Select Works of the British Poets

VIII.

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ;
A strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en;

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;

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;

Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

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 even-

ing gale."

Χ.

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart-
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
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,
They round the ingle form a circle wide;
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride:
His bonnet reverently is laid aside,

XV.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in heaven the second name,
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head:
How his first followers and servants sped;
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,
In all the pomp of method, and of art,
When men display, to congregations wide,
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; The yougling cottagers retire to rest: The parent pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; For them and for their little ones provide; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn

A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

II.

If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun,

As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done;

III.

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And listening to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

IV.

Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside,

Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art, In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,

But thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION.

WHY am I loath to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between: Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms: Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod.

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence!"
Fain promise never more to disobey;
But, should my Author health again dispense,
Again I might desert fair virtue's way;
Again in folly's path might go astray;
Again exalt the brute and sink the man;
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray,
Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan?
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation
ran?

O thou, great Governor of all below!
If I may dare a lifted eye to thee,
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,
Or still the tumult of the raging sea:
With what controlling power assist e'en me,
Those headlong, furious passions to confine;
For all unfit I feel my powers to be,

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line;
O aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine!

AUTHOR LEFT

THE FOLLOWING VERSES

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.

Ο THOU dread Power, who reign'st above!
I know thou wilt me hear:

When for this scene of peace and love,
I make my prayer sincere.

II.

The hoary sire the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleased to spare!
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.

III.

She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

VI.

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush;

Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!

The beauteous, seraph sister band,
With earnest tears I pray,

Thou know'st the snares on every hand,
Guide thou their steps alway!

VI.

When soon or late they reach that coast,

O'er life's rough ocean driven, May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, A family in heaven!

THE FIRST PSALM.

THE man, in life wherever placed,
Hath happiness in store,

Who walks not in the wicked's way,
Nor learns their guilty lore!

Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,
But with humility and awe

Still walks before his God.

That man shall flourish like the trees
Which by the streamlets grow;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.

For why? that God the good adore
Hath given them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

A PRAYER

UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.

O THOU Great Being! what thou art

Surpasses me to know:

Yet sure I am, that known to thee
Are all thy works below.

Thy creature here before thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul,
Obey thy high behest.

Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act
From cruelty or wrath!

O free my weary eyes from tears,
Or close them fast in death!

But if I must afflicted be,

To suit some wise design;

Then man my soul with firm resolves
To bear and not repine!

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINE-
TIETH PSALM.

Ο THOU, the first, the greatest Friend
Of all the human race!

Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling place!

Before the mountains heaved their heads

Beneath thy forming hand,
Before this ponderous globe itself

Arose at thy command:

That power which raised and still upholds

This universal frame,

From countless, unbeginning time

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years
Which seem to us so vast,

Appear no more before thy sight

Than yesterday that's past.

Thou givest the word: Thy creature, man,

Is to existence brought:

Again thou say'st, " Ye sons of men,
Return ye into naught!"

Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;

As with a flood thou takest them off
With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flower,
In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ere night cut down it lies
All wither'd and decay'd.

ALL hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word,

The mightiest empires fall!

Thy cruel wo-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!

With stern-resolved, despairing eye,

I see each aimed dart;

For one has cut my dearest tie,
And quivers in my heart.

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Select Works of the British Poets: In a Chronological Series from Falconer ...