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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-04-22 07:21:03 -0700 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-04-22 07:21:03 -0700 |
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diff --git a/75938-0.txt b/75938-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e567323 --- /dev/null +++ b/75938-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2643 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75938 *** + + + + + + A + + NEW SELECTION + + OF + + Miscellaneous Pieces, + + _IN VERSE_. + + + BY + + CHRISTIAN GRAY, + + BLIND FROM HER INFANCY, + + _In Milton, Parish of Aberdalgie, Perthshire_. + + + Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven first born,-- + * * * * * * + * * * Thee I revisit safe, + And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou + Revisit’st not these eyes, that roll in vain + To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; + * * * Yet not the more + Cease I to wander where the muses haunt-- + + _Milton’s Paradise Lost,--Book III._ + + + PERTH: + PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, + BY R. MORISON. + 1821. + + + + + To + + THE LADIES, + + THOSE KIND PATRONESSES, + + who have honored my former and present + + LITTLE WORK, + + with their disinterested and generous support, + + THE FOLLOWING PIECES + + ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED; + + being the only way of expressing + + THE GRATITUDE + + + WHICH WILL EVER BE FELT + + BY + + THEIR MUCH OBLIGED, + + AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT, + + _THE AUTHOR_. + + + + + Preface. + + +Whatever may be the nature, or design of the work itself, no one, I +am persuaded, has ever offered a book to the public without indulging +a wish that it should be prosperous, and its influence beneficial. My +motives in publishing this little volume are pure, and may be laudable, +but it must be allowed they are not altogether disinterested. While I +earnestly trust that it may prove an humble source of gratification to +those whose benevolence has induced them to befriend me, I pretend not +to suppress the desire that it may become the means of contributing to +cheer the downward days of my lonely life. + +The greater part of these verses was composed at an early period of my +life--at a time when the human mind is most susceptible of being deeply +impressed by its own ideas, or by the influence of surrounding objects. +My artless rhymes indeed may not excite a very powerful interest in the +hearts of others; but, in my own, on account of the circumstances and +recollections from which they originated, they have long been cherished +with the complacency and fondness of affectionate regard. + +About twelve years ago, a selection of my pieces was given to the +public; and under the active patronage of my well-wishers, met with +a reception far beyond what my most sanguine hopes could ever have +anticipated: others which, on that occasion, were not required, I +have now brought to recollection, and revised with care, and welcomed +with the partiality which we naturally devote to an old friend, +whose society has often been agreeable, amusing, or instructive. +Several of them are of a more recent date; these were composed at +intervals subsequent to a protracted illness which nearly exhausted my +debilitated frame, and impaired the remaining energies of my mind; +while, from the same cause, I was more than usually confined within +doors, and thereby deprived of the advantages of friendly instruction. +Their subjects are drawn from occurrences which, in a particular +manner, interested my own feelings; I have therefore endeavoured to +express those feelings in language descriptive of the impression left +by them on my own heart. Such then, as they and the others are, they +are my best, and I cast them, with respectful diffidence, on the +benevolence of the world, and hope that they may be judged solely as +the simple effusions of an unpolished mind. + +Having a strong presentiment that I shall never more address myself +to public attention, I would embrace this last, and to me, important +opportunity, of declaring my deep sense of gratitude and respect for +those generous individuals by whose kindness my solitude has been +enlivened, and my comforts promoted. + +My heart derives a melancholy gratification from the discharge of this +affecting duty, and it is sad, but satisfied, when wishing my readers +every happiness, I bid them FAREWELL. + + CHRISTIAN GRAY. + + Milton of Aberdalgie, Perthshire, 1821. + + + + + Contents. + + + PAGE + DEDICATION, 3 + + PREFACE, 5 + + Lines addressed to the E----l of K----l, 13 + + Anecdote of Alexander, Emperor of Russia, 19 + + Lines composed on receiving a letter, 25 + + Lines on receiving an unexpected present, 30 + + Stanzas to the memory of a Gentleman, 34 + + A Sonnet, 39 + + To a young Lady, 41 + + On receiving a descriptive poem, 44 + + A Letter to a friend in a great town, 48 + + A Letter to my Nephew, 58 + + A Letter to a Gentleman Farmer, 63 + + On laying an old petticoat beside a good one, 66 + + On visiting a faded flower, 69 + + A fact recorded in the Evangelical Magazine, 83 + + A complaint to Poesy, 88 + + Versification of Ossian’s Address to the Moon, 96 + + Balclutha’s Ruins--from Ossian, 99 + + An Extract from Ossian, 102 + + A Petition to a Medical Gentleman, 104 + + Lines composed in the time of war, 107 + + Sabella--a metrical tale, 109 + + Song,--on leaving the country for the town, 129 + + Song, in answer to “I’m wearin’ awa Jean,” 132 + + Song,--“Farewell to Perth,” 134 + + Song, in answer to “O Nannie wilt thou gang, &c.” 137 + + Evening Reflections, 140 + + + + + Miscellaneous Pieces, + + IN VERSE. + + + + + TO THE RIGHT HON. + + THE E----L OF K----L, + + _On his granting me the neat Cottage which I now inhabit_. + + + Neat is the Cottage rear’d for me + Upon this rising bank; + I’ll send my hand-maid, Poesy, + To Dupplin-Castle on her knee, + The noble Earl to thank. + + Lest wrong my messenger betide, + Or lest she should offend, + A guardian for her I’ll provide, + And to his kindness her confide,-- + Poor nymph she needs a friend. + + Will Mr L---- then introduce + My handmaid into view; + Perhaps his Lordship wont refuse + To hear, for once, a hamlet muse + Who sings with deference due; + + Tell how I prize this cottage bower, + Commodious, new, and clean; + Near where my swaddling clothes I wore, + Where long my fathers dwelt before, + Which more endears the scene. + + My ancestors are pass’d away, + (So families fail apace) + And soon at latest comes the day, + When with myself the name of Gray + Will vanish from this place:-- + + Here bushes, braes, and rocks remind + Of childhood’s happy days, + When playful, ’midst companions kind, + I scrambled up, or lean’d reclin’d + On yonder crag’s rough base. + + Where dashing falls the proud cascade, + Oft when a message sent, + So long I there have list’ning strayed, + That mother’s orders disobeyed, + Brought fear of punishment. + + Wild berries, nut, or jetty sloe, + Would tempt my venturous feet + To climb, where hazardous to go, + And when my own hand stript the bough, + I deem’d them doubly sweet. + + So spring-time of my life did run, + To kind indulgence us’d; + If I my lessons did not shun, + Though other tasks were poorly done, + ’Twas wink’d at and excus’d. + + For oft in languid health I pin’d, + Which parents view’d full sad, + And wandering, freedom I did find + Adown yon den, where shrubs, entwin’d + With flowers of summer, spread. + + Though since much alter’d is my lot, + And that in many ways, + These times oft fill a passing thought, + To banish dull reflection--sought, + A dream of early days. + + Now smoothly gliding down the dell, + My native streamlet flows, + And when its waters rushing swell, + The distant din will please me well, + And lull me to repose. + + This is the very, very place, + That’s to my heart most dear, + For which warm thanks I would express, + Though sent, indeed, in sorry dress, + Yet not the less sincere. + + On some green spot, in weather fair, + I’ll sit in sober mood, + And when I breathe my native air, + That blessing I will thankful share, + And think it does me good. + + This close-built cot, in coldest day, + Affords a warm retreat; + And whether near or far away, + I grateful wish your Lordship may + Be bless’d as well as great. + + + + + AN ANECDOTE + + _Of Alexander, Emperor of Russia, recorded in a newspaper several + years ago_. + + + Great ALEXANDER, it is said, + Once conquer’d all the then known world: + From clime to clime, with fury mad, + War’s desolating rage he hurl’d. + + Ambition thirsting still for blood, + Th’ infatuated tyrant drove, + To shed it in a sanguine flood, + As if to extirpate man he strove. + + Though after ages hear his fame, + Preserv’d in history and in song; + Humanity detests his name, + And all the war-delighted throng. + + At present I would sing of one, + An ALEXANDER of more worth, + Humanity’s exalted son, + The potent Emperor of the north. + + A humble muse who never soar’d, + Nor e’er to sing of Monarch try’d, + One royal action to record, + Counts both her pleasure and her pride. + + Fam’d ALEXANDER, who doth sway + The Russian Empire, large and broad; + It chanc’d that lately on a day, + At distance from his train he rode.-- + + It chanc’d;--No! Providence did send, + That hour, the Emperor out with speed, + To prove himself Compassion’s friend, + And to perform a noble deed.-- + + He rode at distance from his train, + For, innocent, no harm he fear’d, + And deem’d all hir’d Protectors vain,-- + His people’s love a surer guard. + + Out from a river’s rapid force, + He saw some peasants who convey’d, + With toil, a seeming lifeless corse, + Which on the grassy bank they laid. + + Then all his sympathetic soul + Was mov’d with pity’s keenest zeal, + Was mov’d at nature’s kind controul, + As minds ignoble never will. + + The peasants look’d with silent gaze, + No farther service they can do; + “Be active,” ALEXANDER says, + “And I myself will aid you too.” + + Then quickly on the ground he stands, + Fast by the fatal river’s verge, + And rais’d the corse with cautious hands, + The oozing water to discharge. + + Just then his whole attendants came, + The sight, no doubt, surpris’d them all; + Their sloth he stops not once to blame, + But loudly does a doctor call. + + Physician he of skill approv’d, + From fam’d Britannia’s distant isle; + He was the Emperor’s friend belov’d, + And sprung with haste to share his toil. + + An artery quick was opened now, + In hopes that wound might life restore; + But ah! no blood from thence would flow, + ’Twas ev’n more hopeless than before. + + Yet still the Emperor persever’d, + Inspir’d with kind philanthropy, + And patient, all about him cheer’d, + That yet they might successful be. + + And still his temples gently chaf’d, + And still rub’d all his body o’er; + For two whole hours he nothing left + Untri’d that might the man restore. + + At last life’s current flow’d anon, + And from the wounded vessel stream’d, + And now he faintly breathes a groan: + Then his preserver glad exclaim’d-- + + “O God! this is the brightest day + Of all my reign--of all my life.”-- + Such bliss will generous bosoms ay + From truly noble deeds derive. + + His handkerchief was rent in haste, + As bandage for the wounded part; + A trifle added to the rest, + Which spoke the goodness of his heart. + + O Russia! of thy monarch boast, + Who well deserves the world’s thanks; + Be not his bright example lost, + But may it influence all ranks. + + Ye Russian subjects eye the throne, + Correct your manners, harsh and wild, + Copy your Emperor’s, hate your own-- + ’Twill make the rudest of you mild. + + + + + LINES + + _Composed on receiving a Letter from a_ + + YOUNG FRIEND. + + + Dear little nephew with delight + I heard your letter read; + With pleasure heard them praise your write, + No wonder I was glad. + + At six years old you write so well, + But vain I must not be; + Experience many a tale can tell, + To check and humble me. + + Yet present good I ought to prize, + Will hope good things to come: + Storms do not always cloud the skies, + Nor veil them with deep gloom. + + ’Tis gratifying to receive + Lines from a friend so young; + Our family’s representative, + Posterity among. + + Our line, for three full centuries past, + Resided in this place; + Yourself, dear boy, was born the last, + And stopt a little space. + + No wealth, nor fame, nor costly toys, + To you through lineage run; + But let its virtues be your choice, + And all its failings shun. + + Plains lie, hills rise, waves roll between + You and your natal spot; + When scarce ’tis known we here have been, + Our place and race forgot. + + That after time, yon aged stone, + (Down in the green church-yard) + Perhaps you’ll visit, all alone, + Where are our sires interr’d: + + Low sunk amid surrounding grass, + Like Ryno’s tomb of old, + And roughly fram’d, and clad with moss, + It long has mark’d the mould, + + That forms our kindreds’ narrow bed;-- + If any cause directs + You there, a pensive tear to shed, + O’er time and its effects. + + Bless’d be the occasion of your stop, + The thoughts that move your heart, + Bless’d means, vain folly’s growth to lop, + And wisdom’s plants t’ impart. + + Oh! deem not these ideas vain, + For love inspires the theme; + My only brother’s only child, + You bear my father’s name. + + In many a sense I hold you mine, + By many ties endear’d; + You’ve led me, in my bosom lain, + My lonely moments cheer’d. + + The lisping prattle of your tongue, + Thrills pleasant in my thought, + And all your little ways, when young, + Fresh in my memory float. + + And oh! may He, whose special care + Did guard you then from harm, + Be with you still, shall be my prayer, + Whilst life this heart doth warm. + + His Providence did us prevent, + From every hurtful thing, + As if an angel had been sent, + To shield us with his wing. + + O! early learn His name to fear, + The holy name of God; + Him honour, trust, obey, revere, + Whilst earth is your abode. + + And when from hence you must remove, + (How shortly none can tell) + You’ll see His gracious face in love, + And in his presence dwell. + + + + + LINES + + _On receiving an unexpected Present._ + + + I place thee here, but have no name + As yet, by which to ca’ thee; + Yet thou’rt so high in my esteem, + Should ony wrang befa’ thee, + + I would be truly vex’d indeed, + But hope we ne’er shall sever; + No,--tho’ I were in greatest need, + Sweet welcome little favour. + + A name for thee shall be propos’d, + Of still more precious meaning, + Than that of which thou art compos’d, + Though gold and ruby shining. + + Thy value shall not be impaired, + For truth shall here define thee; + ’Twas generous Pity,--kind regard, + Between them did design thee. + + Kindness compared my present state + Wi’ what she ance had ken’d me; + And tender Pity mourn’d my fate, + And bade the giver send thee. + + Lest I had thought at e’en or morn, + And wi’ a sigh reflected; + That now ’cause mair and mair forlorn-- + I therefore was neglected. + + While feeling in this breast is left, + The proud shall ne’er despise thee; + I’ll ca’ thee Pity’s parting gift, + And then the good will prize thee.-- + + Less for thy beauty, than that name, + I’m fain at being thy owner; + And though ’midst perils, far frae hame + Is now the gen’rous donor; + + Not for thy sake, but for his ain, + Him my best wishes follow, + And may the task he’s underta’en + Thrive like the water’d willow. + + May wealth and honour on him smile, + And goodness far ’bove either; + Peace guide him back t’ his native isle, + And safety waft him hither. + + Till then, O! were his labours blest, + For Afric and for Britain, + That Prejudice might be dismissed, + And us no longer hatin’. + + Trade’s intercourse might prove a mean + T’ amend their sad condition; + For darkness, heavenly light be seen, + ’Tis my sincere petition + + To Him, who only knows the end + Of all from the beginning,-- + May grace to them, even them extend, + A willing people winning. + + + + + STANZAS + + _To the Memory of a Young Gentleman who died abroad_. + + + The mournful occasion of the following Stanzas which happened + soon after the preceding piece was composed, shews the + uncertainty of human hope, and the impotency of all human + wishes; but it becomes his creatures to humble themselves under + the mighty hand of God, without repining at his dispensations, + who doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men, + but for wise and gracious purposes, and what we know not now we + shall know hereafter-- + + _God is his own interpreter, + And he will make it plain._ + + COWPER. + + There is a bed beyond the main, + Where sleeps a generous youth in peace, + Far distant from his kindreds’ ken, + The lonely place. + + He left his home at honour’s call, + And hurried on to win her bays; + But death commissioned, mark’d his fall, + Ere half his days. + + At least sound health, and manhood’s bloom, + Intrepid mind and spirits bright, + Him promised many days to come, + To our dim sight. + + But in this transitory state, + Man’s highest hopes, below the skies, + Must all end thus, or soon or late, + In “here he lies.” + + Where did his friends their leader leave? + What kindly turf doth him embrace? + Where orange branches mingling wave + Above the place. + + To screen from Afric’s burning beams, + The shrubs and verdure newly sprung, + Where desert flowers like beauteous gems, + Will blossom long. + + The monumental honours paid + By friendship to his lov’d remains, + By sons of Briton will be read, + In mournful strains. + + For there, by friendly Negroes led, + Enquiring travellers will be shewn + The stranger white man’s letter’d bed, + From land unknown. + + ’Twill warn the youth, whoe’er he be, + Who haply there may venturous roam, + That hopeful, healthful, gay as he, + Soon found a tomb. + + There rest his bones, yet feeling here, + Will view the spot in fancy’s dream, + And hold his memory truly dear, + And love his name. + + Parental tenderness will feel, + In melting woe, a kind relief, + And time will ease though never heal + The wound of grief. + + Let sisterly affection flow, + It calms the heart, and ’tis a debt + Which to a brother’s love they owe, + And to his fate. + + O’erpowering painful stretch of mind, + Fatigue and fever, all did meet, + And death made cold a heart, as kind + As ever beat. + + But sweetness mixes with the cup; + Who knows but Heaven has call’d him home + From draining many a bitter drop + Of ills to come. + + Now anxious fears are at an end, + And hope’s delightful visions lost + All buried in a foreign land, + Sad Afric’s coast. + + Like time its comforts fleeting prove, + Life’s joys are here but shadowy bliss, + Found real in the world above, + But not in this. + + + + + A SONNET. + + The following Sonnet was an early production, which memory, more + faithful to her trust than was expected, has long preserved for + me; it is here inserted as a memorial of Mrs P----’s goodness, a + small part of which was, that she taught me to knit Stockings, + and by means of that employment, I enjoyed more liberty of + walking about in the open air, than I could otherwise have had, + and which exercise contributed greatly to promote what share of + health I possessed: but every thing here is of a passing and + changeable nature, I cannot now profit in that way, which was + meant for my double benefit, my kind instructress has done with + time and all its fleeting concerns. + + + Dear madam while I tread the verdant lawn, + With heartfelt satisfaction and delight; + Whither by morning’s mildest beauty drawn, + Or lur’d by calm approach of sober night. + Can I forget that I that pleasure owe + To you, but as the happy means regard + Of heaven’s best earthly bliss to me below;-- + For what, save peace, can be with health compared. + I’ve known its loss, and therefore prize the more, + Its genial warmth enlivening all my frame; + It cheers, recruits, does brighter thoughts restore, + And under God from you these comforts came. + True as the unbroken thread leads to the clue, + So does your kindness lead my love to you. + + + + + TO A YOUNG LADY + + _Who generously sent me a piece of Gold Coin, but concealed + her name, one of my pieces having come into her hands before any + of the rest were published._ + + + Dear Miss, what breast so cold as would not feel, + The kindness you so generous have shewn; + And since your name the Lady did conceal, + With grateful heart I thank you, _fair unknown_. + + Believe me, Miss, I’m gratified much more, + That you felt pleasure from my humble lines, + Than to accept this present from your store, + Though ’tis the finest metal of the mines. + + I first compos’d them with a heavy heart, + For I was sad, nor small my cause of woe; + Yet time alleviates the keenest smart, + Though nothing can supply my loss below. + + Yet Providence to me is ever kind; + The watchful care of Heav’n I daily note; + Soft sympathy in every breast I find, + And many comforts gild my humble lot. + + Yes; very much I may be thankful for, + Tho’ lonelier now than once,--I have a home; + Have still ’bove charity a little store, + And hope I shall not want for time to come. + + This token of your kindness I receive, + And will preserve with more than Miser’s care, + And though even spent--in memory while I live, + Your generous goodness will be treasur’d there. + + Would, my young benefactress, I but knew, + Deign dearest Miss to let me know your name, + For soon a gift I mean to offer you, + Which to accept I will a favour deem. + + Meanwhile, dear lady, do not this despise, + In rustic dress my grateful thanks I send; + You have my feelings here without disguise, + And must accept the present I intend.[1] + +[1] The present intended is a copy of my verses proposed soon to be +published. + + + + + _On receiving a Descriptive Poem from a young Lady, to whom it + was given for me, by the Author._ + + + Thanks Sir, for this new token of good-will, + Which by a kindly hand convey’d has been, + It makes the greatest favour greater still, + When pleasantly conferred like this I ween. + + Was it in labyrinths of a town immured, + That thus your thoughts to rural scenes retired, + While youth oft’ errs by dissipation lured, + Your better choice by wisdom was inspired. + + For this did many a vacant hour employ, + But pleasant hours its progress to behold; + Soft recollections self-approving joy, + Were yours a theme so lov’d thus to unfold. + + And now a finish’d picture meets my view, + Which by the mental eye can be discern’d, + Then with avidity I follow you, + Where pleasure may be found, or knowledge learn’d. + + Lead where you please and trust me I will come, + Convinced of this you will not lead me wrong, + Shew each fair prospect round your early home, + Where with enthusiast’s eye you rov’d when young. + + Delightful scenery describ’d with skill, + Describ’d with feeling pleases every mind; + Sweet nature ever did, and ever will, + Admirers of her many beauties find. + + From yonder lofty eminence with you, + I glance from sea to sea, the picture wide; + But chief one landscape’s charms invite my view, + With uplands, woods, and vales diversified. + + Each water’d with its own blue winding stream; + ---- dear to many a swain and maid, + And dear to you as an Elysian dream, + Its hills with all the warmth of youth portray’d. + + Its poets’ work, its heroes’ deeds explor’d, + With much research its various parts explain’d, + By local notes with information stor’d, + From ancient lore and modern language gain’d. + + Thanks, then, for this new token of good-will, + This flow’ry picture of your fav’rite scene; + What so engaged your heart, your time and skill, + To think not thrown away on one so mean: + + Nor is it thrown away, for I will con, + As when a little girl, its choicest lines; + And oft’ your goodness by myself alone, + Will mind, when all the past my thought combines. + + May nature still for you her charms retain, + And genius crown you with his favours rare; + Philanthropy within your bosom reign, + Religion’s power and heavenly peace be there. + + May you, and she your friend, and only love, + Be happy long, and still in goodness grow; + Here blest, hereafter may your bliss improve, + When earth’s dissolv’d, and time shall cease to flow. + + + + + A LETTER + + _TO A FRIEND IN A GREAT TOWN_. + + + The following will not appear well connected at the beginning, a + number of verses being omitted: as they cannot concern any one + but he to whom they were originally addressed, what may be more + generally useful are here inserted. + + ---- Ever dear, with willing ear + I beg you to attend,-- + I would advise you to be wise, + O listen to a friend. + + Forgive a zeal that seeks your weal, + No motive else have I; + For that intent these lines are sent, + Not whim to gratify. + + I know you’re plac’d ’midst follies vast, + ’Midst vice in every shape, + Where pleasure cries, with siren voice, + And few her wiles escape. + + Let others riot--keep you all quiet, + Serene and pure within; + Your Maker fear--his laws revere-- + Indulge no darling sin. + + One day in seven, devote to heaven, + God’s house of prayer seek; + Be what’s there said in memory laid, + For practice through the week. + + In dealing just, still true to trust, + Whatever others do, + Be truth sincere, and honour fair, + The character of you. + + Owe to no man.--What good you can + With friendly zeal perform,-- + Let hasty ire your breast ne’er fire, + Though wrong’d, still passion’s storm. + + Judicious be in your choice; + A real _friend_ is rare; + Be kind to all, but try them well, + Your confidence who share. + + Vain empty pride, high scornful ey’d, + Ne’er stoop to flatter it; + But worth, where seen, in rich or mean, + Respect and imitate. + + Ne’er be so weak, as vaunting make + Proud self your darling song; + Let others praise, if there is cause, + But never one’s own tongue. + + Vain boasting must still raise disgust, + Where it applause expects; + But solid sense learns diffidence, + By seeing its own defects. + + Be by each fault in others taught, + T’ avoid the same through life; + But to their hurt such ne’er report, + Thus keeping clear of strife. + + No word obscene, or oath profane, + Be by your lips express’d, + Nor even your ear approving hear, + But from your soul detest. + + In reason’s scale weigh matters well, + When doubtful how to act; + But ne’er in cause of goodness pause, + Nor virtuous motions check. + + All ill resist, do not assist + In any guilty scheme, + But count all foes who would propose + To sully so your fame. + + The gaming board shun as a sword, + That would assail your breast; + Haunts of the rude, like death elude, + And drunkards’ bowl unblest. + + In harmless joy your days employ, + I would not have them dull; + To some wise use, each spare hour chuse, + On pleasures rational. + + Lightsome as day with spirits gay, + And sprightly temper even; + Join jocund mirth, with men of worth, + But ne’er to excess driven. + + Good books at home, read in your room, + When business will permit; + These friends each night will bring delight, + Pursu’d by no regret. + + Your pillow prest, then sweetest rest + Will every sense absorb; + Such as by guilt, can ne’er be felt, + Which vexing dreams disturb. + + A heart at ease, in virtue’s ways, + Its portion here is peace; + Be that your aim--a worthier gem + Than George’s crown doth grace. + + Fresh wholesome air, oft walk to share; + From noise and nonsense steal; + Attend to health, without which, wealth + Will be of small avail. + + If fortune smile, O let meanwhile, + A giving God be blest; + Though troubles low’r, yet meek adore, + And in your Maker trust. + + What Providence doth wise dispense, + Should by his friends be view’d, + All sent in love, their hearts to prove, + And working for their good. + + In every case, then humbly place, + On high your confidence; + Use means, ’tis true, but grateful view, + And own all help from thence. + + Frail erring man, do all he can, + Can merit make no plea; + We at God’s hand can nought command, + His favours all are free. + + Free grace and love, Oh! these improve, + While in this lower clime, + For all must end, as here we spend, + Use or abuse our time. + + One thing ’bove all, one day we shall + Find to be needful most; + And time mis-spent, we may repent, + Our precious moments lost. + + Time pass’d, again we never can + With pray’rs nor tears recall; + And e’er perhaps few days elapse, + We low in dust may fall. + + No wisdom then we can attain, + Or knowledge in the tomb; + Each day we live doth warning give, + That change may shortly come. + + Death at our side makes havock wide, + Acquaintance not a few, + Some young and gay are call’d away, + Since I last spoke with you. + + Let us regard, and be prepar’d, + More wean’d from worldly toys, + Which nought can give, but us deceive + With false and fleeting joys. + + The immortal mind is sure design’d + To rise ’bove trifles here, + Still soaring higher, it should aspire + To heaven, its native sphere. + + Below the skies, nought can suffice, + The soul still feels a void; + Its lov’d abode is with its God, + His presence full enjoy’d. + + Look on this state so short of date, + As trial for the next; + Thro’ a Saviour’s name make heaven your claim, + Be there your treasure fix’d. + + Tho’ we are weak, and wisdom lack, + To our best interest blind; + Aid, wisdom, light, if sought aright, + We graciously shall find. + + May heaven direct, and ne’er forsake, + But bless my youthful friend; + To life give charms, in death’s alarms-- + Peace, Hope, and Triumph send. + + + + + A LETTER + + _To my NEPHEW after he had been ill, then residing in Perth_. + + + Dear G---- when you these lines receive, + Some lovely day like this, + Then of your guardian friends ask leave, + And if they answer, yes-- + + With bow of thanks accept the boon; + And then with playful glee, + And lightsome step, come here at noon, + To dine that day with me. + + But if your guardians answer, no, + Without complaint submit; + What’s proper for you best they know, + And every way most fit. + + Returning health, relations kind, + These blessings duly prize, + And with a glad, but humble mind, + Let grateful thoughts arise, + + And trace them from a source divine, + Whence all our blessings flow, + Such feelings will your soul refine, + True happiness to know. + + For in whatever state we are, + ’Tis comfort still to feel, + We’re under his Almighty care, + Who orders all things well. + + Supported by his Providence, + Preserved by his power, + Our hope is in Omnipotence, + Both now and evermore. + + Nought of this hope can us deprive, + Unless, O wicked thought! + We ’gainst his tender mercies strive, + And set his love at nought. + + Be then your youthful heart impress’d + With awe, nor so offend,-- + But not with gloomy dread possess’d-- + Your Maker is your friend. + + When I beneath the sod lie pale, + O! may your days be spent, + Though ’lotted in life’s humble vale, + In pious calm content. + + Now Spring with promis’d bounty crown’d, + Unlocks her lovely stores; + ’Tis time to dress the spot of ground, + That shall be called yours. + + When wint’ry storms retreat at last, + Afar to frozen seas; + Your seeds will spring and blossom fast, + And scent the summer breeze. + + When flowers are beautiful to view, + Fields green, and fair the sky, + Then ask your friends to come with you, + These beauties to enjoy.-- + + Though eggs or milk should be their fare, + And bread of barley-meal, + With welcome, exercise, and air, + Such food will favour well. + + Though no rich dainties them await, + Them though exertion tire, + The walk itself will be a treat, + And health I hope their hire. + + + POSTSCRIPT. + + Here an acquaintance from the north, + A visit doth intend; + You oft’ experienc’d his worth, + He was the stranger’s friend. + + + + + A LETTER + + TO A GENTLEMAN FARMER, + + _Requesting a favour_. + + + Sir, just at a venture this freedom I took, + And here, as it is, is a letter; + Excuse its design, its defects overlook, + For the truth is, I could not do better. + + I will not address you in flatt’ry’s fine strain, + Which is at the best a mere bubble; + But simply, and shortly, will try to explain + The cause why I give you this trouble. + + Being born in this place, and brought up in my youth, + By parents not rich, but respected, + For honesty, industry, kindness, and truth, + On whom some esteem was reflected. + + For whose sakes, this neighbourhood, not then estrang’d, + Would have helped me, one or another; + But now, one excepted, the tenants are chang’d, + Who e’er knew my father or mother. + + Another, of late, to his farm bade farewell, + On whom was the half of my leaning; + And one over-burden’d will naturally fail-- + So now you may guess at my meaning. + + A favour from you this is sent to obtain, + And for leave too, to beg a renewal; + Please grant me, at this time, and sometimes again, + A cart to bring sticks home for fuel. + + No claim I can urge to your kindness at all, + Necessity made me invent this; + And to Mrs ----’s tho’ my claim is but small, + Yet her I request to present this. + + And should she, sweet pleader, but give me her vote, + These lines will, at least, not offend you; + The favour I ask, be it granted or not, + I wish, Sir, that good may attend you. + + + + + _On laying an old Petticoat beside a good one, which were both + cut from the same piece of cloth._ + + + Do not thy sister poor despise, + Though now in such a plight; + Though she in rags beside thee lies, + Don’t her condition slight. + + I’d have thee better manners taught, + Than such vain pride to shew; + ’Twas her misfortune, not her fault, + That brought thy sister low. + + No diff’rence once you two between, + A nice eye could have made; + But she has oft’ in hardships been, + Which made her sooner fade. + + In useful service she has spent, + Her beauty, strength, and prime; + Thou may’st be tarnish’d, burnt, or rent, + At some unlucky time. + + No one though prosperous to-day, + Can tell to-morrow’s lot; + This thought must not be thrown away, + Though spoke to a petticoat. + + No, let me profit by the same, + And make the advice my own, + To bear in mind how frail I am, + Nor be to censure prone. + + Should error, change, decay, be proud, + Right reason answers, No-- + And man to these (howe’er endow’d) + Is liable while below. + + Humility becomes us all, + Though seldom rightly learn’d: + We should not boast when others fall, + But pity, and be warn’d. + + + + + =On visiting a Faded Flower.= + + + Ah! lovely flow’r, art thou already dead, + Thy freshness lost, and native fragrance fled? + Fair once thou flourish’d on thy lowly stem, + Pleasing their sight and smell, who near thee came;-- + I found thee then in infant blossom gay-- + Why call’d so soon to witness thy decay? + What sudden blast so sorely blighted thee? + And what thy message or thy charge to me? + Was it to tell me that in childhood so, + My beauty too receiv’d a fatal blow? + That fell distemper’s unrelenting storm + Blighted its bloom, ere ripen’d into form? + Yes; to my sorrow, ’twas the case I find, + Nor want such help to bring it back to mind; + The casual remembrance claims a tear-- + But let me not long idly ponder here; + A more important lesson thou hast brought,-- + Oft’ learn’d, but not remember’d as it ought; + Then faded not in vain thy beauteous tint, + For it has given one seasonable hint; + Reminded thoughtless me in whisper smooth-- + I too shall die,--a most momentous truth: + Which recollection brings a serious train + Of mix’d ideas to my busy brain. + Day after day flies with unceasing speed-- + One day, how near I know not, is decreed, + The utmost bound’ry of my mortal date: + Then death will summon to his awful gate; + Nought can from his commission’d stroke release, + Nature must yield within his cold embrace, + Nothing more sure;--this mortal body must + Moulder and mingle with its kindred dust. + But shall this thinking principle within, + Also a period have in death’s domain? + Must that more noble part its mansion quit, + And then in common air evaporate? + No! such a thought appals the human heart, + And makes it doubly loath with life to part; + We will but for a time be separated, + To be in lasting union re-united. + A soul immortal’s given to my care, + Which weal, or woe, with me shall endless share. + Have trifles then such melancholy brought, + Or for a moment occupied my thought-- + That should on everlasting things be fix’d-- + Turn from this world and settle on the next! + The fashion of this world shall pass away-- + The sun itself grow dim--and time decay: + This whole terrestrial system have an end: + Then why upon such fleeting things depend; + So empty in themselves, and transient, + So fluctuating all that they present. + For take this world, even at its best, + Suppose ourselves of all its good possess’d, + Something is wanting--we are far from rest. + Much in this world, it really matters not, + Was meanest of the mean my destin’d lot: + External comforts, blessings are, I grant, + And call for thanks to heaven, by whom they’re sent; + These in my station I have large enjoy’d, + Though one great blessing is to me denied; + Even that, for some wise purpose is withheld-- + For real good these eyes from light are veil’d, + Not from the effects of gloomy dull chagrine, + Disgust or envy, but with mind serene; + From vain amusements I would now depart, + And while youth’s ardour animates my heart, + Direct my thoughts to Him who rules above, + The spring of action and the source of Love. + But how effect the rational design-- + A God of love indeed, but is he mine? + Am I obnoxious to his threaten’d ire-- + God out of Christ is a consuming fire! + Our great apostacy from heaven at first, + Made its pure law declare us all accurs’d. + God could not stoop to pardon an offence + Against his law, committed only once, + And when its precepts we do daily break, + In every thing we think, or speak, or act; + What can be done--for God will not forgive, + Unless full satisfaction he receive; + That satisfaction is not in our power, + And to attempt it we offend the more, + More that Almighty Being is provok’d, + Whose word expressly saith, “_He’ll not be mock’d_:” + Infinite purity will ne’er be stain’d, + But each perfection to the full maintain’d, + Then let not poor presumptuous mortals e’er + Approach to God, but by a Saviour dear; + For He that form’d them will no favour shew, + But spurn them and their proffer’d service too. + Such is our state, we only can expect + Acceptance, for a Mediator’s sake-- + Mercy’s God’s darling attribute reveal’d, + That justice also might be reconcil’d, + That rebel subjects might have free access + Unto his gracious favour,--he no less + Than parted with a dear and only son, + Who cheerful undertook the cause alone. + Here admiration fills the musing mind, + Heaven’s uncreated heir his place resign’d; + His Father’s bosom for a season left, + Offer’d himself a voluntary gift; + Though worlds unknown, unnumber’d, by his hand + Were form’d, sustain’d, and rul’d by his command. + Though seraph choirs with adoration prais’d, + And round his throne celestial music rais’d; + Though of such glory, of such bliss possess’d, + As could not be augmented nor decreas’d, + Though happy in himself he could have been, + Had all this world sunk underneath its sin; + Yet came to shew even with his latest breath, + A love divine that stronger was than death! + When vain was every scheme man could invent, + Law’s threats to mitigate or to prevent; + That great days--man stood forward in the breach, + Did what, nor men, nor angels ere could reach. + That for the work he might be qualified, + Veil’d his divinity, not laid aside; + Step’d in a willing substitute, and gave + All that a violated law could crave; + Essential dignity in him at once + Did its demands and threat’nings both silence, + Obey’d its precepts, paid its penalty, + And thus the law did highly magnify. + Yes; law and justice to the full are pleas’d! + Offended Deity’s in him appeas’d! + Hence all our hope, that God will us accept! + The only way we can his wrath escape! + But heavy will his hot displeasure fall + On all who hear, yet slight the gospel call: + Then shudder daring infidelity, + For heavy, heavy will it fall on thee; + The measure of your wickedness is full, + For ye not only slight but ridicule. + What Christ said to the Pharisees, self-wise, + Methinks most fitly now to you applies; + Ye will not enter mercy’s open door, + And what still aggravates your crime the more, + To hinder others who would enter there, + Have laid a stumbling block, a deadly snare! + ’Gainst all that’s sacred and divine have set + Your impious talents to obliterate, + And make abortive all that Heaven design’d, + To cheer in every woe the drooping mind. + But vain such foolish impotent efforts! + Omnipotence itself the whole supports! + Let not your hearts admit a single doubt, + His real friends, for he will sure make out + His word, and promises, concerning you; + Nor fail in one, if truth itself be true. + Exalt him in your hearts higher and higher, + Let God be true, and every man a liar, + Who dares to question with effront’ry broad, + The being, or veracity of God! + Nor fear his burning wrath should on them break, + In whom even devils do believe and quake! + The Lord enthron’d in highest heaven shall laugh;-- + Exalted far ’bove atheistic scoff-- + And justly doth in indignation say, + “Vengeance belongs to me, I will repay.” + See such a person, at a dying hour, + When conscious guilt the soul doth overpower; + When death tears off the thick film from her eyes, + And sweeps away her refuges of lies; + The sand-built system cannot stand the shock, + False rear’d on shatter’d reason’s broken rock; + Down falls the tower of self-sufficiency, + And all within, chaos and uncertainty. + The soul is well nigh bordering on despair! + Forc’d to remove, and go, she knows not where! + In terror driven upon its vast frontiers-- + Eternity sounds dreadful in her ears!-- + Trembling she stands, upon its boundless brink, + And quite incapable to act or think! + Cited by conscience to his awful bar, + With whom her life has been open at war! + That monitor will be no more supprest, + But speaks terrific language in the breast! + Points to a powerful and incensed God, + And thence doth very fearful things forebode + Truly deplorable is such a case-- + From which religion can alone release. + Nought but well grounded hope, and heaven-born faith + Can bear through ills of life, or sweeten death, + When that dread monarch comes in frowns array’d, + Nature shrinks back, confounded and dismay’d; + Nor is it strange for death is nature’s foe, + Dissolving every tender tie below,-- + But when his icy hand the heart blood chills, + When bodily and mental pain assails, + And every source of earthly comfort fails: + True faith in Christ will then its hold maintain, + And in that conflict will the soul sustain; + Opens bright prospects, and doth plainly show + That death, at worst, is now a conquer’d foe! + Teaches to follow Him who once did brave-- + Nay, triumph’d over and subdued the grave! + If in that hour the Saviour grant relief, + As long before to the expiring thief; + And whisper in the Gospel’s cheering voice, + “To-day thou’lt be with me in Paradise!” + How will the soul, then elevated high + Above this planet, hail its native sky! + And though a darksome valley lies between, + Each promise is a staff whereon to lean! + Dust to its fellow dust doth fearless lend, + And joyful flies Eternity to spend, + ’Mong fellow-saints on high, at God’s right hand! + O! glorious exit, from a world of pain, + To where, nor guilt, nor sorrow, enter can: + Their state of trial happily is past; + And let me recollect while mine doth last, + To order so my conduct while in this, + As to obtain a life of endless bliss. + Since health and strength are seasons then most meet, + To make our peace with heav’n sure and complete. + Let not the slighting of such golden times + Be added to the number of my crimes; + But of ourselves we nothing can acquire-- + No! not so much as form one good desire. + May God’s good spirit then my soul inspire, + To apply to Jesus, a Physician fit, + The Saviour gracious and compassionate; + Who will, with open arms of love, embrace + Returning penitents, won by his grace, + T’ accept free mercy on the offer’d plan, + At infinite expense prepar’d for man: + The gospel call doth well my right ensure,-- + “Come all who will and drink life’s water pure.” + None are excluded, high and low the same, + Have to their Maker’s favour equal claim: + Though none can merit, all may humbly crave + What’s freely promis’d--hoping to receive.-- + Oh! Thou who wilt not turn away thine ear, + But listen to the needy’s pray’r sincere. + Look then upon me in my lost estate; + Thy fulness to my wants accommodate: + Impute to me a righteousness divine, + Else everlasting mis’ry will be mine. + In each vicissitude and wildering maze, + Keep from arraigning thy most perfect ways-- + For what is good thou only dost bestow-- + All that is evil from ourselves doth flow. + With love to Thee, O! do my bosom warm! + Good-will to all that bear the human form. + My heart and its affections wholly draw, + And hold in due subjection to thy law.-- + So as thou canst approve, direct my way, + Else will this perverse heart far from thee stray; + Unnumber’d vanities lie lurking here, + Which, in unguarded moments, oft’ appear, + Leaving a sting behind sharp and severe. + No power, sin to withstand, is mine I own-- + O! let Almighty power in me be shown, + And snatch me as a firebrand from the flame,-- + Raise a new monument to mercy’s name. + + + + + A FACT + + _Recorded in the Evangelical Magazine_, + + FOR JULY 1812. + + + Lately I heard a paper read-- + O! were it blessed to me for good! + I felt it as the writer did, + And awful horror chill’d my blood! + + Four criminals were to justice brought, + But none of them of harden’d mind; + They view’d their state as sinners ought, + And were to serious thoughts inclin’d. + + Of every comfort long depriv’d, + In gloomy dungeon they did moan; + At last the dreadful day arriv’d, + When life must for their crimes atone. + + When standing on the scaffold boards, + The gazing multitude to teach; + Each made in solemn warning words, + A simple, but impressive, speech. + + Entreating all to shun each crime, + Which God and man have doom’d to wrath, + Which leads to punishment in time, + And tends to everlasting death. + + If once associates in guilt, + Now friends in sad affliction, they, + To press each others hands they felt, + Before the scaffold boards gave way. + + O! let me hasten to a close-- + Poor ATKINSON in turning round, + The shifting rope did so dispose, + That death long sought could not be found. + + Hanging in air--(Oh! dreadful state!) + He utter’d a most piercing cry: + His words were (awful to relate!) + “O God! O God! I cannot die!” + + The sufferer was soon reliev’d; + ’Twas merciful to speed his doom;-- + But be this truth by all believ’d, + For all of us may bring it home. + + Yes!--we immortal souls possess, + (Whoever may this truth deny;) + Which shall in endless woe, or bliss, + For ever live, and cannot die. + + Proud infidel, be mute, be mute,-- + Nor longer injur’d heav’n incense; + Lest awful vengeance thee refute, + And hurry thee blaspheming hence, + + To where thou’lt own,--(but ah! too late,) + That all thy boasting was a lie; + For ever fix’d, thy dismal state, + Live, feel thou must--but cannot die. + + Even wert thou right, where is thy gain? + When thou art nothing, all is lost; + In drear annihilation’s reign, + Will it be known how big thy boast? + + But wrong, O think,--what fury breaks, + On miserable thee to fall; + An error there, of all mistakes, + Will dreadful be, and past recall. + + O trust the word of truth reveal’d, + And testimony of the good; + The _Sacred Book_ to thee is seal’d, + And mock’d, because not understood. + + Stout-hearted man, let pride no more, + Or vice estrange thy soul from God! + Improve his word, his grace implore, + ’Tis promis’d and will be bestow’d. + + O! thou who kindly lead’st the blind, + In ways themselves could never trace; + In mercy guide each humble mind, + And teach the path to endless peace; + + It will enhance the boundless bliss, + Of all whose names are wrote on high; + That they shall ever see thy face, + In love, assur’d they cannot die. + + + + + A COMPLAINT TO POESY, + + _Addressed to a young man about to leave this part of the country_. + + + Why thoughtful even in company, + And always sad when left alone? + I will complain to Poesy, + Whose tears with mine have often flown. + + To thee sweet nymph! I will impart + My various feelings as they rise, + Thy votary thou wilt not desert, + Like others whom my heart doth prize. + + Adieu! my dearest friend adieu! + Since here you will not, will not stay; + My heart’s best wishes rest with you, + Though four times five score miles away. + + This beating heart’s susceptible, + Of friendship pure it has a sense, + And while that natural principle, + Is not entirely banish’d hence; + + Still faithful memory will present, + When gone is many a tedious year, + The hours we’ve altogether spent, + And cause a pleasing, painful tear; + + Soft sympathy! (the name is dear, + I mention it with gratitude,)-- + Doth in each breast for me appear, + With that be satisfied I should. + + But sad I see, when you depart, + The number of my friends decrease; + I feel a taste of future smart, + Which oft’ I fear to feel like this. + + If life prolong’d to age be mine, + All now so lov’d may then be gone, + Then who will cheer in life’s decline? + I’ll ne’er know such as I have known. + + But why to Poesy complain? + Will not the plain impartial muse + Assume her power, and me arraign, + Of selfish ends, of selfish views? + + She in this manner doth reprove,-- + Conceal such sentiments as thine, + If fortune favours those we love, + Should we because of that repine. + + You wrong me I did sighing say, + Do not misunderstand me so; + Become of C---- whatever may, + ’Twill give her pleasure that to know. + + But ah! my heart has many a fear, + T’ avert which, heav’n, I thee implore, + I dread yon town’s unwholesome air, + But dread its bad example more.-- + + Oh! may all watchful Providence, + Still guard from every sinful snare; + Preserve in health and innocence, + You making its peculiar care. + + A sober, pious, harmless life + Maintain, and keep its end in view, + Which soon, or late, will sure arrive, + Then what is all this world to you. + + Let atheists at religion laugh, + And libertines live as they list; + But on a death-bed who can scoff, + God then in fear will be confess’d! + + Rejoice young man in days of youth, + Thine heart with every folly cheer; + But know, all these, as true as truth, + In after judgment must appear! + + To Israel thus the sacred page-- + But wrote for our instruction too; + It speaks to youth in every age, + And now my friend it cautions you. + + With vigorous health your bosom glows,-- + False dazzling views elate your soul; + Brisk through each vein life’s current flows,-- + Each passion apt to spurn control. + + But oh! let timely counsel warn, + While yet I hope no friend to vice; + From wisdom’s pathway never turn, + Though folly should with smiles entice. + + Be serious, prudent, circumspect, + Shun pleasure’s fascinating lure; + And oh! may heaven your heart direct, + To all that’s virtuous, good, and pure. + + Consider boyish years are flown, + Endeavour manhood so to spend, + As honour strict may fairly own, + Conscience approve, and heaven commend. + + And then though slander aim her darts, + Your reputation fair to wound; + Still truth will triumph o’er her arts, + Her dark designs dash and confound. + + The sober will such worth admire, + And wealth on diligence attends; + Fame, fortune, will I hope conspire, + To gain you many valued friends. + + And pleasing circles will adorn + Your hearth, to cheer each hour of rest; + Each night close calm as rose the morn, + Each day be happy as the past. + + Heaven’s favour heightens every joy,-- + Makes every comfort taste more sweet; + But vice doth every bliss destroy, + Follow’d by fear, shame, and regret. + + But even should adverse fortune frown, + Troubles assail, no friend remain; + God never can forsake his own, + But all who trust him will sustain. + + If bitters in life’s cup are mix’d, + ’Tis from this world their hearts to wean; + To qualify them for the next, + Where bliss complete cures every pain. + + That this may be your happy lot; + (And oh! how happy none can tell!) + Has oft’ employ’d her earnest thought, + Who sighing says,--dear youth, Farewell! + + + + + VERSIFICATION + + OF + + =Ossian’s Address to the Moon=. + + + Daughter of heaven! fair art thou,-- + The brightness of thy face, + Is pleasant to the travellers’ view, + When darkness flies apace. + + The stars attend thy azure steps, + And murky clouds, O! Moon,-- + Sport in thy beams, their brightening shapes, + Rejoicing as at noon. + + Night’s lovely daughter in the sky, + Who doth like thee preside; + The stars asham’d thy presence fly, + Their sparkling eyes to hide. + + But where dost thou thyself repair, + When dark thy count’nance grows? + Hast thou a hall like Ossian, where + Grief’s shadows thee enclose? + + Fell thy fair sisters from the skies, + That nightly shone before? + They in thy presence did rejoice, + And are they now no more? + + Yes! they are fall’n. O! fairest light! + Who did thy path adorn; + And thou dost oft’ retire from sight, + Thy loss of friends to mourn. + + But thou thyself shalt one night fail, + Nor more in Heaven appear; + Then stars that shrunk before thee pale, + With joy their heads shall rear. + + Yet, while with brightest beams begirt, + Look from thy lofty gate.-- + O! burst ye winds that cloud apart, + Let her appear in state! + + The shaggy mountains to illume, + And make their summits bright; + That azure waves ’midst ocean’s gloom, + May roll in rays of light! + + + + + BALCLUTHA’s RUINS; + + _Versified from Ossian_. + + + Raise, ye, my Bards, said mighty Fingal, raise + A mournful song, in sad Moina’s praise; + Call to our hills her ghost with tuneful air, + That she may rest in peace with Morven’s fair. + The sun-beams mild on other days that shone, + Delights of ancient heroes long since gone. + I’ve seen Balclutha’s walls, but they are sad, + And dreary desolation round them spread; + The ruinous fire had rioted in the hall; + The people’s voice is heard no more at all; + And Clutha’s course was alter’d by the fall; + And there the thistle shook its lonely head, + Thro’ wither’d moss the wind a whistling made; + The skulking fox did from the window look, + And rank the tufted grass around him shook: + ‘Such is the dwelling of Moina now, + The habitation of her fathers low. + Then raise ye Bards, a sweetly mournful strain, + And o’er the stranger’s land in song complain; + They only fell a little us before, + We too must one day fall and be no more. + Why build the hall, son of the winged days? + Or why with toil a stately fabric raise? + To-day thou lookest from thy tower elate; + Yet a few years, for lo! how short the date! + Then desert blasts howl in thy empty court, + And whistle round thy shield in seeming sport; + And come thou desert blast, with howling sound, + We in our little day shall be renown’d; + Still shall be heard our deeds in battles past, + And in the song of bards our name shall last; + When thou shalt fail, O! sun of heaven so bright! + If thou indeed must fail, thou mighty light! + If thou, like me, but for a season art, + Our fame shall live when thy last beams depart. + + + + + ANOTHER EXTRACT + + _From Ossian._ + + + From grief a kind of joy doth flow, + When peace is in the breast; + Some minds indulge themselves in woe, + And love to be distress’d. + + Altho’ by sad remembrance pain’d, + The heart still holds it dear, + The soft sensation is retain’d, + Tho’ causing many a tear.-- + + But sorrow wastes the mournful soul, + Its joyless days are few, + Whose heart of settled sadness full + Bids cheerfulness adieu!-- + + A willing stranger to delight, + It wastes in early bloom, + Like flowers which nightly mildews blight, + And scorching suns consume.-- + + The floweret bends its heavy head, + The killing drops to drink, + So does the mind to pleasure dead, + In cherish’d sorrow sink.-- + + But grief doth such in secret waste, + Their fleeting days are few, + Whose minds by settled gloom possess’d, + Bid cheerfulness adieu!-- + + + + + =A Petition= + + TO A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN. + + + Would, Sir, that I could win your ear, + A favour is petition’d here, + Though much you have already done, + Yet bear with one request from me: + Your patient, now, I fain would be, + If granted so desir’d a boon; + + A plan might be devis’d that would + Be blest, who knows, to do me good. + And, O! it were a happy thing! + ’Twould greatly better my condition, + Spread your fame as a physician, + Double pleasure thence would spring. + + Not that I mean your skill’s denied, + If so, I had not first applied, + Much less my pleading now renew; + But curing such a stubborn case, + Your usefulness would much increase, + Tho’ fame should weigh but light with you. + + One kind to me before, now gone, + Did all that long could have been done; + This lameness to prevent, and cure, + But then my wavering constitution, + More than now, was in confusion, + And resisted med’cine’s power. + + One time I had a minute’s talk, + With you ’bout helping me to walk, + But you declin’d so hard a task, + And I was then, as at this day, + So troublesome another way, + I wanted courage more to ask. + + But measur’d lines possess a power, + At least I’ve known it so before, + They’ve gain’d a cause which else had fail’d, + When told in truth’s persuasive spirit, + Meaning well, though poor in merit; + Ev’n such verses have prevail’d; + + Please, Sir, let such prevail with you, + And try what art and means can do, + To make me walk though lame and slow: + I think you nothing can propose, + As process, regimen, or dose, + But I will patient undergo: + + And after all if means are vain, + I will not murmur, or complain, + When both have done the best we may; + Do promise, once to make a trial, + Nor kill weak hope with a denial, + And your petitioner will pray. + + + + + LINES + + COMPOSED IN THE TIME OF WAR. + + + Ha! what’s a’ your hurry my blythe laughing lassie? + What mak’s you sae merry that’s been sae lang wae? + Sae cheerily smiling, weel pleas’d, and sae dressy, + Ye ha’e na been seen for this mony a day? + Is JAMIE come hame again frae the French prison? + I read i’ your looks that I haena guess’d wrang; + Said she, I’ll no hide it, for frankly confessing, + I hope now to see him afore it be lang. + + See here are twa letters frae him an’ my brither, + They’re baith to be here in a fortnight at maist; + I’m gaun the blythe tidings to tell JAMIE’S mither, + Sae that’s just the cause o’ my gladness and haste. + I left her, an’ thought how destructive is fighting, + Contriv’d by nae guid to hand folk in a steer; + Keeps mony a body themselves ay affrighting, + For brither, friend, husband, or son, that is dear. + + Some wars on ae side hae been right it is granted, + But ilk’ sober person’s opinion runs thus-- + That war aye, if possible, should be prevented, + The wide warld’s wealth canna balance the loss. + I’m no a deep-learn’d far-skill’d politician, + But common sense tells me that war is a fiend, + Spreading poverty, bloodshed, an’ fell desolation, + Sic havoc I heartily wish at an end. + + + + + =Sabella=; + + A METRICAL TALE. + + + Near twilight, in a forest vast, + Which close tall trees did well adorn; + Surrounded by a heathy waste, + Where rang’d the deer with branched horn. + + No marks of culture there were shewn, + But passing Flora, from her lap, + Some borders had profusely strewn + With seeds, and Phœbus nurs’d them up. + + An op’ning small the wood divides, + Where runs a riv’let chrystal clear, + And plants and flowers bedeck the sides, + In all its windings far and near. + + Off either bank the blast to ward, + Stand the straight oak and comely larch, + The silent pathway’s lofty guard, + Join’d by the sweetly smelling birch. + + The falling dew they did imbibe, + Scent, beauty, freshness, to repair; + And on their boughs, a plumy tribe + Pour’d sweetest woodnotes on the air. + + Calm was the scene, not e’en a breath + The smallest quiv’ring leaf did shake; + When slowly stepping o’er the heath, + Advanc’d a nymph of graceful make. + + When she approach’d to where the rill + Out of a little fountain rose; + ’Twas so inviting, soft, and still, + Its devious walk the damsel chose. + + Now said she, as she stept along, + This is a favourable place, + To search what in me is so wrong, + And ever robs me of my peace. + + My bosom is not torn with spite, + Nor dark revenge, nor fell remorse; + No! what my youthful bloom doth blight, + Arises from another source. + + Credulity has been my wreck, + Too easy won by feign’d regard; + Affection whispering, don’t suspect,-- + Reflection’s voice was not yet heard. + + Long blinded, I did long believe, + Was loath to think his heart so bad, + As with such treachery to deceive, + Then basely slight a trusting maid. + + But long neglect has made me own + His fondest vows were only feign’d; + He roves through fields to me unknown,-- + Nor one farewell epistle deign’d. + + Now to some favourite fair he’ll jest, + And speak of me, with taunting scorn; + Oh! how this weakness I detest, + And yet cannot forbear to mourn. + + My heart from every thing around, + Displeas’d, dissatisfied, turns back! + Cease cheerful birds! that echoing sound + Does still my forlorn mind distract. + + Thinking herself unseen, unheard, + Aloud her sad complaint began, + When, leaning on his staff, appeared + A venerable aged man. + + “Daughter,” he said, “be not alarm’d, + “Pursue your walk, nor tremble so + “At one, by seventy years disarm’d, + “From being a formidable foe. + + “I only in the forest stopt, + “As from my work I did retire; + “And these few faded branches lopt, + “A faggot for my lonely fire.” + + “By seventy years,” replied the maid, + Whose looks much pity did express-- + “And still must work, you sure have had + “Uncommon family distress.” + + “Ah! why recall that tender name,” + The old man with a sigh rejoin’d,-- + “Forgive me, you are not to blame, + “’Tis never absent from my mind. + + “Wouldst thou accompany so old + “A man as I’m to yonder bank, + “Hear his advice, or hist’ry told?” + She said--“for both I would you thank. + + “Of good advice I’m much in want, + “Sick of deceitful trifling youth; + “I’ll hear the voice of age intent, + “And lend a willing ear to truth. + + “I’ll not inquisitive enquire”-- + When seated, thus the sage began: + “The cause why you so much desire + “To wander from th’ abodes of man? + + “Amidst the foliage envelop’d, + “This much I both have heard and seen, + “By gestures and expressions dropt, + “Your heart is press’d with anguish keen. + + “O! listen then while I relate + “The wasting griefs myself have known, + “Nought interesting to repeat, + “Befell me till to manhood grown. + + “I was arrived at age mature, + “Before my honour’d parents died, + “A passion stronger but as pure, + “The place of filial love supplied. + + “One night, my day’s employment done, + “In twilight’s pale but soothing reign; + “The busy world I wish’d to shun, + “And sought a long neglected plain. + + “The moon arose with cheering rays-- + “I walk’d on lighted by the same, + “Where oftentimes in boyish days, + “I with my mother went and came. + + “Till by some secret impulse led, + “Near to the margin of a fount, + “Where a neat cottage rais’d its head, + “Of no contemptible account. + + “Its owner wealthy was and proud, + “Had been a hero brave in youth; + “His daughter’s praises fame sang loud, + “Nor deviated from the truth. + + “Her merits I had oft’ been told; + “Had long esteem’d the lovely maid; + “Another feeling made me bold, + “And I its dictates quick obey’d. + + “Struck with a whimsical conceit, + “To try if welcome as a guest, + “I enter’d the half open’d gate. + “Nine times five years have not effac’d + + “From memory, the sudden joy + “That then my raptur’d bosom felt. + “An object caught my eager eye, + “On which it long with pleasure dwelt. + + “I saw the fair Amelia stand, + “Midst her domestic maidens young; + “Industrious was each busy hand, + “Whilst to her side an orphan clung.” + + “Poor little child” she said, “bereft + “Of parents in thy tender years, + “But not an helpless outcast left, + “To break thine heart with sighs and tears. + + “No! I will shield from want and cold, + “And teach thee all myself have known; + “Virtue and truth to thee unfold, + “As far as light to me is shewn.” + + “She stopt, I hastily retir’d, + “Nor waited for a sentence more; + “Durst not approach what I admir’d, + “But unobserved reach’d the door. + + “Went home, but no amusement, then, + “Could from my purpose make me swerve; + “I visited the maid again, + “And told my mind without reserve. + + “She heard me with a patient ear,-- + “Our families of old were one; + “Suspended betwixt hope and fear! + “I listen’d, while she thus began:” + + “Sincerity’s engaging form, + “I love, admire, and reverence; + “Its accents the affections warm, + “Nor fail to win our confidence.” + + “Could I these protestations trust, + “My heart your suit would not disown; + “Treat not this frankness with disgust, + “Dissembling is to me unknown. + + “O to remember that blest hour, + “My happiness seem’d then complete; + “Our mothers both long time before, + “Friendship did more than blood unite. + + “To wed the daughter of her friend, + “My mother wish’d me many a day, + “Hers too the same would recommend, + “But still a bar was in our way. + + “Her sire our union did prevent, + “And charg’d her ne’er to see me more; + “At last an unforeseen event, + “Rob’d him of all his golden store, + + “Of which he boasted.--With delight, + “And wing’d with hope, to them I flew; + “His sentiments were alter’d quite, + “He own’d Amelia was my due. + + “That treasure then I did espouse,-- + “Heaven soon recall’d the precious pearl; + “Two pledges of our faithful vows, + “She left an infant boy and girl. + + “Their opening minds with care I rear’d, + “With learning suited to their birth: + “My son adventurous appear’d, + “My daughter studied private worth. + + “Some men their place of birth esteem, + “They prize its woods and mountains more + “Than places which with plenty teem, + “Of rarest fruits and richest ore. + + “Not so, my son, for he t’ acquire + “A splendid fortune, so was bent, + “He left his home, his sister, sire, + “And to a land far distant went. + + “By no endearing ties deterr’d, + “Fair Caledonia he would leave; + “Columbia’s fertile plains preferr’d, + “For them encounter’d wind and wave. + + “I letters wrote from time to time, + “Entreating that he would return; + “At last I learn’d that foreign clime, + “Had brought him to an early urn. + + “The darling of my anxious cares-- + “My daughter too was in decline, + “But hid her pains, restrain’d her tears, + “Conceal’d her grief to comfort mine. + + “While slow consumptive symptoms wore, + “I saw her like a lily drop; + “And death relentless from me tore + “My last remaining earthly prop. + + “Relations now to own refuse, + “Because they know that at my death, + “To raise their mercenary views, + “I have no riches to bequeath. + + “To summer’s sun and winter’s storm, + “This tottering frame I must expose, + “When feeble hands and limbs infirm, + “Plead loud for ease and soft repose: + + “But not at Heaven’s all-wise decree, + “Should we once