Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs to display The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks; 40 Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate: Whose spleen? e'en worse than Burns's venom when And pours his vengeance in the burning line! Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour? Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, And make a vast monopoly of hell? Thou know'st the virtues cannot hate thee worse; Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all? Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares; 50 бо Our force united on thy foes we'll turn, And dare the war with all of woman born: For who can write and speak as thou and I? My periods that decyphering defy, And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply. EPISTLE TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel And potion glasses. O what a canty warld were it, Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it; As they deserve : And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret: Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, I've found her still, Aye wav'ring like the willow wicker, "Tween good and ill. Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on Wi' felon ire; Syne, whip his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, 80 ΙΟ 20 Ah Nick! ah Nick! it isna fair, Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare Poor man, the flee, aft bizzes by, Already in thy fancy's eye, Thy sicker treasure. Soon heels-o'er-gowdie! in he gangs, And murd'ring wrestle, As, dangling in the wind, he hangs But lest you think I am uncivil, To plague you with this draunting drivel, I quat my pen : The Lord preserve us frae the Devil! Amen! amen! WINTER. THE wintry wast extends his blast, Or the stormy north sends driving forth While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae: And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day. 30 40 'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,' Let others fear, to me more dear The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine! Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, Because they are Thy will! Then all I want (Oh! do thou grant This one request of mine!) A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. O THOU unknown Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, If I have wander'd in those paths As something, loudly in my breast, Thou know'st that Thou hast formèd me With passions wild and strong; And list'ning to their witching voice Where human weakness has come short, Do thou, All-Good! for such Thou art, ΙΟ 20 10 Where with intention I have err'd, But Thou art good; and Goodness still 20 STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. WHY am I loath to leave this earthly scene? Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, 'Forgive my foul offence!' Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? O Thou, great Governor of all below! Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, To rule their torrent in th' allowèd line; 10 20 |