman's ghost.
I on this muir my road ance lost,
An' soucht a lodgin' here;
When i' the nicht, withouten dread,
They took my life—a bloody deed!—
That they micht get my gear.
I on this muir my road ance lost,
An' soucht a lodgin' here;
When i' the nicht, withouten dread,
They took my life—a bloody deed!—
That they micht get my gear.
“Sae rise, my frien', an' fallow me,
An' I will let you the place see
Whare they my banes hae laid.”
“I'm much obliged to you, indeed;
But I wad just as soon no heed,”
The tremblin' pedlar said:
An' I will let you the place see
Whare they my banes hae laid.”
“I'm much obliged to you, indeed;
But I wad just as soon no heed,”
The tremblin' pedlar said:
“For, sir, ye see I'm wearied sair
Wi' trampin' a' day owre the muir,
Carryin' a heavy pack.”
But, seeing that the ghost looked glum,
He added—“Weel a weel, I'll come
Gif ye'll let me soon back.”
Wi' trampin' a' day owre the muir,
Carryin' a heavy pack.”
But, seeing that the ghost looked glum,
He added—“Weel a weel, I'll come
Gif ye'll let me soon back.”
The ghost then glided to the door,
An' silently moved on before
The frichted pedlar chap;
Wha trudged behin', cursin' his lot
That had brought him to sic a spot,
To meet wi' this mishap.
An' silently moved on before
The frichted pedlar chap;
Wha trudged behin', cursin' his lot
That had brought him to sic a spot,
To meet wi' this mishap.
At length, they reach'd a rocky height,
'Neath whilk the water, shining bright,
Clear in the moonbeams lay;
When the ghost said—“Amang these stanes
Down at the bottom, lye my banes,
Jump down for them, I say.”
'Neath whilk the water, shining bright,
Clear in the moonbeams lay;
When the ghost said—“Amang these stanes
Down at the bottom, lye my banes,
Jump down for them, I say.”
339
“Lord!” quo' the pedlar, turning round,
“If I did that I wad be drowned,
I wad, I do declare.”
“What's that to me!” the ghost replies;
“Jump down this moment, damn your eyes!
An' don't stan' chatterin' there.
“If I did that I wad be drowned,
I wad, I do declare.”
“What's that to me!” the ghost replies;
“Jump down this moment, damn your eyes!
An' don't stan' chatterin' there.
Do ye think I've nae mair ado,
Than stan' a' nicht listening to you,
Ye thievish neer-do-weel?
I winna swear; but, by the Lord,
Gif ye don't jump down, tak' my word,
My vengeance ye will feel.”
Than stan' a' nicht listening to you,
Ye thievish neer-do-weel?
I winna swear; but, by the Lord,
Gif ye don't jump down, tak' my word,
My vengeance ye will feel.”
The pedlar then for mercy cried,
An' then, to melt the ghost's heart tried;
But it was labour lost:
For liftin' him up by the hair,
He whirlèd him roun' in the air;
Syne in the hole him tossed.
An' then, to melt the ghost's heart tried;
But it was labour lost:
For liftin' him up by the hair,
He whirlèd him roun' in the air;
Syne in the hole him tossed.
When he set up an awfu' yell
As through the air he downward fell:
An' waukened wi' a scream.
When he was lyin' in the cot,
For he had never left the spot:
It had been but a dream.
As through the air he downward fell:
An' waukened wi' a scream.
When he was lyin' in the cot,
For he had never left the spot:
It had been but a dream.
As soon as Mr. Main got through this tale
O' dreams, an' packman, an' a spectre pale,
Young Master Sprat got up again an' sang,
And faith he routed at it loud an' lang,—
But what it was about I dinna min',
For twa three fellows had kicked up a shine,
An', wi' their dinsome swearin' loud an' lang,
No ane cou'd hear a word o' the bit sang.
O' dreams, an' packman, an' a spectre pale,
Young Master Sprat got up again an' sang,
And faith he routed at it loud an' lang,—
But what it was about I dinna min',
For twa three fellows had kicked up a shine,
An', wi' their dinsome swearin' loud an' lang,
No ane cou'd hear a word o' the bit sang.
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Then in the Spouter cam' upo' the board,
An' in an instant, quietness was restored.
When he soon gied us “Eppie an' the Deil,”—
A tale about an auld wife an' her wheel;
Wha, ae nicht daunerin' hame out owre the heicht,
Gat frae aul' Clootie a most awfu' fricht:
For, in her wrath, she said—“I wish the Deil
Wou'd flee awa' wi' this aul' curséd wheel;”
And faith, nae sooner had she said the word,
Than frae the clouds the Devil downwards spurred,
An' whuppit Eppie's wheel awa wi' speed,
Whilk made the auld wife stan' an' stare wi' dread:
“Gie's back my wheel!” she cried; and, as she spak',
The Devil flung it down upo' her back.
An' in an instant, quietness was restored.
When he soon gied us “Eppie an' the Deil,”—
A tale about an auld wife an' her wheel;
Wha, ae nicht daunerin' hame out owre the heicht,
Gat frae aul' Clootie a most awfu' fricht:
For, in her wrath, she said—“I wish the Deil
Wou'd flee awa' wi' this aul' curséd wheel;”
And faith, nae sooner had she said the word,
Than frae the clouds the Devil downwards spurred,
An' whuppit Eppie's wheel awa wi' speed,
Whilk made the auld wife stan' an' stare wi' dread:
“Gie's back my wheel!” she cried; and, as she spak',
The Devil flung it down upo' her back.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the Spouter said
When he an end o' Eppie's tale had made:
“Allow me to express my gratitude
In a few words, before that I conclude;
For the great kindness you have shown to me
In coming my performances to see.”
Ruffin' an' cheers now owre the audience rang
As he continued,—“I will, with a song,
This night's performance close, ere it be late;
When Master Sprat, to heighten up the treat,
Will sing the chorus.” He then made a bow,
An', turnin' round to Master Sprat, said—“Now,
We will begin.” Then Master Sprat upsprang,
An' syne they both began the followin' sang:—
When he an end o' Eppie's tale had made:
“Allow me to express my gratitude
In a few words, before that I conclude;
For the great kindness you have shown to me
In coming my performances to see.”
Ruffin' an' cheers now owre the audience rang
As he continued,—“I will, with a song,
This night's performance close, ere it be late;
When Master Sprat, to heighten up the treat,
Will sing the chorus.” He then made a bow,
An', turnin' round to Master Sprat, said—“Now,
We will begin.” Then Master Sprat upsprang,
An' syne they both began the followin' sang:—
THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE'S SONG.
I sport amidst the storm,
As o'er the lake it sweeps;
And raise in glee my elfin form,
Frae the wide-spreading deeps;
In mist and spray,
At dawning day
When the sun gives place to evening grey.
As o'er the lake it sweeps;
341
Frae the wide-spreading deeps;
In mist and spray,
At dawning day
When the sun gives place to evening grey.
Chorus.
Then hark! hark! hark!To my fairy song;
As I dart like a spark
The clouds among;
In sovereign sway,
Till break of day
Chanting with glee my wild war song.
I glory in the yelling breeze,
The lightning's vivid light—
As it darts among the rending trees
In the dark lonely night;
In flashing fire,
O'er tower and spire,
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven's dread ire.
The lightning's vivid light—
As it darts among the rending trees
In the dark lonely night;
In flashing fire,
O'er tower and spire,
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven's dread ire.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
I dance upon the rainbow's rim
As o'er the lake it hings;
And sweep along in shadows dim,
Waking the echo's rings;
With my wild song,
In numbers strong,
As it rings through the valley so loud and long.
As o'er the lake it hings;
And sweep along in shadows dim,
Waking the echo's rings;
With my wild song,
In numbers strong,
As it rings through the valley so loud and long.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
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In fearless speed, I cleave the sky
In wild majestic liberty,
And, in freedom, I spring on high
A thing of dread and mystery;
Who, when is seen,
Is like a dream,
Or a passing breeze o'er a valley green!
In wild majestic liberty,
And, in freedom, I spring on high
A thing of dread and mystery;
Who, when is seen,
Is like a dream,
Or a passing breeze o'er a valley green!
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
When Luna sheds her silver light
Over yon rugged steep;
'Tis then I take my airy flight,
And o'er the valley sweep;
And spring on high
With cheery cry,
Till I the dark blue ocean spy.
Over yon rugged steep;
'Tis then I take my airy flight,
And o'er the valley sweep;
And spring on high
With cheery cry,
Till I the dark blue ocean spy.
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
Oh! when the thunders ring along,
And lightnings fierce descend;
'Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,
As the forest trees loud rend;
And mount on high
'Midst the revelry,
And fly with glee through the dark'ning sky!
And lightnings fierce descend;
'Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,
As the forest trees loud rend;
And mount on high
'Midst the revelry,
And fly with glee through the dark'ning sky!
Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
O! how I love to hear!—but hark!
What's that towers o'er yon height?
I see! see! 'tis the early lark
Hailing the morning's light;
So I cannot stay,
But must hie away,
For see! how fast comes the sun's bright ray!
What's that towers o'er yon height?
I see! see! 'tis the early lark
Hailing the morning's light;
So I cannot stay,
But must hie away,
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Then hark! hark! hark!
To my fairy song, &c.
To my fairy song, &c.
As soon as they had finishéd the sang,
We a' got up, an' hurried aff fu' thrang;
An' as we trudged alang, many a remark
Ane to anither made 'bout the night's wark.
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer
To hear a dead man's ghost baith curse and swear;
And that they didna think that it was fair
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,
An' syne to fling him o'er into the stream.
“Hoot!” quo' anither, “wasna it a dream?
An' weel ye ken that, aftimes i' the nicht,
Folk dream o' things that whyles gie them a fricht;
'Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel'
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.”
This raised a laugh; an' ilk took his ain way,
Determined for to hear a full account next day.
We a' got up, an' hurried aff fu' thrang;
An' as we trudged alang, many a remark
Ane to anither made 'bout the night's wark.
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer
To hear a dead man's ghost baith curse and swear;
And that they didna think that it was fair
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,
An' syne to fling him o'er into the stream.
“Hoot!” quo' anither, “wasna it a dream?
An' weel ye ken that, aftimes i' the nicht,
Folk dream o' things that whyles gie them a fricht;
'Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel'
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.”
This raised a laugh; an' ilk took his ain way,
Determined for to hear a full account next day.
CONCLUSION.
Next day arrived; but ah! the nest had flown,For Mr. Main and Sprat had left the town,
An' (in their hurry) had forgot to pay
The debt they had contracted yesterday.
An' Willie Watson swore like any Turk
That it had been a thievish piece o' wark;
An' if he could the Spouter get, that he
The inside o' a jail wad let him see.
Although puir Willie said to us,—“I trow,
To sic a rascal 'twad be nothing new;
For weel-a-wat it isna his first trick,
Nor yet the first time he has ‘cut his stick.’
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An' that's I'll ken again wha gets my barn;
An' mak' them always pay the cash before
They ever set a nose in at the door.’
An' then poor Will began an' swore again,
What he wad do when he got Mr. Main;
When some auld wives said, “Man, ye should think shame,
For ye hae nae ane but yersel to blame,
For they wha mak' an' meddle wi' sic crew,
Aye meet with something they hae cause to rue.”
An' Willie clawed his head an' said, “Atweel,
They wad need a lang spoon wha sup kail wi' the deil.”
THE INVITATION.
ADDRESSED TO MR. C[HARLES] O[RR].
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since he cannot conquer, learns to fly.
Goldsmith.
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since he cannot conquer, learns to fly.
Goldsmith.
From Schuylkill's rural banks, o'erlooking wide
The glitt'ring pomp of Philadelphia's pride,
From laurel groves that bloom for ever here,
I hail my dearest friend with heart sincere,
And fondly ask, nay, ardently implore
One kind excursion to my cot once more.
The fairest scenes that ever blest the year,
Now o'er our vales and yellow plains appear:
The richest harvests choke each loaded field,
The ruddiest fruit our glowing orchards yield:
In green, and gold, and purple plumes array'd,
The gayest songsters chant in ev'ry shade.
O, could the Muse but faithfully pourtray
The various pipes that hymn our rising day!
Whose thrilling melody can banish care,
Cheer the lone heart, and almost soothe despair;
My grateful verse should with their praises glow,
And distant shores our charming warblers know;
And you, dear sir, their harmony to hear
Would bless the strain that led your footsteps here.
The glitt'ring pomp of Philadelphia's pride,
From laurel groves that bloom for ever here,
I hail my dearest friend with heart sincere,
And fondly ask, nay, ardently implore
One kind excursion to my cot once more.
The fairest scenes that ever blest the year,
Now o'er our vales and yellow plains appear:
The richest harvests choke each loaded field,
The ruddiest fruit our glowing orchards yield:
In green, and gold, and purple plumes array'd,
The gayest songsters chant in ev'ry shade.
345
The various pipes that hymn our rising day!
Whose thrilling melody can banish care,
Cheer the lone heart, and almost soothe despair;
My grateful verse should with their praises glow,
And distant shores our charming warblers know;
And you, dear sir, their harmony to hear
Would bless the strain that led your footsteps here.
When morning dawns, and the bright sun again
Leaves the flat forests of the Jersey main,
Then through our woodbines wet with glitt'ring dews
The flower-fed Humming-Bird his round pursues,
Sips with inserted tube the honey'd blooms,
And chirps his gratitude, as round he roams;
While richest roses, though in crimson drest,
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast.
What heav'nly tints in mingling radiance fly!
Each rapid movement gives a diff'rent dye;
Like scales of burnish'd gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade, now furnace-bright they glow.
Leaves the flat forests of the Jersey main,
Then through our woodbines wet with glitt'ring dews
The flower-fed Humming-Bird his round pursues,
Sips with inserted tube the honey'd blooms,
And chirps his gratitude, as round he roams;
While richest roses, though in crimson drest,
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast.
What heav'nly tints in mingling radiance fly!
Each rapid movement gives a diff'rent dye;
Like scales of burnish'd gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade, now furnace-bright they glow.
High on the waving top of some tall tree,
Sweet sings the Thrush to morning and to me;
While round its skirts, 'midst pendant boughs of green,
The orange Baltimore is busy seen.
Prone from the points his netted nest is hung,
With hempen cordage, curiously strung:
Here his young nestlings safe from danger lie,
Their craving wants the teeming boughs supply;
Gay chants their guardian, as for food he goes,
And waving breezes rock them to repose.
The white-wing'd Woodpecker, with crimson crest,
Who digs from solid trunks his curious nest,
Sees the long black snake stealing to his brood,
And screaming, stains the branches with its blood.
Sweet sings the Thrush to morning and to me;
While round its skirts, 'midst pendant boughs of green,
The orange Baltimore is busy seen.
Prone from the points his netted nest is hung,
With hempen cordage, curiously strung:
Here his young nestlings safe from danger lie,
Their craving wants the teeming boughs supply;
Gay chants their guardian, as for food he goes,
And waving breezes rock them to repose.
The white-wing'd Woodpecker, with crimson crest,
Who digs from solid trunks his curious nest,
Sees the long black snake stealing to his brood,
And screaming, stains the branches with its blood.
Here o'er the woods the tyrant Kingbird sails,
Spreads his long wings, and every foe assails;
Snaps the returning bee with all her sweets,
Pursues the Crow, the diving Hawk defeats,
Darts on the Eagle downwards from afar,
And 'midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war.
Deep in the thickest shade, with cadence sweet,
Soft as the tones that heaven-bound pilgrims greet;
Sings the Woodrobin, close retir'd from sight,
And swells his solo 'mid the shades of night.
Spreads his long wings, and every foe assails;
Snaps the returning bee with all her sweets,
346
Darts on the Eagle downwards from afar,
And 'midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war.
Deep in the thickest shade, with cadence sweet,
Soft as the tones that heaven-bound pilgrims greet;
Sings the Woodrobin, close retir'd from sight,
And swells his solo 'mid the shades of night.
Here sports the Mocking-Bird with matchless strain,
Returning back each warbler's notes again;
Now chants a Robin, now o'er all the throng
Pours out in strains sublime the Thrush's song;
Barks like the Squirrel, like the Cat-bird squalls,
Now “Whip-poor-will” and now “Bob White” he calls.
Returning back each warbler's notes again;
Now chants a Robin, now o'er all the throng
Pours out in strains sublime the Thrush's song;
Barks like the Squirrel, like the Cat-bird squalls,
Now “Whip-poor-will” and now “Bob White” he calls.
The lonely Redbird, too, adorns the scene
In brightest scarlet through the foliage green;
With many a warbler more,—a vocal throng
That, shelter'd here, their joyous notes prolong
From the first dawn of dewy morning grey,
In sweet confusion, till the close of day;
Ev'n when still night descends serene and cool,
Ten thousand pipes awake from yonder pool,—
Owls, crickets, tree-frogs, kitty-dids resound,
And flashing fire-flies sparkle all around.
Such boundless plenty, such abundant stores,
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours,
That every living tribe their powers employ,
From morn to eve, to testify their joy;
And pour from meadow, field, and boughs above,
One general song of gratitude and love.
Even now, emerging from their prisons deep,
Wak'd from their seventeen years of tedious sleep,
In countless millions, to our wondering eyes
The long-remember'd locusts glad arise;
Burst their enclosing shells, at Nature's call,
And join in praise to the great God of all.
In brightest scarlet through the foliage green;
With many a warbler more,—a vocal throng
That, shelter'd here, their joyous notes prolong
From the first dawn of dewy morning grey,
In sweet confusion, till the close of day;
Ev'n when still night descends serene and cool,
Ten thousand pipes awake from yonder pool,—
Owls, crickets, tree-frogs, kitty-dids resound,
And flashing fire-flies sparkle all around.
Such boundless plenty, such abundant stores,
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours,
That every living tribe their powers employ,
From morn to eve, to testify their joy;
And pour from meadow, field, and boughs above,
One general song of gratitude and love.
Even now, emerging from their prisons deep,
Wak'd from their seventeen years of tedious sleep,
In countless millions, to our wondering eyes
The long-remember'd locusts glad arise;
Burst their enclosing shells, at Nature's call,
And join in praise to the great God of all.
Come then, dear sir, the noisy town forsake,
With me awhile these rural joys partake;
Come, leave your books, your pens, your studious cares,
Come, see the bliss that God for Man prepares.
My shelt'ring bow'rs, with honeysuckles white,
My fishy pools, my cataracts invite;
My vines for you their clusters thick suspend,
My juicy peaches swell but for my friend;
For him who joins with elegance and art
The brightest talents to the warmest heart.
Here as with me at morn you range the wood,
Or headlong plunge amid the crystal flood,
More vig'rous life your firmer nerves shall brace,
A ruddier glow shall wanton o'er your face,
A livelier glance re-animate your eye,
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly;
For here, through every field and rustling grove,
Sweet Peace and rosy Health for ever rove.
Come, then, O come! your burning streets forego,
Your lanes and wharves, where winds infectious blow;
Where sweeps and oystermen eternal growl,
Carts, crowds, and coaches harrow up the soul;
For deep majestic woods, and op'ning glades,
And shining pools, and awe-inspiring shades,—
Where fragrant shrubs perfume the air around,
And bending orchards kiss the flow'ry ground;
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove,
And golden cherries stud the boughs above.
Amid these various sweets, thy rustic friend
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend;
His solitary walks, his noontide bowers,
The old associates of his lonely hours;
While Friendship's converse, gen'rous and sincere,
Exchanging every joy and every tear,
Shall warm each heart with such an ardent glow,
As wealth's whole pageantry could ne'er bestow.
Perhaps (for who can Nature's ties forget?)
With me awhile these rural joys partake;
347
Come, see the bliss that God for Man prepares.
My shelt'ring bow'rs, with honeysuckles white,
My fishy pools, my cataracts invite;
My vines for you their clusters thick suspend,
My juicy peaches swell but for my friend;
For him who joins with elegance and art
The brightest talents to the warmest heart.
Here as with me at morn you range the wood,
Or headlong plunge amid the crystal flood,
More vig'rous life your firmer nerves shall brace,
A ruddier glow shall wanton o'er your face,
A livelier glance re-animate your eye,
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly;
For here, through every field and rustling grove,
Sweet Peace and rosy Health for ever rove.
Come, then, O come! your burning streets forego,
Your lanes and wharves, where winds infectious blow;
Where sweeps and oystermen eternal growl,
Carts, crowds, and coaches harrow up the soul;
For deep majestic woods, and op'ning glades,
And shining pools, and awe-inspiring shades,—
Where fragrant shrubs perfume the air around,
And bending orchards kiss the flow'ry ground;
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove,
And golden cherries stud the boughs above.
Amid these various sweets, thy rustic friend
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend;
His solitary walks, his noontide bowers,
The old associates of his lonely hours;
While Friendship's converse, gen'rous and sincere,
Exchanging every joy and every tear,
Shall warm each heart with such an ardent glow,
As wealth's whole pageantry could ne'er bestow.
As underneath the flowery shade we sit,
348
Our thoughts may roam beyond the watery waste;
And see, with sadden'd hearts, in Memory's eye,
Those native shores, where dear-lov'd kindred sigh;
Where War and ghastly Want in horror reign,
And dying babes to fainting sires complain.
While we, alas! these mournful scenes retrace,
In climes of plenty, liberty, and peace;
Our tears shall flow, our ardent pray'rs arise,
That Heaven would wipe all sorrow from their eyes.
Thus, in celestial climes the heavenly train
Escap'd from Earth's dark ills, and all its pain,
Sigh o'er the scenes of suffering man below,
And drop a tear in tribute to our woe.
A--- W---n.
Gray's Ferry, July, 1800.
THE PILGRIM—A POEM.
Adieu the social sweets of home!
The voice of friend! the kindred eye!
Condemn'd through distant lands to roam,
I bless you with my parting sigh!
The voice of friend! the kindred eye!
Condemn'd through distant lands to roam,
I bless you with my parting sigh!
Through western forests, deep and drear,
Far from the haunts of Science thrown;
My long laborious course I steer
Alone, unguided, and unknown.
Far from the haunts of Science thrown;
My long laborious course I steer
Alone, unguided, and unknown.
“Farewell!” he cry'd; the glistening tear
That gather'd fast on either eye;
Dimm'd the last parting look so dear,
Till manlier feelings bade him fly.
That gather'd fast on either eye;
Dimm'd the last parting look so dear,
Till manlier feelings bade him fly.
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With gun across his shoulder thrown,—
O'er Alpine regions wild and vast,—
With gloomy haggard pines o'ergrown;
The solitary Pilgrim past.
O'er Alpine regions wild and vast,—
With gloomy haggard pines o'ergrown;
The solitary Pilgrim past.
And now immur'd 'midst many a cliff
Ohio's princely flood appears;
And snug within his little skiff
Our Pilgrim down the current steers.
Ohio's princely flood appears;
And snug within his little skiff
Our Pilgrim down the current steers.
No lucre-hunting wight was he,
Intent alone on greed of gain;
The noblest charms he still could see
In Nature's scenes and living train.
Intent alone on greed of gain;
The noblest charms he still could see
In Nature's scenes and living train.
The flood his gliding bark that bore
Whose stream a course majestic keeps,
Collects from various States its store,
And through a length of regions sweeps;
Whose stream a course majestic keeps,
Collects from various States its store,
And through a length of regions sweeps;
Its flat rich banks few cities nigh,
Its rough indented mountains steep;
Its smoking huts and headlands high,
Reflected downwards in the deep,
Its rough indented mountains steep;
Its smoking huts and headlands high,
Reflected downwards in the deep,
To him gave raptures every morn,
And as he clear'd each opening bend,
He hail'd the boatman's mellow horn,
And saw the floating arks descend.
And as he clear'd each opening bend,
He hail'd the boatman's mellow horn,
And saw the floating arks descend.
The ducks that swarm'd each opening Run,
The eagles sailing high in pride,
Fell at the thunders of his gun,
And prostrate floated on the tide.
The eagles sailing high in pride,
Fell at the thunders of his gun,
And prostrate floated on the tide.
He gazed on each gigantic wood
That tow'r-like from the margin rose;
He marked each tributary flood
That to this noble river flows.
That tow'r-like from the margin rose;
He marked each tributary flood
That to this noble river flows.
350
And when the air was all serene
He sought some smooth and pebbly shore;
Thence rang'd the lofty woods between,
Their deep recesses to explore.
He sought some smooth and pebbly shore;
Thence rang'd the lofty woods between,
Their deep recesses to explore.
He stooped each rising plant to view,
He cull'd each rare and curious ore;
For all to him was great and new,
A vast, and an exhaustless store.
He cull'd each rare and curious ore;
For all to him was great and new,
A vast, and an exhaustless store.
He listened to each warbling throat,
That twitt'red from the budding spray;
And blest the red-bird's mellow note,
At dawning and at setting day.
That twitt'red from the budding spray;
And blest the red-bird's mellow note,
At dawning and at setting day.
When dark, tempestuous winds arose,
And driving snows obscur'd the air;
Or when the dashing surges froze,
Upon his hands and clotted hair.
And driving snows obscur'd the air;
Or when the dashing surges froze,
Upon his hands and clotted hair.
He scorn'd the shrinking soul of slaves,
He swept his oars and rais'd the song;
And wrestled with the winds and waves
To bear his struggling bark along.
He swept his oars and rais'd the song;
And wrestled with the winds and waves
To bear his struggling bark along.
He saw the shaggy hills glide by,
He heard the snags and sawyers roar,
And when the rolling waves rose high,
He traced the steep and shelter'd shore.
He heard the snags and sawyers roar,
And when the rolling waves rose high,
He traced the steep and shelter'd shore.
When night descended grim and slow,
He sought the squatter's wretched shed;
Where deaden'd round, in tow'ring show,
Vast pillar'd trunks their ruins spread.
He sought the squatter's wretched shed;
Where deaden'd round, in tow'ring show,
Vast pillar'd trunks their ruins spread.
There o'er the loose luxuriant soil,
That some few ragged rails enclose;
Unhonoured by the hand of Toil,
A growth of weeds enormous rose.
That some few ragged rails enclose;
Unhonoured by the hand of Toil,
A growth of weeds enormous rose.
351
His hut of logs, untrimm'd, unbeam'd
Where nail nor window-hole were seen;
Without, a cavern'd ruin seemed,
But frown'd a fouler cave within.
Where nail nor window-hole were seen;
Without, a cavern'd ruin seemed,
But frown'd a fouler cave within.
One bed, where nightly kennel'd all,
Its foul and touz'led rags displayed;
A broken chest, where kittens crawl,
A pot that pigs a shelter made.
Its foul and touz'led rags displayed;
A broken chest, where kittens crawl,
A pot that pigs a shelter made.
The low, wet roof, unseam'd and rude,
Receiv'd the rain in many a rill;
The chimney-sides all open stood,
The loosen'd floor was rattling still.
Receiv'd the rain in many a rill;
The chimney-sides all open stood,
The loosen'd floor was rattling still.
With tatter'd hat, and beard unshorn,
And face inlaid with dirt and soot;
And hunting-shirt, defil'd and torn,
And feet unbless'd with shoe or boot;
And face inlaid with dirt and soot;
And hunting-shirt, defil'd and torn,
And feet unbless'd with shoe or boot;
The squatter by his hearth unclean,
Sat with his hand-spike for a cane;
And as the shivering pigs crept in,
He drove them through the logs again.
Sat with his hand-spike for a cane;
And as the shivering pigs crept in,
He drove them through the logs again.
And as he scratch'd and chew'd his quid,
And listen'd to the Pilgrim's tale;
Still would the grunting guests intrude,
And still the hand-spike would assail.
And listen'd to the Pilgrim's tale;
Still would the grunting guests intrude,
And still the hand-spike would assail.
Close round a gaping circle press,
Of ragged children, plump and brown;
To gaze upon the stranger's dress,
And hear the wonders of the town.
Of ragged children, plump and brown;
To gaze upon the stranger's dress,
And hear the wonders of the town.
In buck-skin bag, with head of axe,
The mouldy coffer now is broke;
The pork no store of cabbage lacks,
The hoe-cakes on the shingle smoke.
The mouldy coffer now is broke;
The pork no store of cabbage lacks,
The hoe-cakes on the shingle smoke.
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No cups from foreign Lands are seen,
No plates arrang'd, no table spread;
Each dipp'd within the pot his tin,
And slic'd his bacon on his bread.
No plates arrang'd, no table spread;
Each dipp'd within the pot his tin,
And slic'd his bacon on his bread.
But Hunger, ravenous guest! was there,
He wav'd his spell o'er every treat;
And gave the rough and homely fare
A charm, that even the gods might eat.
He wav'd his spell o'er every treat;
And gave the rough and homely fare
A charm, that even the gods might eat.
And Toil, blest sinnewer of the poor!
Thy callous hand, and stubborn tread,
Still made the hardest cabin floor
Refreshing as the softest bed.
Thy callous hand, and stubborn tread,
Still made the hardest cabin floor
Refreshing as the softest bed.
What though the wolves with mingling howl,
All night harangued their answering brood;
And that vile hag, the big-horn'd owl,
More hideous, hollow'd through the wood.
All night harangued their answering brood;
And that vile hag, the big-horn'd owl,
More hideous, hollow'd through the wood.
Our Pilgrim as he dropt to rest,
Well-pleas'd would listen to their lay;
And as the cabin planks he prest,
Snor'd chorus to their lullaby.
Well-pleas'd would listen to their lay;
And as the cabin planks he prest,
Snor'd chorus to their lullaby.
Soon as the dawn of morning broke,
The Pilgrim all his stores reshipt;
And through the placid river's smoke,
With steady stroke serenely swept.
The Pilgrim all his stores reshipt;
And through the placid river's smoke,
With steady stroke serenely swept.
The red-bird whistled as he past,
The turtles deep, bemoan'd around;
The screaming jays, in search of mast,
And rattling wood-peckers resound.
The turtles deep, bemoan'd around;
The screaming jays, in search of mast,
And rattling wood-peckers resound.
The turkey from the tallest trees,
Calls out the watchword to his train;
Soon as the coming skiff he sees,
And seeks the mountain's side again.
Calls out the watchword to his train;
Soon as the coming skiff he sees,
And seeks the mountain's side again.
353
The streaming ducks in rapid file,
Shoot o'er the surface of the flood;
And pigeons darkening many a mile,
Roar like a tempest o'er the wood.
Shoot o'er the surface of the flood;
And pigeons darkening many a mile,
Roar like a tempest o'er the wood.
And now the source of morning beams,
High from the shaggy mountain's steep;
Upon the Pilgrim's skiff it gleams,
And plays upon the glassy deep.
High from the shaggy mountain's steep;
Upon the Pilgrim's skiff it gleams,
And plays upon the glassy deep.
And where encircling mountains bend,
And vast primeval woods prevail;
He sees the pillar'd smoke ascend
From Sugar Camp in shelter'd vale.
And vast primeval woods prevail;
He sees the pillar'd smoke ascend
From Sugar Camp in shelter'd vale.
He heard the whistling rustic's noise—
The sounding axe—the artless song;
The barking dog, the children's voice—
The charmer of the rural throng.
The sounding axe—the artless song;
The barking dog, the children's voice—
The charmer of the rural throng.
Fast by the river's shelt'ring side,
He moored his little skiff with care;
Where piles of floating timber ride,
And form a shelter'd harbour there.
He moored his little skiff with care;
Where piles of floating timber ride,
And form a shelter'd harbour there.
He climb'd the mouldering banks sublime;
Struck with the forest deep and gray;
Where scatter'd round by mighty Time,
The ruins of the former lay.
Struck with the forest deep and gray;
Where scatter'd round by mighty Time,
The ruins of the former lay.
Here rose the sycamores immense,
And stretch'd their whiten'd arms around;
From eating floods the best defence,
And hugest of the forest found.
And stretch'd their whiten'd arms around;
From eating floods the best defence,
And hugest of the forest found.
The sugar trees erect and tall,
Arrang'd their stately thousands here;
Whose trunks profusely yield to all
The sweetening beverage of the year.
Arrang'd their stately thousands here;
Whose trunks profusely yield to all
The sweetening beverage of the year.
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The limpid sweets from every tree,
Drop in the wooden troughs below;
Set by the entering augur free,
And through small tubes of elder flow.
Drop in the wooden troughs below;
Set by the entering augur free,
And through small tubes of elder flow.
Amid this maple-forest gay,
Where one prodigious log was reared;
The kettles rang'd in black array
Above a raging fire appear'd.
Where one prodigious log was reared;
The kettles rang'd in black array
Above a raging fire appear'd.
With wooden pails from tree to tree,
The singing rustics walk'd their round;
And with their mingling jokes and glee,
The deep and hollow woods resound.
The singing rustics walk'd their round;
And with their mingling jokes and glee,
The deep and hollow woods resound.
A little hut with leaves bespread,
To shield the rustics from the night;
With blankets for a transient bed,
And moss cramm'd in each crevice tight.
To shield the rustics from the night;
With blankets for a transient bed,
And moss cramm'd in each crevice tight.
To see the thickening syrup done,
Is still the sire and matron's share;
And when the evening shades draw on,
They leave it to the damsel's care.
Is still the sire and matron's share;
And when the evening shades draw on,
They leave it to the damsel's care.
Amid the fire-enlightened woods,
The wanton wenches laugh and sing;
For well each lightsome lass concludes
Her hastening beau is on the wing.
The wanton wenches laugh and sing;
For well each lightsome lass concludes
Her hastening beau is on the wing.
With startling whoop, in laughing trim,
The hardy buckskins soon arrive;
They fill the kettles to the brim;
In feats of chopping wood they strive.
The hardy buckskins soon arrive;
They fill the kettles to the brim;
In feats of chopping wood they strive.
The lasses from the kettles neat,
Their vigorous sweet-hearts oft regale;
With pliant lumps of sugar sweet,
Dropp'd in the cool congealing pail.
Their vigorous sweet-hearts oft regale;
With pliant lumps of sugar sweet,
Dropp'd in the cool congealing pail.
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And while the blazing-fire burns high,
Within the hut the leaves are prest;
Where, snug as squirrels, close they lie,
And Love and Laughter know the rest.
Within the hut the leaves are prest;
Where, snug as squirrels, close they lie,
And Love and Laughter know the rest.
“Sweet is the sugar-season, dear!”
The maids along Ohio sing;
“Of all the seasons in the year,
“The sweetest season is the Spring.”
The maids along Ohio sing;
“Of all the seasons in the year,
“The sweetest season is the Spring.”
IN MEMORY OF CAPTAIN LEWIS.
Far hence be each accusing thought!
Let tears of silent sorrow flow;
Pale Pity consecrate the spot
Where poor, lost Lewis now lies low.
Let tears of silent sorrow flow;
Pale Pity consecrate the spot
Where poor, lost Lewis now lies low.
This lonely grave—this bed of clay,
Neglected—dug the pathway near;
Unfenced from midnight beasts of prey,
Excites Affliction's bitterest tear.
Neglected—dug the pathway near;
Unfenced from midnight beasts of prey,
Excites Affliction's bitterest tear.
The soldier brave, of dauntless heart,
The chief belov'd, the comrade dear;
Of honour'd worth the mortal part
Moulders in sacred silence here.
The chief belov'd, the comrade dear;
Of honour'd worth the mortal part
Moulders in sacred silence here.
His was the peril, glory, pride,
First of his country to explore
Whence vast Missouri's currents glide;
Where white man never trod before.
First of his country to explore
Whence vast Missouri's currents glide;
Where white man never trod before.
356
Her roaring cataracts he scal'd,
Her mountains of eternal snow;
There his brave band the rivers hail'd
That westward to the ocean flow.
Her mountains of eternal snow;
There his brave band the rivers hail'd
That westward to the ocean flow.
Subdu'd by boldness, and amazed
At daring deeds unknown before,
The hordes of Indian warriors gazed,
And lov'd them for the hearts they bore.
At daring deeds unknown before,
The hordes of Indian warriors gazed,
And lov'd them for the hearts they bore.
Far down Columbia's foamy steeps,
He led his brave, adventurous band;
Plough'd the Pacific's billowy deeps,
And stood triumphant on the strand.
He led his brave, adventurous band;
Plough'd the Pacific's billowy deeps,
And stood triumphant on the strand.
Twice fourteen months of peril past,
Again the Alpine snows they spurn;
Their country opes to view at last,
And millions welcome their return.
Again the Alpine snows they spurn;
Their country opes to view at last,
And millions welcome their return.
The learned on Europe's distant Lands,
With joy the great arrival hail;
And Fame on tip-toe ready stands,
To spread the wonders of their tale.
With joy the great arrival hail;
And Fame on tip-toe ready stands,
To spread the wonders of their tale.
O sad reverse! O mournful end
Of this high destiny so dear!
He, the lord-chieftian of their band,
Fell, friendless and unhonoured here!
Of this high destiny so dear!
He, the lord-chieftian of their band,
Fell, friendless and unhonoured here!
The anguish that his soul assailed,
The dark despair that round him flew,
No eye, save that of Heaven, beheld,
None but unfeeling strangers knew.
The dark despair that round him flew,
No eye, save that of Heaven, beheld,
None but unfeeling strangers knew.
Bereav'd of Hope's sweet angel form,
Griefs rose on griefs, and fear on fear;
Poor Reason perish'd in the storm,
And Desperation triumphed here!
Griefs rose on griefs, and fear on fear;
Poor Reason perish'd in the storm,
And Desperation triumphed here!
357
Fast pour'd the purple stream of life,
His burning lips one drop did crave;
Abandon'd, midst this bloody strife,
He sank, unfriended, to the grave.
His burning lips one drop did crave;
Abandon'd, midst this bloody strife,
He sank, unfriended, to the grave.
Unhappy youth! here rest thy head,
Beloved, lamented by the brave;
Though silent deserts round thee spread,
And wild beasts trample o'er thy grave.
Beloved, lamented by the brave;
Though silent deserts round thee spread,
And wild beasts trample o'er thy grave.
Here reap that peace life could not give;
But while thy own Missouri flows,
Thy name, dear Lewis, still shall live,
And ages yet lament thy woes.
But while thy own Missouri flows,
Thy name, dear Lewis, still shall live,
And ages yet lament thy woes.
Lone as these solitudes appear,
Wide as this wilderness is spread;
Affection's steps shall linger here,
To breath her sorrows o'er the dead.
Wide as this wilderness is spread;
Affection's steps shall linger here,
To breath her sorrows o'er the dead.
The Indian hunter, slow and sad,
Who wanders with his rifle near;
With solemn awe shall hither tread,
To mourn a brother-hunter here.
Who wanders with his rifle near;
With solemn awe shall hither tread,
To mourn a brother-hunter here.
The pilgrim-boatman on his way,
Shall start the humble grave to view;
“Here Lewis lies!” he'll mournful say,
While tears his manly cheeks bedew.
Shall start the humble grave to view;
“Here Lewis lies!” he'll mournful say,
While tears his manly cheeks bedew.
Far hence be each accusing thought!
With his my kindred tears shall flow;
Pale Pity consecrate the spot,
Where poor, lost Lewis now lies low!
With his my kindred tears shall flow;
Pale Pity consecrate the spot,
Where poor, lost Lewis now lies low!
358
ON SEEING THE PORTRAIT OF ROBERT BURNS.
ADDRESSED TO THE ARTIST.
Yes, it is he! the hapless, well-known Burns;
His look, his air, his very soul exprest;
That heaven-taught bard whom weeping Genius mourns,—
For cold in earth his silent relics rest.
His look, his air, his very soul exprest;
That heaven-taught bard whom weeping Genius mourns,—
For cold in earth his silent relics rest.
Through tears that ease the anguish of my heart,
I view this faithful image of my friend;
And vainly wish, dear Lawson, that thy art
Could life once more to these lov'd features lend.
I view this faithful image of my friend;
And vainly wish, dear Lawson, that thy art
Could life once more to these lov'd features lend.
Who sees not here, in this expressive eye,
The independent soul, the ardent mind;
The boundless fancy, Pity's generous sigh,
The heart to all but its possessor kind.
The independent soul, the ardent mind;
The boundless fancy, Pity's generous sigh,
The heart to all but its possessor kind.
Alas! I knew him when his country's pride,
Yet left dark Poverty's cold winds to brave;
And those who then the friendly hand deny'd,
Now strew with flowers his green unconscious grave.
Yet left dark Poverty's cold winds to brave;
And those who then the friendly hand deny'd,
Now strew with flowers his green unconscious grave.
The dear, remember'd scenes we oft have seen,
The burnies, haughs, and knowes of yellow broom,
The hazel-glen, the birk-surrounded linn,
The blossom'd heather, and the hawthorn's bloom.
The burnies, haughs, and knowes of yellow broom,
The hazel-glen, the birk-surrounded linn,
The blossom'd heather, and the hawthorn's bloom.
The simple tales of Scotia's hardy swains,
The loves and sports their circling seasons bring;
Who now will celebrate in equal strains?
What bard like Burns will ever, ever sing?
The loves and sports their circling seasons bring;
Who now will celebrate in equal strains?
What bard like Burns will ever, ever sing?
O he was Nature's genuine warbler born,
Too early lost, from pensive Scotia tore;
Death snatch'd him from us in life's early dawn,
Ere half the raptures of his song were o'er.
Too early lost, from pensive Scotia tore;
Death snatch'd him from us in life's early dawn,
Ere half the raptures of his song were o'er.
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Thus soars the thrilling lark at dawn of day,
Sweet to each list'ning swain her warblings flow;
And thus the hawk sweeps down upon his prey,
And leaves the world in solitude below.
Sweet to each list'ning swain her warblings flow;
And thus the hawk sweeps down upon his prey,
And leaves the world in solitude below.
A. W.
Gray's Ferry, April 25, 1806.
A RURAL WALK.
The Scenery drawn from Nature.
The Summer sun was riding high,
The woods in deepest verdure drest;
From care and clouds of dust to fly,
Across yon bubbling brook I past;
The woods in deepest verdure drest;
From care and clouds of dust to fly,
Across yon bubbling brook I past;
And up the hill, with cedars spread,
Where vines through spice-wood thickets roam;
I took the woodland path, that led
To Bartram's hospitable dome.
Where vines through spice-wood thickets roam;
I took the woodland path, that led
To Bartram's hospitable dome.
Thick tow'ring oaks around me rose,
Tough hiccories tall, and walnuts wide;
Hard dog-wood, chinkspin, and sloes,
Were cluster'd round on every side.
Tough hiccories tall, and walnuts wide;
Hard dog-wood, chinkspin, and sloes,
Were cluster'd round on every side.
Ten thousand busy hums were heard
From leafy bough, and herb, and flower;
The squirrel chipp'd, the tree-frog whirr'd,
The dove bemoan'd in shadiest bow'r.
From leafy bough, and herb, and flower;
The squirrel chipp'd, the tree-frog whirr'd,
The dove bemoan'd in shadiest bow'r.
The thrush pour'd out his varying song,
The robin's artless notes unite;
And loud o'er all the tuneful throng
Was heard, in mellow tones, “Bob White.”
The robin's artless notes unite;
And loud o'er all the tuneful throng
Was heard, in mellow tones, “Bob White.”
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My swelling heart with joy o'erflow'd,
To hear those happy millions raise
To Nature's universal God
Such voluntary songs of praise.
To hear those happy millions raise
To Nature's universal God
Such voluntary songs of praise.
Whate'er mistaken Zeal may teach,
Or gloomy Melancholy spy,
Or vision-seeing prophets preach,
Or Superstition's fears supply;
Or gloomy Melancholy spy,
Or vision-seeing prophets preach,
Or Superstition's fears supply;
Where'er I view this vast design,
On earth, air, ocean, field, or flood;
All—all proclaim the truth divine,
That God is bountiful and good.
On earth, air, ocean, field, or flood;
All—all proclaim the truth divine,
That God is bountiful and good.
Thus musing on, I past the rill,
That steals down moss-grown rocks so slow;
And wander'd up the woodland hill,
Thick-spreading chestnut boughs below.
That steals down moss-grown rocks so slow;
And wander'd up the woodland hill,
Thick-spreading chestnut boughs below.
In yellow coat-of-mail encas'd,
With head erect, and watchful eye;
The tortoise, at his mushroom feast,
Shrunk tim'rous as I loiter'd by.
With head erect, and watchful eye;
The tortoise, at his mushroom feast,
Shrunk tim'rous as I loiter'd by.
Along the dark sequester'd path,
Where cedars form an arching shade;
I marked the cat-bird's squalling wrath,
The jay in shining blue array'd.
Where cedars form an arching shade;
I marked the cat-bird's squalling wrath,
The jay in shining blue array'd.
And now, emerging on the day,
New prospects caught my ravished eye;
Below—a thousand colours gay,
Above—a blue o'er-arching sky.
New prospects caught my ravished eye;
Below—a thousand colours gay,
Above—a blue o'er-arching sky.
Rich waving fields of yellow grain,
Green pastures, shelter'd cots and farms;
Gay, glittering domes, bestrew'd the plain:
A noble group of rural charms.
Green pastures, shelter'd cots and farms;
Gay, glittering domes, bestrew'd the plain:
A noble group of rural charms.
361
A wide extended waste of wood
Beyond in distant prospect lay;
Where Delaware's majestic flood
Shone like the radiant orb of day.
Beyond in distant prospect lay;
Where Delaware's majestic flood
Shone like the radiant orb of day.
Down to the left was seen afar
The whiten'd spire of sacred name,
And ars'nal, where the god of war
Has hung his spears of bloody fame.
The whiten'd spire of sacred name,
And ars'nal, where the god of war
Has hung his spears of bloody fame.
The city's painted skirts were seen,
Through clouds of smoke ascending high;
While on the Schuylkill's glassy scene
Canoes and sloops were heard to ply.
Through clouds of smoke ascending high;
While on the Schuylkill's glassy scene
Canoes and sloops were heard to ply.
There upward where it gently bends,
And Say's red fortress tow'rs in view;
The floating bridge its length extends;
A living scene for ever new.
And Say's red fortress tow'rs in view;
The floating bridge its length extends;
A living scene for ever new.
There market-maids, in lively rows,
With wallets white were riding home;
And thundering gigs, with powder'd beauxs,
Through Gray's green festive shades to roam.
With wallets white were riding home;
And thundering gigs, with powder'd beauxs,
Through Gray's green festive shades to roam.
There Bacchus fills his flowing cup,
There Venus' lovely train are seen;
There lovers sigh, and gluttons sup,
By shrubb'ry walks, in arbours green.
There Venus' lovely train are seen;
There lovers sigh, and gluttons sup,
By shrubb'ry walks, in arbours green.
But dearer pleasures warm my heart,
And fairer scenes salute my eye;
As thro' these cherry-rows I dart
Where Bartram's fairy landscapes lie.
And fairer scenes salute my eye;
As thro' these cherry-rows I dart
Where Bartram's fairy landscapes lie.
362
Sweet flows the Schuylkill's winding tide,
By Bartram's green emblossom'd bow'rs;
Where Nature sports, in all her pride
Of choicest plants, and fruits, and flow'rs.
By Bartram's green emblossom'd bow'rs;
Where Nature sports, in all her pride
Of choicest plants, and fruits, and flow'rs.
These sheltering pines that shade the path,—
That tow'ring cypress moving slow,—
Survey a thousand sweets beneath,
And smile upon the groves below.
That tow'ring cypress moving slow,—
Survey a thousand sweets beneath,
And smile upon the groves below.
O happy he who slowly strays,
On Summer's eve, these shades among;
While Phœbus sheds his yellow rays,
And thrushes pipe their evening song.
On Summer's eve, these shades among;
While Phœbus sheds his yellow rays,
And thrushes pipe their evening song.
From pathless woods, from Indian plains,
From shores where exil'd Britons rove;
Arabia's rich luxuriant scene,
And Otaheite's ambrosial grove.
From shores where exil'd Britons rove;
Arabia's rich luxuriant scene,
And Otaheite's ambrosial grove.
Unnumber'd plants and shrubb'ry sweet,
Adorning still the circling year;
Whose names the Muse can ne'er repeat,
Display their mingling blossoms here.
Adorning still the circling year;
Whose names the Muse can ne'er repeat,
Display their mingling blossoms here.
Here broad catalpas rear their head,
And pour their purple blooms profuse:
Here rich magnolias whitening spread,
And droop with balm-distilling dew.
And pour their purple blooms profuse:
Here rich magnolias whitening spread,
And droop with balm-distilling dew.
The crown imperial here behold,
Its orange circlet topp'd with green;
Not gain'd by slaughter or by gold,
Nor drop of blood, nor thorn within.
Its orange circlet topp'd with green;
Not gain'd by slaughter or by gold,
Nor drop of blood, nor thorn within.
363
The downy peach, and clustering vine,
And yellow pears, a bending load;
In mingling groups around entwine,
And strew with fruit the pebbly road.
And yellow pears, a bending load;
In mingling groups around entwine,
And strew with fruit the pebbly road.
Here tulips rise in dazzling glow,
Whose tints arrest the ravish'd eye;
Here laurels bloom, and roses blow,
And pinks in rich profusion lie.
Whose tints arrest the ravish'd eye;
Here laurels bloom, and roses blow,
And pinks in rich profusion lie.
The genius of this charming scene,
From early dawn till close of day;
Still busy here and there is seen,
To plant, remove, or prune away.
From early dawn till close of day;
Still busy here and there is seen,
To plant, remove, or prune away.
To science, peace, and virtue dear,
And dear to all their noble friends;
Tho' hid in low retirement here,
His generous heart for all expands.
And dear to all their noble friends;
Tho' hid in low retirement here,
His generous heart for all expands.
No little herb, or bush, or flower,
That spreads its foliage to the day;
From snowdrops born in wintry hour,
Through Flora's whole creation gay.
That spreads its foliage to the day;
From snowdrops born in wintry hour,
Through Flora's whole creation gay.
But well to him they all are known,
Their names, their character, and race;
Their virtues when each bloom is gone,
Their fav'rite home, their native place.
Their names, their character, and race;
Their virtues when each bloom is gone,
Their fav'rite home, their native place.
For them thro' Georgia's sultry clime,
And Florida's sequester'd shore;
Their streams, dark woods, and cliffs sublime,
His dangerous way he did explore.
And Florida's sequester'd shore;
Their streams, dark woods, and cliffs sublime,
His dangerous way he did explore.
364
And here their blooming tribes he tends,
And tho' revolving Winters reign,
Still Spring returns him back his friends,
His shades and blossom'd bowers again.
And tho' revolving Winters reign,
Still Spring returns him back his friends,
His shades and blossom'd bowers again.
One flower, one sweet and faithful flower,
Worth all the blossom'd wilds can give;
Forsakes him not tho' seasons lour,
Tho' Winter's roaring tempests rave,
Worth all the blossom'd wilds can give;
Forsakes him not tho' seasons lour,
Tho' Winter's roaring tempests rave,
But still with gentlest look and air,
Befriends his now declining years;
By every kind officious care,
That Virtue's lovely self endears.
Befriends his now declining years;
By every kind officious care,
That Virtue's lovely self endears.
When Science calls, or books invite,
Her eyes the waste of age supply;
Detail their pages with delight,
Her dearest uncle list'ning by.
Her eyes the waste of age supply;
Detail their pages with delight,
Her dearest uncle list'ning by.
When sorrows press, for who are free?
Her generous heart the load sustains;
In sickness none so kind as she,
To soothe and to assuage his pains.
Her generous heart the load sustains;
In sickness none so kind as she,
To soothe and to assuage his pains.
Thus twines the honeysuckle sweet,
Around some trunk decay'd and bare;
Thus angels on the pious wait,
To banish each distressing care.
Around some trunk decay'd and bare;
Thus angels on the pious wait,
To banish each distressing care.
O, happy he who slowly strays,
On Summer's eve these shades among;
While Phœbus sheds his yellow rays,
And thrushes pipe their evening song.
On Summer's eve these shades among;
While Phœbus sheds his yellow rays,
And thrushes pipe their evening song.
But happier he, supremely blest,
Beyond what proudest peers have known;
Who finds a friend in Anna's breast,
And calls that lovely plant his own.
Beyond what proudest peers have known;
Who finds a friend in Anna's breast,
And calls that lovely plant his own.
365
The angry storms of awful Fate,
Around my little bark may roar;
May drive me from this dear retreat,
A wanderer on a distant shore.
Around my little bark may roar;
May drive me from this dear retreat,
A wanderer on a distant shore.
But while Remembrance' power remains,
Their rosy bowers shall bless my view;
Sweet shades of peace! on foreign plains,
I'll sigh and shed a tear for yon.
Their rosy bowers shall bless my view;
Sweet shades of peace! on foreign plains,
I'll sigh and shed a tear for yon.
Gray's Ferry, Aug. 10, 1804.
A. W---n.
LAVINIA.
Softly through the check'ring trees,
Cynthia pours her mellow light;
While the gently-whisp'ring breeze,
Moves the genius of the night.
Cynthia pours her mellow light;
While the gently-whisp'ring breeze,
Moves the genius of the night.
Spring-born May has spread her flow'rs,
Flora laughs in every grove;
Lightly dance the sportive hours,
And Nature's pulse beats high to love.
Flora laughs in every grove;
Lightly dance the sportive hours,
And Nature's pulse beats high to love.
List! the ev'ning warbler's throat,
Yonder by the tinkling rill;
Sweet she trills her vesper note,
And echo answers, “whip-poor-will!”
Yonder by the tinkling rill;
Sweet she trills her vesper note,
And echo answers, “whip-poor-will!”
Come, my fair, enjoy the scene,
Down the green walk let us stray;
Duller soul may doze within,
Come, Lavinia, come away!
Down the green walk let us stray;
Duller soul may doze within,
Come, Lavinia, come away!
How sweet at such an hour as this,
The zest of social bliss to prove;
To snatch unblam'd the melting kiss,
Warm from the conscious lip of love!
The zest of social bliss to prove;
To snatch unblam'd the melting kiss,
Warm from the conscious lip of love!
W.
366
BLOOMFIELD.
Hurra, for sweet Bloomfield, that village [OMITTED]
Our church like a palace—our [OMITTED]
Sound the horn in its praises [OMITTED]
Our priest's house a palace [OMITTED]
Here bull-headed Ignorance gapes and is courted,
And pale Superstition with visage distorted.
Sweet Science and Truth, while these monsters they cherish,
Like the Babes of the Wood are abandoned to perish.
Our church like a palace—our [OMITTED]
Sound the horn in its praises [OMITTED]
Our priest's house a palace [OMITTED]
Here bull-headed Ignorance gapes and is courted,
And pale Superstition with visage distorted.
Sweet Science and Truth, while these monsters they cherish,
Like the Babes of the Wood are abandoned to perish.
Here ten times a day they are singing and praying,
And “Glory to God,” most abundantly paying;
Apply for your cash—that's a quite different story;
They lock up the clink, but to God give the glory.
Here old, withered witches crawl round every cabin,
And butter from churn are eternally grabbing;
Ghosts, wizards, seventh sons to cure the King's Evil—
One touch of their hand and 'tis gone to the Devil.
And “Glory to God,” most abundantly paying;
Apply for your cash—that's a quite different story;
They lock up the clink, but to God give the glory.
Here old, withered witches crawl round every cabin,
And butter from churn are eternally grabbing;
Ghosts, wizards, seventh sons to cure the King's Evil—
One touch of their hand and 'tis gone to the Devil.
Sweet Venus ne'er lent to our females their graces—
Like ducks in their gait—like pumpkins their faces;
No heart-winning looks to ensnare or to charm us—
Their teeth like corruption, their breath—O enormous!
Here Slander, vile hag, is from house to house sweeping,
Still stabbing, and skulking, or whispering and peeping:
From Gibb's honest-heart with abhorrence discarded,
But lov'd by sweet Bloomfield, caress'd and regarded.
Like ducks in their gait—like pumpkins their faces;
No heart-winning looks to ensnare or to charm us—
Their teeth like corruption, their breath—O enormous!
Here Slander, vile hag, is from house to house sweeping,
Still stabbing, and skulking, or whispering and peeping:
From Gibb's honest-heart with abhorrence discarded,
But lov'd by sweet Bloomfield, caress'd and regarded.
Here old Rosinantes, their bare bones uprearing,
Move past us as if Death's horrid steed were appearing;
Dogs snuff; turkey buzzards swarm round for a picking;
And tanners look out, and prepare for a sticking.
Here's the one-handed plough, like an old crooked rafter,
The Genius of farming surveys it with laughter.
Wo! Haw! hallows Hodge, as he's zig-zags a-shooting,
While travellers cry, “Lord, how those hogs have been rooting!”
Move past us as if Death's horrid steed were appearing;
Dogs snuff; turkey buzzards swarm round for a picking;
And tanners look out, and prepare for a sticking.
Here's the one-handed plough, like an old crooked rafter,
The Genius of farming surveys it with laughter.
Wo! Haw! hallows Hodge, as he's zig-zags a-shooting,
While travellers cry, “Lord, how those hogs have been rooting!”
There's the grim Man of God, with a voice like a trumpet,
His pulpit each Sunday, bestampt and bethumpit;
On all but his own pours damnation and ruin,
And heaves them to Satan for roasting and stewing.
Hail Bloomfield! sweet Bloomfield, what village [OMITTED]
Our church like a palace—our school like [OMITTED]
Sound the horn in its praises [OMITTED]
The priest's house a palace [OMITTED]
His pulpit each Sunday, bestampt and bethumpit;
367
And heaves them to Satan for roasting and stewing.
Hail Bloomfield! sweet Bloomfield, what village [OMITTED]
Our church like a palace—our school like [OMITTED]
Sound the horn in its praises [OMITTED]
The priest's house a palace [OMITTED]
THE ARISTOCRAT'S WAR-WHOOP.
ADDRESSED TO ALL DESPAIRING TORIES.
Dear chop-fallen feds, don't hang down your heads,
Rouse up and prepare,—the election approaches;
Tho' Freedom prevail, let's never turn tail,
But snivel out curses, and groans, and reproaches.
No scheming or swearing you know we have stuck at,
And show them to-day
From the Hook to Cape May
That we're still something more than a drop in the bucket.
Rouse up and prepare,—the election approaches;
Tho' Freedom prevail, let's never turn tail,
But snivel out curses, and groans, and reproaches.
No scheming or swearing you know we have stuck at,
And show them to-day
From the Hook to Cape May
That we're still something more than a drop in the bucket.
Hypocrisy's gown, let it wrap us around,
Sometimes looking mild as a lamb or a pigeon:
With holy grimace, and a sanctified face,
Denouncing the deists and groaning religion;
Declaring aloud that the Democrat crowd,
If Jefferson is not deposed from his station,
Will grow in his fangs, like the orang-outangs,
Bereft of all senses and civilization.
Sometimes looking mild as a lamb or a pigeon:
With holy grimace, and a sanctified face,
Denouncing the deists and groaning religion;
Declaring aloud that the Democrat crowd,
If Jefferson is not deposed from his station,
Will grow in his fangs, like the orang-outangs,
Bereft of all senses and civilization.
To keep up the veil, let's drop the old tale
Of order, good government—rig'rous and martial;
But whine and lament in the new Tory cant
Of soldiers dismissed, and appointments so partial;
Let's swear to a man, that the whole is a plan
To grab to themselves all the loaves and the fishes,—
That curst sans-culottes may cut all our throats,
Or spare us, in mercy, to lick all their dishes.
Of order, good government—rig'rous and martial;
But whine and lament in the new Tory cant
Of soldiers dismissed, and appointments so partial;
Let's swear to a man, that the whole is a plan
To grab to themselves all the loaves and the fishes,—
That curst sans-culottes may cut all our throats,
Or spare us, in mercy, to lick all their dishes.
368
As Heav'n's my judge, I owe them a grudge,
And vengeance and hate in my heart is a-hovering;
To think that such wretches, escap'd from the clutches
Of George, our most gracious, omnipotent Sovereign,—
To see his dominions, by Paine's curst opinions,
Cut up and controul'd by mechanics and farmers;
Without noble blood, and bespattered with mud,—
It drives me to madness, and well may alarm us.
And vengeance and hate in my heart is a-hovering;
To think that such wretches, escap'd from the clutches
Of George, our most gracious, omnipotent Sovereign,—
To see his dominions, by Paine's curst opinions,
Cut up and controul'd by mechanics and farmers;
Without noble blood, and bespattered with mud,—
It drives me to madness, and well may alarm us.
O, England! thou glory and pride of a Tory!
Blest country, where riches and rank have the pref'rence;
Where crowds at the sound of “My Lord” kiss the ground,
Or sink, in his presence, with honour and rev'rence.
Where are you now, rabble, that dare not to babble,
Are ty'd neck and heels at the nod of their judges;
For all without riches are ignorant wretches,
Ordained to believe, and submit to be drudges.
Blest country, where riches and rank have the pref'rence;
Where crowds at the sound of “My Lord” kiss the ground,
Or sink, in his presence, with honour and rev'rence.
Where are you now, rabble, that dare not to babble,
Are ty'd neck and heels at the nod of their judges;
For all without riches are ignorant wretches,
Ordained to believe, and submit to be drudges.
But here, gracious heav'n! what insults are given!
Birth, title, and blood, they compare to diseases;
At lordship or grace they'll laugh in your face,—
Each claims to believe, read, and speak, as he pleases.
No chance, here, of starving the crowd undeserving
Of carpenters, shoemakers, printers, and binders;
Each saucy-fac'd cur bellows—“How d'ye do, sir;”
I answer—“------,” and show them my grinders.
Birth, title, and blood, they compare to diseases;
At lordship or grace they'll laugh in your face,—
Each claims to believe, read, and speak, as he pleases.
No chance, here, of starving the crowd undeserving
Of carpenters, shoemakers, printers, and binders;
Each saucy-fac'd cur bellows—“How d'ye do, sir;”
I answer—“------,” and show them my grinders.
From courts and elections let's sweep the whole faction;
There's nought can be done while these lynxes are watching;
They prowl so for prey, that scarcely a day
But some thief of a Tory they're eternally catching.
Of honest Tom Pickering what squalling and bickering,
Some few tons of Joes all the breach of his trust is:
For scarce half-a-million to call a man villain!—
O tempora mores! what monstrous injustice!
There's nought can be done while these lynxes are watching;
They prowl so for prey, that scarcely a day
But some thief of a Tory they're eternally catching.
Of honest Tom Pickering what squalling and bickering,
Some few tons of Joes all the breach of his trust is:
For scarce half-a-million to call a man villain!—
O tempora mores! what monstrous injustice!
Confound Johnny Adams, his X Y and madams,
His tubs and alarms, and his itch to be doing;
Like Endor's old hag let the cat out the bag,
And raised up a spirit that threatens our ruin.
Henceforth, let us try to be cautious and sly,
And screw ourselves in again smoothly and civil;
Then each in his place, with one coup-de-grace
Let's send each Democrat dog to the Devil.
His tubs and alarms, and his itch to be doing;
Like Endor's old hag let the cat out the bag,
And raised up a spirit that threatens our ruin.
369
And screw ourselves in again smoothly and civil;
Then each in his place, with one coup-de-grace
Let's send each Democrat dog to the Devil.
A SONG.
A lad wha ne'er made love to ane,
Had spent lang weary nights his lane,
Had rowth o' gear, and house o's ain,
And beef laid in an a',
Lived at his ease, quite free from strife,
Yet, tired to live a single life,
Resolved at last to get a wife
To sleep wi'm, niest the wa'.
Had spent lang weary nights his lane,
Had rowth o' gear, and house o's ain,
And beef laid in an a',
Lived at his ease, quite free from strife,
Yet, tired to live a single life,
Resolved at last to get a wife
To sleep wi'm, niest the wa'.
Ale-cap wi' lass he ne'er had kis't,
Nor road ere t'her mou' had mis't,
Nae blackfoot he sought to assist
To let him ken the way.
Yet hoo to seek, or whar to gang
To be soon ser'd, and no gang wrang,
Took up his thoughts; he thoughtna lang—
He had nae time to stay.
Nor road ere t'her mou' had mis't,
Nae blackfoot he sought to assist
To let him ken the way.
Yet hoo to seek, or whar to gang
To be soon ser'd, and no gang wrang,
Took up his thoughts; he thoughtna lang—
He had nae time to stay.
Sae down he sits wi' pen and ink,
And twenty names writes in a blink,
The best aye first, as he did think;
Then aff gaes wi' his list
T'the first; then tells his story o'er.—
Says he, I hae got names a score,
And your's is placed them a' before,
Say, will you mak' me blest?
And twenty names writes in a blink,
The best aye first, as he did think;
Then aff gaes wi' his list
T'the first; then tells his story o'er.—
Says he, I hae got names a score,
And your's is placed them a' before,
Say, will you mak' me blest?
Giff ye'll agree to be my nain,
I'll risk wi' you my purse and fame;
Gin ye refuse, out through your name
My pen gaes wi' a dash.
But first I'll hae your “No” or “I,”
Some ane o' the score will not deny;
Will ye accept, or sall I try?
Quo' she—“Ye needna fash!”
I'll risk wi' you my purse and fame;
Gin ye refuse, out through your name
My pen gaes wi' a dash.
370
Some ane o' the score will not deny;
Will ye accept, or sall I try?
Quo' she—“Ye needna fash!”
DEACON GRUMBO THE MILLER.—A NEW SONG.
Hark! Grumbo's mill's a-going,
A-rattling and a-creaking,
While folks to church are flowing,
Yet Grumbo is a Deacon.
The stones are flying,
Grumbo's plying
Round the dusty hoppers:
This holy day,
That makes us pray,
To him brings in the coppers.
A-rattling and a-creaking,
While folks to church are flowing,
Yet Grumbo is a Deacon.
The stones are flying,
Grumbo's plying
Round the dusty hoppers:
This holy day,
That makes us pray,
To him brings in the coppers.
And yet old Grumbo still groans
Like some poor wretch in Limbo,
And prays, “Lord, dry up their millponds,
That none may grind but Grumbo.”
Then night and day,
I'll sing and pray,
Nor ever more be grumbling;
At meeting snore,
And praises roar,
To hear my mill a-rumbling.
Like some poor wretch in Limbo,
And prays, “Lord, dry up their millponds,
That none may grind but Grumbo.”
Then night and day,
I'll sing and pray,
Nor ever more be grumbling;
At meeting snore,
And praises roar,
To hear my mill a-rumbling.
I am for size and much sense,
Set up a great example,
With rattling box I catch pence
Within thy holy temple—
The reprobate
May sneer and prate,
And say, I worship Mammon,
But godly folks
Must fill their box,
And learn to save their Gammon.
Set up a great example,
With rattling box I catch pence
Within thy holy temple—
The reprobate
May sneer and prate,
And say, I worship Mammon,
But godly folks
Must fill their box,
And learn to save their Gammon.
371
'Tis true I grind one Lord's Day,
My Dutchman, Hans, the other;
His creed accords with mine aye,
Grab all you can together.
But when grim Death
Shall come in wrath,
And we like pigs are squeaking,
Let Satan clutch
The dirty Dutch,
But, Lord, take Thou the Deacon.”
My Dutchman, Hans, the other;
His creed accords with mine aye,
Grab all you can together.
But when grim Death
Shall come in wrath,
And we like pigs are squeaking,
Let Satan clutch
The dirty Dutch,
But, Lord, take Thou the Deacon.”
November 1, 1801.
A. W---n.
THE DOMINIE.
Of all professions that this world hath known,—
From humble cobblers upwards to the throne,
From the great architects of Greece and Rome
Down to the maker of a farthing broom,—
The worst for care and undeserved abuse,
The first in real dignity and use
(If kind to teach, and diligent to rule),
Is the learned Master of a little school.
Not he who guides the legs, or fits the clown
To square his fists and knock his fellow down;
Not he whose arm displays the murd'rous art
To parry thrusts, and pierce the unguarded heart:
For that good man, who, faithful to his charge,
Still toils the op'ning Reason to enlarge,
And leads the growing mind through every stage,
From humble A B C to God's own page,—
From black rough pot hooks, horrid to the sight,
To fairest lines that float o'er purest white;
From Numeration through an op'ning way,
Till dark Annuities seem clear as day;
Pours o'er the soul a flood of mental light,
Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight,
Till Earth's remotest bounds, and Heaven's bright train,
Are trac'd, weigh'd, measur'd, pictur'd, and explain'd.
From humble cobblers upwards to the throne,
From the great architects of Greece and Rome
Down to the maker of a farthing broom,—
The worst for care and undeserved abuse,
The first in real dignity and use
(If kind to teach, and diligent to rule),
Is the learned Master of a little school.
Not he who guides the legs, or fits the clown
To square his fists and knock his fellow down;
Not he whose arm displays the murd'rous art
To parry thrusts, and pierce the unguarded heart:
For that good man, who, faithful to his charge,
Still toils the op'ning Reason to enlarge,
And leads the growing mind through every stage,
From humble A B C to God's own page,—
From black rough pot hooks, horrid to the sight,
To fairest lines that float o'er purest white;
From Numeration through an op'ning way,
Till dark Annuities seem clear as day;
Pours o'er the soul a flood of mental light,
Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight,
372
Are trac'd, weigh'd, measur'd, pictur'd, and explain'd.
If such his toils, sure honor and regard,
And wealth of fame, will be his sweet reward;
Sure, every mouth will open in his praise,
And blessings gild the evening of his days!
Yes! blest, indeed, with cold ungrateful scorn,
With study pale, by daily crosses worn;
Despised by those who to his labour owe
All that they read, and almost all they know;
Condemned each tedious day, such cares to bear
As well might drive even patience to despair.
The partial parents taunt the Idler dull,
The Blockhead's dark, impenetrable skull;
The endless sound of A B C's dull train,
Repeated o'er ten thousand times in vain.
Placed on a point, the object of each sneer,
His faults enlarge—his merits disappear.
If mild—“Our lazy Master loves his ease,
“He let's his boys do anything they please:”
If rigid—“He's stern, hard-hearted wretch,
He drives the children stupid with his birch;
My child, with gentleness, will mind a breath,
But frowns and floggings frighten him to death.”
Do as he will, his conduct is arraigned,
And dear the little that he gets is gained;
E'en that is given him on the Quarter-Day,
With looks that call it money thrown away.
And wealth of fame, will be his sweet reward;
Sure, every mouth will open in his praise,
And blessings gild the evening of his days!
Yes! blest, indeed, with cold ungrateful scorn,
With study pale, by daily crosses worn;
Despised by those who to his labour owe
All that they read, and almost all they know;
Condemned each tedious day, such cares to bear
As well might drive even patience to despair.
The partial parents taunt the Idler dull,
The Blockhead's dark, impenetrable skull;
The endless sound of A B C's dull train,
Repeated o'er ten thousand times in vain.
Placed on a point, the object of each sneer,
His faults enlarge—his merits disappear.
If mild—“Our lazy Master loves his ease,
“He let's his boys do anything they please:”
If rigid—“He's stern, hard-hearted wretch,
He drives the children stupid with his birch;
My child, with gentleness, will mind a breath,
But frowns and floggings frighten him to death.”
Do as he will, his conduct is arraigned,
And dear the little that he gets is gained;
E'en that is given him on the Quarter-Day,
With looks that call it money thrown away.
Great God! who knows the unremitting care
And deep solicitude that Teachers share,
If such our fate by Thy divine control,
O give us health and fortitude of soul,
Such that disdain the murd'ring tongue of Fame,
And strength to make the sturdiest of them tame!
Grant this, O God! to Dominie's distrest;
Our sharp-tailed Hickories will do the rest.
And deep solicitude that Teachers share,
If such our fate by Thy divine control,
O give us health and fortitude of soul,
Such that disdain the murd'ring tongue of Fame,
And strength to make the sturdiest of them tame!
Grant this, O God! to Dominie's distrest;
Our sharp-tailed Hickories will do the rest.
A. W---n.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |