| |
| WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour, | |
| Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r; | |
| When Phoebus gies a short-liv’d glow’r, | |
| Far south the lift, | |
| Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r, | 5 |
| Or whirling drift: | |
| |
| Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, | |
| Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, | |
| While burns, wi’ snawy wreaths up-choked, | |
| Wild-eddying swirl; | 10 |
| Or, thro’ the mining outlet bocked, | |
| Down headlong hurl: | |
| |
| List’ning the doors an’ winnocks rattle, | |
| I thought me on the ourie cattle, | |
| Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle | 15 |
| O’ winter war, | |
| And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle | |
| Beneath a scar. | |
| |
| Ilk happing bird,—wee, helpless thing! | |
| That, in the merry months o’ spring, | 20 |
| Delighted me to hear thee sing, | |
| What comes o’ thee? | |
| Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing, | |
| An’ close thy e’e? | |
| |
| Ev’n you, on murdering errands toil’d, | 25 |
| Lone from your savage homes exil’d, | |
| The blood-stain’d roost, and sheep-cote spoil’d | |
| My heart forgets, | |
| While pityless the tempest wild | |
| Sore on you beats! | 30 |
| |
| Now Phoebe in her midnight reign, | |
| Dark-muff’d, view’d the dreary plain; | |
| Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, | |
| Rose in my soul, | |
| When on my ear this plantive strain, | 35 |
| Slow, solemn, stole:— | |
| |
| “Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! | |
| And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! | |
| Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows! | |
| Not all your rage, as now united, shows | 40 |
| More hard unkindness unrelenting, | |
| Vengeful malice unrepenting. | |
| Than heaven-illumin’d Man on brother Man bestows! | |
| |
| “See stern Oppression’s iron grip, | |
| Or mad Ambition’s gory hand, | 45 |
| Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, | |
| Woe, Want, and Murder o’er a land! | |
| Ev’n in the peaceful rural vale, | |
| Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, | |
| How pamper’d Luxury, Flatt’ry by her side, | 50 |
| The parasite empoisoning her ear, | |
| With all the servile wretches in the rear, | |
| Looks o’er proud Property, extended wide; | |
| And eyes the simple, rustic hind, | |
| Whose toil upholds the glitt’ring show— | 55 |
| A creature of another kind, | |
| Some coarser substance, unrefin’d— | |
| Plac’d for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below! | |
| |
| “Where, where is Love’s fond, tender throe, | |
| With lordly Honour’s lofty brow, | 60 |
| The pow’rs you proudly own? | |
| Is there, beneath Love’s noble name, | |
| Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, | |
| To bless himself alone? | |
| Mark maiden-innocence a prey | 65 |
| To love-pretending snares: | |
| This boasted Honour turns away, | |
| Shunning soft Pity’s rising sway, | |
| Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray’rs! | |
| Perhaps this hour, in Misery’s squalid nest, | 70 |
| She strains your infant to her joyless breast, | |
| And with a mother’s fears shrinks at the rocking blast! | |
| |
| “Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down, | |
| Feel not a want but what yourselves create, | |
| Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, | 75 |
| Whom friends and fortune quite disown! | |
| Ill-satisfy’d keen nature’s clamorous call, | |
| Stretch’d on his straw, he lays himself to sleep; | |
| While through the ragged roof and chinky wall, | |
| Chill, o’er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap! | 80 |
| Think on the dungeon’s grim confine, | |
| Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine! | |
| Guilt, erring man, relenting view, | |
| But shall thy legal rage pursue | |
| The wretch, already crushed low | 85 |
| By cruel Fortune’s undeserved blow? | |
| Affliction’s sons are brothers in distress; | |
| A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!” | |
| |
| I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer | |
| Shook off the pouthery snaw, | 90 |
| And hail’d the morning with a cheer, | |
| A cottage-rousing craw. | |
| But deep this truth impress’d my mind— | |
| Thro’ all His works abroad, | |
| The heart benevolent and kind | 95 |
| The most resembles God. | |
| |
