See stern oppression's iron grip, Or mad ambition's gory hand, Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, Whose toil upholds the glittering show, Some coarser substance, unrefined, Placed for her lordly use, thus far, thus vile, below; "O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, But shall thy legal rage pursue I heard nae mair, for chanticleer But deep this truth impress'd my mind- The heart benevolent and kind O life! thou art a galling load, To wretches such as I! Dim backward as I cast my view, What sickening scenes appear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne'er, II. Happy, ye sons of busy life, No other view regard! E'en when the wished end's denied, Meet every sad returning night, How blest the solitary's lot, Within his humble cell, Or, haply, to his evening thought, By unfrequented stream. The ways of men are distant brought, While praising and raising His thoughts to heaven on high, As wandering, meandering, He views the solemn sky. IV. Than I, no lonely hermit placed But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, V. O! enviable, early days, 209 When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze To care, to guilt unknown! How ill exchanged for riper times, Of others, or my own! II. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. III. At length his lonely cot appears in view, His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil IV. Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun': Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. V. Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, An' each for others' weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. XII. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; air. XIV. 211 The priest-like father reads the sacred page, XV. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, While circling time moves round in an eternal XVII. Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, Devotion's every grace, except the heart! May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; XVIII. Then homeward all take off their several way; And proffer up to Heaven the warm request From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: "An honest man's the noblest work of God:" The cottage leaves the palace far behind; *Pope's Windsor Forest. 212 XX. O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be bless'd with health and peace, and sweet content! And O may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much loved isle. XXI. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heart; Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never, Scotia's realm desert: But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. WHEN chill November's surly blast I spied a man, whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care; His face was furrow'd o'er with years, And hoary was his hair. II. "Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ?” Began the reverend sage; "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or haply, press'd with cares and woes, To wander forth, with me, to mourn III. "The sun that overhangs yon moors, Twice forty times return; IV. "O man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time! Mispending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime! Alternate follies take the sway; Licentious passions burn; Which tenfold force gives nature's law, That man wa made to mourn. A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE I. O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause In whose dread presence, ere an hour, II. If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun, As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done; III. Thou know'st that thou hast formed me IV. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art, In shades of darkness hide. V. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But thou art good; and goodness still Delighteth to forgive. STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. WHY am I loath to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between: Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms: Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence!" Fain promise never more to disobey; But, should my Author health again dispense, Again I might desert fair virtue's way; Again in folly's path might go astray; Again exalt the brute and sink the man; O thou, great Governor of all below! To rule their torrent in th' allowed line; AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING VERSES IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. I. O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above! II. The hoary sire-the mortal stroke, III. She, who her lovely offspring eyes VI. Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, V. The beauteous, seraph sister band, With earnest tears I pray, Thou know'st the snares on every hand, Guide thou their steps alway! VI. When soon or late they reach that coast, THE FIRST PSALM. THE man, in life wherever placed, Nor learns their guilty lore! Still walks before his God. That man shall flourish like the trees But he whose blossom buds in guilt For why that God the good adore Hath given them peace and rest, But hath decreed that wicked men Shall ne'er be truly blest. |