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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EPISTLE TO MR. DAVID BRODIE.
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
217
EPISTLE TO MR. DAVID BRODIE.
WRITTEN ON THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR.
Stain'd with the guilt of man's continued crimes,
The parting Year prepares to wing its way;
To join the concourse of departed times,
And wait the summons of the final Day.
The parting Year prepares to wing its way;
To join the concourse of departed times,
And wait the summons of the final Day.
Its sad egress no crimson'd clouds bewail,
Nor tuneful bird its parting moment cheers;
But silent, wrapt in Winter's gloomiest veil,
It leaves us trembling at the load it bears.
Nor tuneful bird its parting moment cheers;
But silent, wrapt in Winter's gloomiest veil,
It leaves us trembling at the load it bears.
Far distant, in an inn's third flat uprear'd,
The sheet, beneath a glim'ring taper spread;
While o'er the shadowy walls no sound is heard,
Save Time's slow, constant, momentary tread,
The sheet, beneath a glim'ring taper spread;
While o'er the shadowy walls no sound is heard,
Save Time's slow, constant, momentary tread,
Here, lone I sit—and will you, Sir, excuse,
My midnight strain, while, feebly as she can,
Inspiring Silence bids the serious Muse
Survey the transient bliss pursu'd by man?
My midnight strain, while, feebly as she can,
Inspiring Silence bids the serious Muse
Survey the transient bliss pursu'd by man?
Deluded man! for him Spring paints the fields,
For him warm Summer rears the rip'ning grain;
He grasps the bounty that rich Autumn yields,
And counts those trifles as essential gain.
For him warm Summer rears the rip'ning grain;
He grasps the bounty that rich Autumn yields,
And counts those trifles as essential gain.
For him, indeed, those lesser blessings flow,
Yet why so fleeting, why so short their stay?
To teach poor mortals, what they first should know,
That all is transient as the passing day.
Yet why so fleeting, why so short their stay?
To teach poor mortals, what they first should know,
That all is transient as the passing day.
Short is the period since green smil'd the wood,
And flow'rs ambrosial bath'd my morning path;
Sweet was the murm'ring of the glitt'ring flood,
Glad roam'd the flocks along th'empurpled heath.
And flow'rs ambrosial bath'd my morning path;
Sweet was the murm'ring of the glitt'ring flood,
Glad roam'd the flocks along th'empurpled heath.
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With conscious joy I hail'd the rosy scene,
And join'd in concert with the woodland throng;
Stretch'd by the hazel bank, or sunny plain,
Where answ'ring echo warbl'd out the song.
And join'd in concert with the woodland throng;
Stretch'd by the hazel bank, or sunny plain,
Where answ'ring echo warbl'd out the song.
Delightful times, but ah! how short their stay!
Stript was the foliage from each flow'r and tree;
Grim growling Winter veil'd the joyless day,
And roar'd imperious o'er the hail-beat lea.
Stript was the foliage from each flow'r and tree;
Grim growling Winter veil'd the joyless day,
And roar'd imperious o'er the hail-beat lea.
Where now the fragrance of the howling wood?
Or what the pleasures we from morn can taste?
The snow-clad banks, the big brown roaring flood,
The bleak wind whistling o'er the drifted waste.
Or what the pleasures we from morn can taste?
The snow-clad banks, the big brown roaring flood,
The bleak wind whistling o'er the drifted waste.
'Tis thus, dear sir, in Life's delusive dream,
We fondly sport till Youth's wild act is o'er;
Till Age, till Death, steals on, in sullen stream,
And wordly bubbles charm the soul no more.
We fondly sport till Youth's wild act is o'er;
Till Age, till Death, steals on, in sullen stream,
And wordly bubbles charm the soul no more.
But, hark! the sullen midnight tempest roars;
Loud o'er my sireless dome it wildly howls;
Th'adjoining ocean, thro' her rocky shores,
Majestic groans, and swells the mingled growls.
Loud o'er my sireless dome it wildly howls;
Th'adjoining ocean, thro' her rocky shores,
Majestic groans, and swells the mingled growls.
The shiv'ring Muse has fled my frozen frame,
And shouts of riot strike my list'ning ear;
In sinking, mounting, sad inconstant flame,
My candle's ending with the ending year.
And shouts of riot strike my list'ning ear;
In sinking, mounting, sad inconstant flame,
My candle's ending with the ending year.
Adieu, my friend! may success, health, and peace
Crown your each year, and ev'ry labour too;
And sure, if virtuous worth claims human praise,
Fate still in keeping holds a wreath for you.
Crown your each year, and ev'ry labour too;
And sure, if virtuous worth claims human praise,
Fate still in keeping holds a wreath for you.
Fraught with fresh blessings be this coming year;
And should some fav'ring period of its reign
Admit my steps, rejoic'd I'll homeward steer,
And hail your mansion, and my friend again.
And should some fav'ring period of its reign
Admit my steps, rejoic'd I'll homeward steer,
And hail your mansion, and my friend again.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |