THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AMD SONGS. BY DUNCAN CAMPBELL, COTTON-SPINNER. CARLISLE:' PRINTED BY GEO. IK WIN, CASTLE-STREETj^ rrice Tv,o S/iillings atul Sixpence; IS25, PR m PREFACE. Authors, in jiieneral, however they may support the dignity of human nature in their compositions, are too apt to stoop t^ meaimess and servility in making their bow to the public : they beg for unwar- rantable indulgences, and not unfrequently make mention of things which create in- voluntary feelings of disgust. I allude here to writers who, like myself, are no irreat favourites of the Muses. This beinjj: the case, perhaps it may be asked, why £ obtrude myself upon the notice of the public ? A single word contains my rea_ sons : Necessity. I entered a Cotton Factory at the age of six years, and, with the exception of a short period spent on the loom and at sea, 1 have passed the whole of my life in one. 11 An unfortunafe mi.stinn on li.-aritig of the D.iath and Burial of Napoleon Bonaprirtc ,.. ... ... .,. 15 A Dream ... ... ... ... ... ... 18 Liaes written on tliis q'ljstion being put to tiie author— " Wliether is Foriitude in Adversity, or Iluniility in Prosperity, more noi)Ie?" ... ... ... 20 The Meeting 22 Stai12Js written on pissing the spot wlicre a young man was interrfd on tlie day ;ippointed for his marriage 24 The Country Lad ... ... ... ... ... 26 Tlie •' Country Gentleman " ... ... ... ... 29 Oa seeing a IVout which had been l)linded with lime, put into t!ie river for that purpose ... 31 Tlie Penitent Convict ... ... ... ... ... 32 On seeing a Mou^e in the Church, on Sunday ... ;j4 An Address to May 2M u Pa"e, All Epistle to Mr. Fisher, of Faugh, on being requested to write an Epitaph upon his Son ... ... 41 The Schoolmaster 43 On Burns 45 Charity 47 Contentment ... ... ... ... 49 The Redbreast and the Swallow ; a Fable 51 Hypocrisy 53 Harvest Home 56 A Song of Thanksgiving, on the same occasion ... 59 Woman 60 Hapless Ellen .. ... ... ... ... 62 Lines written on seeing a Blade of Grass making its appearance about the latter end of the stormy win- ter of 1S33 G8 Lines for a Tombstone 69 The Lamp and the Candle; a true Story 70 A Parent's Duty 73 On the Being of a God ... ... ... ... 71 Flattery 75 The Brook and the Kill ; a Fable 77 Lines written on the day of tiie Establishment of the Carlisle Mechanics' Institution ... ... 79 The Lover ... ... ... ... 8i The Philosopher ... 82 The Hero 63 The Poet St The JMatliematician ... ... ... ... ... 85 The Slighted LovtT ... ... ... ... ... 86 ^\ isdoin and Knowledge ... ... ... ... 89 To a Snail ; on seeing one on a toothless Ilariow ... 90 A liLlkction 9jJ The Holiest .Man of upright heart 93 Ill Jagei Reflections on seeing a Boy gathering Flowers ... 95 Verses written at Tyneraouth where the Author sojour- ned several weeks for the benefit of his health ... 97 Epistle to the Committee of the Newcastle Infirmary ... 99 A Moral Lesson 101 The Morning Walk 102 A Walk at Night 104 On seeing a Bird Frozen to death on the bough of a Tree lOG Epistle to my Youngest Brother ... 109 Advice to H 3 113 An Address to Death; on hearing of Lord Byron's Decease ... ... ... 115 Whether does Poverty tend to Mollify or Harden the heart? 118 A Father to his Son 121 War 123 Lines oh the following question being put to the Author — " Whether is Solitude or Society more to be courted?" 125 The Tyrant 127 SONGS. The Cotton-spinner's Address to the King 129 My Lassie ]3l A Drop of good Whiskey 132 All my Joy, my Johnny 134, Farewell my Country ... ... ... _,, 135 The Confiding Maiden ,,,_ 236 Dip Deep the Pen ^ I37 The Lover's Vow loo The Whiskey Drinkers' Lament 139 IV Page. The Warning ... ... ... ... ... .•. 141 Tlie I.ass that looks so kind en me 142 The VVIiiie Wantling HawlLorn MS The Friendly I^Icetiiig ,, 145 The Wheel of Time HO My Own Fire-side 148 Oh' Dry that Tear 149 Liberty's Star ... ... ... ... ... ... 160 Fill the Glass to Friendship 151 Anna Away 153 The .Altercation ... ... ... ... , . ,155 Tbc Maiden's Complaint ... ,,. ... ,.. IfiC MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ON SEEING A SKULL TURNED UP BY THE PLOUGH. Thou coffinless, unburied shell, Much do I wish, but all in vain, To learn thy end ; but who can tell What Myst'ry chooses to retain ? 'Tis possible some spoiled child, Some prodigal in want of bread. Has robb'd thee when with hunger wild, And made unhallow'd clay thy bed, 'Tis possible a monster's hand, In prospect of some small reward. Has dispossess'd thee of thy land. Lest should thy kinsman's hopes be marr'd. 10 'Tis possible that thou wert one Who gloried in thy country's wieal ; Whom tyranny had made to groan, And die by the assassin's steel. 'Tis possible some rival's flame, Was kindled into burning spite, Till in his fury's strength he came, And slew thee in unequal fight. *Tis possible that thou hast been A husband and a parent kind, Who, through Oppression's lashes keen, Bent underneath a tortur'd mind. And who, through agony of heart, Unable longer to endure, t'prais'd thy hand to case the smart, Believing death thy only cure. Is love of life a tender plant, And will it wither, fade, or die, In cold adversity, or want? In danger, or in agony? In love of life no change prevails : It will endure through ages all ; Save on that soil where nurture fails, And Reason lets her sceptre fall. n And who can rear the golden throne, Where lleason sits to sway the mind» Or lift a soul whose strength is gone, But He who walks upon the wind ? So man on self-destruction bent. Falls through his weakness— though his will Co-operate to frame — invent — The means by which his blood he"ll spill. Thou mould'ring throne, where judgment reign'd; Thou tenantless abode of mind, At sight of thee I am constrain'd To mourn the frailties of my kind. And when I ponder on their ways, Their springs of action all survey, I find for one deserving praise, A crowd by int'rest led astray. I find religion made a tool For hypocrites to work their ends ; I find that riches make a fool Much wiser than his poorer friends. I find a parasite in place — And pensionless an honest man — A titled knave with ruddy face — A tradesman's visage pale and wan* 12 Those slipp'ry toys for which we strive, Which render life a weary load, \VIiat are they when we once arrive At Death's much-dreaded drear abode?" And yet how {"ew will hesitate To use unwarrantable means. To gain their ends — though pangs await The bosom that from virtue leans. And when I weigh the whole concern, With balance true, I'm bound to say. That I can easily discern He's blest who steers by Reason's ray. But oh ! 'tis hard for flesh to bear With wrongs which urge a man to draw> And cut himself, a passage clear To equal rights and equal law. But tongueless, earless, eyeless shell, Perhaps 1 ought to whisper low, For oft the truth — the truth to tell — Has made my fellow-worm my foe. 13 FAREWELL TO STRONG DRINK. Fare-thee-well thou health-destroyer! Fare-thee-well thief of the purse ! Fare-thee-well thou peace-annoyer, And of ev'ry vice the nurse. Let thy prodigal adorers Worship thee, and give thee praise ; , Blind to all the pangs — the horrors — Lurking in thy haggard ways. Let them riot in their madness, Working out their grief and shame ; Calling noisy uproar, gladness — Crushing bones, the source of fame. Want and raggedness await them, At their comfortless abodes — Monsters able to create them, Gnawing pain in galling loads. Fare-thee-well ! — the scale has vanish'd From the apple of mine eye ; Thy allurements all are banish'd, All thy faults I now descry. b2 y^ 14 Sober joys were still my pleasure, Though I join'd the heedless train, And became in some small measure Bound in thy ad'mantine chain. I admit that Grief may borrow Momentary joy from thee: But thy balm confirms the sorrow It professes to set free. Numberless and melancholy Are the sins by thee devis'd ; Youth and Age embracing Folly, Reel before thee undisguis'd. "O" Even saints, and men of letters — Men of genius — men of pow'r — Willingly put on thy fetters. And abridge life's fleeting hour. Fare-thee-wcll ! and that for ever ! All thy follies I resign ; Prudence urges me to sever From each worshipper of thine. Sober Joy ! thou golden treasure ! Gladly I return to thee : Let my scanty hours of leisure Taste of mild hilarity. 15 Save the sting of former madness, Nothing shall disturb my rest ; And the balm of sober gladness May repel that frightful guest. Hurry to the brink of ruin ! Down its vortex whirling go ! Ye who are your coarse pursuing Wilfully to certain woe. STANZAS WRITTEN ON HEARING OF THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE- Oil ! is he gone ? — alas ! is he no more ? Well, be it so — all flesh has once to die : All must embark from life's mist-cover 'd shore ; — One common fait awaits us, lurking nigh ; But strange and various are the ports of death, And strange and various are the paths we tread, From we commence to draw our vital breath, Till we are number'd with the silent dead. Ill-fated man ! thy life to thee has been A strange, humiliating, chcquer'd scene. 16 A monarch's blindness, and a people's rage, To highest splendour left thee room to rise ; Long shall thy deeds, impress'd on hist'ry's page, Excite the wonder of enquiring eyes ; Thy wild ambition, which no limits knew, By Fortune aided rais'd thee to a throne; But (triumph's bane !) infatuation threw A haze before thee, and Fate led thee on By swift gradations, to thy fatal fall. And chang'd thy honey into draughts of gall. All Europe trembl'd at thy angry nod ; Red carnage follow'd where thou led'st the way ; Elate with victory, thou, with iron rod, Made cringing potentates confess thy sway: Thy robes, enamell'd with imperial gold. Thy glitt'ring sceptre, and thy studded crown, Thy burnished armour, and thy cohorts bold. All felt alike stern Fortune's deadly frown ; And thou wert exil'd to a barren rock, 'Reft of thy power — thy former vassals' mock. Did not wild tumult, hostile to repose, Swell in thy bosom, and thy soul's turmoil Exceed the tossing that old ocean knows When thundering billows reel, and foam, and boil, To see thy myriads, at dread Moscow, Laid prostrate, vanquish'd by the season's ire.-" 17 And' on the gory plains of Waterloo, What didst thou feel to see thy pow'r expire? Ill-fated man ! thy bosom's inmost core Would bleed in torrents at its every pore. Delusive Hope pourtrayed before thine eye, A long succession, in a lineal line ; Pellucid sapphires reign'd all o'er thy sky, As orient noon — so did thy day-star shine; But lowering clouds, in terrible array, Impetuous came, and did thy day obscure : Thy spouse, thy son, thy all, was torn away ; — How could'st thou live, and all this woe endure ? Ill-fated man ! what fortitude was thine ? Intrepid energy, and soul divine !■ A grounded vessel may a while withstand The dreadful dashing of relentless waves, Yet break to pieces on the rugged strand, When all their fury for a time she braves : Thy strength of soul continued to endure, At length its energies were sapped by grief. It broke to pieces, like a falling tower, That stood where no one could afford relief; August and great, Napoleon, wert thou, But what avails thy former greatness now ? Art thou entomb'd amongst the mighty dead ? Am.ongst their relics, say, can thine be found ? 18 No ! tliou'rt interr'd where never man was laid; All by thyself, and in unhallow'd ground. A nodding willow v.eeping o'er thy head, A chrystal fountain, as the night dew clear, And one small stone, mark out thy lowly bed : Amazing man ! thus ended thy career. May ne'er Oblivion's overwhelming wave, Its blotting waters o'er thy mcm'ry lave. Let never man, however great he be, Vaunt of his dignity, his wealth, his power, For aught that's eartlily, in a high degree Is wavering, changeable, and insecure. Let prince, let peasant, ev'ry rank and age. However promising their day appear, Remember Bonaparte in fortune's rage, From splendour tumbl'd, and his strange career In exile ended ; and their souls shall know What path to hold — what passion to forego. A DUE AM. One night as I lay on my bed, Enjoying pleasant slumber, I dreamt that I was borne or led. To blessings out of number. 19 I thought, across the smiling land Men grew of one opinion ; Eternal truth held high command, And vice lost all dominion. In ev'ry face it could be seen. That gladness fill'd the bosom ; The olive peace was ever green, And friendship still in blossom. The youth were tauglit in all the arts, The old set free from toiling ; No grain brought in from foreign parts Lay in a warehouse spoiling. The hours of toil were shorten'd so, That labour was enjoyment ; None overwrought, nor forc'd to go A begging for employment. The name of dungeon was no more, For castle no occasion ; The seas were never stain'd with gore. And gold had no temptation. All men were equally esteem'd — Distinctions had expired ; A name by birth was folly deem'd, And worth alone admired. 20 All o'er the scene of peace and joy, No haughty, restless creature There was to break, nor yet annoy, The rights all held by nature. Thus all enjoy'd, from year to year, A life unstain'd and waveless ; Nought to produce a briny tear, If earth had been but graveless. But by the crowing of the cock, JVIy slumber sweet was broken ; And what I thought when I awoke, Dare but to few be spoken. LINES Written upon this question being put to the Author :— Whether is fortitude in adversity, or humility in prosperity, more noble ? The greatest part of human ills Appear and pass away Like clouds, that sail along the hills When Autumn feels decay. They rise — we mark them as they rise — ■ And many are our fears ; And ere they half obscure the skies. We shed a flood of tears. Ills of this kind are easy borne — The reason why is clear : The heart is sunk, is toss'd, is torn, With what ? — with idle fear. The thing that caus'd so much distresss We patiently endure ; And we, when we the truth confess, Call it a flying show'r. There is another sort of ills> They come another way ; They sit like clouds upon the hills. In winter's shortest day. They come like nothing I can name, i Yet true it is, they come, ' And quench at once fair Fortune's flame-* Hope sits amaz'd and dumb. , f I The soul that can endure a shock " 1 So sudden and severe, May be compared to a rock That earthquakes cannot tear. Yet he who can contain himself, When Fortune's sun doth shine ; L Nor grow in pride as grows his pelf, Is something more divine. 22 What is the scarcest thing on earth ? Humility in power : In it there still will be a dearth ; Our nature is impure. Wlien Fortune smiles, we mount above, And look with cold disdain On those who most deserve our love, Whom we should free from pain. But when Adversity appears, As I have said before, We shed a flood of coward tears On life's storm-beaten shore. Unbending fortitude I prize — 'Tis high in my esteem ; But far more lovely to my eyes Humility doth seemo As for myself, I must confess, I'm sunk with little woe; Should Fortune smile, I more than guess, Myself I would not know. That charity which constitutes Humility of soul, I now declare, quite free of doubts,^ Alone gives self-controul. 23 THE MEETING. She soon will be here, for the signal is given, The sun on the horizon purples the sky ; She said she would come when the blue vault of heav'n To slumber inclining slow closed its eye. The last ray of Phoebus beams stveet on the river^ The breath of the evening scarce dimples the tide Thus smiles my dear Anna each kiss that I give hci, Thus dimples the cheek of my angelic bride. Obscure on the hedge-row, and gracefully bending, The tall blooming fox-glove is there seen to rise ; It vaunts not of beauty, its fingers extending, But bashfully hides from enquiring eyes. Delighted the mind is, o"n close observation To find in its bosom yet beauty unshewn ; An emblem of Anna it is — for her station, Like it, is obscure, and her worth is unknown. On the hedge-row of life though my Anna be fated To struggle for room with adversity's thorn, Her prudence is such, that the foe is defeated — • Her beauty is such, that it blooms yet unshorn. 24 And yonder she comes ! ever true to her promise; Oh, hope reahsed. how sweet to the soul ; I'll fly to embrace her, this meeting is no less Than heaven to me — it is heaven in whole. STANZAS Written on passing the spot where a young man was interred on tlie day appointed for his marriage. Alas ! poor Dalton ! level is thy grave ; No sculptur'd stone is planted at thy head From dark Oblivion thy name to save — And few remember wliere thy corse was laid : The rich man dies, rich marble speaks his praise— The poor man dies, and he must be forgot ; Few bards on penury bestow their lays, Or eye with sympathy the lowly cot; A tale of sorrow from the rural vale, Flies off unheeded on the passing gale» But this or more can ne'er disturb thy rest; Soft is thy pillow, and thy sleep is sound ; And when in being, in thy manly breast For thoughts so trivial not a place was found : Thy Mary, cheerful as the pearly morn, Was long the object of thy fond regard ; 25 And oft at even, by the hoary thorn, She own'd her passion : but thy bliss was raarr'd — That day which promised all that love can crave, Saw fallen leaves roll rustling o'er thy grave. Had'st thou n favourite of fortune been, A crowd of parasites had join'd to tell, That truly mournful was the solemn scene When thou and Mary took a long farewell : The tear-drop banish'd from her sleepless eye, — Her kneeling posture and her accent low, — Her heaving bosom and her bursting sigh, And all the sorrow she was doom'd to know, And all the fortitude by thee display 'd, Had been embodied in their songs well paid. But thou wert poor, and therefore in thy breast — Thy vulgar breast — since thou wert poor and low, Refined feelings and improved taste No harbour had — say they who all things know : But fortune's gleam, and learning's highest boast. Had in thy presence shrunk with conscious shame To see thy fortitude, though sorely toss'd ; And when thou mad'st a future state thy theme, Een false Philosophy, if standing by. Had call'd aloud, " The soul can never die." Oft as the foliage, whirling on the blast, Gives up the year to winter's dreary reign, c2 26 Thy fate severe, when pond'ring on the past, Will foremost stand in recollection's train : Thy prospects blighted when they clearest shone, — Thy soul's submission in that rueful hour, — Thy grave unmarked by a letter'd stone, — Thy name forgotten though thy worth was pure, ]\Iay teach mc carefully to place my trust On more than phantoms or created dust. THE COUNTRY LAD. That rosy youth, with plain, unmeaning face. Is wliat they call 'bout liere a country servant : The lad can wrestle, or can run a race, Go to a fair, or be in courtsliip fervent ; He plies the scythe, the sickle, and tlie flail, Without a grudge, and when he has occasion To say a word, it comes with heavj' trail, Arjd still relative to his occupation. He had liis Catechism off by heart Like other boys, and to the priest he said it ; A few weeks after he but knew a part ; Kow he's the same as if he ne'er had read it ; — Ko ! I am wrong — ] should not speak so fast : He knows as yet that he sliould never grumble; And since in poverty his lot is cast. That 'tis his duty to be very lumible. 27 He goes to church, perhaps four tunes a-year, Or thereabouts, — I will not here be pointed ; — But makes out little ; for his rustic ear Knows not the language of the Lord's anointed. Just like the rest, he hears the text read twice; Thinks like the rest, the sermon is surprising; Believes the singing to be very nice, And knows the time of sitting down, and rising. When at the smithy, or at Crispin's shop, The old mare Chcssie, or himself a-shoeing, He's very talkative about the crop, Stack yards, or cattle, or the art of ploughing; But if you mention the affairs of state, Or name the burthens of a patient people, He thinks you talk about a turnpike-gate, Or some small trifle to repair a steeple. He is in mind and body to a hair, Both to the priest and legislator's liking; Because he knows not, nor considers where. His gains are wasted, and he's fit for diking. When men in general are like that youth, Kings will get millions of good castle-stormcrs ; That vile word " Liberty" will fill no mouth. For in those days there will be no reformers. I'll trace him further: — He has got a wife, With forty guineas of the one tiling needful; Yoa see him cag^r to shape out a life or case and comfort, and you sec l.im heedful 28 About employing what he calls his stock; At last iiis thoughts run totally on farming; He takes the land on which his neighbour broke, And makes no doubt but it will answer " charming.'' Three summers afterwards, or thereupon. His stock and crop and household goods are seized ; But that in misery he may not moan, The landlord's lady piously is pleased To send him fortnightly a little book, For which he pays, and it informs the buyer, To fast and pray, and every hardship brook. And for things earthly to have no desire. Now in that cottage, 'neath the blasted pine, Which poets pass, and say there dwells contentment, The poor man lives, and many things combine To work his woe, but be must check resentment. The Squire's steward he must " sir"; and he Must smile when saddest, and his wife and fam'ly Must bear insults, and very humble be — Their work depends on taking all things calmly. At last you see him in a ragged coat. And knecless breeches, by the way- side sitting, A-breaking stones, that he may earn a groat To stay his hunger which is unremitting; He dreads a work-house, and the parish gives Abusive language when for help applying ; A few will wonder how the poor man lives, But nothing spare hira though with want he's dying. 29 Death shuts the scene just at the moment when He hopes for shelter from threats, cold, and hunger ; He sees his boys are growing up to men. And oft he wishes he had married younger; But all is over ! he is lowly laid, His widow follows, and his children squander, To toil incessantly for clothes and bread, Upholding statesmen in unequall'd grandeur. THE « COUNTRY GENTLEMAN." You heard a gun discharg'd behind yon tree ? We'll go and look who is so callous-hearted ; I wish great Bramah would vouchsafe to see Our dogs and shooters to Hindoos converted, O ! the young Squire, I verily protest, Up by the middle in the standing barley ; See how he stalks, in shooting habit drest ? Who would have thought to see him up so early. That's but a trifle in young master's way, Wretches like us, who have nor lands nor senses, Call any colour black, or brown, or gray, Hence we conclude that he should pay expences ; But no such thing ; — he flies o'er field and fence, — Gates, styles, and ditches, do his train demolish, And people own, v/ho have got any sense. The more they waste the higher is their polish. 30 Young master marries, and his blooniing bride Must see the city, and the city fashions ; So off to London in post haste they ride, And there give loose to all licentious passions; They separate, of course — and join again — To prove their spirit and their pure affection ; And lest they visit the great town in vain. They learn to vilify without detection. The next election the sound patriot, Or would-be patriot, ascends the hustings ; And there he speechifies to gain your vote, Amidst the tumult of election dustings; You take a chair, and bear him through the street, Or from his chariot you take the horses, And oft he vows, when parliament shall meet, That he will join the Whig or Tory forces. I will not say that you will take a price. Unless I say so by the way of jibing; Yet after all, all tongues are not so nice ^ Some will assert he gains your votes by bribing. Now he must gabble in the Commons' House, But how it happens let tlie learned mention, (I for my part believe he's of great use,) That he is favour'd with a place and pension. His title changes; he is now Sir Knight; Next time you see him he is fat and gouty; And some will say, bul who can think they're right?- The nation's robbd, and he has got the booty ; 31 The next election he must roll so far — Is so unwell — you need not be surprised, All chance of bursting by the way to mar, The line of road must be Macadamized. When at the pinnacle, or nearly so, Of what's denominated high court favour; Grim Death invites him to step down below, And give a summary of his behaviour. So back he tumbles, and no more is seen, Which nearly proves in some hot place they need him: I'll say no more ; — but Englishmen, I ween. This is your statesman, and your English freedom. ON SEEING A TROUT WHICH HAD BEEN BLINDED WITH LIME Put into the River for that purpose. Poor, wretched suff 'rer, how I pity thee ; O, could pure pity but restore thy sight, From pain and darkness I would set thee free, — But never more canst thou behold the light. Ah, vain is all thy swimming to and fro, In vain thou searchest for the wholesome tide ; The limpid current which was wont to flow. No more shall lave thy gold-besprinkl'd side. I 32 No more, whilst Phoebus rising in the east Dispels the mist which hovers on the stream, In playful mood shalt thou enjoy thy feast Of insects dancing on the morning beam. No more at noon in thy sequester'd haunts, By bushes shaded on the pebbly bed, Wilt thou recline, nor to supply thy wants At sober eve sail forward to be fed. Methinks thou cursest avaricious man, Who thus destroys kind Nature's order due, Whose love of lucre, though short be his span, Would grasp at worlds, and think them over few. And well thou may'st ; but let me tell thee this — Man is to man what he has been to thee : A wicked tyrant, and a foe to bliss, — A grave to peace, and chains to liberty. THE PENITENT CONVICT. What am I now ? — my own disgust, My wife and children's shame ; A being that no friend will trust, And pne that all must blame. 33 Condemn'd to cross the billows high, And toil in galling chains ; And leave beneath a distant sky, My shatter'd, vile remains. E'en should it ever be my lot To be from bondage free, I ne'er can think to face the spot Of my nativity. A reputation stain'd with guilt Who can from sinking save ? It is a bark unsoundly built, That any blast can stave. Wretch that I am ! why did I leave The paths of rectitude ? Oh, could I but my name retrieve, And rank among the good. To make a show with plunder'd ore No more would I agree ; And I would still detest, abhor To keep bad company. Repentance is a needful friend. But oft it comes too late ; Too oft a heart with grief will rend, Yet keep its fallen state. D 34 How oft did I resolve to quit My practices of sin, Yet grew by habit all unfit To give them wholly in. Oh, ye who are unstain'd by vice, Still keep your virtue fast ; The world is far too poor a price When once the die is cast. All peace is gone if conscience stir; And if it dormant lie, The victim oft goes on to err, Till grace has past him by. ON SEEING A MOUSE IN THE CHURCH On Sunday. Poor, lielpless, meagre, dying thing, What dost thou here where choirists sing. And seraphims, on rapid wing, (By all unseen,) To holy hearers duly bring, Their manna green ? 35 True, soul-refreshing fare is good, But thou art not of Adam's brood, And will but sparely chew thy cud At such a feast, Then go in search of proper food, Poor, half-starv'd beast. Men do not live by bread alone. They oft have words to feed upon ; For thee, soon would thy life be gone. Were such thy fare ; Since words augment not flesh nor bone, Nor skin, nor hair. But, may be, thou hasl come tins way, To hear our pastor preach and pray, Like many seated here to-day, In foppish dress, Who understand not what he'll say, And care still less. Weak animal ! learn how to act ; Go build thy nest where grain is stack'd ; If ne'er by man or beast attack'd, Thou'lt happy be : Kings, lords, and priests may live compact, Not so with thee. 36 Yet, lately, T have oft been told, That those who have the church controll'd For ages back, and bought and sold The souls of men. Have but a very slipp'ry hold Of one in ten. I'll tell thee how this comes to pass : — The tythe of corn, potatoes, grass. The priest must have, nor can he pass A garden by. Without his share, nor yet, alas ! The widow's sty. And Paddy, penny less, 1 heai»> Convenes a meeting ev'ry year, And supplicates his friends to tear His fetters off; While Parson Keepall cries, " Forbear f He'll steal my loaf." " The bread you eat," cries Pat, " is mine : By all that's sacred or divine. You stole it, when you did combine With old King Harry, To give him wives, some eight or nine, Or more, to marry." 37 And to defend his butter'd bread, Old Parson Keepall shakes his head, And roars, " My friends, you all have read How Pat behav'd, B^fo^e w'le either cropp'd his head, Or him enslav'd. " You also know that Pat can slay A thousand of you any day, And get the sin all wash'd away Within an hour : O dear ! my friends, I beg and pray. Keep him secure." Are these the words of peace and love? Will they contention dire remove ? Is it the will of heav'n above That priests should rail— Who should be harmless as the dove. Not beings frail ? The priesthood thus defeat their ends : They turn to foes their warmest friends; Abusive words no matter mends, So I vvill drop : The priest at any risk intends To keep his shop. d2 38 And pulpit warfare may hold on, Till fiery Pat, and patient John, Fight for the church, and stone by stone It crumbling falls ; And thou, poor meagre beast, mayst groan Beneath the walls. So leave this place in haste I pray, And to some stack-yard bend thy way, Thy wants supplied, thou'lt sport and play. In merry mood, And train thy young to shun the day, And kittens rude. If proud to creep in church and starve, Hope not that priest or clerk will serve, Thou'lt bear what men too oft deserve. So take the road ; And never more be seen to swerve From thy abode. But stop ! by Jove, I have it now : If all that I have heard be true, Departed souls their course renew By transmigration. And thou must feel, and sadly rue, Thy past transgression. .^9 A gouty bishop thou hast been, Who seldom in the church was seen. But still so greedy liv'd, and mean^ As ne'er to rise Thy hands, from black oppression clean, Towards the skies. Thy sentence then, I may conclude, A pris'ner keeps thee, without food> Within the church, and fit it should : Thy guilt appears : I would confine thee, if I could, Ten thousand years. AN ADDRESS TO MAY. Thrice welcome May ! hail to thy vernal smile [ Thy genial warmth, and health-restoring breath, Let me partake of. Oli ! vouchsafe to raise Thy wasted suppliant from the bed of death.. Long, long and anxiously I've look"d for thee ; Leaning on Hope, a staff that oft gives way,. I've totter'd forward, and I yet survive, To hail thy presence on. thy natal day.. iO If no restorative thou hast for me, My doom is seal'd, and seal'd it is I fear : Ah ! how reluctantly doth Nature yield, When in the summer of her swift-wing'd year. Alas ! how oft as thou cam'st smiling forth, In em'rald dress, with flowrets interwove, And hail'd by symphony from ev'ry glade, To catch thy glances did I lightly rove. I view'd thy canopy of azure blue, My heart was cloudless, and like it serene ; I trod thy flowrets, and thy pearly dew. With foot as healthy as thy robes M'ere green. I follow'd Nature from the succulent plant. Up to the hollow, time-worn, aged tree ; And coming years I saw extended far, Far out before me, which were all for me. The blighted branches of the standing tree ; The tree uprooted by the winter blast ; The flow'r that perish 'd in the bud or bloom, My purblind eye observ'd not as I pass'd. Yet these vicissitudes to Nature known, Are emblematical of man's frail state, And might have taught me that a thousand keys Tliere are to open the wide gates of Fate. 41 But like the fly that wheels around the blaze, Scorching its wings, nor learns the flame to shun, Man hurries forward, constantly in haze, Nor clears his atmosphere till all is done. AN EPISTLE TO MR. FISHER, OF FAUGH, On being requested to write an Epitaph vpon his Son, Though sometfmes you've heard me a trifle recrtrngr Expect not to gain what you crave, My Muse is not one that can furnish a writing Adapted to speak from the grave : And yet in my bosom a feeling doth reign, Alive to your loss but my efforts are vain. Your son was the hope of your glass yet unrun. You saw him as fresh as the green lap of May ; When flowrets lay open their breasts to the sun, Like stars glancing down from the pale milky-way : You saw him to Virtue inclin'd, and you saw His soul gather strength with the growth of his frame 5 And still as he nearer to manhood did draw, He burn'd a more brilliant and light-giving flame; 42 But the mirror of hope waxed dim on your sight, As darkens the pool at the birth of a breeze, When calmly reflecting the stars of the night, A sky in its bosom the traveller sees ; For health, rosy health, to disease fell a prey, And Death's icy hand made a prize of your son ; He fell like a fiowret frost-bitten in May- He fell like a tree which untimely decay Had sapp"d of its vitals, and nothing could stay The rapid consumption which Death had begun. Oh ! Death, thou despoiler, and breeder of woe. How vast is thy pow'r, and how callous thy heart ; No prayers can induce thee to hasten the blow When mortals, frail mortals, in agony smart ; No prayer cnn induce thee to lengthen the hours Of those thou hast doom'd to a premature grave ; Thou comes in thy stillness, and darts flying show'rs: All, all at thy word, in Oblivion's wave Must plunge, and no mortal his niemVy can save. The vessel that bounds on the perilous deep, From billow to billow with staggering sweep, Of man is an emblem ; the track it has made Is seen for a moment — the next it has fled ; And trackless the ocean appears to the eye. No trace can be found of a vessel pass'd by. Yes, even great Newton that comet of light. May set in the darkness of ages, though bright The star of his fame on the zenith doth blaze, And burns a defiance to Time's pallid haze. 43 So be not disturb'd that the Muse hath declin'd To join in rescuing the name of your son; Such helps are but weak, and are ever consign'd Down Lethe's dark torrent in silence to run. Small twigs by the banks of a river may hold The wretch who is drowning afloat for a while, But twigs being feeble, away he is roU'd — Thus Fame so much sought, and its loftiest pile Down Time's rapid torrent is tumbled along. And perish it must, like the strength of the strong. But worth is recorded in regions afar, Stripp'd bare of the trappings of grandeur and state, And Rectitude joyfully sits by the bar, Unaw'd by the sentence that does it await. Your son now looks down from that region of light. And gladly he bids you rejoice that he's well ; Then dry up the tear-drop, put care from 3^our sight, And banish the thoughts of his funeral knell. THE SCHOOLMASTER. Yon person standing by the river's brink. With basket on his back by straps secured, Is not a-pleasuring as some might think ; Yet he has pleasu,re when a trout's allured. 44 For in his cupboard there is little bread ; His purse is lighter than the line he's throwing, And all his intellects are nearly fled — Yet he considers he is very knoxving. His parents priz'd him at too high a rate : Like over many, he was thought discerning, Because in childhood he was apt to prate ; So he was doom'd to get his bread by learning. He drew to manhood, and his friends made bold To hope the scholar might be made a preacher ; But church preferments being bought and sold, He had no chance — so he became a teacher. I mean he manages to keep a school — No, not a school — that is a place to learn in ; I mean he sits upon a four-legg'd stool. Beside a desk, his scanty pittance earning ; And oft he tells his dozen boys and girls, What pains were taken with his education — And that he hopes by some of Fortune's whirls, To gain a comfortable situation, He gabbles Latin, and pretends to teach The mathematics, and the art of writing ; And if this pedagogue a glass you reach, YouVe told the Sciences he takes delight in. While such old women have the care of schools, You need not wonder that a boy can chatter 'Bout arithmetic and the grammar rules, Yet die quite ignorant about the matter. 45 ON BURNS. Bard of deathless fame, immortal Burns! Come with a spark of thy celestial flame, Ignite my bosom, let seraphic fire Burn on my lines, as it will do on thine, Till earth turn weary of her yearly route; Fly from her orbit like a comet ; sail Through countless systems, and return to tell Her former neighbours how the beings fare Ten thousand times a greater distance off Than ever Phoebus threw a trembling ray. Yes, thou shalt live— ah ! no — thy fame shall live, Unfading as thy soul was truly great — Firm as the hills that lift their heads of green, Commixing with the clouds which weep thy end. Where waves, white-crested, and with bosoms blue. Roar in the caves of deep impending rocks. Which form a bulwark to thy native land. Unbending was thy mind ; it ne'er would stoop To flatter greatness for the sake of gold; A warmer heart towards the human race Than thine ne'er beat ; and it was thine to feel The softer flame with all its melting power. Hence Scotia's daughters thou hast prais'd, and sun; In artless strains, soft as the black-bird's note. That wakes the echoes of thy native glens, E 46 As Phoebus sinking to the western wa.e, Gilds with his sparkling glance the smiling hills. Keen too thou felt the ills that men endure : So thou to tyranny was still a foe ; And though it dwindled not beneath thy lash, Still in its side thy works a thorn will be. All must allow that Superstition fell, No more to triumph o'er the mind mis-led. While thy " Address to Satan " is extant, Or " Holy Willie " kneels him down to pray. Thy harp was rustic, but 'twas finely strung, And thou didst touch it with unrivall'd hand. The " Mountain Daisie " is to Fate a prey, Or panic-struck thy timid " Mouse " does fiy Impending ruin, while the ruthless Avind Sports with the fragments of its ruin'd cell ; With hopes all blasted it is turned adrift, Houseless and hungry in the pelting storm : Too oft the fate of poor, sbort-sighled man. When thou dost mourn a woman's broken vow, While Luna sheds her wan, unwarming beam. No bosom is unmov'd, no eye-lid dry, Unless the heart be petrified and cold. Heroic daring in thy bold " Address To Bruce's Army " does unrivall'd swell ; And under cover of " Twa Dogs, a Tale," The Scottish gentry and their factors writhe; 111 could'st thou brook the servile sons of gain. And canting hypocrites, much worse than them. 47 Thy spirit burned with patriotic fire, And breath'd an ardent love for all mankind ; For it was fram'd for all that's truly great: Yet true it is, thou didst in follies join, Which soil a little thy resplendent fame, Like ragged clouds before the noon-day sun. I'll go and visit the all-sacred spot, Where moulder thy remains ; and when at jaight I tell my children of thy early death. Or point to them thy " Man was made to Mourn," Thy " Tam o' Shanter," or thy " Halloween," Thy " Doctor Hornbook," or thy " Holy Fair," If they should ask if I have seen the man, I'll check the tear-drop, and 111 answer-—" No ; " But, mingling extasy of grief and joy, " I once did feel I wept at Robbie's tomb." CHARITY. Bless'd is the man who harbours thee, SouI-dignif^ing Charity. Where thou art not the heart is cold, Eternal frost prevails ; No flowret can it's bloom unfold To scent the passing gale. 48 But where thou art tlie heart is \varnj> All loveliness is there ; Sweet flowrets spring the eye to charnt, And fragrance scents the air. The man who does not thee possess, May speak a neighbour fair ; But in the moment of distress Has nothing good to spare. That man will be the first to name The frailties of a friend ; And he will ever fan the flame, Where strife is like to end. For he can at affliction jest, And mock the keenest woe ; Defame a name that stands confess'd Pure as the mountain snow. Reverse the case : you find a man Who scandal will not hear ; Who eagerly docs what he can The sinking soul to cheer. And where he cannot pain remove. Or want in full supply, He, from the fountain of his love, Will give a tear or sigh. 40 And in his tears there is more joy Than frozen hearts e'er knew ; But oh ! this bUss that cannot cloy, Is known to very few. CONTENTMENT. Buoyant heart and features even, Sweet Contentment, thou dost share ; Where thou art — commences heaven; Where thou art not — hell is there. Thine alone are peaceful slumbers, Undisturb'd by restless dreams ; Waking nought thy path encumbers — All to thee with pleasure teems. Frugal diet most delights thee ; Costly trappings thou hast none ; In the future nought affrights thee ; At the past thou dost not groan. Rosy Health attends thy dwelling ; Mildness on thy lips is found ; Thou art like a vessel sailing, Where nor rocks nor shoals abound. b2. 50 Most delightful thou appearest, When the brow is bald or gray ; All around thee then thou cheerest With a warming, magic ray. Thou art then the sun of even, Slowly sinking to the sea, While the rosy tints of heaven Promise what the morn will be. Thou dost look with eye of pity On the giddy whirling maze, Termed pleasures of the city, Which embitter while they Wu/e. Vacant moments thou cniployest With a friend or with a book ; But thyself thou most enjoyest Wand'ring by sequester'd brook. Flowery spring — deep-mantled suirucoer- Fading autumn^winter drear — Vary like an idle rumour — But one aspect thou dost bear. Sweet Contentment ! thou art seldom Wholly mine, and ne'er shall he. While the world is held iii thraldom, Tortur'd by base tyranny. 51 Lesser ills in millions vex me To the bosom's inmost core — Countless as the stars of heaven, Or the waves that dash the shore. Who, possessing common feeling, Who, possessing eyes and ears, Does not find Injustice reeling, Void of mercy, void of fears. Sweet Contentment ! fix thy dwelling Where the heart may all be thine ; Leave me o'er mankind bewailing — Passive bliss can ne'er be mine. THE REDBREAST AND SWALLOW, A FABX-E. In balmy spring a Redbreast sat, Upon an alder tree, And tun'd by turns his willing throat To Nature's melody. A Swallow skimming on the pool, And o'er tlxe flow'ry lea. Oft mounted o'er, and wheel'd around, The aged alder tree. 52 " And art thou come,'" the Redbreast sang, " To sport in summer's glare? Has chilhng winter sliut thee out, Where thou didst sport afar? " Art thou aware to shun distress By changing oft thy place, Is bringing on thy native land Reproach and foul disgrace? " If thou wouldst be a British bird, Let Britain be thy pride ; Seek not, when winter chills the air, To cross the briny tide ; '* But meet the shock of winter's war, And bear't without a sish : What bird would offer to desert Its darling native sky ? " The frosts of winter, I must own, Go very hard with me ? Subsisting on the scanty crumbs Of chance or charity. •' But spring returns, and troubles fly, And summer months again Reward me with supreme delight- Sweet pleasure after pain. 53 " And this is what thou canst not feel, A joy thou canst not share, A pleasure which unbroken joy Had never yet to spare." MORAL. Would men but act the Redbreast's part. Revere their native home ; Would men but quit the Swallow's art, Be less inclin'd to roam ; A thousand ills would disappear, And ills which none can stay, Would, with a nation's coming year, Like winter, pass away. HYPOCRISY. Hypocrisy! thou double face ! — Or let me name thee more complete- Thou screen for evVy act that's base ! Thou hiding-place for all deceit ! - A snowy lambskin thou dost wear, And "glory to the Lord's'' thy cry; But ah ! thy deeds from year to year, Are of the deepest ebon dye. 54 When freedom is to feel a shock, Thy oily tongue invokes the Lord To be all-mindful of his flock — To blunt the spear, and break the sword. And when suspicions all are hush'd, Like tigers lurking for their prey, Thy legions come, the free are crushd, ,Man groans beneath tyrannic sway. How oft has thou been known to come With fire and faggot o'er the land, Compelling Reason to sit dumb, And giving Priests supreme command. And when the game of war is play'd, And Reason tries the sport to mar, Thy voice proclaims the brutal tradt, " A just and necessary war." Whoever may the contest win, ; Is all the same to thee and thine, Thou'lt prove the victor free of sin, And that he reigns by right divine. Whatever miseries are felt, No matter how they spring, or where. Thy voice proclaims that God hath dealt, These troubles in his mercy rare. 6$ Hypocrisy ! where'er I range I'm certain still to meet with thee ; Look and profession thou canst change ; Thou art not still on bended knee. Gain is thy object, and for gain No sneaking practice wilt thou miss ; Pretend to bleach and only stain ; — With lips of poison thou dost kiss. I hear thee in the pulpit rave ; Philosopher I see thee turn ; Thy mood is frolicsome, or grave, As int'rest bids the laugh or mourn. Hypocrisy ! by all that's good, I would my neighbours rather hear Denying all that mortals should Call holy, upright — or revere — Than find them closely wrapp'd in thee ; For where thou art not, there's a chance For unsuspecting worth to flee Impending ruin at a glance. But where thou art, the sharpest eye May watch and watch and be deceivd : Thy aim so closely hid doth lie. Thy tale's so easily believ'd. >6 HARVEST HOME. To him who on unwearied wing, Flies round with Nature's changes all ; Who works within the bud in spring, And trains the fading leaf to fall— An universal song of praise All Nature sings where'er we roam And shall we not our voices raise, To thank him for our Harvest Home ? Yes, thankfulness unmix'd and pure In unaffected strains shall flow ; His goodness shines from hour to hour, On all his creatures here below. And to the man who trains his e3'e, To trace the windings of the Lord. The rolling seasons seem to cry, " See how his goodness we record ! " But to the dull, inactive mind, His goodness is in vain display'd ; Unseen it passes like the wind. Though in the robes of light array 'd. 57 Or like a landscape seen at night, When Luna lends her pallid ray, His goodness falls upon the sight, And passes in each cloud away. We sow the seed, it soon appears, And dew-drops clothe the tender stem; All Nature then is joy in tears, And ev'ry flow'r a polish'd gem. The woodlands join the gen'ral joy, And Echo lifts the harmony, And gladly does his caves employ In praises of the Deity- Then Summer comes with frequent showr's. And days of sultry heat arrive ; A fairy mantle decks our bow'rs, And all our fields are seen to thrive. Then Autumn steals upon our sight, Besprinkled here and there with gold ; At length arrives that joyous night On which our Harvest Home we hold. And now a joy, unmix'd with fear. Dilates the heart — but soon is gone ; A joy which only once a year Frail mortals taste or feast upon. s o8 For in the progress of our toil, We barter peace for fruitless care, And give our bosoms to turmoil, Just as the weather's foul or fair. A day or two of drought or rain, Beyond what commonly appears, Unmans us so we yield to pain, And change sweet hope for needless fears. Then man, as if his feeble eye Could judge what best can work his ends; Invokes the Lord, with mournful cry. To change the weather, which he sends. Thou worm ! thou insect ! frail and blind, Is Nature's grand unerring scheme To change and suit thy narrow mind, Or please thy ev'ry idle dream ? Do thou thy head and hands appl}^, With earnestness and constant care, And He who feeds each little fly. Will not withhold thy daily fare. An universal song of praise. All Nature sings where'er we roam ; And shall we not our voices raise To thank him for our Harvest Home ? 69 A SONG OF THANKSGIVING On the same occasion. It is thy will, O God most high ! That we should live alone to thee ; And that our hearts may seek the sky, No real good thou dost deny — Thy gifts are manifold and free. All life is at thy table fed, And thou hast taught each mouth to crave The very quality of bread, And quantity, which thou hast said Each ibod-requiring thing shall have. Thou coni'st in clouds : the rain-drops pour ; And next in azure thou art dress'd: The earth requires another shower, It comes in thy refreshing power, Glad to obey thy high behest. Each herb and tree produces seed ; We eat, and are again supplied ; And though thou dost not work for meed, We know thy goodness ought to lead Our erring feet from guilt aside. €0 Accept our thanks, Being unmade ; Accept our thanks, thou depth of mind; Thou essence veil'd in glory's shade ; Who art the hope, the joy, and dread, Of creatures weak and unrefind. Thy movements all declare aloud Thy wisdom, majesty, and power ; They all declare that thou art good. That thou hast from all ages stood, And will through ages all endure. WOMAN. But for sweet Woman's witching smile, Tliis tear-bedewed valley Had been a place of durance vile — A wretched prison galley. But with her, what enraptur'd hours They daily are obtaining, Wlio love to frequent Virtue's bow'rs, Their rectitude maintaining. 61 Sweet creature ! who can do her harm, While on her beauty gazing ; One glance of her the eye can charm, And do what's more amazing : Can raise the soul to angel bliss, And set the pulse a-reeling ; But oh ! a balmy virgin-kiss. That baffles all revealing ! Whenever pain springs up in love. The seed may be seen tracing, To something that does clearly prove, Creation's lord disgracing. For woman is a flow'r that twines Around man's favour'd bosom, And while the sun of kindness sliines, Unfading is its blossom. Nay, even with cold disrespect. Upon its beauty glooming, I've seen it kiss a wretch's neck, In pure aifectioa blooming. Deducting what is felt in youth, ^^'hen love is over powering. Experience bids me speak tliis truth— Her smiles are worth procuring. f2 02 Behold her wheu become a wife, Her liusband's fate a-sharing, Guiding with zeal, and shunning sti-ife^ For ev'ry trifle caring. What object underneath the sun Is to the eye so cheering ? And while life's ebbing tide doth run. What object so endearing ? He who could such a woman harm, Or leave her helpless mourning, I could behold where devils swarm. And hell is hottest burning. HAPLESS ELLEN. Onb ev'ning in June by a flowret-fring'd river. Whilst Phoebus yet hung on the verge of the sky, I carelessly wander'd, but never, oh never, Shall time shift the scene from my mem'ry's eye. The slow-floating zephyr play'd sweet on the lawn, And Flora supplied a regaling perfume ; The last breath of even seeni'd now to be drawn. And now it came forth its lov'd ta^k to resume. 63 The Bwallows were skimming the face of the fiood, Half lighting by turns on its surface of blue; Now darting aloft in pursuit of tht'Ir food, And wheeling again the same course to puriuc. The tribes of the deep to the surface would rise, Scarce causing a circle to form on the tide ; Now leaping outright the wingd prey to surprise, Which Nai.ure had taught on tiie river to glide. Tlie monarch of song in a neighbouring dale, His mild mellow instrument skilfully plied ; And Echo, rejoicd, on the caves did prevail To sweeten his notes as they gradually died. The true smile of gladness on Nature's whole face, In ev'ry direction lay open to view ; And care in my bosom to pleasure gave place My heart was as light as the zephyr that flew. I said at that moment, the heart must be cold That feels not of pleasure the warmest glow, If it be permitted this scene to behold, Yet seek for a reason all joy to forego. Rut lo ! nigh a cottage that stood by a brook. Where tall trembling poplars did mournfully shake, I met with a female, and pale was her look, As the pallid complexion of miijt-covcr'd lake. 6i Her flood-gates of sorrow no longer could run, For weeping had even drawn ofi" the last sigh ; Her eye was as heavy as winter's weak sun, When working its way through a watery sky. All pleasant sensations were instantly fled, The cause of her grief I had heard o'er and o'er ; No wonder her heart with deep sorrow had bled, Her happiness blighted to flourish no more. The snow-drift of age on her father was shed, The rosebud of youth on her daughter did bloom, Now both are consign'd to a cold watery bed, The womb of the ocean they have for a tomb. I tried to persuade her her grief to forego, But all consolation she hove on the air ; And finding I only augmented her woe, I listen'd in silence her feelings to spare. *' Oh happy ! thrice happy," she mutter'd, " are they Who mourn the exit of their relatives dear, If things be so order'd that they may convey To the tomb of their fathers the slow-moving bier. " For such, ere the spark of existence be fled, May train the fond bosom its grief to resign ; For soon as the show'r of frail nature is shed. The sky brightens up with a sunbeam divine. 6-5 " The tears of sad parting are dried with the hand Of Ufe-gilding hope, and the mist of the grave Is scatter'd — and faith has a ghmpse of that land Where grief cannot eater, nor sorrow enslave. " And such in remembrance of those that are gone, May weep o'er their loss, and repair to the grave, And kneel in devotion, and grasp the cold stone That tells they were lovely, or virtuous, or brave. " But ah me ! the names of my father and child, , If read must be read on the white-crested wave That the stormy x\tlantic has heav'nwards pil'd, Which tumbles incessantly over their grave. " Oh ! why are the shells that are cast on the shore* Not gifted with speech? I would ask ev'ry shell Concerning the heart-rending loss I deplore — Or why are the waves not permitted to tell ? " The waves are not mute, but they speak not to me ; The winds are not mute, but they mock my distress. Oh ! what shall I utter, or where shall I flee. My spirit-consuming deep woe to repress? " I've read that the wretched have met with repose When sleep drew a veil o'er the cares of the day, But ah me I Tm wretched, more wretched than those, For sleep, in a manner, drives gladness away* JO " I dream that I stand on tlie clifts of the shore, And if for a moment serene be the sky, It darkens the next, and the loud thunders roar, And the tumbhng billows are lifted on high. " The sea-birds they mix with the red forked blaze, And all is commotion on land and on main, I trembling stand, and I think as I gaze. That Nature is falling to chaos again. " Two vessels appear, and they rush each to each ; They strike ; one is sunk, and the perishing crew Cling fast by the cordage, or ought they can reach Belonging to her which has weather d it through. '•' And then the remembrance of what I have lost, Occurs to my mind, and I 'wake with a scream. Believing the vessel run down on the coast. Has sunk with my father and child in my dream. " For this was the manner in which they were lost : Tlie furious winds and the high rolling sea, Relentlessly join'd on a far foreign coast. To rack the heart-chords of a creature like me. " Thus passes m}' night, and the dawning of day Abates not my grief in the smallest degree." — " Repine not ; be cheerful ;" I ventur'd to say, *' Your child and your father once more you will see, 67 " When Phcebus is darken'd, and Luna's broad face Is turn'd into blood, and the stars disappear, And smoke and combustion extend through all space, And Time to Eternity yields her career." *• Religion," she cried, "fhisbless'd hope is thine own, And none but thy vot'ries the same can enjoy ; Ah ! when to my heart shall that peace be made know n Which thorny a£3iction can never destro}' ? ** O Father of Heav'n ! forgive the weak dust That thorny affliction has caus'd to repine ; I own thy decrees, and thy mandates are just ; Oh ! teach me my sorrow this hour to resign !" The sun long had set, and the high arch of heaven Now dim and more dim in its aspect did grow ; I left her reflectinj; that millions are driven To combat Affliction, unarm'd for the foe. And homeward returning, absorbed in deep thought, I tax'd oft my reason to make it appear, Wh)' man o'er a pathway of briers is brought, With feelings too tender their tortures to bear. 'O" And sober Reflection suggested to me, That heav'n has mingled our honey with gall, Well knowing Aveak mortals from sorrow set free, Would never till then think their happiness small. 68 LINES Written on seeing a blade of grass making its appearance about the latter end of the stormy Winter of 1823. Hail, messenger of Nature's weal ! How glad I am to see thee spring : Rude Winter yet may roar and reel, And shake his dusky, sullen wing ; But circumscrib'd is Winter's power, And thou fortell'st his dying hour. Then on thy spiky branches green. The pearly dew in sparkling pride. Once more shall glory to be seen At morning's dawn, or evening tide. The daisy by thy side shall blow, The lark above thy head shall sing, The zephyrs wave thee to and fro, In all the grandeur of the spring. Thus shall the man oppres'd with care , Who leans on fortitude the while, The balmy warmth of comfort share, When better days begia to smile- 69 And thus shall he who doth believe, Almighty father ! in thy son, Come smiling forth no more to grieve, To seize the prize which he has won ; No more a change of state to prove. An heir to realms of peace and love. LINES FOR A TOMBSTONE. Stop passenger, and weigh thy ways ; Remember thou art nigh to death ; Count not on seeing length of days ; Man's life at most is but a breath. A flovv'r may bloom, and yield its seed ; A flow'r may in the bud decay ; Ten thousand accidents may lead Untimely Death a flowret's way. 'Tis so with man : but man's career Works out his future weal or woe ; Do thou through life thy God revere. That bliss eternal thou may'st know. c 70 THE LAMP AND THE CANDLE. A TRUE STORY. Once on a time, as hoar tradition tells, Loud blew the wind, and shrouded were the fells In shining snow, and on the blust'ring gale Was heard the tolling of a fact'ry bell. By this time sleep had from the eye-lids fled Of some, and some lay snoring on the bed, And some were up, and some began to rise, And some, half-'waken, rubb'd their drowsy eyes, Whilst some to others cried, " Get up ! I'm sure The fact'ry's on ; the bell's been rung this hour." But to be brief, suppose the fact'ry on, Each man at work, all thought of sleeping gone, Some wheeling round to catch the slack'ning handle. Some piecing ends, some lighting up a candle, Each to his neighbour making the remark, That mornings now are cold, and long, and dark. Things thus went on, as they are wont to do. If hoar tradition tells the story true: At length a Candle (for they then could speak), That had been snuff'd, and open'd in the wick, Clear burning forth its brightness to display. Was to a Lamp, in whispers, heard to say — 71 " My blinking neighbour, I have heard you tell That Comfort died, and that his parting knell ^ Was rung o'er Britain by a fact'ry bell ; We've time on hand : I wish you would explain, How cotton fact'ries have done hurt to men ? THE LAMP. " Ye dinna mind, but I can mind fu' weel, When yarn was spun a' on a little wheel ; Ae thread at ance, nae mair cud ony draw, Yet folk cud live, an' faith cud busk them braw ; Claes then were claes, they didna spoil or stain Wi' ae day's wearin', or a drap o' rain ; A cloak or gown, wi' ony carefu' wife, Was hale an' mensfu maist fee o' her life ; Nae wife but kent what kind o' claes wad staiV The greatest hardships, and wi' thrifty ban', She ay took tent to hae a pickle yarn, To deed hersel, her man, an' ilka bairn : This she cud dui, an' yet hae time to crack Wi' neighbour wives ; an' onie chiel cud mak' Wi' ease what siller wad get milk an' meal, A drap o' whiskey, an' his wife a wheel : But now-a-days, though toiling late and air, Folk deed but thin, an' scanty is their fare : At first I wonder'd how this cam' about, When folk had fan so mony gran' things out ; But now, guid faith ! I dinna need to farley What keeps folk down, though toiling late an' early 7"> I say but little, but I ken mysel', Tile death o' Comfort was a fact'ry bell. Consider calmly, and keep to the truth, Isi there ought wanted but for back and mouth ? Supply them baith, what is there wanted mair? Lang syne folk did it, and had time to spare ; Were hale and Strang, and liv'd as lang again As they dui now, or I am sair mista'en. Straight were their limbs, in a' respects weel raade,. But see them now wha join the spinning trade ! Their legs are twisted, like queer gibby sticks ; They creep like monkies that hae got their licks ; Their banes are marrowless, as weel as sma' ; Deep sunk their een ; their faces white as snaw ; In short, they mind me o' the frightfu' forms That haunted kirk-yards in the time o' storms, WTiile wives sat canty at the little wheel, An' as the tempest gaed the tither squeel, Stirr'd up the ingle, an' wi' face devout, Telt a' the young anes what was gaun without. The question is, what comes o' poor folks" gear, And through what channel does it disappear? The tale's o'er lang, or I wad tell ye a'; Through mony channels it is ta'en awa': Ae thing I'll tell ye: spinners ken owre weel, That master-spinners are the very de'il," By this the clouds were ting'd with saffron hue, And intermix'd with lively streaks of blue, T3 Dull and more dull the candles seem'd to burn ; No more was said, but those who heard did mourn, That great improvements are not blessings made To operatives, as to men in trade. A PARENT'S DUTY. A parent's duty let me learn to know, That I may act in a becoming way : First boiling passion I must still forego ; Be mild, yet careful lest my children stray Too far from rectitude : hence I must try With well-tim'd lessons, more than with the rod, To teach them early to abhor a liert Through love, not fear, obey me When I nod. Ah ! what avails correction or advice. When parents, heedless of the charge they hold, Buy worldly comforts at a worldly price, — In otWer words give virtue up for gold ; Or squander carelessly what should provide. Both food and raiment, and instruction sage, For those sweet Innocents whom they should guide With watchful tenderness from youth to age. 74 Let me be honest, that my children may Have no excuse when I say " do not steal ;" Let me live soberly from day to day, That if my children in mad pleasures reel, I may correct them with a better grace. Than if in revelry I spent my time : Woe to the offspring, if the parent chace False pleasure, ignorance, or joys in crirae^ Life-giving pow'r ! if pray 'rs avail, oh ! grant, That I may see my little one's incline, To walk in virtue, and for learning pant, And in misfortune sink not, nor repine ; Where I cojue short in teaching, oh ! do thou, In thy all-perfect wisdom interfere ; Obscure the false, elucidate the true, And lead them all thy precepts to revere. ON THE BEING OF A GOD. Suppose each thing that moves on earth, through air, Or hides itself within the mighty deep, Or seeks for refuge in the solid land. Had each a Maker ; and suppose each plant That eye can see, or microscope discern, 7S Down from the tallest tree to where the worltE Of vegetation sinks as if to nothing, — Had each a God — no person but would say, " Look here what art, what m isdom, is combin'd, What power to form, what genius to contrive, Each God must have, each wonder-working God ; See this new wonder, and this wonder still ;" But when vi^e know one being form'd the whole, Of this diversity of life, of thought, Of strength, of colour, action, passion, — ail The countless properties of countless things — How must we stand amaz'd and lost in thought, Confess the fullness of so great a God? A greater step we glance at worlds above. And we are lost in wonder, fear, and love. FLATTERY. The ear that vanity or pride inclines To hear with pleasure adulation's tale, Should fall a victim to the dark designs Which treach'rous flatt'ry would have prevail ; For why should pride that ever doth control With rod of iron where'it gaineth pow'r, Unshaken stand, when rectitude of soul, And that alone, should ever be secure ? 76 Yet he, the wretch who sinks so low the man, As to destroy for sake of present gain, (Through cringing flatt'ry) in Nature's plan, The equal balance it should still retain, Deserves at best the worst, the greatest pain, While yet in life, that damned demons know ; For unto such I attribute each stain. Each foul offence, that works up human woe. See thrones surrounded by a fawning hoard, And feel how galling is the dire effect ; Mark from the peasant to the flatter 'd lord, How servile parasites can gain respect ; While truth is answer'd by unblushing sneers, And sent to languish with a broken heart : The words of scorners are as poison'd spears. Which cause a gangrene in the wounded part. Say, would not freedom o'er the peopl'd earth, Extend her long lov'd olive branch of peace, And smiling happiness surround each hearth, If hell-born flatt'ry would learn to cease? For man would then his dignity maintain, And truth unspotted ev'ry tongue would keep ; And pride-born tyrrany would then refrain From claiming homage, nor durst use the whip. 77 THE BROOK AND THE RILL. A FABLE. Thus spoke a Brook, as round a sylvan nook It careless wheel'd, then glided on with ease ; And ey'd a Rill with a disdainful look, And cast its cadence proudly on the breeze ; — " Presumptuous dribbler ! may stern winter freeze Thy puny form, and hold thee still in chains ; Or parching summer on thy waters seize. Thy springs dry up, and clouds withhold their rains. Till not one vestige of thy form remains. " Survey my windings from yon mountain's brow, To where my waters join the roaring main, When noontide's blaze plays on my surface blue, Or when night's lamp, slow rising gilds the plain ; See how it glories nightly to remain, Fond, quiv'ring, low, on an inverted sky, Form'd in my bosom, and its trembling train Of glimm'ring lights you also may espy, And sailing clouds whilst meteors darting fly. " Or from the uplands at the dawn of morn, Mark out my course with curling mist o'erspread. Whilst zephyrs gently fan the spangl'd thorn, And drowsy Ph(sbus, rising from his bed, 78 Throws down abruptly from the mountain head, Extended shadows on the dewy plain, Of rising objects, till the eye is led To see with ease herds, cottages, and men, Conceal'd in mist till orient Phoebus came " " Hold," cried the Rill, " thy ostentation cease: I know thy drift, thouVt urg'd to speak through pride ; I know thou hatest long to be at peace With one who aids not thy declining tide ; And then thou boastest of thy channel wide. Thy winding course, and of thy splendid show ; Would'st thou, vain fool ! by prudence but abide, Thou'd change thy course, and circumspectly flow, la channel narrow'd, shelt'ring shades below. " Thou spread'st thy bosom to the summer sun. Which lifts thy water on its dancing beam ; In winter, too, the course thou lov'st to run, Exposes much to drying frosts thy stream ; But here's the point, 1 know thou lov'st to seem Like some strong river of no common size ; Vain fool I give up a self-consuming dream ; Be what thou art; throw off thy thin disguise : Without resources great ne'er hope to rise. " See in the hollow round yon south-west hill, Where curls the smoke above yon tow'ring trees, There sits a hamlet, and though but a Rill, I thither meander, babbling at my ease ; 79 And lest hoar winter should my current freeze, I seek protection 'neath rocks, scars, and groves, Nor then can summer on my waters seize, As upon thine — Remember, it behoves A stream to study ere it wildly roves." MORAL. Men, like the Brook — at least too many men, Get out their latitude by dint of pride ; They vaunt and gesture at the moment when Their all is sinking in deep ruin's tide : Few like the Rill do circumspectly guide Their scanty gettings, which if hoarded by A few short summers, ebbing life would glide Free of obstructions, such as penury, And enter smoothly on eternity. LINES Written on the day of the establishment of the Carlisle Mechanics' Institution. There was a time when savage lawless bands, The willing vassals of imperious lords, Bred up for plunder, rang'd the border lands, "With hearts as pitiless as were their swordy. 80 No science flourlsh'd, and Industry's gains Had no protector ; hence no hand would toil ; So barren wildncss dwelt on Cumbria's plains, The seat of wretchedness and sad turmoil. But now the thistle and the rose entwine Their shielding branches o'er industry's head ; Hence golden harvests on our vallies shine, And ev'ry hamlet is a seat of trade. Contrast the present with primeval times, And praise the policy of modern days: Averse to anarchy and bloody crimes, No chieftain leads us to ensanguine frays. But all concurring to the common weal, Like Egypt's pyramids, or Babel's tower, Our mills ascend, and through the mazy wheel Of busy trade we reap a golden shower. The bounding vessel o'er the trackless main, Fraught with the produce of remotest lands, Now seeks our basin, and hies forth again, To leave our surplus on remotest strands. But more than ever this important day Secures our blessings, and confirms our trade, Retarding obstacles have pass'd away, And patient energy shall be repaid. 81 An institution to instruct the poor, Crowns all our blessings ; we are now complete; That light of reason which breaks in this hour, Ye friends to Cumberland, enraptur'd greet. For education is the firmest foe To discontentment, anarchy, and strife ; The greatest blessing that from wealth can flow, The surest sweetener of human life. Seize on the blessing with a steady aim, Aspiring youths, for you it is design'd ; You'll find that learning is a brilliant gem. Which minds untutor'd ne'er can hope to find. THE LOVER. The Lover yonder by the brook, Feels all the flame of pure affection ; He artfully purloins a book. And runs all hazard of detection, That he may make a flowing song, Describing all the charms of Helen : But Death is seen her charms among, And he must prove each bitter feeling. 82 O Death ! this is the keenest dart That thou canst aim at purbhnd mortals ; It shakes, it quivers in the heart, And drags the victim to thy portals. Its shaft is of the ebon black, Its point of adamant is formed ; It comes — the breast is on the rack, As if the soul by fiends were stormed. THE PHILOSOPHER, The being yonder, who, with steady eye, Inspects minutely the minutest trifles, Is call'd Philosopher : he loves to pry In ev'ry corner, and the earth he rifles To meet with objects worthy of his pains ; He tries experiments, and he can write you A book in folio on winds and rains, Or how the seasons come to scorch and bite you. An endless chain of causes and effects, Through boundless nature, he minutely traces; And O ! he's eager to point out mistakes Of other men, of other days and places. f • 83 He either tells you that the sun has rays, Or that the splendour of the summer season, Is wholly owing to a floating blaze Around the sun, or some much deeper reason. He must be writing whether right or wrong, And to convince you that he has got learning, In complex sentences, 'bove twelve lines long, You'll find, with trouble, what he writes concerning; Much he has written, yet his head contains, Enough of matter for a thousand volumes : Death trips his heels up, and with mighty pains, Another age confutes his labour'd columns. THE HERO. The Hero — for there is a thing They call a Hero — goes to battle ; He hopes to hear his praises ring For butchering some human cattle ; He levels battlements and towers, And leaves a hundred towns in ashes, Believing laurels he secures ; At length along the ranks he dashes ; A shot is lodged in his side. And loudly groans the dying Hero : b 84 There leave him in his purple tide : He is at best a very Nero. Grim Death, I can excuse thee well, When such a being lies all gory; Oh ! would'st thou take to thy dark cell, All those who call such havoc glory ! THE POET. The being yonder, muttering as he goes. Who looks dejected, like a man in trouble, May be allowed to be one of those Who, when in sorrow, make their sorrow double : He is a Poet— let him quietly pass, Or he will gall you with a keen satire ; But if you treat him with a friendly glass, He'll tune with flattery his changeful lyre. His nights are restless, for he fills his head, With fancied beauties of the coming morning, And unrefresh'd he rises from his bed. The haunts of mortals and their bustles scorning ; He sings of battles and a thousand things That sober people think unfit for reading ; And oh ! he's noisy in the praise of kings, When cunning statesmen have his Muse in leading. 85 When he succeeds in spinning a few rhymes, Witli thoughts of fame his head is nearly turning, For he concludes that men in future times Will own his spirit felt poetic burning ; A thousand phantoms hurry through his brain. He calls them " subjects," so he falls to rhyming, And ten to one but he becomes insane. If words seem any way averse to chiming. But nothing galls him equal to neglect. For he concludes that people should admire His meanest efforts, and though disrespect Should frown upon him he will not retire. Death comes — he tumbles, when his frantic head Is at the fullest with rhyme-spinning notions : His laurels wither, like a blooming maid Who dares to swallow a quack doctor's potions. THE MATHEMATICIAN. There sits a man, who would be him.'' His head he constantly perplexes ; Though but a youth his eyes are dim With poring over ys. and xs. h2 86 Straight lines and circles, curves and cones, Squares, segments, ovals, and triangles. You see him draw on boards and stones, And often with himself he wn.ngles. At last a lengthy tube he lifts, Astronomer he then is styled ; He watches how a planet shifts, Till years of time arc thus beguiled. Death finds him ere his head be gray. Here end his half-rais'd equations ; He has not time to turn, and say. Who'll finish out my calculations? THE SLIGHTED LOVER. Again has Phoebus sunk to rest. And yonder comes the queen of night, I wander here with woe oppress'd, Where I was wont to feel delight. Is it because fair Anna's love Ungrateful to my heart has been.'' Oh ! yes, her presence would remove My life-consuming woe, I ween. 87 Go, Luna, in thy silver robes', Attended by thy golden train, — Ga tell her how my bosom throbs, To meet her by these bovv'rs again. How oft below thy quiv'ring beam, Have we stole forth to talk awhile, Whilst thou reflecting on the stream, Glanc'd like my Anna's artless smile. But why do I confide in thee ? Thou art like her, too prone to change ; Employ thy beams for all, save me. And let me here in darkness range. Ye zephyrs waft my heavy sigh, And let it fall on Anna's ear ; Tell her I wait her drawing nigh, With heart that loves her fondly dear. How oft your freshness to inhale. Have we stole forth at ev'ning tide, And pac'd with joy the dewy vale, Or wander'd by the river side. But why do I invoke the wind To carry tidings to her ear? It is inconstant and unkind. Like her, who vow'd to be sincere. 8S Ye streams that murmur as ye roll, If she should come your banks upon, How much her absence grieves my soul, Oh ! tell her as ye wander on. How oft your murmurs have we heard, And view'd j'our windings with delight, When summer dress'd with due regard, Your sloping banks with flowrets bright. But why do I on streamlets call, To carry tidings to her ear ? Have I not seen them rise and fall, To suit the ever-changing year ? Oh ! Nature all thy forms I view With alter'd eye, for now I see Thy strict similitude all through. To her who hath deceived me.. And I must wander nightly here, And feel what men shall never know ; It may be weakness, but the tear When started, ne'er will backwards fiow. Nor will the heart which love has rent. Be ever whole, or free from pain ; My sighs are smother'd by constraint. As banks confine the restless main. sd WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE. Wisdom and knowledge, are they not one thing ? No, by no means, they differ very wide : The one supports us when we're on the wing, The other serves us as a trusty guide : — In solid wisdom we may still confide ; It is a magnet by which all should steer ; While we possess it, we ne'er step aside To aid the wicked, nor their counsel hear. But practice virtue, and the same revere. Now what is wisdom ? 'tis the will to do No evil action that frail flesh can shun ; And what is knowledge ? an extensive view, Or comprehension, of what may be done, Is done, or will be, if things chance to run In the direction they are seen to flow ; When link'd to wisdom ev'ry point is won ; But by itself it only lives to know, And often hies to deepest, direst woe. Substantial M-isdom ! oh ! be thou my friend, And knowledge, lend me thy conducting hand ; I walk by pit-falls, and I oft depend On things unstable as the slipp'ry sand ; I'm like a vessel drifting; to the land, 90 Without a compass, in a misty day, Quite unacquainted with the shore or strand, And none on board to pilot or convey The ship to anchorage of holding clay. TO A SNAIL: ON SEEING ONE ON A TOOTHLESS HARROW, Guir> save us ! but ye're unco thrang; Whar wad your sable lordship gang ? Ye cock your horns fu' cruse an' Strang, An look right fain ; I never saw ye streak'd sae lang. For aught I ken. When this auld harrow frame was new, Weel stock'd wi' teeth, an' fair to view, Employ'd behint a sturdy plough, O, fye for shame ! Ye didna smear't wi' slime, I trow, Frae 'neath your wame. Ye canna miss but mind fu' weel. How it made you an' your folk reel, When in its day it scour'd the fiel'. An' broke the clods, An' jagg'd ye like the very de'il, M Wi' a' its prods. 91 Ye didna then baud up your head, An' sHde awa' at sic a speed, Na ! na ! guid faith, mean coward Dread Took haud o' you ; An' lang ye lay, gi'en up for dead, Row'd like a clue. An' shou'd this harrow e'er again Regain its teeth, I'm sair mista'en, Gin ye wad cock sae crouse a mane, Or look sae bald, A coward heart ye'll ay retain, Let that be tald. Mankind, amaist the warl through, I'm wae to say't resemble you, They'll cringe an' fawn, an scrape an' bow, E'en to their kind. Nae odds, wha's uppermost th'now. He's a' that's fine. Once let the scales but tak a turn, Guid save us ! a' mark how they spurn ; The victim that is doom'd to mourn, An thole their rage. Scorn, hatred, vengence, a' may burn, Ought they'll engage. 92 E'en frae the lowest vale o' life, Up to the fountain-head o' strife, Where curs'd ambition's gully knife, Kills clear o' crime, Ye'll fin' man wi' devices rife, To suit ilk time, It maks me wae that man shou'd be Sae very prone to gang aglee, Ane maist wad swear he canna see. His steps to wale, O cou'd he but be guided free, O' actions frail ! Poor beasty, wi' the glossy hide, Ye canna err where'er ye slide, Wi' nought but instinct for your guide, The truth to tell, Ye by its dictates ay abide, An clear yoursel'. A REFLECTION. What useful lessons he may learn WTiose mental eye delights, To pore upon the chequer'd page His own experience writes. 93 But ah ! how little understood Are things we most should prize ; And ah ! how seldom is the past Before our mental eyes. Hence, on the thorny path of life, The thorns we closer twine, And pitchy darkness hovers, where Reflection's sun should shine. O ! may each action of my life Some useful lesson give, And may the saving grace of God Protect me whilst I live. So shall decoying sin hang out Its many-colour'd blaze. Yet be unable to control My thoughts, my words, or ways. THE HONEST MAN OF UPRIGHT HEART The honest man of upright he.irt, To happiness can make a claim, But ah ! how many millions smart, Who all make happiness their aim. I 94 The drunkard seeks it, but in vain, Nor is it in the rich man's store ; The man of pleasure sports in pain. And failure stings ambition sore. In vice and fraud of ev'ry dye, Some joy is sought, but none is found. For happiness alone doth lie On virtue's unpolluted ground. The honest man of upright heart, Is eager to defend the free, And will not from the path depart. That borders on equality. He views his fellow-creatures all With equal eye, and fain would have The earth alive to freedom's call ; No man to man a shackl'd slave. And what he hates, detests, abhors, And loaths above all other things, Is that which bolts right reason's doors. And digs delusion's pitchy springs. For well he knows the mind of man Is prone to suck delusion in. Which often terminates his span, In pinching want and galling sin. 95 And well he knows the human mind, If subject to right reason's sway, Will baffle tyranny to bind, Or luring vice to lead astray. Tlie honest man of upright heart, To happiness can make a claim. But ah ! how many millions smart, Who ail make happiness their aim. REFLECTIONS ON SEEING A BOY GATHERING FLOWERS, Pooii little, heedless, wanton boy, Thou little yet dost know. How oft the fancied cup of joy Turns out the cup of woe. To frisk about in playful mood Is now thy only care ; How toils thy parents for thy food Thou little art aware. That ignis-fatuus, pleasure's glare, Has caught thy wand'ring eye. Which thou hast made thy polar star, And steer'st thy bark thereby. 96 The flowrets thou hast cuU'd to day, To gratify thy mind, Thy restless hand will throw away. Some newer joy to find. As flies thy shadow on the green, When thou dost it pursue, So pleasure flies, but still is seen To hover in thy view. And when arriv'd at manhood's might, When sense should point the way, That ignis-fatuus, call'd delight, May lead thy feet astray. For manhood's joys are springs of woe. And yet at first they seem To wind with grace, or sweetly flow, Or danee in summer's beam. At length their real taste is found. Their real colours seen. With bitterness they still abound, Their waters ought but clean. Let life be trac'd through ev'ry stage, From childhood up to man, And 'twill appear that we engage, To execute each plan, 97 In expectation we sliall gain Some lasting good thereby, But oh ! how oft to want and pain, And keen remorse we hie. VERSES WRITTEN AT TYNEMOUTH, >^'!iere the Author sojourned several weeks for the benefit of his health. No more I wander Tynemouth's strand With listless eye, and careless ear. Returning health, with magic wand. Enlivens all around me here. Soon as the sun with op'ning eye. Looks through the boiling ocean's haze, To climb the concave azure sky, And gild the billows with his rays ; I leave my couch, and to the shore, With hasty steps and heart at ease, To plunge beneath the ocean's roar. Or snufF the health-restoring breeze. And if perchance the tide be low, Among the shell-clad rocks I roam, Till it return with rapid flow. In boiling pride, bedeck'd with foam. i2 98 But most I love on Tyneniouth-head, Beside this tott'ring sacred pile That nods above the silent dead, My vacant moments to beguile. This ancient pile, in days of yore, A splendid show of art has been ; E'en now its spiky ruins hoar, Add solemn grandeur to the scene. Here holy sires were wont to pray, And strike the harp to peace and love, And teach their wayward souls to stray Through scenes of bliss, with saints above. But who can draw the veil of time. And trace the march of war's alarms ? The seat of peace and things sublime, Has now become a place of arms. All is defac'd, and much despoil'd, Pertaining to this ancient dome. Yet man by ruthless nature foii'd, Finds at its base a noiseless home. A thousand stones of aspect gray, Kcar'd o'er the last abodes of man, Their silent eloquence display. And teach that life is but a span. 99 But Tynemouth-head, itself must fall. And crumble in the hand of time, Yea, even this sublunar ball. Must cease to roll in pomp sublime. Oh ! let me ever bear in mind, A truth so great, so often told, My passions faithless as the wind. May then more easy be controU'd ; Tliat preparations I may make, The fiite of men and things to share, Keturn to good, and vice forsake, And fearless mix with things which were. EPISTLE lo the Committee of the Neivcastic Iiifirmari/. Excuse the freedom, Gentlemen, Of one addicted much to rh3mie. Pure gratitude instructs his pen. To scribble at the present time. Your humble servant is a man Of lowly birth, and name obscure, Untutor'd, yet inclin'd to scan Each hidden spring, and moving pow'r. 100 But poverty hath hedg'd him round With pitiless severity, So that he scarce can keep his ground. When liealth ensures prosperity. And in affliction's gloomy hour — But why should he be heard complain ? What mortal ever stood secure ? Or were diseases sent in vain ? Your philanthropy has reliev'd, Amongst the thousands whom you cheer, One grateful for his health retriev'd, Whose thanks you have from heart sincere. rOSTSCRIPT. If on the earth a man there be. Aware of what distress abides, And yet so cold and miserly, That what he hath he ne'er divides ; I leave him to his God, his ore, And to his selfish narrow mind. Persuaded with my scanty store. That I have left him far behind. E'en in the grasp of cold distress By philanthropy undescried, I'd rather live, than I'd possess His heart, and roomy fire-side. f- 101 If ought deserving praise we see, In virtue's efforts here below, It must be due to those who free The sickly eye from scenes of woe. If there be delegates sent down The rugged path of life to smooth, As such we are constrain'd to own, All who assist our cares to soothe. Hence those who take an active part, The sore afflicted to relieve, Have all the wishes of my heart, That they nor their's may never grieve. A MORAL LESSON. Are not the real ills of life Enough to sharpen sorrow's knife ? They surely are, yet 'las-a-day ! How oft we tread a thorny way Of self-created pain ; With envy, malice, hatred, scorn, We rack our breasts from e'en to morn ; With keen remorse we sigh at times, Yet headlong run to deeper crimes. If deeper crimes remain. 102 Oh, man! is this the way to live? Hast thou not an account to give? Is this a pleasant course to steer, Though thou and all thy doings here Once dead were ever done ? No, man, thou know'st a better way — Then choose it without more delay ; Why would'st thou cross the sea of life, With self-created sorrows rife, Till life's last sand be run ? How calm, how tranquil, thou may'st be, From ev'ry ruffling passion free. E'en all the ills which life attend, May to their highest pitch extend, ' And not disturb thy rest : Have resignation to endure, The ills of life thou cannot cure ; Have conduct daily to refrain From causing self-created pain. And thou are truly bless'd. THE MORNING WALK. Here let me sit, and meditate a while; 'Tis pleasant to be here. The humid air Plays round the spangled thorn with easy swell, 103 And lifts sweet fragrance on its early wing ; As yet the lawn has not display 'd her pride ; The flowrets slumber in their dewy folds ; But day's great king will call their splendour forth, And lo ! he coraes in bright refulgency, Beaming in glory yonder, in the east, In gorgeous colours, gilding all the hills: The soaring lark mounts up to hail him on, And all Elysium warbles in the grove. All Nature smiles : Oh ! who would miss this hour For all the pleasures of the drowsy god ! The meandering Irthing joins the tuneful choir, And gladly dances in the morning beam. Kissing the flowrets as they nod above Tlie dazzling surface of her glassy stream, Pr twisting current cloth'd in light and shade. 'Tis pleasant to be here : to see the fields So promisingly careful of their charge. May Autumn finish as Spring has begun; So shall our granaries once more be stor'd With great abundance of the staiFof life. The scene has chang'd : the pearly garb of morn No longer chains the flowrets in their shells, Across the lawn their sun-spread bosoms shine. In imitation of the milky-way ; The busy bee enjoys a sweet repast. From flowr to flow'r in fluctuating wheel, It moves along humming in joyfulness, As on it hies in search of choicer flowers. Would man but trace it to its wax-built cell, 104 There he would learn that plenty is no curse When care is taken to destroy the drones That loll in laziness and rob the hive. Are there not drones of an uncommon size Among the honey-combs of wretched man ? Is there no crevice in the well-stor'd hive, Through which these plunderers may be thrust out ? Shall it be said that man, creation's lord, Is less judicious than a tiny bee ? — Fie on thee, man, how art thou left behind ! A WALK AT NIGHT. How gratifying to the eye, And oh ! how grateful to the soul, It is to read upon the sky. As countless planets nightly roll. The wisdom, power, and dignity. Of an all-powerful deity. When on this trival speck in space. Contemplation deigns to dwell, The mind, however dark, may trace A cause uncaus'd on Nature's face : For ev'ry flow'r that springs can tell, In worldless eloquence sublime, It nothing owes to chance or time. 105 And when we view the God confess'd 0"er all the face of things, A something melting fills the breast, And love within us springs ; But when the eye is heav'n-wards bent, How doth the soul expand, To see a thousand worlds intent, By great Jehovah forward sent, To move at his command? This is not all : the mind takes flight. And wings its way through worlds unseen, And feeds on wonder and delight, Far, far beyond the stars of night. That twinkle dimly on the sight. Through heav'n's enamel'd screen; And further still the mind will fly, And fancy paint a further sky, Till thouiiht is lost in heaven's wide maze, And lost in uncreated rays ; And wrapt in wonder, love, and fear. It seeks its former dwelling drear. o Oh ! be restrain'd my soul, be still, Seek not to penetrate the veil That shadows Gjd ; thy utmost skill Will only thee with notions fill, Which are of no avail. K 106 Fe satisfied that light and life do flow From source too deep for human mind to know. From source too pure for human e3'e to scan, From source v/hich wisdom wisely hides from man And in thy rambles through the realms of spaco, lie satisfied that thou hast power to trace A mighty worker on creation's face, Who gives thee liberty and cause to cry, \Mjcn thou'rt bewilder'd in a world-pav'd sky, " A God there is, beyond dispute, But he is past all finding out !" ON SEEING A BIRD FROZEN TO DEATH On '.he Bough of a Tver Alas ! poor bird, the die is cast. The ruthless si)irit of the blast, With dire, relentless, cruel sway, lias borne thy vital spark away. No more in Spring, on wanton wing, From bush to bush, and tree to tree, Wilt thou make Irthing's woodlands ring With bosom-melting melody; 107 No more enjoy thy loving mate — Thy mate, perhaps, ere now lies low, A victim at life's outer-gate, Enduring death's last, keenest throe; Or lifeless lies beneath the snow. And, like thyself, unconscious of the past, And, like thyself, regardless of the blast. Poor little bird ! when it was thine to share A parent's fondness for thy rising brood. In wood-notes wild with joy thou didst declare Thy heartfelt raptures to the echoing wood ; And nestling close upon thy tender charge, Thy watchful eye descried each purpling moru ; And ere the sun shone full on heav'n's glad verge, Thou wing'd thy way on joyful pinions borne, In search of food thy young ones to supply ; Or raise thy carol to the bright'ning sky : But, parent fondness, life's first joy of joys, No more is thine, and silent is thy voice. Oh ! why so pitiless, ye snows ? Oh ! why so keen thou biting frost ? Oh ! jarring elements, why foes To life ? and why are ye so toss'd ? Is it, as sacred page doth shew, On mans account ? Well, be it so. Oh ! man, what ruin thou hast wrought, And pain into the world brought ! 108 To Path's keen glance tliis point is clear, But oh ! how tli:i) to Reason's eye : The voice of Reason in my car, Would speak, and give to Faith the lie ;~ But let me wave this suhject hy. One thing is certain, fix'd, and sure, Both birds and beasts, and even men, Are plac'd on footing insecure; All, all are subject to endure ; But darkness sliades, or how or when, If aught be free from evil hour, 'Tis far beyond frail Nature's ken. Had Winter's rigours spar'd thy life, Poor little bird ! till Spring's return, The jarring elements, and strife Of Winter's war, wliith now are rife, No more had made thy booom mourn. Let me forget my son ows past^ Let me look fo.-ward with a smile. And when I find my sky o'ercast, Or even tumble in the blast, Let me not frown on fate the while, For, birdy, when in death's defile, My sorrows, will like thine be lost. In streams that ne'er can be recross'd. 109 EPISTLE TO MY YOUNGEST BROTHER. Dear Brother, I am glad to see That you ai-e fond of musing — A line or two compos'd by me, Though scarcely worth perusing, May help to give your mind a twist, And form your inclination ; To lean from vice, and still insist, That none like" virtue's sons are blest, Whatever be their station. Your inclination now is bent On being well acquainted With men whose lives were wisely spent, Who useful arts invented : Go on, and prosper, if you can. Their ev'ry turn discerning ; The changeful breeze that plays on man, Too seldom wafts him on a plan, To consummate his learning. The ways of men in days gone by, Investigate minutely, And what seems perfect in your eye^ Still copy that devoutly; k2 110 You'll learn that Superstition's chain Bound down the soul from soaring, And you'll discover, to your pain, How few were able to disdain, The priest's unhallow'd roaring. I know 3'ou hate a cringing mind, But there are times and chances, When you must stop to take your wind, And judge of circumstances; A middling share of self-esteem Keeps necessary pride up, But you must never vainly dream To stem a rapid-running stream, And keep your broadest side up. Tlie mountain birds, in time of storm, Come on the plains for shelter; Then be not hot about reform, Lest you should grace a halter ; The sun may sink below the sea, And leave a frosty air up, But he remembers still the bee, And rises, shines upon the lea, Till flow'rs spring fresh and fair up. Seek principles to build upon, That you may be provided With knives that scrape the very bone, Before a thing's decided ; Ill And give your mind the freest scope, In search of truth be ardent, Though fanatics should bid you stop, Still persevere, and firmly hope Your errors will be pardon'd. That intricate, confused thing, Which bears so much construing, Which makes a heavy purse take wing, And leads a crowd to ruin : I mean the Law — beware of it. Lest should its folds involve you, You cannot in its centre sit, Without decreasing bit by bit, Till wholly it dissolve you Be of a mild, forgiving cast. Lest trifles discommode you. Yet shun if possible his grasp, Who comes with chains to load you ; Give thanks to God for health and food, But should these blessings fly you, Be well assur'd that God is good, And if his ways were understood, He acts not cruel by you. The business of man on earth Is to adore that being. Who gave to life and order birth, Who is all-wise, all-seeing ; 112 And next to this he should adhere To truth and honest dealings ; If this he do he need not fear, But he will meet with comfort here, Though Nature have her failings. May he who turns the wheeling spheres, To every virtue guide you, And keep you free from slavish fears, Of what may yet betide you ; And oh ! imprint upon your heart. That man's a dying creature, Who is commencing to depart The moment he first looks athwart The changing face of Nature. ADVICE TO H B- MY NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN FRIEND. 1 HAVE observ'd with satisfaction great, That you are steady, which is one good thing ; 1 likewise have observ'd you never prate, As parrots speechify, or mock-birds sing ; Adoptive sentiments still hold in scorn ; Give way to reason, and I will be bound 113 That chaff will seldom to your eye seem corn, Or hollo'.v speeches to your ear seem sound; Besides ai often as you are deceived, As come your errors so are they retrieved. I've seen a tree the roots of which were twin'd Among the openings of a massy rock, Its top kept shaking in the winter wind, While nearly motionless rcmain'd the stock; — 'Tis so with men whose principles are sound, Their circumstances, or their passions, may Conspire to lead them on forbidden ground ; But men like these can ne'er be said to stray ; As shakes the tree beneath the winter storm> These swerve a little, and as oft reform. I've seen a cloud assume a thousand shapes — A castle now, and now a fleet at sea ; The breeze continues, and perhaps it apes A lofty head-land where no land can be : 'Tis thus with men of an unsteady mind. They now assert what they will soon deny ; Their all of intellect is left behind, And on the custom of the times they fly; To day you see them in a human sha})e, And on the morrow you behold an ape. Avoid this changefulness, as you would shun, The name of liar, hypocrite, or thief; 114 Still let conviction through your bosom run, Before its channels shall admit bt^ief ; Give due attention to whate'cr you hear, Cast round your eye with penetrating glance; The gate of wisdom is an open ear. And various knowledge through the eye advance, While reason sits on more than throne of gold, This to reject, that to receive and hold. All persecution for opinion's sake Condemn with manliness, and never fail To give instruction where your word can make The least impression, and employ the scale Of strictest justice in your dealings all ; Your promise keep if not too rashly made^ And if too rashly, do not let it fall. Till all connected are with care repaid For loss sustained ; but recollect when done, A promise-breaker all good men will shun. It is advisable, for you to read A decent quantity of books, and then To step out slyly and unnoticed feed Your ears and eyes among the haunts of men : Tlie best and wisest of your kind allow That they have profited by doing this, And I am confident if you pursue This mode of learning, you can scarcely miss The path of wisdom, and I here maintain, If you neglect it you but live in vain. lis ITiere is implanted in the breast of man, A flame unquenchable, its name is love; Ne'er try to quench it, but decline to fan The flame too hastily, lest you approve Of some frail daughter of old mother Eve, Who may torment you your remaining days; When once united, 'tis too late to grieve, And say how foolish were my former ways ; Consult with prudence when you choose a bride, That peace may meet you at your fire-side. Man is a creature formed for Society; His wants are many, and are best supplied When he conducts himself with all propriety. And throws all greediness and fraud aside ! Make your's a life of love and perfect puritv, At least as perfect as one hopes to find The life of man, that now and in futurity You may rejoice ; but I am weak and blind ; And here conclude, lest I outstep all decency, And show my friend my woeful insufficiency. AN ADDRESS TO DEATH, OW HEARING OF LORD BYRON'S DECEASE Death ! I have dreaded thee, I own I have; And when I felt, or thought f felt, thy scythe Against my ancles, I have look'd behind 116 To crave thy mercy with a fawning tongue, And Hope was sufFer'd to ascend her tlirone: Yes, I was spar'd — but, thing of silent steps, I liave been spar'd to drink the dregs of grief, Mix'd at a moment wlien thy pride of power Ran mad with eagerness to teach the world That thou art keeper of the years of man. What hast thou made of Byron ? Can I trust the soui That hkc a thunderbolt breaks on mine ear, Or hke an earthquake shakes my groaning breast : Thou art a tyrant, merciless and fell — Proud of appearing when expected least — Fond of destroying what can worst be spar'd. Where now is Byron ? Whither hast thou roll'd His tide of intellect, that boiling came, Dress'd like old Ocean in his wildest waves, Or bursting rose like JEtna's flaming breath, But twisting, flashing, mingling light and shade In stranger mixtures and in wilder forms Than ever shone on ^Etna's burning brow ? The darkest recess of the human heart, Where lurking lay the seeds of darker crimes, To it was known ; and all the tender flame Of melting love, or envy, hope, or fear, Or friendship true, or bosom-wringing grief. It could pourtray in glaring colours strong; — It was at once A check to tyranny— a light to truth — A fost'ring warmth to dormant, frozen minds — 117 A balm to wounds inflicted by the chains Of galhng slavery. Oh ! monster, Death ! Could nothing else suffice to show thy power Than laying lifeless, in the prime of life, Our soundest patriot — our greatest bard? How didst thou find him ? Blush, thou tyrant griri ! His purse was open at fair Freedom's call, His arm was lifted to repel her foes. His ev'ry thought employ'd to plan her weal. His tongue as eager to sound loud her praise, Procure her friends, and lend her counsel sage, For all his soul cried, " Liberty to man:" His was the strongest, best-directed voice, That ever priest or kingcraft heard before ; The firmest friend that Freedom ever found. No more be known to send thy messengers, Thy teethless jaws, thy hairless, furrow'd brow, Thy frosty locks, and much-enfeebled eyes, Thy trembling hands, and weary, tottering steps, With sapless limbs, unable to support The aching remnant of a stooping frame — These speak too plainly that thy scythe is near : Put into every hand a two-edged sword, And teach all genius to destroy itself; Mow down whole nations, and call it thy spert; I'm not surpriz'd— I know enough of thee. 118 WHETHER DOES POVERTY TEND TO MOLLIFY OR HARDEN THE HEART? It tends to mollify the heart, Which I shall prove before we part, Not by the help of erring reason, But by whatever I can seize on To suit my purpose — 'tis a plan Adopted by each honest man, And I am honest, you must know And shall through life continue so. Now when you meet a man like me You ought to speak, and feel, and see, On ev'ry subject as I do, And you will meet with very few Who have not sense enough to own, That you are right, and you alone — That is, if you be very rich, Or like to be, I care not which. But to the subject : I maintain Of poverty, though some complain, It tends the heart to mollify, And I shall prove it by and bye. Meantime, 'tis proper you should know Tliat those who fetter millions low, 119 Are not to earth at all a curse, They drain through love the people's purse ; In all things they are very wise, And should be lauded to the skies : For instance, when they pass a law, That hunger shall have leave to gnaw The bowels of a working man, Or even terminate his span. But not a grain of foreign corn Shall to his cheerless home be borne; It shews great wisdom on their part. For hunger mollifies the heart. Or should they leave the poor a chance The price of labour to advance, 'Tis wisdom to revise the bill, And yield to the employers' will, Because a labourer, when free To sell his labour, or agree To work on terms of his own making, Will not be found with terror quaking. Lest the employer should think proper To turn his silver into copper ; Besides, 'twould be an awful thing If workmen could in gladness sing : Hence those (I love to speak the truth) Who keep the poor from hand to mouth, Display great wisdom on their part, For hunger mollifies the heart. 120 When neighbours quarrel o'er a straw, And hand the grievance to the law, The lads in wigs humanely try To keep the quarrel running high, Till both the parties waste their gold, And find their goods and chattels sold To pay the costs, for well they know A man should follow up his blow Who hopes to gain the point in view ; But let the devil have his due — The lawyers only make them smart, That want may mollify the heart. There is another set of men, Who ne'er employ 'd the poet's pen, But who deserve to live in song, Till weft be warp, and right be wrong: The gentlemen I mean to name, Have taken ways and means to tame The hearts of thousands, and their art Would tame a ragmg lions heart ; — Go ask the weavers who I mean, And ask them what their trade had bee» If their good masters had stood true, . iTike purple, Turkey-red, or blue? Who cannot recollect the day, When gingham-weaving bore the sway ? And who can not remember well, How one began to undersell 121 Another, till the weaver's doom Was eighteen hours upon the loom ? Potatoes three times in a day, A bed of straw, and, I may say, A soldier's castaways on Monday, And nothing more for some on Sunday; Oh ! they have play'd a noble part ! For hunger mollifies the heart. Had ev'ry master in the land The ruin of his business piann'd, As manufacturers have done, The blest Millenium had begun Some years ago, for none will say We will not see that happy day, That day for which we long have sigh'd, When all hearts will be mollified. A FATHER TO HIS SON. " Hast thou beheld on yonder mountain top, That rises like a wall to meet the sky. The broad-fac'd moon, wash'd o'er with burnish'd goldj Casting its eye athwart the joyful earth. When Autumn gilds the plains with rip'ning grain, To bless all earth's inhabitants with food ? I know thou hast : then learn this truth, my son :— L 2 122 The man who turns his thoughts on finding grace. And halts not with the little he has found, But seeks with perseverance and with hope, Shall grow in grace, and show his growth as clear As does the moon that shows a broader face On eacli succeeding night, until full grown, It rises in the east with placid smile, To light the world in absence of the sun. '• Another truth, of much intrinsic worth, Let me imprint upon thy pliant mind : — The good man's consciousness of being good Is unto him what light is to the sun ; Dark clouds at noontide may obscure the glare Of orient Phcebus, but can any say It shines less brilliant than it did before ? Is Phoebus lighted by a borrow'd light ? Or is the soul, whose radiance flows from grace, Illuminated by a foreign cause, That black adversity, or all the ills To mortals liable, should quench its blaze, When rolling vapours cannot drown the sun? " Nor less important is this sacred truth : — As slides the sun adown the western sky. Fringing the clouds with crimson as he falls, Till safely landed on the lowest verge Of heav'n's high concave, with his latest look, He smiling bids the sober eve adieu—. 123 S-j sinks the good man to the silent grave ; The good man's end, more glorious is by far Than all the splendour of his passing day." WAR " Look on this pictiir.. — and on that." 1 Yon is the spirit-stirring drum, It calla our youth to martial glory ; Our foes by sea or land may come, None shall be left to tell the story How Britons fought, and how they slew The hosts that stood before their cannon ; What foe is able to subdue The sons of Thames, of Tweed, or Shannon? 2 Great our exploits, and great our fame, In ev'ry period of hist'ry ; We ne'er will stain the British name — The art to conquer is no myst'ry ; We're resolute, but steady still, And as we scour the field so gory, At ev'ry cut we're sure to kill, Thus we secure renown and glory. 121 s Ainons: the nations of the world We hold a high and splendid station; Abroad our thunderbolts are hurld, And vvho dare venture an invasion ? Brave Britons ! when you strike, strike home ! Be ever bold, be ever steady; And when for glory you must roam, Be ever eager, ever ready. 1 The drum invites our youth to arms, What heart of stone will not be sorry To part with peace and all her charms? Oh ! when will men in virtue glory ? One nation takes the lead to-day, Inl'atuation proves its ruin? The conqueror, with iron sway. Heels on the earth, red torrents spewing. From time to time, as things may turn. The streams of war fresh land must furrow ; The very conqueror must mourn — In "midst of conquest theie is sorrow. A nation's blood must run to waste, A nation's treasure must be squander'd, Then groan, by heavy debt oppress'd, Till ev'ry comfort be surrender'd. 125^ 3 Oh ! would the human race agree To leave the murderous employment ] The sure result of harmony Is, food to all, to all enjoyment. Oh ! lift your voices loud and long, Ye friends to peace and social union, That men may round fair virtue throng, And live in brotherly communion. LINES ©■ the following question being put to the Author : — " Whether is Solitude or Society more to be courted?" I* by society you mean a state Of discord, malice, envy, slander, hate, Fraud, murder, perjury, and legal theft, Where those uplifted are averse to lift The head of sorrow from its thorny bed, Or give to penury a bite oi" bread ; And you must mean this hateful state of things, I answer, then, Oh ! for unflagging wings. That I might fly ; but whither can I flee To shun the evils of society.'^ The hermit bears them to his cell remote ; They find a passage to the lowly cot ; 126 They live in palaces, they dwell in tow'rs, The saint laments them in his pious hours ; No heart but feels them, yet no hand is found To try for freedom till itself be bound ; — Strange this may seem, but it is true as strange : Hence spring distrust, deception, and revenge. I heard of love when credulous and young, And wept when poets of true lovers sung ; I heard pure charity a pulpit theme. And never judg'd that it was but a name ; I heard of honesty, and I believ'd That man by man but seldom v/as deceiv'd ; I heard of honour, chastity, and all The string of things we great and noble call ; And I believ'd, and that belief gave rise To happy day-dreams ; but the thin disguise Soon fell to tatters, and, alas ! 1 found The bond by which society is bound Compos'd of selfishness ; no link I saw Of love, or honesty, or equal law. 1 yet was young, and foolishly I thought Some alteration might be had, if sought; " If sought, where seek it ? does it dwell with men ? Let Iambs seek shelter in the lion's den; Take serpents up, and hope they will not sting ; Cull flowers in winter, and reap corn in spring; Put coals fierce burning in your bosom, and Seek shallow water near a lofty strand ; \27 Walk on the ocean, and command the storm. That day you hope to bring about reform," Experience said — I trembl'd as she spoke, And lent my neck submissive to the yoke. These are my sentiments and they are just ; Still for society decide I must. Man is a creature which can only live Where he has helpers, and has help to give; His help is selfish ; 'tis the root of guilt ; He builds on int'rest, and his hopes when built Slide from beneath him, like the sliding sand That drowns the swimmer when he tries to land ; Else were society a heav'n, not hell, But to the subject I will bid farewell. THE TYRANT. What is a Tyrant ? let me ask — But 'tis no easy thing to tell : Is he a devil in a mask. Sent purposely to earth from hell ? He surely is, for one would hope to see A fellow man love freedom and the free. One thing a tyrant, while embodied here, Passes his days in fretfulness and fear ; His days, ungilded by each social tie, That gladdens life, and wafts it lightly by ; 128 His guards protect him merely for their pay. Else dread of death excites them to obey ; His pension'd grandees, cringing at his nod, Bend in the presence of his iron rod, And pay him homage, and corrupt his mind, For sake of greatness of a transient kind ; His people tremble, but detest his laws, And wish him writhing in Death's racking jaws ; Derange his system, and rebellion roars ; His people seize him, and ransack his stores; Condemn his partisans, and in their ire. Give up whole provinces to sword and fire ; — Down sinks the tyrant to his native hell, In pain unspeakable, with fiends to dwell. Old father Satan welcomes back his son, And hell triumphantly exclaims " well done !" So far our progeny has rack'd a world. And devastation on its surface hurl'd. END OF THE POH]^« SONGS. THE COTTON-SPINNER'S ADDRESS TO THE KING. Hae ye ever had a glow'r, In a cotton mill, Geordie ? I hae been in three or four Sair against my will, Geordie ! Wither'd like a leaf in winter, Naething but a sapless splinter, Death-like, and unfit to venture In the cald, am I, Geordie. A' my banes are aching sair, My claes are oily, hol'd, and bare, And threepence I can seldom spare. Though ay I'm burning dry, Geordie. M 130 \Vae befa' the busy head First invented mules, Geordie ! Spinners toll for brats and bread. Under shamefu rules, Geordie ; Find for this thing and the ither, Pla<^ue't %vi' a foreman's blether, Sent awa' for a' thegethcr, Gin ane but rebel, Geordie Fact'ry folk maun cringe an' bow, An' darna speak for fear they rue ; For ane can speak to far owre few That winna rin an tell, Geordie. Whiles we get a bite o' meat O" the better sort, Geordie ; But ye'll mind we toil an' sweat Lang an' heavy for't, Geordie : Steam, an' stench, an' stour inhaling ; Ever weary, owre oft ailing, Fact'ry folk hae joyless sailing Down life's troubl'd stream, Geordie. Ither folk are hale an' Strang, While we puir chiels can hardly gang, An' down we fa' the dead amang. When life should warmest beam, Geordie. Mak a law to gi'e us ease, An' we'll thank ye lang, Geordie ; Masters a' do what they please, Wliether right or wrang, Geordie ; 131 Ca' an' see our ghostly figures, Where we toil as hard as Nigers, Melting, fainting, wi the rigours We maun a' endure, Geordie ; An* your heart, should it be stane, Will melt to hear us pegh an' grane, Or see us dried to skin an' bane, Or chok'd \vi' stench and stour, Geordie, MY LASSIE. I NEEDNA begin to describe my dear lassie, Suffice it to say she is modest and fair ; There's naething in Nature but what she surpasses ; There's naething in Nature can wi' her compare : I've read, and I've heard about lasses fu' mony, Compar'd wi' the rose, oi" the snaw on the fell, But I hae a lassie sae blythe and sae bonny. To ken what she's like ye maun see her yoursel'. The mavis and blackbird sing sweet in the morning, Wlien ilka sweet flowret is droucket wi' dew; And Phoebus is seen a' the woodlands adorninff Just rising frae bed his bright course to renew: 132 Tliough sweetly they sing, when compar'd wi' my lassie Their singing is naething ; nae mortal can tell Hovp far the sweet sangs o' the morn she surpasses — To ken how she sings ye maun hear her yoursel'. The breath o' the morning, wi' sweet fragrance teeming. Comes saft thro' the hedge when it hings a' in bloom ; But I hae a lassie weel worth the esteeming, Wha's breath is mair sweet than the morning's perfume; Ye needna imagine I'm now gaun to offer Ae kiss o' my lassie to prove what I tell ; No, that winna do— I'll no mak sic a proffer, I'll keep my dear lassie, and kiss her mysel'. A DROP OF GOOD WHISKEY. Our happiness turns on our own inclination, As fancy directs we have pleasure or pain ; What trifling matters create us vexation ! What folly it is in this state to remain ! A drop of good whiskey can make us all frisky, Then who would be sad ? let a bumper go round- The joys of the bottle exceed in the total, All other enjoyments choose how they abound. J33 CHORUS. Then fill up your glasses, and dnuk to your lasses, Be innocent, social, and humorous still, A drop of the creature makes level each feature, Restores you to health without powder or pill. A fig for your talk 'bout the state of the nation, Our burthens are heavy we all must allow, But then to give way to the pangs of vexation. Is making them double, if twice one be two ; So let us be jovial, 'tis folly to grovel Like moles in a hillock, when whiskey can raise Our hearts above thinking by dint of hard drinking. To sport in the sun-shine of pleasure's bright rays. Then fill up your glasses, &c. Oh ! Britain, thy hills and thy wide-spi'eading vallies, Thy waters, thy woods, and thy sea-beaten strand. Are dear to our bosoms, though thou hast thy follies, We ever must love thee, our dear native land ! May heaven protect thee, all nations respect thee, Thy commerce increase, and trade flourish and thrive. That we may get whiskey to keep ourselves frisky, Without it what mortal is quarter alive ? Then fill up your glasses, &c. M 2 134 MY ONLY JOY, MY JOHNNY. Now distant far from Corby walks, My fancy's eye doth wander, Yon clifts o'erhung with hoary oaks. Have lost their former grandeur. No more am I constrain'd to say That Eden-banks are bonny, How can I when so far away From all my joy, ray Johnny. With fancy's eye I see him still, And fancy paints him straying, Where roses fringe a gurgling rill, In summer's bright beams playing ; And in my stead v.ith him I see A maiden rich and bonny. But surely that can never be, For constant was my Johnny. When raem'r)'- wafts me back to view My by-gone days of pleasure, My sinking heart longs to renew Those joys that knew no measure ; But listless I must spend the day, And bear distresses mony, Till he return that's far away, My only joy, my Johnny. 135 Oh ! was he but these bow'rs among, Resolv'd no more to wander, The Eden then would roll along In all its rural grandeur; And Nature's face throughout the year Would wear an aspect bonny ; Oh ! why so far, so far from here Art thou, my joy, my Johnny ? FAREWELL MY COUNTRY. Farewell to thy mountains, thou land of my fathers ! Farewell to thy woodlands, streams, vallies, and lakes ! From thee I must wander in search of coy Fortune, Where oft with tornadoes the equinox shakes ; But sad is my bosom to leave thee, my country. And fain would I stay, though I hasten from thee. For there is a rose-bud in thy fertile vallies, That's nearer and dearer than life unto me. But thou oh ! my country, though weighty thy coffers. Art still a cold-hearted step-mother to me ; Thy will I have waited, and these are thy offers, Plard labour, oppression, and cold poverty ; 1:36 With these can I hope to secure my fair flo;ver From cold biting winds, and the hail, sleet, and rain ? Ah ! no, I must leave it all lonely and cheerless, Perhaps ne'er to feast on its beauties again. Oh ! hear me, ye pov'rs ! let my rose have protection Alike from the worm and the despoiler's hand ; And grant that my stars may to competence guide me, Then waft me safe back to my dear native land ; But farewell my country ! till Fortune befriend me. Thy health-giving breezes no more I'll inhale ; And farewell my rose-bud ! from thee I must sever — The tide rolls impatient on which I must sail. THE CONFIDING MAIDEN. 'Txs not because he vows and sighs That I believe hitn true, I watch the language of his eyes, His thrilling eyes of blue ; 'Tis there I see his love for me, And read that he is mine ; Both vows and sighs from guile can rise, But .dances ne'er can feign. 137 My mother chides me all the day, But I have nought to fear, As pure as summer's brightest ray, Is he whom I revere. No flower I see upon the lea, That promises so fair ; What can I do but think him true, And all his worth declare. I meet him when we are unseen. He urges me to stay, But still I cry " How long I've been, Do let me go away ;" And when we part I find ray heart Is still inclin'd to grieve, So come what may I mean to say Dear Colin I believe, DIP DEEP THE PEN. Dip deep the pen in freedom's aid, And all the crimes of tyrants show, The fields of blood through which they wade. To chain their fellow-creatures low ; 138 And paint the sacred rights of all, In colours that can never fade, That all the earth may work the fail Of tyranny, too long obey'd. If I could seize the thunder's voice, And on the roaring tempest fly, O how my heart would leap, rejoice, To shake this sentence through the sky : — " Death, double death to Tyranny ! And death to ev'ry lesser ill ! Henceforth no heart shall heave a sigh, But pleasure ev'ry bosom thrill." THE LOVER'S VOW. 'Tis sweet to behold the red rose in the morning, But sweeter, far sweeter, to gaze upon thee ; For thou art Aurora, the landscape adorning, The essence of beauty by woodland or lea ; The streams may unfold to the eye their proud bosoms, And flowrets may flaunt on their banks rich and gay. But murmuring streamlets bedeck'd in rich blossoms, Are made but to please when thou wandcr'st their way. 139 'Tis sweet to recal to the mind the enjoyments Our pastimes afforded, when childhood's clear sky Shed brilliancy down on our artless employments, And hearts light as gossamer floating on high ; But sweeter to me is the fond expectation, Of what shall transpire when thou art my bride ; The thought is a draught — nay a flowing libation — Of crystalline nectar from pleasure's pure tide. The moon may desist from attracting the ocean, And give to confusion all charge of the main ; Or Phoebus give up to the moon all promotion, Nor heat, light, nor life, any longer retain ; But never shall I, by the blue flag of heaven, Where thousands of brilliants are nightly display'd, Allovk' my affections from thee to be driven. My modest, my peerless, my beautiful maid. THE WHISKEY DRINKERS' LAMENT. The chiels I met, had furrow'd brows ; Their een were bleer't, wi' greeting lang ; And when I speer'd at them the news, They lilted up this mournfu' sang : — 140 CHORUS. " We canna brew our whiskey now, For lang we've lost our mither's still ; And wha can think to sit and drink, Your foreign trash, or lifeless yell. •' The loss that we lament sae sair, Is days o' mirth, and nights o' glee ; A gauger then was unco rare, And folk were used as men should be. " Our barley we could bake in scones, Or let it boil in draps o' kail. Or let it rin like rain frae strones, In whiskey guid, for use or sale." " I trow," said I, " ye are the boys That nana could bang in Chrissendie ; "Wha diown'd a' care in roaring joys ;" — They sigh'd, an' sang, " We are the three ! " Nae mair the moon puts forth her horn, To wile us frae the barley bree ; Nae mair we drink till dawn o' morn. The blythest lads in Chrissendie." Quoth Willie, " Aye, thae days are gane ! Our rulers now are tyrants a' ; But, callants, gin I'm no mista'en. They're near the height, an' suin maun fa'. 141 CHORUS. We then can brew, and tak our fn' O' whiskey, when we hae a mind ; And cronies meet their throats to weet, An merr}'^ be, hke auld langsyne."' THE WARNING. Young maids for you my voice I raise, You who are in your dancing days, Light as the sporting lucid rays, That play upon the silver stream; Your ev'ry pulse with love beats high, And hope declares your nuptials nigh. But oh ! bewai'e, you yet may sigh. And see of joy no cheering beam. I once could trip as light and gay, My path through flow'ry prospects lay. But luring man led me astray When least of danger I did dream ; And now I live the scorn and hate Of him for whom with heart elate, I would have shunn'd a palace gacc, My all on earth was his esteem. N 142 I will not here his vows declare, That would but deepen my despair, But oh ! young maids beware, beware, Men are not always what they seem : Their eyes may say their hearts are true, And they may swear they doat on you, Yet still alas ! there are too {"ew That maids may trust, or faithful deeiK. THE LASS THAT LOOKS SO KIInD ON MK. The rosy maids of Erin green, And Caledonia's nymph's I've seen, And I have seen the daughters gay Of freedom's land, America; But Erin's maids, and Scotia's pride, And daughters of Columbia wide, You are not half so fair to see, As her that looks so kind on me. As morning vapours melt away Before the coming source of day.. So cloudy cares all disoppear Before the glances of my dear: 143 My ev'ry thought she doth employ ; In ail my dreams she is my joy ; And none but her my bride shall be, The lass that looks so kind on me. Oh ! lazy Time, thy wings apply, And waft the drowsy moments by. And bring, oh ! bring that happy hour On which no doubtfulness can low"r ; Then sleep upon thy wings for aye, Make life a never-ending day. That I may spend eternity With her that looks, so kind on me. THE WHITE MANTLING HAWTHORN. Th k white mantling hawthorn, the hedge-rows adorning. Shed forth all its fragrance, display 'd all its bloom, Hich green spiky blade held a gem of the morning, AndgoId,burnish'dbrightly,hungsweet on the brooiM, As 1 and my Anna to Irthing retired, To breathe the sweet accents of genuine love, hnd still in remembrance lives all that transpired, y\s echoes re-echo the strains they approve. 14i The gay groves of Edmond, in love with theirsplendour, Beheld in the Irthing tlieir verdure with pride. While 1 press'd my Anna, so artless and tender, To name the blest morning she would be my bride ; Her eyes glancing love, and her smiles so enchanting. Made heav'n my own, for Elysium is love ; And still I enjoy all that hour, nothing v/anting, As echoes re-echo the strains they approve. We now are united no more to be parted, And happy are they who in wedlock agree, Our fond expectations too oft have been thwarted, But still we have pleasure that lasting v/ill be; A smile from our infant can banish all sorrow. The pain of hard toil from our sinews remove ; And sweet self-approval will bless us to-morrow, As echoes re-echo the strains they approve. Ye libertines, vaunt in you arts of seduction, Make folly your pride, and believe you rejoice; Appear to exult in a female's destruction, And count him a coward whom conscience annoys; But dream not, ye riflers of virtue and beauty. To pass undisturb'd when your revels are o'er; The bitings of conscience will teach you your duty, As echoes re-echo the strains they abhor. 145 THE FRIENDLY MEETING. He;ie are we met with one accord, A draught from friendship's fount to draw ; No tyrant rules our festive board, No servile wretch holds us in awe ; The beaming star of radiance bright, That led us here, and long will shine, Shall gild our mirth this joyous night, — 'Tis friendship, kindled lang,, lang syne. Then let our hearts enraptur'd rise The fields of purest joys among. And whilst we float on pleasure's skies Let love and ft-iendship be our song; And while our bosom-swelling mirth Transports us through tiiose regions fine, We'll give a kind of second birth To friendship, kindled lang, lang syne. Look down, ye sons of peace and love, Look down upon the worldly crew ; Hear how they speak, see how they move, As interest teaches them to do ; They never felt that rapture sweet, That melting thought, that flame divine, Which social souls can ever meet, In friendship, kindled lang, lang syne. n2 146 Pass round the mellow-making glass To those who are in w edlock tied ; Then drink to ev'ry lad and lass Who fondly have each other eyed ; And tell them they shall surely prove, When once they visit Hymens shrine, The very luxury of love, And friendship, kindled lang, lang syne. The brilliant star that led us here, Is mounting fast the zenith high; To prove it shines supremely clear, Mark how it sparkles on each eye ; Then fill the glass, renew the bowl, And give to jny this hour divine; That we may feel the very soul Of friendship, kindled lang, lang syne. THE WHEEL OF TIME. Ye'll no deny, my lassie dear, W'hat is confess'd by a', But that the wee bit time we're here Slips unco fast awa : 147 The wheel o' time gangs saftly roun', It riiis baith night and day, And though ye dinna hear its soun', It whirls and winna stay. Just cast your e'e behint your head On life's fast flitting scenes, And mark wi' what a rapid speed Ye"ve hurld up through your teens. The wheel o' time, &c. And though the years that ye may see, Gin ye be spar'd awhile, Look lengthen'd out before your e'e, Tak tent, they'll you beguile. The wheel o' time, &c. Ye'U fin' yoursel gaun out o' date. Though bonny now ye be, And then yell girn, and pine, and fret, For joys ye manna pree. The wheel o' time, &c. Sae, lassie, lest ye sadly rue, Mak up your mind to say, That ye'll be ever leal and true, I'll name the wedding day. The wheel o' time, &c. 148 MY OWN FIRE-SIDE. This world in the main is a place of grief and pain, Where happiness if sought on its votVies will beam ; Man crushing man I find, all for the sake of gain, And life too often passes like a restless dream; But when I reckon all my troubles great and small, I find it is^ioss'ible whatever betide, To lessen ev'ry ill, from bitter sweet distil, By seddng peace and comfort at my own fire-side. The alehouse I have sought, and I have vainly thought John Barleycorn's company the first source of jo}'. And ere I could perceive his cups with ruin fraught, I found my pockets bare, and in want of employ : Thinks I, this will not do, 111 leave the jovial crew, Be steady if I can, and let carefulness guide ; And ever from that hour, I have had it in my powV, To meet with peace and comfort at my own fire-side. Around my cheerful hearth, there ever is a dearth Of those who love to stigmatize a neighbour's name i And this is still my song, He is lower than the earth Who feels himself uplifted at a neighbour's shame ; — My vacant hours are spent in the arms of content, I pay each man his due, and it still is my pride, To See my wife at ease, and in turn she tries t* please, Which makes a little heaven at my own fire-side. 149 All you who think it best to look for peace and rest, In squandering the fruits of your labour and toil, Fill up another bowl, carouse, and smoke, and jest, But know that your doings on yourselves will recoil ; Th' hour will shortly come when your brandy and your rum, Are not to be found, and your revels will subside, You'll see as I have seen (for I the road have been,) Dejected, cold, and comfortless, your own fire-side. OH! DRY THAT TEAK. On ! dry that tear, suppress that sigh, Believe me 'twas but jest, I would not for the world comply To break my angel's rest ; The hours of bliss that we have seen Are ever in my mind, And all my heart declares thee, Jean, The first of womankind. Yon shadow sailing o'er the corn Leaves not a trace behind — So let thy grief be onward borne, Its pangs no more to find : 150 Yon shadow shall be substance thought, Yon mountain kiss the sea, Ere I prove false, or fail in ought That I have sworn to thee. Then dry that tear, suppress that sigh, It gives my bosom pain, To think that I would pass thee by. As if in cold disdain : By all those ties which none should break, I love, I hold thee dear ; Then oh ! deprive that lovely cheek Of sorrow's briny tear. LIBERTY'S STAR. Despond not, ye friends to the blessings of freedom. Ye sons of enquiry ! ye lights of the world ! The fiends, your oppressors, are fated to perish, And vengeance amain on their heads shall be hurl'd Then let them unite in the sweat of their terror, They plot, but in vain, your redemption to mar ; A voice has gone forth, and admiring nations Are rising to follow fair liberty's star. 151 The earth is polluted because of corruption, But filth and pollution need but to be known, And strong detestation of guilt swells the bosom, And Virtue proclaims the whole mind is her own ; But oh ! what a poisonous sink of rank venom, Remains to be cleansd from yon fountain afar, From whence issue want, raging hate, and red slaughter And all the sad offspring of unholy war. Despond not, but hope that the day is approaching, When virtue shall reign in the bosoms of all; And e'en should that hope in the end prove delusive. The thought will support you, and sweeten your gall; But oh ! that bless'd day can we hope for its coming. When leagued oppressors no longer shall dare, To plot in their dens, and break forth in their madness. To steep the green earth In the red streams of war ? FILL THE GLASS TO FRIENDSHIP. All you who love good fellowship, And innocence, and mirth, Leave to the sons of turbulence The tumults they bring forth ; lo2 It is not for the sons of peace To stain the social board, By witnessing red scenes of blood, Or causing fell discord : Then fill the glass to friendship true, Let harmony abound, And let this social company With happiness be crown'd. Man never was by heav'n design' d To live at enmity With any of his fellow men. That we may plainly see ; It is by social intercourse, By honesty and truth, That we are to be guarded from All evil, north and south. Then fill the glass, &c. The ivy cannot stand erect, Without the kindly aid Of yon romantic rock which sits On its eternal bed — Yon hoary rock is harmony, The creeping ivy man, A creature form'd in feebleness Since first the world began. Then fill the glass, ^Vc. Tliere are w'la have an intVest still III slieJ.lin.; ha nan bl;):)d. And spreulin^ desolation dire On evVy field and Hood ; Thcs:3 glo'T i'l their wickedness. It ever is their aim, To drown the glorious light of truth, Uut reason's torch will flame. Then fill the glass, &c. Let u> be still in readiness T.) tike the torch in hand, And hold the mirror up to truth,^ Tdl infants understand, That it is by unerring h'ght Fair free.lom 's obtaio'd, And by prevailing ignorance Tae world is enchairrd. Tiien fill the glass, &c ANNA AWAY» WnsriK no-.*' are the charms to the eye so endearing. That hanj on each primrose and sweet budding sprajr, As bUie-robed Aurora, with aspect so cheering. In mildoL'.vs preceded the bright (jod of day? All beauty h is fled from the banks of the Caren, And drearin;;si dwells on its meadows of greea, o lo4 Nor auglit yielding joy shall the eye e'er discern, Till Anna return to enliven the scene. 'Tvvas her that made harmony truly enchanting, As Nature's musicians, so meltingly play'd, 'Twas her taught theeye that there was nothingwanting, To heighten the picture by nature pourtray'd : Now harsh are the notes of the songsters of nature, And blank is the picture to what it has been ; And summer will borrow from winter each feature. Till Anna return to enliven the scene. Ye green groves of Irthing around Edmond Castle, Shake proudly your tops in the ambient air, And be ye assur'd should the winter winds whistle. That then, even then, you'll look blooming and fair; For sweetly she wanders among your green bowers, That long from the arbours of Caren has been. And winter must seem to be spangl'd with flowers, Where Anna, sv/eet Anna, enlivens the scene. Then shield her, ye groves, 'tis your duty to save her, From callous pretenders to genuine love ; And tell, as you wave, that you never can^ give her In wedlock to one that will wav'ring prove; Such beauty, with virtue and innocence blended, Is rare to be met with, and ever has been ; Then shield her, ye groves, with your branches extended, Close woven with fol'age of liveliest green. /i 15.5 THE ALTERCATION. What will ye sa}', my bonny lass, If I gang and lea' ye ?" " ril say that ye were ay an ass, And the de'il gang vvi' 3'e ; But if I fin" ye guid an' kind, I'll ay be proud to ca' ye mine, 'Tis just as ye yersel' incline If I set mickle by ye." " That's unco queer, my bonny lass, Dinna ye respect me?" " Aye, but ye'll fin' me brittle glass, If ye ance neglect me : Ye ay maun show respect for me, And a' my heart in turn I'll gie ; But ye sal never live to see Your fits and starts affect me." *' Come close to me, my bonny lass, Y'e sal be my deary." *^ Weel, there's my han', a' jokes maun pass, Ye sal ay be cheery : I'll men' your claes, an' keep ye clean, By night and day it sal be seen, That ye a got a wife in Jean That's willing to revere ye." 1.5G THE 3IAIDEN-S COMPLAINT. I TUY to bs cheerful, and I of't force a snile To play upjn ,„y cheek, b.u I „e er c i:, !,.. r.^lc. The aadneos that sinks .ne to a pren.ature Iv^xve 1 must part with a life that I scarce wish to save. It was down by the burn, where the flowretsofsprlna Kiss the waves as they rise, th.t he ^^.ve n.e this rinl He vow d to be constant, and 1 thought him sincere. But the frost to the iiowers has not been so severe. There is life for the flowers when .hespring comcsagain But my cold shroud of clay 1 shall ever retain ; Yet the grave has a cure for .l;e heart that is sad, it will feel no distress where it ne'er can be tjlad. It is women alone that to women prove vile, The artful deceiver they will greet with a smile, And her conduct condemn who is fated to griev'e. Yet believe the same tale she was wont to b lieve. FINIS. G. Irwin, I'riiuer, CurlUU\ -r-ifr* KTV^ AA 000 366 991 8 f=m