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“Mark maiden innocence, a prey
To love-pretending snares, This boasted honor turns away,
Shunning soft pity's rising sway, Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers!
Perhaps, this hour, in mis’ry's squalid nest,
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, And with a mother's fears shrieks at the rocking blast
“O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Feel not a want but what yourselves create, Think for a moment on his wretched fate,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown! Ill satisfied keen nature's clam'rous call,
Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep, While thro’ the ragged roof and chinky wall, Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!
Think on the dungeon's grim confine,
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow!
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
A cottage-rousing craw.
But deep this truth impress’d my mind
Thro' all his works abroad,
The most resembles God.
THE wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
The blinding sleet and snaw:
And roars frae bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.
"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"
The joyless winter day,
Than all the pride of May !
My griefs it seems to join,
Their fate resembles mine!
Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Because they are thy will!
* Dr. Young.
Then all I want, (0, do thou grant
This one request of mine !) Since to enjoy thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress’d with care,
I sit me down and sigh;
To wretches such as I!
What sick’ning scenes appear!
Must be my bitter doom ;
But with the closing tomb !
Happy, ye sons of busy life,
No other view regard !
They bring their own reward:
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unfitted with an aim,
Forget each grief and pain;
Find ev'ry prospect vain.
How blest the Solitary's lot,
Within his humble cell,
Beside his crystal well!
By unfrequented stream,
His thoughts to Heav'n on high,
He views the solemn sky.
Then I, no lonely hermit plac'd
Less fit to play the part;
With self-respecting art:
Which I too keenly taste, The Solitary can despise,
Can want, and yet be blest!
Or human love or hate,
At perfidy ingrate!
Oh! enviable, early days,
To care, to guilt unknown!
Of others, or my own!
Like linnets in the bush,
That active man engage !
Of dim declining age!
ALL hail! inexorable lord !
The mightiest empires fall!
The ministers of grief and pain,