Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
II.
Behold yon burden'd son of sloth
Still wishing time away;
Slow from his bed he rises, loth,
Even at the noon of day.
Still wishing time away;
Slow from his bed he rises, loth,
Even at the noon of day.
His children clamant are for bread,
And, beggar-like, with rags are clad,
Pale as the living's mortal foe
Who threatens soon to end their woe;
O'erhead the fatal stroke is pending,
Beneath the blow I see them bending;
Their sprites 'twixt death and life are wending.
Do bid adieu to all below!
And, beggar-like, with rags are clad,
Pale as the living's mortal foe
Who threatens soon to end their woe;
O'erhead the fatal stroke is pending,
Beneath the blow I see them bending;
Their sprites 'twixt death and life are wending.
Do bid adieu to all below!
Poor wretch, accursed by heaven's decree,
How canst thou loit'ring lie,
Or thy poor childrens' mis'ry see,
Or hear their melting cry?
Look to the tenants of the wood,
How they provide their young with food;
See how the little songsters sweet
Supply their nestlings weak with meat;
Keen as the knave in quest of gold
The fox breaks through the high sheepfold,
And drags the weak defenceless lamb,
Nor minds the bleatings of the dam;
And bears away
His hapless prey
At risk of life,
And constant strife
Of vengeful shepherds, leagued to be his death
So long as he or they draw breath.
How canst thou loit'ring lie,
Or thy poor childrens' mis'ry see,
Or hear their melting cry?
Look to the tenants of the wood,
How they provide their young with food;
See how the little songsters sweet
Supply their nestlings weak with meat;
Keen as the knave in quest of gold
The fox breaks through the high sheepfold,
And drags the weak defenceless lamb,
Nor minds the bleatings of the dam;
And bears away
His hapless prey
At risk of life,
And constant strife
Of vengeful shepherds, leagued to be his death
So long as he or they draw breath.
Unmindful quite of feeble age,
Provision none he makes
For it—though famine madly rage,
'Gainst which all mortals else engage,—
The combat he forsakes.
Beside the stream he listless lies,
Pursuing the uncertain prize
That sports within the flood;
Thus doth he more enjoyment find,
To his ignoble erring mind,
Than kings or royal blood.
Provision none he makes
For it—though famine madly rage,
'Gainst which all mortals else engage,—
The combat he forsakes.
54
Pursuing the uncertain prize
That sports within the flood;
Thus doth he more enjoyment find,
To his ignoble erring mind,
Than kings or royal blood.
Though oft he feels his fav'rite joy
Affords but little gain,
Yet such delusions him decoy,
To part with which would quite destroy
His bliss—and prove his bane.
Affords but little gain,
Yet such delusions him decoy,
To part with which would quite destroy
His bliss—and prove his bane.
Thus let him judge, thus judge he will,
Till death his fireless bosom chill,
And sweep him from the face of earth,
While life laments she gave him birth.
Till death his fireless bosom chill,
And sweep him from the face of earth,
While life laments she gave him birth.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |