WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITH-SIDE. Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Fear not clouds will always lour. As youth and love with sprightly dance, May delude the thoughtless pair; As thy day grows warm and high, Life's meridian flaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale? Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? Check thy climbing step, elate, Evils lurk in felon wait: Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, Soar around each cliffy hold, While chearful peace, with linnet song, As the shades of ev'ning close, On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought; And teach the sportive younkers round Thus resign'd and quiet, creep Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide! ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OF Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation mark! } STROPHE. View the wither'd beldam's face- Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace? Pity's flood there never rose. See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest; ANTISTROPHE. Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, (A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,) Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends? No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; "Tis thy trusty quondam mate, Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, She, tardy, hell-ward plies. EPODE. And are they of no more avail, O, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON, A gentleman who held the patent for his honours immediately from Almighty God! But now his radiant course is run, O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! O'er hurcheon hides, And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, The ae best fellow e'er was born! Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn By wood and wild, Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, Frae man exil'd. Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! Or foaming, strang, wi' hasty stens, Frae lin to lin. Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee; In scented bow'rs; Ye roses on your thorny tree, The first o' flow'rs. At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Droops with a diamond at his head, At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, I' th' rustling gale, Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, Come join my wail. Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; Ye grouss that crap the heather bud; Ye curlews calling thro' a clud; Ye whistling plover; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood; He's gane for ever! Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, Ye fisher herons, watching eels; Circling the lake; Ye bitterns, 'till the quagmire reels, Rair for his sake. Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; And when ye wing your annual way Frae our cauld shore, Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, Wal thro' the dreary midnight hour 'Till waukrife morn! |