murmur in the least; + “A little longer--then we’ll be + “Where no afflicting cares infest. + + “These birds to their Creator’s throne, + “Send up, of praise, a willing rent; + “And should we, as it were, lock on + “With peevish fretful discontent. + + “We’re more indebted far than they, + “With reason’s light we are endow’d, + “And many favors ev’ry day, + “Are bounteously on us bestow’d. + + “The current of this little brook, + “A picture does of time convey; + “Ere we a moment thereon look, + “The silent water glides away. + + “To us what lesson does it speak, + “Time plainly whispers in our ear, + “Beyond my bounds your thoughts direct-- + “’Tis shadow here, ’tis substance there.” + + “The nightly shades now falling fast, + “Perhaps I ne’er will see you more.” + He said, her hand then softly press’d, + “May Heaven your wonted peace restore.” + + “Once more indulge me,” said the fair, + “And lead me to your humble home, + “My every wish is center’d there, + “Respecting all this side the tomb. + + “My youthful hopes have all expir’d, + “O let me come with you to live, + “In station of a servant hir’d, + “My best assistance you shall have.” + + His utmost eloquence was us’d, + From such wild fancies to dissuade. + With faltering voice, and eyes suffus’d + With tears, return’d the weeping maid-- + + “No aged parents of my own, + “Or friends now my assistance claim, + “And temperate or torrid zone, + “To poor SABELLA is the same.” + + Fearing her intellects derang’d, + He with reluctance let her go; + But soon this rash opinion chang’d, + Her conduct show’d it was not so. + + She call’d him “father,” when that name + Again soft sounded in his ear; + He her embrac’d--and did exclaim-- + “Heaven bless thee! O my daughter dear! + + “A parent’s duties I’ll fulfil, + “Whilst Heaven is pleas’d my life to spare.” + “It is enough,” she said, “I will + “Endeavour to deserve your care.” + + With every thing convenient, + She comforted his hours of rest; + A pleasing calm, if not content, + At length possess’d her youthful breast. + + He taught her lore from many a page, + For ancient books he knew full well: + Of history grave in every age, + How empires rose and how they fell. + + And here let the narrator pause, + Who much admires the pleasant sight-- + One evening thus employ’d he was, + And she attending with delight; + + A youth advanc’d across the vale, + Declar’d himself the old man’s son; + And oh! remarkable to tell-- + SABELLA’s lover both in one. + + Not to be tedious or minute, + An explanation soon took place; + The youth renew’d his former suit, + But was refus’d with modest grace. + + “I’ll leave this house, my master will,” + She said, “no longer want my care.” + Both sire and son t’ entreaties fell, + And a third pleader too was there. + + Affection, far from being extinct, + Now rose a powerful foe to pride: + What could she speak, or act, or think-- + She smil’d consented, was his bride. + + The sire, four-score and ten years old, + His faculties not much impair’d; + Grand-children did with joy behold, + Then died in peace, _lov’d and rever’d_. + + + + + =Song=, + + _On leaving the Country for the Town_. + + + Ye shrubs, and blooming flow’rs, + All deck’d in richest pride, + I’ll sing amidst your foliage; + In you I can confide. + + But yonder tall plantation, + Is not a friend so true, + For there will tell-tale ECHO, + Repeat each word anew. + + Fair smiling infant nature, + Again salutes the eye, + Each leaf and flower expanding, + And all in beauty vie. + + Bud on ye tender blossoms, + In vernal breezes wave, + Some other maid will praise you, + Though I these beauties leave. + + Spring once thy scented verdure, + With pleasure I survey’d; + And music of the woodlands + Has made my bosom glad. + + No more through flow’ry meadows, + Delighted now I range, + But for scenes not so enticing, + Would all these charms exchange, + + Yes, yonder crowded city, + With all its bustling noise, + In place of your mild silence, + Is now become my choice. + + O hope! what sweet sensations, + Thy promises do give! + But oft, alas! though winning, + Thy brightest smiles deceive. + + + + + =Song=, + + In answer to + + “I’M WEARIN’ AWA’ JEAN.” + + + Oh! you are happy now Jo! + Your care is a’ through Jo! + Nae pain reaches you + In the land o’ the leal. + + Our lassie wan awa’ Jo! + Nor muckle sorrow saw Jo! + Now I mourn twa + In the land o’ the leal. + + But a’ is guid and weel Jo! + Though nature it maun feel Jo! + Ilk pain will be heal + In the land o’ the leal. + + My locks are thin and grey Jo! + My powers fast decay Jo! + I’m laith lang to stay, + Fae the land o’ the leal. + + But my tears drap in vain Jo! + Alane I maun remain Jo! + Till we meet again + In the land o’ the leal. + + Though trouble here us tries Jo! + ’Tis blessing in disguise Jo! + To mak’ us mair prize + The land o’ the leal. + + + + + FAREWELL TO PERTH. + + + Adieu! pleasant Perth, all thy parts I admire, + Thy domes, and rich buildings, in every fine street, + Thy bridge, and thy churches, with each lofty spire, + Tay’s meads, and green isles, make thy beauty complete. + + Of old in thy bosom, though kings once resided, + Thou’rt now even more splendid by commerce increas’d, + With wise regulations, and rulers provided; + Where arts are encouraged, and learning, and taste, + + Though much has of late, for the poor been collected, + Ye affluent, think still, what must many endure, + Uncover’d from cold, & with want sore dejected, + Your own cup being brimful, O! think of the poor. + + So may your fine city, still more and more flourish, + And trade spreading plenty, again soon return, + With anxious remembrance, this wish I will cherish, + When far distant from it, reluctantly borne, + + Yes, I’ll think of thee Perth, not for thy gay splendor, + But sweet were the times that in thee I have seen, + The mem’ry of which will remain soft & tender, + Tho’ ’twixt me & thee many miles intervene. + + In some distant valley, by some pleasant fountain, + Where linnets and larks warble sweet in the spring, + While sound’s plaintive echo from rocks, grove, or mountain, + Of Perth, when unseen, often sad I will sing. + + + + + =Song=, + + IN ANSWER TO + + “_O Nannie wilt thou gang wi’ me_.” + + + No! SANDIE, I will never gang, + Ye’ll trudge through life alane for me, + For aft’ a wife maun thole the wrang, + And I sic scaith will never dree. + I’ll busk mysel’ as neat’s I can, + And claes becoming me will wear, + Though ne’er admir’d by ony man, + Or flatter’d, _fairest of the fair_. + + When far awa frae kith and kin, + I’d cast a look behind, I ween, + For you to change might soon begin, + And dwinin’ fondness die wi spleen. + Puir Nannie’s tender form would sink, + If bound your cauld-rife looks to bear, + Just now’s the time for her to think, + Though flatter’d, _fairest of the fair_. + + Weak woman can misfortunes brave, + To man in straits is aft’ a frien’-- + That’s right, a friend, but not a slave! + ’Twere silly to descend so mean. + Some clowns in health do women scorn, + But aye in sickness claim their care; + Sic deem our sex their servants born, + We spurn the thought baith brown and fair. + + Yet should you wi’ mischanters meet, + And under pain or poortith bow, + I’m no sae fu’ o’ deadly hate, + But I would help to succour you. + Your grave I dinna wish to see, + Nor strew, nor gather flowers there; + Live if you can to bury me, + Ance flatter’d, _fairest of the fair_. + + + + + EVENING REFLECTIONS. + + + While musing upon many a change, + Reflecting thought inclines + Present ideas, to arrange + In these few simple lines; + + Which unremember’d will decay, + No higher is their aim,-- + The liker to their author they, + Who’ll shortly do the same. + + But why one sigh at being forgot?-- + A maid more fair and gay + Perhaps has trode this peaceful spot, + Whose very name’s away:-- + + Who in this lower world did share, + Like me, its joy and grief; + But from misfortune, pain, and care, + Hath lung since found relief. + + Let fancy for a moment wait, + To view that fair unknown; + More early she, and I more late, + Have wander’d here alone. + + What! though imagination paints + Her but of mean estate; + Her views when humble, few her wants, + Nor wishing to be great. + + Why such a wish? for now her bones + As peacefully do rest + As theirs, who once fill’d regal thrones, + Or Indian mines possess’d. + + Perfection in this lower state, + ’Bove mortal reach we see, + But serious minds, humane, and sweet, + Are found in each degree. + + And wheresoever these appear, + In high or low, they still + A heavenly origin declare, + And shine most beautiful. + + Shine, not with ostentation’s blaze, + Th’ applauding eye to lure; + Their actions court not empty praise, + But flow from motives pure. + + This conduct is a scene of peace, + Free from discordant noise; + And such a character might grace + The sister of my choice. + + Though nat’rally to sadness bent, + Yet soft, sedate, and mild: + She with the mourful did lament-- + She with the cheerful smil’d. + + Such meek and placid innocence, + Pure seraphs would respect; + But ’mong this globe’s inhabitants, + It only found neglect. + + Not mention’d by the mouth of fame, + Nor by reproach assail’d; + From both, her inoffensive frame, + The grave completely veil’d. + + Ah! friendly fair! whose dust so small, + With mine may soon be mix’d: + She’s only fall’n, and I must fall-- + The sure decree is fix’d. + + Since life’s so short, and death so sure; + So transient every joy: + Let us that real good secure, + Which death cannot destroy. + + + FINIS. + + +Transcriber’s Notes: + +Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected +silently. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75938 *** |