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GLASGOW: PAINXKD BT MUm, GOWANS, & CO. 4, DUNLOP STREET, FOR THE AUTHOR. 1841. ?>9>'S-|^ CONTENTS. Aa Address to Garnock, - - . . Verses addressed to Mr. J. Harvie, To Miss Marion Aird, Kilmarnock, Thoughts on the Death of Wilson Dobie Wilson, Esq., . Lines written with a pencil on a Cast of the late Archibald Fletcher, Esq., - - - . . To a Lady, ---... Apostrophe to the Corpse of my Daughter Mary, The March of Intellect, - - . . To Mr. Robert Craig, Doura, - - . . Epistle to my Friend, Mr. J. Crawford, Hall of Caldwell, A Dream, - - - . Introduction, Book First, Book Second, Book Third, Book Fourth, Conclusion, Apology, THE WOELD, A POEM, IN FOUB HOOKS. Page 5 12 18 21 25 26 33 37 39 46 62 69 77 109 157 199 211 213 T 'f r m i ^^^^H^^ : THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. AN ADDRESS TO OARNOCK. Granffevale. Oft I Garnock, oft on this lone spot, In boyhood's brighter day, With feelings ne'er to be forgot, I raark'd thy waters onward float- away. DOMIS, Wave after wave And I was young-and on tLis brow Griefventured not to trace Those furrows that becloud it now, Nor had my young soul learned to'bow Beneath the world's disgrace. 6 THE MOOIILAND MINSTREL. And I marvell'd much, as speedily Thy dark waves floated on, What length and breadth had glide i by ? Whence wast thou-whither went'st-and why Thy waters neer went done ? i But years on years have sped away, And in their devious course Have blent m^ auburn locks with grey. And scattered wrinkles and decay, And tremblings of remorse. The sacred ties of life's young day Were long since forced to sever, And the holy sounds of love's sweet lay- Youth's melody and mirth so gay— Are silent now for ever. Less lovely spring's green robes appear- Less bright the moon's pure beam ; The summer sun looks dull and drear, And the former charms of nature wear The semblance of a dream. ^ why THE MOOHLAND MINSTUEL. The lightsome heart-the laughing eye- The hope that lured me on- The voice that sung my luHaby, And the youthful peers that shared my joy- These all are dead and gone. The budding 8pr,.. Death Stalks in convulsions dire, personified as Wrath. II. And not a moment speeds, and not a breath Blows o'er this little busy world of thought, But bears to some the venomed shaft of Death, Or carries on its bosom one deep draught B 2 "~"Tfi.5.V;=W ' "^^^T*'f*"-'^'f ifflnHi-M^'" ■ il 22 THE MOORLAND MINSTIIEL. Of sorrow's potion-Life, indeed, seems fraught. Despite of all Utopian dreamers say, With misery and mourning, strangely wrought Into a generaliz'd costume, which may Be worn by varied thousands each successive day. , III. And genius dies-and all her friends, in turn. Like rainbows in the clouds, soon disappear : One half of all the human-race just mourn The other half, and think the doom severe, And worth and learning are laid on the bier By one dread shock I Hearts bleed and weep, And life seems like a lonely wild, and drear, And sorrow shrouds us in her sables deep, Till Time's dull lullaby rocks memory to sleep. IV. Our perish'd friends wear slowly from the mind. Else life would sink beneath the weight of grief; Yet are their memories lastingly enshrined On the soul's tablet, graven in relief, f ht, cessive THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. And there are moments when, like tyrant chief, They rise and trample on our gayer joys— They fling a darkness visible, though brief, A momentary gloom, to paralise, And quiver on the heart in deop half-uttered sighs. 23 5P» ;p. V. Oft have I stood in autumn's dusky ev'n, When night's dark shadows crept along the ground, And raark'd upon the glowing verge of heav'n The sun's last ray in partial darkness drown 'd, And I have turn'd and gazed all round and round On the dun-shaded little circle, where Dwelt all my friends ; and at each point 1 found On memory's dial-plate the hand of care Was pointing to a blank_> Death u^as lately there. ef; VI. And 'tis a curious feeling when the soul Journeys in solitude o'er the lone past. And, peering in the tomb, brings up the whole Of former friendships, sweet, too sweet to last; WtAtiMiw. 34 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. They corae upon us darkly, like some vast Desert of loneliness, and seem to bring An echo moaning as the midnight blast That vibrates on some melancholy string 'Tis like a winter dir^e that bodes no coming spring. VII. Farewell, departec^ friends, farewell— I wish I could forget you— but 'tis vain— And thou for whom is meant that cold dull knell, Which in the old rude belfrey shakes the fane- Farewell I— I knew thee not ; but sweeter strain Than my poor harp can sing was sung to thee ;* Thou wert the friend of genius, and the train Of mourners o'er thy bier are friends to me, And claim, as friendship's pledge, my warmest sym- pathy. Barkip, June, 1838. • It was to this gentleman that Mr. Allan Cunningham dedicated his best poem, " The Maid of Elvar." g spring. ell, le— . in ee;* 4 •meat sym- LINES Written with a Pencil on a Cast of the late AncH. Fletcheb, Esq., Advocate, placed in a Niche of the Wall in the Pleasure Ground of James Dobie, Esq., of Crummock, Beith. A PORTBAiT, bust, an epitaph, or cast, A speechless lip, a dark and lifeless pye. One lone thought wand ring o'er the dreary past. One secret, half-suppress'd, half-uttered sigh, Tell Friendship's death, and m^how loath she is io die. im dedicated \f ! fV 30 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. h golden gewgaws and displays Of worthless wealth and fruitless fame X. O who would woo the giddy gaze Of idle, thoughtless, gaping crowd, Who love but tinsel'd toys, and praise -All levity with plaudits loud : i Who of such clamour would be proud, That knows the frailty of such fame, I would not bow—I never bow'd To beg the city for a name. lli^ in XL I once had dreams, and prospects too, Of better days and purer joys ; I deem'd hope's promises were true Of painless worlds and cloudless skies These visions perish'd— and the ties Which bind me now to real life, Are tangible beyond disguise, A helpless offspring and a wife. e. THE MOOHLAND MINSTREL. XII. No golden gleams allure me no^. I hear hope's whisper with a smile- Grey hairs are gath'ring oer my brow, Which say I live to think and toil. Tha learn'd and wealthy may beguile My weary ev'nings with their lore, i3ut morn-s loud bell sounds the turmoil, The cheerless sound of '«£aW«^.m" 31 XIII. And O it is a fearful doom To look through each successive year That lies between us and the tomb, And see nought but a drudg'ry drear; The seasons pass and re-appear, And night and day revolving flee, ^"t nought ofchange, and nought of cheer. Save sleep and labour, comes to me. XIV. The ev'ning sun is setting mild, His beams are on the green churchyard, Mib MM il 32 THE MOOULANI) MINSTREL. There fortune's fool and labour's child Alike receive his fond regard : 'Tis true my lot in life is hard The good I do may be but small ; But virtue is her own reward, And sleep and iunshine come to all. i ! m i *. APOSTROPHE TO THE CORPSE OF „v „,„CHTER MARY. I. Av, little Mary, thou art gone, And cauld, and pale, and lifeless now, The chilliness o' death sits on Thy dimpled cheek and bonny brow; Thy pure wee lips are blanch'd and sad,' The film is on thy dark blue e'e— Those lips ance lisp'd to mak' me glad. That e'e ance sparkled joy for me. ' II. Ah I rueful change-the glance, the smile. The lisp, the kiss, the fond embrace, The bairnlie prank, the winning wile, ' Hae perish'd, and hae left nae trace Save sorrow, or that gentle frown Hung owre thy e'ebrows, meant to chide The livin' fugitive, now flown To tell the worm that thou bast died. c2 34 THE MOORLAND MINSTKEL. f|S III. 1 lov'd thee, Mary —yea, my soul Hung doatin* owre thy infant joys : Where art thou ?— wert thou as the whole O' human frailty's bauble toys, A moment bright, then quicklie gane To be replac'd by shadows new ? Ay, thou o' fleetin' things wert ane, A shade iriair lively, but less true. IV. I canna weep— 'twad be unwise ; I hae wept owre thy cradle, but 'Twas for thy strugglin' agonies— These now are clos'd, and hence hae shut The saut springs o' my sympathie ; But ray affection's purest glow Is lastin' as my memorie, And lives tho' tears refuse to flow. V. A thousand thoughts maun mok' it live : Thy mother's sigh— her silent tear ; >le THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Thy little playtl.ings still maun give Fresh pungs to recollections denr ; And ay at moriiin', night, or noon, When at our humble board I see An empty seat— on idle spoon, My thoughts will wander after thee. 35 lUt VI. And will we never meet ? The doom Is surely harsh, if a' those sweet Endearments live but for the tomb, And only thrive that worms may eat ; If we live, love-die, mix with earth, Assume new forms in endless reign, But never, never mair come forth, Endear'd as sire and child again. VIL 1 wish— I hope— but all I know Is that the dull footsteps of time May sear affection's fondest glow, May silence memory's sweetest chime ; Flowers on thy grave may bloom and fall, And fate may smile or frown on me. ' '"•* t w t m miimmmt '^^9mmmm *A^V: 36 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. But years can never mair recall The pleasure I hae felt in thee. VIII. Farewell, my child— I canna weep, I only wept at thy distress ; Now that thou'rt hush'd in lasting sleep, I feel the soul's sad loneliness, But canna weep :— yet through life's day, If blest wi' thought and raeraorie. When prattlin' bairns around me play, I'll heave a father's sigh for thee I Babkip, 10/A Jan. 1839. IH **®*«^l3*:**^iliiJi< THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. Respectfully inscribed to Mr. Arcu. Clark, Beith. I. It came-and its step was as light as the breath Of the gentlest zephyr that fawns on the ev'n— It came with a stillness as silent as death, But it breath'd a benignity soothing as heaven; It started-it gaz'd, as by stealth, far abroad, It mark'd the deep bondage of vassaliz'd man, It shrunk and recoil'd, and it marvel'd if God Had sketch'd such a doom in the primitive plan. •" "*"' ■ ■ ' ^ m w m ^ II. It came-there were whisp'rings abroad in the earth, Deep nuitter'd to deep in a mystified tone, Frowns, curses, and threats were heard issuing forth, And tortures and shackles were forging anon : It srail'd on the fetters-it tnumph'd in scorn, It spurn'd the frail arm rear"d only to bind, Its march-hymn afar on the echoes was borne. Proclaiming the hasfning redemption of mind I UKWirn 38 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. III. h comes !-and its whispers to thunders have grown- All nature elastic bends under its tread ; Oer ocean and earth its fire-chariots have'flown, And the lip of the mighty is quivering with dread ; Corruption, convuls'd, sees her nostrums turn weak, And nods to Oppression, in speechless despair, As the engines roll on, that shall speedily break The chains they had destin'd the millions to wear. IV. It will come !-and the great ones of earth shall turn pale ; The yoke of the bondsman, enfeebled, shall shake ; All tyrants shall join in one desolate wail, And empires* foundations will tremble and quake ; Thrones shall crash, and the sceptre, beclotted with blood. Will shiver to shreds in the hands of its lord, And a voice, fierce and awful, will echo aloud, That " Freedom, (he Birthrigkt of Mind, is restored !" grown — « 1 Iread ; veak, f, ivear. iurn pale ; lake; ike; th blood, tor'dr :! TO MR. ROBERT CRAIG, Manager at Doura Coalworks, ON THE DEATH OP HIS SON, JOHN. O WHEKEFORE art thou sad ? Are all thy prospects gone ? Died all thy hopes and gaiety With that beloved one ? O hast thou thought how all our joys Are hung on frailty's feeble ties ? If. Dark clouds will often float On summer's clear blue sky, And fairest sunshines oft presage Fierce tempests hovering nigh; The halcyon slumbVing o'er the plain Bursts forth in floods of thunder.rain. '-^ ■^JlllWUilil.. a^WTB ■ ■■vwQ"'*^i»«ii''''i'^(ii t ; 40 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL, III. Worlds wither and grow old, And pass we know not where, And suns grow dark, and bright stars fall, And Death swims on the air : The lively eye, the hectic glow, Oft screens the cankerworm below. IV. The lily blooms at morn, The rose blows at mid-day, And ere the ev'ning sun is set, Their fragrance is away : Earth, air, and sky — all nature's range. Proclaim one universal change. V. Still, still there is a chord Within the human breast, A sympathy that ever yawns. And never can get rest — 'Tis some strange feeling of the soul, To hol'i the passions in control. — ^yl^W^^w^iMwiniifcjt' ■*»'.i«*-« rs fall, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. VI. It sorrows o'er dark clouds, Sighs o'er the fading flower, And flings a strange unutter'd thrill O'er Ruin's mouldering tower— Though change surrounds it every day, It cannot smile upon decay.— 41 B, VII. It lends a plaintive tone To midnight's moaning blast, And broods, with pleasing dullness, o'er Th'e unreturning past ; Looks wistful after ev'ning's sun, Or rainbow's hues, so quickly gone.- VIII. It breathes a holier throb, More sacred and more deep. When o'er the grassy grave it kneels, To moralise and weep ; And, ah I its purest, warmest breath. Is breath'd o'er youth and beauty's death I- 42 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. JX. It makes us feel the pang Of young Life's sad decline, And shakes the heart-strings mournfully O'er such a son as thine — For thine was one whom worth endear'd, Till vice and virtue both rever'd. X. He felt his feeble frame Part of the wondrous whole ; His spirit only recognised One universal soul : In youth he thought with manhood's mind, And lov'd and blest all human kind. XI. He knew no little creed, He breath'd no party prayer, His sympathy but sought to know, " Does Nature suflPer there?" On being's shrine his spirit knelt, And ev'ry pang she heav'd was felt. iS l taia iafeatUife,'! T nfully ir'd, mind, THE MOORLAND MlNSlREL. xir. And O, 'tis sad to part With friends an ' kindred dear, The heart of common friendship bleeds Above the sacred bier: The soul, in dreary wandering's toss'd, Lets lewder scenes and thoughts be lost. XIII. 'Tis sad to see the eye Of youth and beauty's bloom Look wistful on life's flickering scenes, As sinking to the tomb— Life-loving prayers the bosom swell, And lingering lips scarce bid farewell. 43 XIV. But sadder far to see The bright and lively mind Extinguish'd like the falling star, That leaves no trace behind— All that had pleas'd us heretofore, Darken'd, to be relit no more. 44 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL,. XV. O, who can calculate The darkness of the cloud, Between a thing of living thought, And dead-bones in a shroud, Or measure that mysterious breath. The boundary line 'twixt life and death I XVI. Perchance it may be vain To sorrow and to weep, When those we love are summoned first To Nature's dreamless sleep— For sure the years can be but few Till we shall brook her slumbers too. XVII. Yet I have often felt, And thou canst surely feel, That sorrow which no balm of life, Nor balm of time, can heal — That feeling of the drear and lone, Which lives with times and pleasures gone. ll THE MOORLAND MINS ' 'EL. XVIII. And though we would forget The fond lamented one, And though we never breathe his name; Save in a whisper'd tone,— Yet, ah I that name we loath to hear, Is bath'd with many a silent tear. 45 irst ne. B2 .1 i I V ' 'i i ( EPISTLE TO MY FRIEND, JAMES CRAWFORD, Hall of Caldwell. ' I. While Nature flings her winter hap Owre niuir an" dale an' mountain tap, While owre the Mistylaw The cauld blue sky at times is seen, Hauf dim, hauf bricht, glint forth between The thick'ning showers o' snaw. \ II. The muirland flocks flee frae the hicht, An', 'neath the bleak an' lanely nicht, Cower frienlie round the sheil ; The hungry bush-birds seem to form In social order 'gainst the storm, And clust'ring seek a beil. H: aiMNlMm LL. THE MOORLAND MINSTIIEL. III. This winter union is riclit common- Man draws to man. and wl.yles to woman. And woman's social too— A' love society at e'en. And I, my honest, worthy frien". Sit down to crack wi' you 47 IV. An' first, we'll cautiously consider. If men and beasts thus creep thegither. For mutual happiness ; Syne speir if nature's grard design, Frae freezing Iceland to the Line, Be comfort or distress. V. In ilka clime, frae zone to zone, Whaur sounds pale misery's chilling groan, Whaurgriefisbreath'd in sighs, There, too. some kindred spirits meet, Wi' balmy consolations sweet. To weep and sympathise : ^m i 'I. i THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. VI. Or whaur the transient gleam o' joy Blinks round us as it journeys by, Blest momentary gleam; Joy is not joy — 'tis sordid care, Unless some friend — some partner, share The gay illusive dream. vir. The hauf-singed African, whose lore Is chain'd to Niger's endless roar, Beyond hirasel' can feel — Beyond his friends, beyond his hame, Ev'n to the " White man" ance he came, Wi' proffer'd friendship leal. VIII. The Laplander, releas'd from toil, Draws near his cruize o' burnin' oil To pass his w'nter drear — The inmates o' his humble shed Full friendlie share their board and bed Wi' the sagacious deer. 1 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. IX. Whaur TeU'a rude mountains, wrapt in snow And everlasting glaciers, show An everlasting cauld, Ev'n there the gen'rous Swiss is found The noblest soul that treads the ground, Warm, fiiendlie, blythe, and bauld : X. In him no national jealousies Congeal the softer human ties- He smiles on foreign thrall ; He knows his native hills are free. And fears no foeraan's tyraunie, But loves and welcop all. 4.9 XI. Yon lone— yon solitary thing, Tliat sits beside the bubbling spring, And gnaws her bitter crust, Though frae a' human frieudship driven, Ay woos wi' crumbs the bi.ds o' heaven, Which hunger learns to trust. THE MOORLAND MINSTllEL. XII. Thus frae the Ind to Alpine storm, Whaur Nature wears her native form, Apart frae system's dress, That noble active thing ca'd mind, Appears instinctively inclin'd To scatter happiness. XIII. Why is it, then, that man appears A thing o' suffering, sighs, and tears. Deep drench'd in blood and crime ? Why is't that the Eternal's throne Hears but one never-ending groan, One heart-corroding chime ? XIV. Far ovver external Nature gaze, And mark her all-impartial ways, Her just, unchanging laws. And say if in her soverign reign Grief, poverty, and blood and pain, Find an efficient cause. !fi If '»i^^mn0mm'*^^w^-,t^ - - THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XV. The Indian has his yams and roots, Th' Italian has his wines and fruits, The Scotchman has his bread ; The Greenlander and Esquimaux Hae fish and flesh and furs, and a' That serve their little need. XVI. Ilk clime seems fated to produce Whate'er's demanded for the use O' a' that treads its soil ; And varied tastes and temp'ratures Need silk and cotton, wool and furs. And bread and beef and oil. 51 XVII. All-gen'rous Nature flings abroad Proofs of an universal God, Beneficent and wise, Whose lavish'd bounties, through all time, No kindred, colour, creed, nor clime, Nor rank, will recognise. S^*^«"*^?f»**^'-»*«'*'*"»I- .-«l«»m-»,,, 52 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. * XVIII. Sun, moon, and stars their glory shed On giant's and on pigmy's head, With equal fostering care ; The dews descend, and falls the rain. And monarch's and poor peasant's grain Alike receives its share. XIX. As pure the tinge of beauty glows. As clear the rosie fluid flows, As healthy and serene ; As sweet the mantling, blush and meek. On milkmaid's as on lady's cheek, In damsel as in queen. m u. XX. Whence seek we for the sorrow, then. Since nature ower baith beasts and men Is pouring happiness ? Why, midst enough o' claise and meat, This cauld, coarse night should thousands greet Wi' hunger and distress ? -.I'Sr^AMmmt^.,,^., THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XXI. Ah I there's a curse has gane abroad, It withers hauf the works o' God, It changes men to beasts- It bellows frae the lowest hell, It echoes but one damning knell,— The curse o' kings and priests. XXII. This is the curse that sears the earth, And hurr-f^ desolation forth, If-^ « .' rjr dread array In darkest mummeries enshrin'd. It prostrates th' immortal mind. Till all her powers give way : 53 Is greet XXIII. It narrows, freezes hauf the soul, Distracts the great harmonious whole With blind Sectarian pride. Pours one unmix'd, unbroken flood Of precious, guiltless, human blood, Till earth's blest soil is dyed. 54 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XXIV. Like burning Africa's siraoom, It bears a desolating doom, A hydra fleet of wrongs ; In ev'ry nation, mair or less, It leaves a mortal wilderness. And dried and parched tongues. ' XXV. The Ya on Patagonia's shore, . The Angekut of Labrador, Though distant as the poles. Just differ simply in the name— Their trade, their motives, are the same To shackle human souls : XXVL And a the tribes that intervene, And fight and kill, and pray, between These north and south extremes. Have used their power and paltry creeds. Their nostrums, myst'ries, beuks, and beads, For sordid, selfish aims. I !1i THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. xxvn. Like Ishmael, they hae turned the han' O' man against hia brither man, Wi' mair than brutal ire— They've rent the sacred, social ties, And scorch'd the safter sympathies Wi' wild, malignant fire. XXVIII. Ay, kings and priests hae curst the earth, And strangled knowledge in the birth- They've made the warld a tomb; Whole empires sink beneath their tread, Heaven, frowning, darkens owre their head, Portentous o' their doom. 55 l8, XXIX. These creatures, which the warld ca's kings, Are surely strange, mysterious things- 'Tis said " extremes unite :" in kingship, then, 'tis grown quile common, To see 't a bairn, a man, a woman- A queer hermaphrodite. i£b^taiiMH#. 'iWKftwiiil . M ff-^umti^ *<■' ^^-i 56 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XXX. And prie8ts~ah, shocking ! Christian priests, Whase pure religion swells their breasts— At least it swells their wames ; They've pled the helpless widow's cause, Till church-rates, tiends, tithes, and corn- laws. Adorn their holy names.* XXXI. Man, 'tis a strange preposterous thing. To hear the creatures, priest and king, Wha've trampled on mankin', And wha, in forms of blood, still trace The annals o' our injur'd race. Pretend to right divine. • Perhaps it would have a salutary effect in mitigating fanatical enthusiasm, to place a copy of the petition of the national clergy of Scotland against the repeal of the corn-laws, in juxta-posifion with the marvellous accounts of the Kilsyth " Revivals 1" THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 37 iests, corn- XXXII. O how unlike the Galilean, The houseless, titheless Nazarene, ' Whase love of libertie, Despite of Rome's imperial thrall, Proclaim'd that men were equal all % Nature destin'd free. XXXIII. A Right Divine I ah, impious thought, Wi' blood and labour dearly bought, By greedy dogs and dumb- All are alike allied to hearen. To all one equal light is given To know what is to come. ting fanatical nal clergy of ition with the ■// XXXIV. A Right Divine in priests and kings ! I O Mind, expand thy seraph wings. Intelligence, advance. And on their blood-stained banner broad, Inscribe, « THE LIVING CURSE OF GOD •• FOR HUMAN IGNORANCE." £ 2 ■S;*SSPt»<«.«i«,«*,«^,. 58 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XXXV. Besotted man wastes half his time Deep-diving for the bliss sublime That fills anither sphere : This warld will surely ser* our day, And Reason, God, and Nature say. Mortals, be happy here." <( XXXVI. O had the time and siller spent On things ne'er ettled to be kent By creatures wi' five senses, Been spent on moral education. How changed— how blest had been our station, How large our recompenses. XXXVH. What ser's 't for us to hear o' heaven, O' harps and sangs, and white robes given, O' golden dykes and thrones, To ken the cut o' angels' wings, If here we're crush'd by priests and kings, Young queens, and widow'd drones. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 59 xxxvm. Anither warld I don't dispute, In space some millions' whirl about, I surely canna miss a«e; But first — ae step preparatory. Before I mount anither storey, I'd like my share o' this ane. ation, XXXIX. I've liv'd these five-and-thirty years— I've toil'd and swat, midst hopes and fears, Whyles sinkin* and whyles soomin'— I've borne the curse in vera deed I've ate the bondsman's bitter bread, Wi' sweat and sorroiv fumin'. ' XL. I canna cringe, nor fawn, nor flatter, I'd rather earn my bread and water Till my weak muscles broke, Than rank wi" those ignoble apes, Whase souls seem form'd o' bows and scrapes. To please the rauckle foke. i 60 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XLI. I've but ae hope— it bears me up, It aften sweetens Labour's cup, And lights life's irksome gloom— I hope that Mind's expanding wings Ere lang shall flap owre prir f « and kings, A last eternal doom.* XLII. Syne peace, and love, and harmonic, Shall tell at length that man is free Frae ev'ry tyrant's claims ; The curse shall vanish frae the earth. And social friendship issue forth, Like ours, my worthy James. • That mankind must he governed and instructed, is a proposition not to be disputed J but that kings and priests are inadequate to the task, is a fact which requires no other proof than a knowledge of his- tory, which uniformly shews that in almost every country in the world, they have, under Fome name or other, had a trial of some thousands of years, and have failed to produce any other effect than such as I have here described. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XLIII. Ye'll aiblins think my crack owre lang, Or say 'tis fou o' sceptic slang Or democratic spleen Sic charges, now, hae little pith, They pass for less than naething, with Your humble friend— Macqueen. 61 *M A DREAM, Btupectfulhj Inscribed to MRS. WILSON, LOCHLANDS, BEITH. I DRKAMT a dream of the former days, When lifie was gilt in her golden rays— That happy time when the heart was young, When hope, like the wily syren, sung — When all around, beneath and above, Seem'd only the handmaids of life and love : I dreamt of the cot, and the brook, and the plain, And 1 dreamt — O, I dreamt I was young again. I saw the sweet features of one whose head Has long reposed with the nameless dead ; And my young heart gladden'd and leapt to feel The fostering warmth of her motherly zeal I saw the companions of youthful years. And the sound of their merriment rung in ray ears, While health was singing her happiest strain, And the feelings of boyhood were dancing again. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 63 Anon the fair image that formerly stole. Like magic or witchery, over my soul, Came gliding along with celestial grace, And I felt the sweet thrills of affection'^ embrace. Twas a moment of bliss^but the vision soon broke- Yes, .t was but a man,eni^my spirit awoke, Tofeelandtoknow.withaw.,ne.u.epain, T/iat I never in life could be .. >u^,g ^ga, r, / w S?W«**«M«II». I ^^-y, THE WORLD, IN FOUR BOOKS. \ " Without or with offence to friends or foe., I sketch your world exactly as it goes." BVRON. II ^^^mimm*.^ \ ARGUMENT. Tfce IntrodacUo-Add™.. ,„ Na,u,e_Her Be.„to_j,,,,„,e, Prog.„of K.ow,edge_Obs,a=,e. .„ Speed, ,.^.,.L,jl. r H f """" °' """" "«"-"'*-'=■' "7 *. probable Feel. •H> a.d A™„.e™e„„ of ,be H„«i„g and Sbepberd .u^, .f Soc.., -AW of Snepherd Llfe_E„de.,i.g A««,ci.Uo„. of E.,1, Life •nd .he,r tendency to mki n. Love .he Paal ' ' "mfmm'f)^. f t INTRODUCTION. I. Harp of the Heather, once again I fling My rustic fingers o'er thy trembling chords : No little tale ofluckless love I sing, No fulsome eulogy on kings or lords, Nor would I deify « the strife of swords ;" Such themes have long disgraced the minstrel's line^ A nobler song philosophy affords ; A bolder lay, a worthier strain be mine, Whilst I would worship at pure Nature's glorious shrine. II. And O, my harp, this song shall be our last. With it thy master's miseries shall end ,* ' In all my wayward wanderings o'er the past, I turn'd to thee as turning to a friend- ue a posthumous publication. ■•W«^'^,^^«f >i-,«.;,, ^.^^, ^ 70 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Now deign once more thy sympathies to blend With my severities on human kind, Then all thy sounds and sorrowings suspend- Eternal rest be ours while on the wind, The echoes of our song shall staciie m.,ny a-m^nd. ir ^ iiii 't 1 III. I sing the World-'ti. sure a mighty theme For on- wno^ bou^ scarce rises on the gale, Nor bears u ^hiw^rings Uk humble name Beyond the ir;!.| that hound his native vale; For self.delif.h, I sing, „or would assail The busriing crowd with cringing courtiers smile My rustic, unassuming notes to hail. With bounding raptures, nor repay my toil With glittVing favours, nor a gilded name the while. IV. I sing the World, nor stoop to ask how oft The theme, ere now, from minstrel's lyre has sprung- Though mighty minds, in energies aloft, Have soar'd and search'd, ponder'd, portray'd, and sung lend r a-mind. ale, e; s smile 1 the while. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. The mighty things of nature, and have h«ng Their trophies on the wind, yet fresh and free ; As though no laurel'd bard had ever strung His harp to sing her praise,_Nature, for me, Spreads out her thousand charms in strange variety. V. The sun~the moon-the diamond-studded sky- The flashing meteor, and the thunder's roar- The scowling storm, that sweepeth furiously- The foaming river and the raging shore- The sun-burnt mountain, and the vale hung o'er With rayless drapery-and wood and grove. And whimpling brook, and rock, and tree, and flower — . And melody and mirth, and life and love- Beast, bird, and insect, man, and Jupiter above,- 71 as sprung tray'd, and VI. All. all are simply what they were of old. When Homer strung his lyre ; or if ^change Has been produced, it pleases man, whose bold. Ambitious mind o'er nature's ample range, S 1 l! *> , -r <^^ft)«SW»lM(.V!HR, 72 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. For sixty centuries, has toil'd with strange Infatuation, anxious to flin'' His magic o'er her charois— not in revenge, But just to soar— an intellectual thing, Revising with his art the work of nature's king. VII. All things have been believed and disbelieved- Ghosts, witche*, goblins, miracles, and dreams, Have all been credited-have all deceived. And hence have generated strange extremes Of sceptic reasoning, even till one deems His own existence doubtful, and enwraps Truth deep in sophistry, that dims her beams ;* Hence I advise that mitres, gowns, and caps, Protect their dogmas dark with something like -per- • Descartes said. " Itkink, therefore, 7 am, » Now, this was just attempting to prove a self-evident truth by an abstract argument, for it would be a thousand times more difficult ^o demonstrate hi. thinking than to prove his existence. L THE MOORLAND MlNSTHEL. 73 ing. ms, VIII. It is a guardian word. I love it much, ■Tis chaste and humble, mild, and diffident; It3 sober, soothing sympathies are such, In modes offaith, as leads it to prevent The bitterness and burnings which have rent Ef rths peacefulness-yea, it can reconcile Those strange mysterious conflicts, that once spent Their rage in dragging to the fun'ral pile- I use this word perl^aps, though broad-faith'd bigots smile. liiie *' per- his was just iment, for it lis thinking IX. Perhaps the world was made-yet there are some Who smile at this perhaps, and fain would know Whence matter and machinery could come. That into being this huge mass would throw • What mass ? asks Berkley, matter's greatest foe. There is no mass-no world~no matter ! Well. A bishop's word is truth, or should be so ; I'll not dispute the point, nor can I tell' Which theorist is right-the priest or infidel. i ^ 74, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. >*i Perhaps the world V ,, -cr/.aps it i. Eternal in itse!l-penmps 'tis nought: These all are p,.adventure8-I may miss The real theory, though I have sought With honest ardour, for the syste. .augbt With probabilities-yea, 1 have panterl In search of truth, but systems all are wrought With crafty errors, and the creed I wanted 1» proven but in part -the rest I take for granted. XI. But I have learnt, by dabbling in creeds, To look with 'uty o'er the human race. And sympathetic'ly their evil deeds To evil systems I attempt to trace ; Nor do I deem it any foul disgrace To vindicate that u -Jversai love, That, unconfin'd by circumstance or place. Seems like a gem in nat^r-^'s frame-work wove, Wiierever reason treaus or fancy seeks to rove. for THE MOORLAND M.NSTHEI.. 7i XII. ''^"'"""""""'■"''■"""'"■"■•""-damn'd Wh„d„„,,Uhe.r„«,ofm,hyp„.hesi,, Or that because •«, „„p„|„, .„, „^_^___, , W,.h de™„„«„.i„„s clear and „„„b„le«. No proof e.,«s_-,i,p,„b3M,„„„.^^,^^^_ It ..nt, my p„,po.e, bu, |e, „„ „„e ^.,^^ ^'"''■""■"^"'"''""""-Sleaaing rector, ^^^-eek,.op,ea,eacro.d„Uh..evaage,.Cec. XIII. ■TU «id the world wa. wrested froo, the womb °'""^"°"''"S--.l'3"ta dread Cause. W OS. ,.„.ele.. ?lor,Vs, bursting for,h,„,„„. And each a„d all, i„r.,„.„rous applause, Proclaim the rnicht vpb fh^ »gnt, yea, the omnipotence Oftheir Original, whose being dr Anthems of praise from all intelligence I 76 I! i< ^h THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. XIV. n V And, then, 'tis said 'twas merely love of prai»e, Desire to shine orrMipotent, and hear Through endless space the never-ending lays Of gratulations echoed in his ear, That caus'd the great Eternal Cause to rear This ist, stupendous, sparkling, shining frame :— Who argue thus, would doubtless make appear That all Corf's labours are but future fame, A trump of brass or gold to sound his own good name. XV. Perhaps the world— but whither do I mam ? All nations have their world-makers in turn. Who rear fine fabrics on their fancies' foam, And blow them out like bubbles; blaze or burn. As children burn nutshells— Earth's urn Engulphs the universe I— sublime hypothesis I wrestle not with phantoms — but I'd spurn To make a world, lest I should make 't amiss- Come on, my harp, come on, we'll take it as it is. fUrBMllllI'lii BOOK I. " ■T^.ere well, could you permit the World to live ^Mhe World pleases. Whafs the World to you ? Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk As sweet as charity from human breast*. 1 think, articulate. I laugh and weep. And exercise all functions of a man. How then should I and any man that lives Be strangers to each other?" TAe Task. Nature, great empress of the universe ' I'd learn of thee, though thou hast been belied And hung with titles of reproachful hue^ Caprici. us. fickle, moody, and so forth. Are all in wanton humour flung at thee. And some there are, who bear thee open hate, Have dar'd denounce thee as a dang'rous dame. But stiimovethee-thou Shalt be my guide ' My guardian spirit_my instructress- Long have I woo'd thee, gazing oer thy charms In fonder adoration than the youth Surveys the blush that tells of maiden lo.. i li m n \ -N.K-i 78 \[ f THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Yea, I have knelt and worshipped at thy feet Full thirty years, with humbler, holier heart, More seriously devotional than kneels The wnndVing pilgrim at his good saint's shrine ; Yet feeble notions only have I glean'd Of thy vast labours and mysterious power. My vigilance, anxiety, and hope, Have been but strengthen'd by the by-past toil, And still pressi forward, anxious as before. True, I have mark'd with pure extatic joy The common beauties of thy yearly round. As o'er earth's ample page I gaz'd, and saw The fields, made bleak and barren by the blast Of scowling winter, rise again renew'd, And spread their em'rald surface to the sun— Thought-stirring scene— what strange, what vast Variety is blended here ! Deep in The many-bladed grass the vi'let springs, The lily and the humble primrose grow, The hare-bell and the cowslip knit their heads, And scented thyme and modest daisy, wrapt In low obscurity, crawl on the sward, And send their odours, like the captive's sighs Or prayers of saints, to heaven upon the breeze.. THE MOORLAND MINSTKEL. , 7' "=*''^"'"'"~o..Vd „„„„„,„„,. i".l.o„sa„d,„,ix, and led their .ii:i„g„a To f„r„, .he features of „,e,,„,„„p^f^.^ And even the .n,„lle„, ,•„ „, „„„,|^^, ^J G.ves evidence it,.„aker ,vas not , nan- ' Or o'er the wood. >vl,e„ .„„, .he eager eye • ^'k^'Wushing beauties crowd „,,„n the vie.l_ Tree, of all growths, and leaves of ev'ry forn,' ixhiWling the various shades of green And blosso,„s pending fro™ a, housaud bough, W.lh fragrant odours fill the ambient air. Or elusfring fruit, by „„.„,„„, ^,^„,.^^^;__^_ K.pe mellow-d. hing, i„,i,i„jj „„ u, „y Ihe weary traveller to a cool repast The ,ea.her'du,i„s,re,swa,b,e in the grove, Tl.e sportive fishes dance upon the strean,, Flocks bleat and ga,„b„lo„ the distant hilb y« noble steed steps o-cr .he dewy lawn, And on the rugged precipice elate T-,e„,ou„tain.g„a,, with free and fearless stride. Bounds wi.h majestic „ei„ fr„„. „„, .„ Those are thy lesser beauties, Nature; these Proclain, in „i„i,tore thy boundless skill fiut thou, dread po 71) I wer. canst '"Tsanuiuuture worlds »M;«W»,^„- 1 :o THE MOORLAND MINSTUEL. Oft have I trembled as, with anxious eye, I gaz'd upon that limitless expanse Of heaven's vast mirror — emblem of thy might, Portray'd, like life, upon the deep blue sky, Where millions of bright luminaries roll In ceaseless revolutions, and appear To smile upon the dwelling-place of man — And I have watch'd and wonder'd, till the eye With its own dimness clos'd, and on the mind Flung back its functions, while distorted scenes And wild conjectures floated on apace, Like the disorder'd fragments of a dream — And much I marvell'd whence these orbs had sprung, What power sustain'd them in their proper spheres. Who were their denizens, or what their doom I I've even fancied, in my reverie, That from the centre of the system, worlds, In shape of comets, were thrown off like sparks, And flew in rapid motion through the void. Cooling and thick'ning their own atmospheres, Which check'd in time their vagabond career : Yea, I have held, in this delusive dream, Sweet converse with the intellectual giants Whom fancy had made lords of other orbs. I -i THE MOOULAND MINSTKEL. And in their Icnowledge Ihave felt true bliss, Till some new spark, thrown sideling from the sun With strange velocity, came posting on. Blazing and hissing with a fiery sound- It knock'd our Saturn to a thousand shreds. And left but dark, confus'd unconsciousness ; Then I have started, as from troubled sleep, And. like the child tired in the fruitless chace Of butterflies or corncreaks, sat me down To moralise upon my own defeat, And I have cursed the ignorance and pride That thus would tempt me from my proper sphere To search thy great arcana, while at hand A thousand useful things were unexplor'd. I saw thy orbs in motion-saw them swing Their endless ret'oiutions through the void. But saw no more, and motion could be seen More clearly i^d more varied on the earth.— All matier moves-or organiz'd or dead. No atom is at rest. The mighty deep. In everlasting motion, ebbs and flows, Howls, grumbles, heaves, and haply, in her wrath, Entombs whole continents, while from her womb ' New empires issue-islands rise and Ml g2 81 i.t-p iMi ; 1 82 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Like bubbles on her foam, and ev'ry beach, Strew'd with the wrecks of former flood-tides, tell How slow, how gradual, hei; creative power All matter moves— Throughout th' eternal space Some spirit of activity resides, Some principle of life, some .?i nient, Electric fluid — fire — magnetic power, Or something man perhaps neglects to name, Pervades all matter, and forbids its rest. From where the dull, dead, shapeless clod of earth Moulders to dust, or crawls in the poor worm. To where it soars, and in its bolder sphere Dreams in the dog, or reasons in the man. The mountain moves — even in its inmost pore New crystals form, new combinations rise, New strata grow and ripen, and its soil, With furze and heath-bell clad, just lives and dies In rotatory motion — ev'n the rock Of granite hanging on its rugged brow, Tho' old as ages or the mountain's self, Now sweats and crumbles, moving to decay. Hills turn to vallies, vallics rise to hills, And ev'ry peak in ev'ry stratum shews The workmanship of motion and of time. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. The ocean flings her spray up through the clouds, The clouds in turn refresh the parched earth ; Earth with her streams replenishes the sea, And thus the everlasting river flows. And in her constant action wears away, By almost imperceptible degrees, Whole mountains to the bosom of the deep, Till the alluvial earth at length appears Above the glassy surface as new lands. Vesuvius belshes forth her molten fire, The Amazon rolls down her oce.n floods- Both are but agents of the moving power To alter, analyse, and recombine. But cannot make one atom nor destroy. O'er Herculaneum's ashes verdure spring., And great Maranon rears her thousand isles^ No particle is lost.^This li(>Ie globe. With all it changes and convulsions dire, Weighs not one scruple more or less Than what it weigh'd ten million ages since.* to matter in genera!. '^" '"'^'^^^'on 83 4 .^- "ISWis^^ f • i H i! 1 84 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Matter moves on, and shifts its forms and place, Acts on itself, and moulders and revives, Assumes new combinations — lives and dies, And dead or living is of equal weight. More living things have walk'd, crawl'd, flown, or swim'd On ocean, earth, and air, than would outweigh The varied elements on which they liv'd ; More grain, more trees, more roots, and iierbs, and iiuwers. Have ripen'd and decay'd upon the earth, Tlian would poise up the scale that held the world, And yet the world is weighty as before. Rocks crumble into dust, dust feeds the food — Food feeds all living things, and all life dies And vegetates anew, and fosters life — Beasts eat each other : gormandizing man Eats beasts, and soon is eaten by the worm ; And thus all matter moves. — That particle Which in a Nero burn'd the imperial Rome, May, in a wolf, long since, have sucked blood. And that same atom which in mild Rosseau Created worlds to please his generous soul. May in some shepherd's dog at present dream ! This may be galling to our apish pride, Yet may be true— no particle is lost : * ■ i I - *■ Ja i^t^rtSP";^ THE AIOOULAND MINSTREL. 85 e, , or swim'd and iiuwers, 'orld, d— There is not in this feeble frame of mine One atom but may |.ave, for aught I know, Existed five, or fifty thousand years, And may successively have grown and bloom'd Wd,walk-d, swim'd, flown, and dreamland thought in turns, ^ ' Through all that vegetates and all that lives I And I shall die-and nothing shall be lost- O'er my own grave my ashes shall revive And this same brain which loves not kings and ,ueens. May yet be verdure in some lonely spot To feed the lamb where Monarchy shall dine • And this is Natures law: Oh, would that man Had lov'd and learn'd it in his younger years. It sure had sav'd him many a bitter pang. But what is Man? This is a mystery, too, Darken'd by definition, and perplex'd With theories absurd and much at war_ I know there are who think-how harsh the thought, And yet it is the common creed-that man l3 but a worm, an insect, grovelling low, Encrusted in the filth of wickedness, A wretch-a villain of the deepest dye, A demon scowlimr in fK„ e. p, . - £3 — •"= sayi; ui neav n. M: isi'i 86 THE MOORLAND MIlSfSTREL. And waging war with ev'ry thing that's good ! I wish men were consistent in their creeds. Methinks 'tis strange — perhaps 'tis scarcely true — That He, th' Eternal Spirit, should create A system so stupendous as our world. So wonderful — so fair — diversified With all the grand and gay of hill and dale. Of river, lake, and wood, all verdant, all Replete with beasts, birds, fishes, and strange things, That live and breath in diff'rent spheres, and form That vast infinitude of life which shuns All computation and displays, in shape, And size, and nature (all attain their end), A thousand thousand strange varieties I To say that He who formed this mighty mass. And form'd it right, and beautiful, and good, Aad lit it with the golden lamps of heav'n. And girt it with the girdle of the deep Blue ocean, wonderful abyss of life ! Great emblem of his own infinity — To say that He should make, or strive to make, A being worthy to possess the wliole. And only make a worm — a worthless thing — A reptile poisoning, like the Upas tree, THE WOOHLAND MINSTREL. 87 All fairer growth where'er l.is v , .„, comes- A blot on all creation, yot possess'd Of power omnipotent, that can destroy The peace and harmony of God's design. And, rising in rebellion, dares to shake The adamantine walls that circle heaven I " ^''''^ '''^ ^''°"g'''« '" tbe Free-will champion cries " This straw-built theory, which reason spurns; Man was, and is, the fairest, finest gem That sparkles in the mighty maze of things, Keflecting brightness over all the scene, Like diamond on the rugged mountain's brow, Or crystal lake within the woody vale, The noblest feature on the face of time, And worthy to be call'd the work of God. " 1 grant that man did err, and erring, fell From that primeval purity, that else Had made him intimate with things of heaven ; I grant that still he errs, and suffers pain. Not that he needs must err-he chooses this- His nature, bound in Nature's stubborn law. Prescribes his duty and his happiness. Yet leaves him liberty to disobey And oluck thp fr.iU A..^». ii.. r..,, . -. „., ,,„„. ^„j. joroiQQgQ tree; ».-«<*»! '**!8W 88 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. But pain is of necessity— for why ? For sin and sorrow are so closely link'd, Who drinks the sin shall sip the sorrow too, And generous Nature, in her love, decrees That sorrow's bitter cup, remorse and shame. Pain and disease, should be the wholesome means To teach the violator to obey. But man, we say, is fallible — 'tis true, Wer't otherwise he needs would be a god ; Nor if he falls beneath necessity. Is he a man, but just a mere machine, And not amenable to any law More than the shadow driven by the sun, Or wheel priij H'd by irresistive power — Man was • not tied to good, nor prone, By stern neeeisity, to follow ill ; He has acboice, a liberty, a power, Unsubjugated by the paltry sway Of strongest motive or dull circumstance. Which used aright would make him half a god, To trample under foot base appetites. And, soaring o'er all selfish interests, rise Superior to the trammels of his tribe — But, ah ! he errs, and to his own disgrace. • # i THE MOO I AND M ^TREL. And to diseased opinion, bluntly gives His sign, ire, declaring to the world He loves and glories in the name Of wretch." Such are the theories which man, vain man, Spins out and preaches, to mislead himself: I once lovVl theories-yea, I have mus'd And hung delighted o'er the pleasing dreams Which poets and philosophers have dreamt, Of brighter days that grac'd our infant race. And I have revel'd in blest Eden's bowers, ' And pluck'd the ros. .hat bloom'd without a thorn. Felt joy unmingled .vith a pang of grief. Drunk pleasure ere dull pain created was; And liv'd in fancy what I read in song : These visions all are gone-experience sage Has taught me how to learn and think from facts. The savage prowling on Van Dieraan's shore, Ere Christian rage for wealth had spilt his blood And buried all his race in one wide grave, Was just a savage, nor enjoy'd more bliss From his raw morsel and unlorded soil. Than does our priest-rid Briton with his kings. From knowledge only happiness can flow, And knowledge is the progeny of time 89 I fif fir. MICROCOPY RESOIUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1 3 It 2.8 14.0 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.25 ^ APPLIED IM^GE Inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester. New York 14609 (716) 482 - OWO - Ptione (716) 288- 5989 - Fax USA 90 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Rear'd in all ages and in ev'ry land, Perpetuating still its kind, and still Attracting to one centre all its parts. With strange adhesiveness it rolls along From ev'ry corner of remotest days. Descending down from sire to son enlarg'd. From age to age corrected and revis'd, Till in one volume, pond'rous and immense, All truths are met, and swamp in one bright blaze The errors and the griefs of all mankind. Thus Egypt's science rose renew .d in Greece, Thence borne to Rome amid new glories shone, And rolling o'er the regions of the North Through Vandals and Barbarians, meets again. And in our own lov'd isle flings forth her power In iron roads and chariots wing'd with fire. Thus knowledge wends her way, and in her flight Diffuues happiness, or more or less Proportion'd to the freedom of her wings. Kings, priests, and taxes, the repulsive force. Impede her progress ; but perhaps these are The necessary trammels to her speed. And die whene'er utility demands. But when— ah I when shall Brama's sqns arise, .«ir.^ THE MOOftLAND MINSTREL. And burst the fetters of their cursed castes? Or the New-HoUander at length arrive At that same point where Brama's children stand ? The sun upon the aial-plate of time Goes round and round, and finds them still the same, And century on century rolls by, And scarcely indicates the point of change I What ages, then, would Egypt's sons require To give to Science even her rudest form. Or what a maze of years would needs elapse Ere Britain broke th' imperial yoke of Baal I To conquer fire~to find the iron ore, Were greater acts, demanding greater time, Than all the model-engines of a Watt; Yet the New^HolIauder has conquered fire, And scarcely rises to the thinking scale. O what immense, unmeasured epochs lie Between the fireless savage, shiv'ring chill In wintry night, beneath the blasted tree, Naked and hungry, and the learned judge, Girt with his golden chain, and stretch'd at ease, As with the lightning's speed he's hurried on With steed of steam upon his iron road I The mind perceives infinity of years. 91 '*H'.*..t^- . r ^i i \i II '( i , M i\^ 92 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Recoils from calculation, and concludes That all is myst'ry, and is partly pleas'd That poets' tales of better days are false. And yet, methinks perhaps there was a time Ere thrones were built or priestly pulpits made. When man did worship God each for himself, When doctrines of degen'racy were young, Nor needed purchased prayers_a middle time- A half-way house between the two extremes Of shirtless savage and the gold-robed king, Where humble happiness at times sojourn'd. Perhaps the shepherd of remoter days On alpine clifts of healthy Scotia's hills, With crook and plaid, and friendly well-taught dog, Knew more of earth's true blessedness than all The gorgeous learning of this wondrous age. Perchance his ignorance might breed him wo, For Ignorance is not allied to bliss, And yet it is the patrimonial right— The first inheritance of man's first-born- Fair Science, Nature's only index, ne'er To him had spread her mind-creating page, But left him, like the Grecian's cyclops blind, To grope his way to intellectual light. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 93 What marvel, then, if his untutor'd mind, In wild imaginings, sought to explain Th* apparent mysteries of Nature's laws ? What if the dreadful storm that wreck'd the plain. And roar'd in fury through the rocky hills, Till mountain streams, commingling to a flood, Swept half his ciops and flocks to ruin's gulph. Was deemed the living ire of Nature's God I Who, far away beyond the realms of space. Sat sovereign on a throne of burnish'd gold. In form of man, old, ven'rable, and gray, Eccentric and capricious as a child, Sway'd, plear'd, or anger'd by the paltry deeds Of little engines which himself had made. Whose voice, when threat'ning, in hoarse' thunders spoke. Or in the smiling sunshine promis'd peace. Or who to-day with blest abundance crown'd The peopled earth, and ere to-morrow pass'd, Greiv'd wiih .uen's scantiness of praise, Destroy'd the plenty in his wounded pride. What though this shepherd of primeval times Knew nought of other globes, save this small world, And thought the countless suns, and moons, and stars, That wander on eternally through space, II 2 t ». h ' S! ! (; 04 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Were only little glimmering diamonds stuck On azure r hang ;ranc'd Forth ;rains. own voice s nigh, ul, hope, 56, in enclos'd love, le veins, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Flung forth in nature's own indulgent lap. This was, if e'er an age of bliss prevail'd. The golden age of peace-no noise of war, No boist'rous revelry nor lewdness Jiv'd, No jarring strife nor hostile feeling reign'd. But all was blent in one unbroken calm. And not a symptom of ill-will appear'd. Save where the treach'rous fox. by hunger strain'd, Decoy'd and feasted on the straggling lamb, Or the wild hawk, while clinging to the rock To feed her young, like arrow darted down. And drunk the life-blood of the singing thrush. All else was peace-a very world of love. And honesty, and ignorance, and ease. Where'er tBe eye could turn or trace, was seen Nought save the workings of benignant power, Nor did man live unconscious of the proof That Nature lov'd him with a bounteous love. For though he view'd the tempest and the flood. The losses, crosses, accidents, and pains. Which happen'd to himself, or friends, or flocks, As -judgments' carv'd to punish special crimes, Yet ev'ry charm that hung on Nature's face. And ev'ry sound that rose from Nature's harp, 99 i' % '« 100 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Ev'n the shrill warblings of the red breast's song Awoke some secret chord which swell'd and beat In unison, and shar'd the joy diffus'd, And he believed (for Faith had being then) That ev'ry secret and responsive chord, And ev'ry sense and feeling thus regal'd, Were gifts of heaven, design'd alone to grasp The varied happiness thus amply shed O'er all creatipn's range, and lead the heart, With blessings fill'd, with gratitude inspir'd, Up through the mighty maze of joys bequeathed To one, the giver and the Lord of all. Oft, oft in grief or deep misfortune's hoar, The eye of supplication gaz'd intent, Not on the sparkling orbs— these were too small, But on the azure vault, and simply deem'd Th' infinite God had there a local home; And oft the heart, unburthen'd of its prayer. Has felt true peace and consolation's balm For man did worship God, not with that cold. Expensive, formal, business-like routine Of modern times, where silk and silver make At least one half of all that's seen or thought. Or where, perhaps, some farmer's lazy son, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Tir'd of .ue plough, and push'd, by dint of pelf, Through learning's dizzy ma.e. at length .it. down. A pond'rous, useles. Joad on the gall'd back Of simple Industry, and in return For five times fifty pounds a-year, glides forth £ach Sabbath at mid-day, and tells a tale- A bare-worn tale, of haply two hours' length, A real transcript of his own poor brain, Remarkable for nought save want o." thought ; Or if perchance his intellect permit. He'll dun the ears and stupify the minds Of more than half his little, patient flock, With college jargon, as obscure to them As is the point he struggles to define. I hate these knotty points-I hate these things CaWdparfi/principlat^these are the tools With which designing knaves in church and state For ages past have gull'd the simple world, And bubbled honest men of half their wealth. I have transgress'd-I've wander'd from my theme, And but anticipate my future song. I love the age of Nature ere the world Was bent and twisted by capricious rules, Ere what is hight refinement had destroy'd ]0I i 102 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. . i lit The very essence of the thing it mends. I love the moorland, with its red heath-bells, Emblem of beauty, iu its earliest dawn, Unconquer'd and untam'd by selfish art, It lives in its own likeness, and bequeaths A genuine picture of primeval peace. I love the harp of other days J its tones Are full of fervour~its impassion'd lay Comes quivVing like an echo from the past, And tells what pathos .uder times could feel. I love pure honesty, yet cannot smile On legal acts for making people just ; Nor can I brook that coldrife sympathy Which works by system or a nation's law. I love the native loveliness of love Uncheck'd by fashion's cold and chilling breath. Yea, dearer far to me the milkmaid's smile Than all the etiquette of gentler dames. I love the rural courtship^yes, the scene Is graven deep on roem'ry's purest page- That scene-that holy scene of singing birds, And hawthorn glades, and silvery moonlit eve., And flowery banks and whimpling limpid streams, And beating hearts, and sighs, and wistful looks, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Embraces, kisses, promises, and vows, In all the grandeur of simplicity. I love to see the maiden of fifteen, With braided hair and cheek of rosy hue. Who laughs and sings as loudly in the fields. As though false female modesty were dead ; In her young breast no rankling venom lurks, No doubtful musings nor suspicions drear, No jealous mildews gather on the heart To raise a morbid loathing of the world. But all is life, and jollity, and love. And fond confidings and warm sympathies. In her light step and lively mirth is seen A thing of laughing hope and thoughtless joy. The living portrait of a guiltless mind. I love to see young, healthy children play And gambol gaily on the daisied green— They lend new vigour to declining years, And fling a sort of witch'ry o'er the soul ;— What fond associations marshall'd rise From the dull slumbers of sepulcher'd times. And flit o'er memory in a fitful chace. Like dancing lights upon the northern sky. The mightiest mind forgets its bolder thoughts, 103 fe li l\ k 104 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. i'i 1 \ Foregoes, a while, its speculations grand, Bends half-enchanted o'er the urchins' sport. And feels itself en velop'd in the maze Of childhood's harmless and endearing joy*. The ghosts of early innocence spring forth, The fragments of the sunny days of life ; Remembrance of whate'er we feel or know Of that delusive phantom, happiness, In all their former fascinating charms. Glide by in form of ruddy-cheeked boys, And mother's fond and flattering caress, Indulgent sire and little sisters bland, And brothers who were partners of the bliss. And shared in all their little childish toils Of tops, balls, marbles, paper-boats, and kites. Which all have pm'd away-,the very peers Who on the same lap suck'd the same kind breast. Are parted to the varied regions of the globe, Or haply slumber in unmarked graves. And only rise with other childhood scenes. To make us wish for retrogressive time. Yea, ev'n the sage who prides him in his lore, And would not, were it possible, exchange The riches of his mind for all the wealth ifi i! THE MOORLANI^ t STltEL. Of all the nations, yet would barter all " For certain portions of his boyish days, And, spite of all his wisdom, scarce forbears To wish himself a second time a child. This is the secret why we love the past, These are the associations whence arise Our notions of a former golden time— 'Tis here we revel in primeval bliss, Painting the beauties of a rural life. And, in the spirit of invidious spleen, Denounce the age-the wondrous age of Wheels. 105 M # i2 r^ 1 ^\ THE ARGUMENT. The City-its general Characteri-tica—Arrival of Stage Coaches— the Porter-the Chariot-Students-Public Market-the Love of Wealth- its Universal Prevalence destructive of Benevolent Sympa- thy-the Coalman-the Poor Blind Man-the Philanthropist-the Justice— the Culprit-the Dinner Hour-Factory Children— Political Meeting— Drunken Politicians-Evil Tendency of Drunkenness- Patronised by Government— Dreadful Influence of the Love of Wealth— the Author's Sympathy with the Multitude— Salutary Ad- monitions *o Political Governors-Sabbath in the City-Church-going Population-the City Wench-Prevalence of Disease and Death arises from Violations of the Natural Laws-the Village Pestilence- what is Life?-an Effect of Organization-Exemplified in several in- stances-the Love of Life inherent in all Living Beings-numerous Examples-the Murdered Lamb-the Dying Maa-Love of Life a sufficient Preventative of Suicide-this Truth Dlustrated by a Picture of real Misery-slight Intimation of the Nature of the succeeding Book. -J BOOK II. " If to the city sped, what waits him there ? To see profusion that he must not share, To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury and thin manicind. To see each joy the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's wo." Goldsmith. " God made the country, and man made the town," So wrote the pious Cowper, who wrote « Truth," Hence this sage sentiment is haply true. Look where yon dark cloud hovers in mid-air, And taints the rays of heaven with stench and smoke, Till the tall spires, encrusted deep in gloom, Seem sicken'd with an atmosphere impure. There stands the city, populous and dense. The monstrous, moving, and promiscuous mass Of all that's evil and of all that's good. There vice and virtue, ignorance and pride, Learning, humility, justice, and gross fraud, Stern avarice and sympathy benign, Dwell with each other 'neath one common roof: If: M kS- / «■ J 10 THE MOOIILAND MINSTUEL. And there, too, wealth and deepest misery Ru8h side by side, like two twin-sister streams, Meet, mix, and mingle, and yet, strange to tell, Break not each other's surface, but remain, Like oil and water pour'd in the same glass. Distinctly separate as they ne'er had met. See o'er her thousand streets one living crowd Thronging and jostling, hurrying to and fro. In unremitting bustle pressing on. Here coach meets coach, with wond'ring travellers fiU'd From distant cities or remoter towns, All bent on errands varied more or less. And all with varied ardour push along : Horns blow-bells ring-postboys and coachmen run, And supple waiters bow, with « What's your will ?" Here, too, approaches swarthy, unwash'd Ned, With rope around his neck, and on his breast The brazen badge, whereon is written Slave, Knocks his rough visage through the gath'ring crowd. And, in hoarse, weather beaten voice, bawls out, " D'ye want a porter, sir ?" then kneels him down Like camel with his rider, and receives The pond'rous luggage trunk, and jogs away. The gilded chariot next comes rattling on, '^ travellers fill'd THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. With richly harnesB'd steeds and trappings gay, Postilions, pages, footmen, and the host Of ell that makes a gorgeous display, And idle crowds gape wonder-serfs look big. And toss their livery as though they lived On admiration, or could urge a claim As benefactors of the common herd, When all this show-this vain parade, but bears Some wrinkled Duchess or some pewling Miss, To dance or dine at Duke Do-nothing's ball. There up that rising street, whose buildings rude, ^ Irregular, and grim, depict the taste Of ruder bygone years, what little bands Of youngsters, uniform in scarlet cloaks. The badges of yon gloomy, reverend doLe, Trip hurriedly along, loath to incur The frown of surly pedagogue, who chides Delays or violations of his laws. See how the youth, each with his classic task, Press onward, anxious to learn the mode Of living sumptuous on the poor man's toil ; For learning here flows down a thousand streams, To fatten idleness and feed the mind, 111 V P 'ft.' i i l?