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. T. WOTHERSPOON. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
EPISTLE TO MR. T. WOTHERSPOON.
From Fife's rugged shore, where old ocean loud bellows,
And lofty Wemys' Castle looks down o'er the main;
From midst an old hut, of some poor fisher fellows,
Accept of these lines from the Pedlar again.
For never again shall he chant through the bushes
That wave over Calder or Cartha's pure stream;
Despair and distraction have murder'd his wishes,
And all his fond hopes are dispers'd to a dream.
And lofty Wemys' Castle looks down o'er the main;
From midst an old hut, of some poor fisher fellows,
Accept of these lines from the Pedlar again.
For never again shall he chant through the bushes
That wave over Calder or Cartha's pure stream;
Despair and distraction have murder'd his wishes,
And all his fond hopes are dispers'd to a dream.
In vain o'er old Scotia, a stranger he travels,
The huge smoky city or hamlet's the same;
Here Ignorance dozes, or proud Grandeur revels,
And poets may starve, and be damn'd now, for them.
So, dear Tom, farewell! and each cheerful companion,
With sorrow, I bid you a long sad adieu;
Some far distant country, for life, I'll remain on,
Where Mem'ry will weep while she hovers o'er you.
The huge smoky city or hamlet's the same;
Here Ignorance dozes, or proud Grandeur revels,
And poets may starve, and be damn'd now, for them.
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With sorrow, I bid you a long sad adieu;
Some far distant country, for life, I'll remain on,
Where Mem'ry will weep while she hovers o'er you.
So kind you have been to the fortuneless poet,
Through all the harsh stages of life he's been in;
That gratitude throbs in his bosom to show it,
Yet where shall the Muse to relate them, begin?
When gloomy-brow'd Want, to attack my poor dwelling,
With fury advancèd and merciless glare;
Your goodness dispatch'd the fiend loudly yelling,
And snatch'd me to peace from the jaws of Despair.
Through all the harsh stages of life he's been in;
That gratitude throbs in his bosom to show it,
Yet where shall the Muse to relate them, begin?
When gloomy-brow'd Want, to attack my poor dwelling,
With fury advancèd and merciless glare;
Your goodness dispatch'd the fiend loudly yelling,
And snatch'd me to peace from the jaws of Despair.
When Fortune propitiously seem'd to assist me,
You leapt at the prospect and shar'd in my bliss;
When all these evanish'd and horror distress'd me,
You lull'd every passion and sooth'd me to peace.
And shall I forget you? No, rave on thou tempest!
Misfortune! here pour all thy rage on my head;
Though foaming with fury, around thou encampest,
'Tis friendship alone that shall force me to bleed.
You leapt at the prospect and shar'd in my bliss;
When all these evanish'd and horror distress'd me,
You lull'd every passion and sooth'd me to peace.
And shall I forget you? No, rave on thou tempest!
Misfortune! here pour all thy rage on my head;
Though foaming with fury, around thou encampest,
'Tis friendship alone that shall force me to bleed.
Though joy from thy talk I will ne'er again borrow,
Though fond, on thy face I shall never gaze more;
Yet heaven, one day, will relieve us from sorrow,
And join us again on a happier shore.
Then, farewell, my friend, and my dearest companion,
With tears I now bid you a final adieu;
Some far distant country, for life, I'll remain on,
Where Mem'ry shall weep while she hovers o'er you.
Though fond, on thy face I shall never gaze more;
Yet heaven, one day, will relieve us from sorrow,
And join us again on a happier shore.
Then, farewell, my friend, and my dearest companion,
With tears I now bid you a final adieu;
Some far distant country, for life, I'll remain on,
Where Mem'ry shall weep while she hovers o'er you.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |