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; Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers! "O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, While through the ragged roof and chinky wall, Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap! Think on the dungeon's grim confine, But shall thy legal rage pursue The wretch, already crushed low A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!" I heard nae mair, for chanticleer And hail'd the morning with a cheer, But deep this truth impress'd my mind- The heart benevolent and kind DESPONDENCY. AN ODE. I. OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I! Dim backward as I cast my view, 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 denica, Meet every sad returning night, How blest the solitary's lot, Within his humble cell, Or, haply, to his evening thought, 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 Can want, and yet be blest! V. O! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, To care, to guilt unknown! How ill exchanged for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own! II. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The shortening winter day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh, The blackening trains o' craws to their repose The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, 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 flect; 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. VI. Their master's an' their mistress's command, An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! VII. But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. 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. A DIRGE. I. 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 youthful pleasure's rage; 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; "O man! while in thy early years, Which tenfold force gives nature's law, V. "Look not alone on youthful prime, Supported is his right: But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, O ill match'd pair! Show man was made to mourn. VI. "A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest; Yet, think, not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, O! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn ; Through weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn. VII. "Many and sharp the numerous ills And man, whose heaven-erected face Makes countless thousands mourn ! VIII. "See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, To give him leave to toil; IX. "If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave By nature's law design'd,— Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn? X. "Yet let not this too much, my son, The poor, oppressed, honest man, XI. "O death! the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn; But O! a bless'd relief to those That weary-laden 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? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 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 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.. Nor lears 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 |