See stern oppression's iron grip, Or mad ambition's gory hand, Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, Whose toil upholds the glittering show, Some coarser substance, unrefined, Placed for her lordly use, thus far, thus vile, below; The powers you proudly own? Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers! "O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, But shall thy legal rage pursue A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!" I heard nae mair, for chanticleer And hail'd the morning with a cheer, But deep this truth impress'd my mind- The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God. DESPONDENCY. AN ODE. I. OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, To wretches such as I! Dim backward as I cast my view, Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne'er, II. Happy, ye sons of busy life, Who, equal to the bustling strife, No other view regard! E'en when the wished end's denied, Meet every sad returning night, How blest the solitary's lot, Within his humble cell, Beside his crystal well! Or, haply, to his evening thought, By unfrequented stream. The ways of men are distant brought, A faint collected dream: While praising and raising His thoughts to heaven on high, As wandering, meandering, He views the solemn sky. IV. Than I, no lonely hermit placed With self-respecting art: But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, V. O! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, To care, to guilt unknown! How ill exchanged for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own! II. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The blackening trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. III. At length his lonely cot appears in view, His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil IV. Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun': Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. V. Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, An' each for others' weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. VI. Their master's an' their mistress's command, An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! VII. But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. VIII. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. But blathe and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. IX. O happy love! where love like this is found! O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare"If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." X. Is there, in human form, that bears a heart- That can, with studied, sly, insnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth! Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting truth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? XI. But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: The soupe their only hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood: The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. XII. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. XIII. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. XIV. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. XV. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. XVI. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days: There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; [sphere. While circling time moves round in an eternal XVII. Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, Devotion's every grace, except the heart! The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. XVIII. Then homeward all take off their several way; And proffer up to Heaven the warm request From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God:" And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined! Pope's Windsor Forest. 212 XX. O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be bless'd with health and peace, and sweet content! And O may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much loved isle. V. "Look not alone on youthful prime, Supported is his right: But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, O ill match'd pair! Show man was made to mourn. VI. "A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest; Yet, think, not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, O! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn; Through weary life this lesson learn, "Many and sharp the numerous ills More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! VIII. "See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, To give him leave to toil; IX. "If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, By nature's law design'd, Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn? Or why has man the will and power X. "Yet let not this too much, my son, The poor, oppressed, honest man, Had never, sure, been born, Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn! XI. "O death! the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn; But O! a bless'd relief to those That weary-laden mourn!" |