Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF THE LAST EDITION
OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM HE
HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF
CHLORIS.1

"TIs Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,
Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms)
To join the friendly few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower,
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower.)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Still much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store-
The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part;
And, dearest gift of Heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.

The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With ev'ry muse to rove:
And doubly were the poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE.

REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart,

Of Stuart, a name once respected,

A name, which to love, was the mark of a true heart,
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected!

1 Jean Lorimer.

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye,
Let no one misdeem me disloyal;

A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh,
Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne;
My fathers have fallen to right it;

Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
That name should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry;

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine;
Their title's avow'd by my country.

But why of this epocha make such a fuss,
That gave us the Hanover stem?
If bringing them over was lucky for us,
I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.

But, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground,
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter.

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,

A trifle scarce worthy your care;
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades in your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;
But you like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
Your course to the latest is bright.

SKETCH.-NEW-YEAR DAY.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

THIS day Time winds th' exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again:
I see the old, bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair'd machine
To wheel the equal, dull routine.
The absent lover, minor heir,
In vain assail him with their prayer,

[ocr errors]

Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's1 with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila's fair Rachel's2 care to-day,

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow-
-That grandchild's cap will make to-morrow—
And join with me a-moralizing ;

This day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
"Another year is gone for ever."

And what is this day's strong suggestion?

66

The passing moment's all we rest on !"
Rest on-for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may, a few years must,
Repose us in the silent dust;
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies;
That on this frail, uncertain state
Hang matters of eternal weight;
That future life in worlds unknown.
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as Heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as Misery's woful night.-
Since then, my honor'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends;
Let us th' important Now employ,
And live as those that never die.

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse;
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;)
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

1 Major, afterwards General Andrew Dunlop, second son of Mrs. Dunlop.

2 Miss Rachel Dunlop, ? Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter.

EXTEMPORE, ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, AUTHOR OF
THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, AND MEM-
BER OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES
OF EDINBURGH.

SHREWD Willie Smellie to Crochallan1 came,
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout the same;
His bristling beard just rising in its might;
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night;
His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd
A head, for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd:
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,

His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT OF MR. HERON; WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795.

THOU of an independent mind,

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be nor have a slave;

Virtue alone who dost revere,

Thy own reproach alone dost fear,

Approach this shrine, and worship here.

MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE.2

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd;

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd! How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd; How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd!

If sorrow and anguish their exit await,

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate!

Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd.

1 There was a club in Edinburgh-the Crochallan Fencibles-of which Burns and Smellie were members.

2 The lady was the Mrs. Riddel, whose name so often occurs in the Poet's history.

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you;
So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear:
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true,

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier.

We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower,
We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed;
But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower,

For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed.

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay;
Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre;
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey,
Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire.

THE EPITAPH.

HERE lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam:
Want only of wisdom denied her respect;
Want only of goodness denied her esteem.

SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ.,
OF GLENRIDDEL; APRIL, 1794.

No more, ye warblers of the wood-no more!
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul;

Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar.

How can ye charm, ye flowr's, with all your dyes?
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend:
How can I to the tuneful strain attend?

The strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies.

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe!
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier:
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer,
Is in his "narrow house" for ever darkly low.

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet;
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet.

« ForrigeFortsæt »