\ »*> r ? llfi THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. And, like the birthright of the patriarch's son, Is sometimes barter 'd for a meagre meal. The anxious eye, astonish'd, now turns round, And gazes o'er the city's sovereign court. The public mart— the thoroughfare of wealth, The great arena of commercial strife. What ample treasures, temptingly expos'd, Arrest the wonder, and the wish of all ! Food, clothing, finery of ev'ry grade. Gold, silver, trinkets, books, and ornaments, In ev'ry window teem, as though the world Contain'd no want, nor held a single pang Of poverty or grief— Wealth is the mark. The rage, the curse, the watch-word of the age: Religion, friendship, happiness, and love, Honour, and liberty, yea, life itself, Have all been immolated on the shrine Of that huge Hebrew idol, molten gold, Which has secured more worshippers devote, Than all the countless deities of man. " Gold may be bought too dearly," and perchance The produce of Peruvian mines have cost More than an equal weight of human life, f &vmmm^* f-»- THE MOORLAJND MINSTREL. And atill men grasp, and glory in the curse, TLe blood-bought curse of all that's truly good. O'er the smooth pavement one continuous crowd Pass and repass with unabated zeal, On countless errands, tending to one end, Urg'd by one motive -Wealth, bewitching Wealth; This is th' exclusive object of the whole, Which, like the lean kine in the Jewish dream. Eats up all feelings higher than itself. The ragged boor, of black, unseemly port, Rings his small bell behind his donkey's cart. And roars out "coals," or "cabbages," or "sand," Yet scarce can gather wherewithal to live : The " poor blind man" solicits partial aid From " fellow Christians," who hurry on As heedlessly as though themselves were blind : The shop, the office, counting-house, or bank, Wareroom or factory, market or exchange, Engross the feelings of all passers by, ' AH float along in haste, and all alike Seem callous to all other things than trade, Save one, and he comes on at sloven pace, Stalking incurious through the rustling throng, He seems without an aim—proud fashion's glare. lis k I immmmi lU THE JVfOORMVD MINSTREL. ^"'l all her tempting toys, are pa,,d unseen : Yet is his look not vacant-thought is there : Deep thought is graven on his wrinkled bro,v. tkl rt bis gait, apparent want of ., -n Says he has business nowhere to perform. Tl^rough the dense multitude he moves unknown- On th,s side and on that men meet with friends. Change salutations, nods, and shakes of hands. ' But none knows him-poor, solitary man. No one salutes him.-The lone solitude Of wildest lesert wears no sterner gloom Than wears the tumult of the town for him- He is no business man^hh pace is slow. Why roams he here ? Seeks he some wander'd friend ? But lol he halts-he bows a willing ear, Some one salutes him now-the "poor blind man," Who cried for hours in vain, at length finds one To list attentively his plaintive tale, One whose munificence is free to all, And whose whole wand'rings only furnish scope For ample alms and boundless sympathy :- Again he stops_a creature crawls along, Dragging his limbs all powerless, through the crowd. That scarce has charity to tread aside. THE MOOllLAND ^IINSTIlEL. 115 The good man sees him with a brothers eye, iiedtows his bounty with a glowing heart, Sighs, shakes his head, and muttering " Alas," Through the live desert wends his cheerless way. On this side see the bellied JmUce come, With silver spoctucles and golden chain- He walks, or lathor rolls, in affluence. He's for fix; court, that creature of dark crime. To measure justice by a stundard rule, As men with legal yard-wands measure cloth : On that side see the squalid, filthy wretch. Born in depravity's worst cell, and fed Or suckled in the lap of guilt and crime. For whom " refin'd -ociety" provides A dungeon or a halter, and no more I Look how he's dragged along by these rude serfs, Who wear the city's livery and garb. He, too, is for the court, there to receive A chain—an iron chain, which Justice gives. To teach him honesty and moral law I The clock strikes two— mark how the city moves- ThousFi jds on thousands issue nimbly forth. The workshops, factories, and all the haunts Of toil and commerce, pour their mix'd contents II £| 116 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. il ^'i Promiscuous on the streets-al! lanes and square., And courts and alleys, move, one sheet of hfe- All eager for their meal, and anxious all To make the most of Liberty's short hour. All sexes, ages, shapes, and shades that live In human character, are mingled here: And many a tatter'd coat and visage pale, And sickly eye and blanched lip, is seen ; And many a damsel with but hectic bloom. And flannel necklace round a graceful neck, Who coughs and shivers in the gentlest breeze. And who, if living on Arcadia's plain. Had been an angel in Anacreon's song. Mark how these little ragged urchins swarm In little groups, and crouching as they run With hands in pockets, scarcely stop to gaze. Save where one hardier than his peers stoops dow. To see the cork swim in the common sewer. Poor hapless things I they bear a bitter doom- Exil'd from nature's purifying gale, . From sports and pleasures of a rural life. From all the pastime that makes childhood sweet, Ev'n schoolboys' happiness must be denied : Day after day of each successive year. I'r f. *»Vi THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 117 Doom'd but to hear the everlasting click Of spinning jenny or an engine's clank. Spring's animating essence, bearing joy, And life, and vigour to all human things— The boundless beauties of a summer world. In rosy richness scattering delight — The sultry autumn, with his mellow'd stores, And haggard winter, in her storms sublime,— To these poor children bring no varied joy : Monotony in all her dulness reigns. Nought, nought of change beguiles their irksome hours. Save the eternal fritter of the wheels That night and morn, and morn and night, through life, Revolve a pace but to revolve again:— And this is wealth — commercial, wallowing wealth ! The splendour of the city—all that's known Of national prosperity and power, Springs, lives, and prospers on these children's curse. Hark ! music flings her thrilling tones abroad— The tumult deepens — banners are unfurl'd ! The dense crowd rushes with appalling force- Tremendous pressure hurries all along, And on the spacious green crowd after crowd Pours out her het'rogeneous contents— k2 fi? fr: ! 118 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. iul 111 I All pathways swarm, and ev'ry second brings Amazing increase to the gen'ral throng Which o'er the common stretches far and wide, Like one great undulating sea of life- Ten thousand voices mingle, and a sound From ev'ry quarter swells the trembling buzz. Which rises to a far stretch'd murmur deep, ' Hoarse, indistinct, confus"d-a noisy void, Like echo ringing in a land of hills, Or rustling breeze among the wither'd leaves, Or hum of bees_or like the strange raix'd sound Of many waters—All is stir, for lo I Upon the elevated stage appears The patriot orator-the demagogue— The man in whom the millions put their trust. Now crushing, jostling, squeezing on all sides, Bruising of heels, and spoiling shapes of hats, Beget hard looks, hard words, and some hard blows, Till, jamm'd like wedge-work, all worse feelings nink In greeting acclamations of applause. The orator holds forth— his glowing tongue Portrays, as large as life, or rather more, The prodigal expenses of the State, The harshness and injustice of her laws; 13. I !>' THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 11!) The profligacy, uselessness, and weight Of that huge monster, Noble Idleness ; The toils and hardships of the lab'ring poor, Their thraldom, degradation, and disgrace, Their earnings, burthens, groanings, and slow deaths, Their worth, their wisdom, their appalling might, Which, marshall'd wisely, may redeem themselves. And ought, and will, in terrible array. Burst forth to hurl the Oppressor from his throne, And with a fiery finger write his doom In flavtr^-ng letters on the midnight sky ! Blood (bams— brains quiver — hearts and nerves grow strong — Eyes gleam with vengeance— even the callous teeth Gnash in defiance— ev'ry passion, fraught With dire destruction, wakens into life, And in one wild and dreadful yell breaks forth ! The orator has spent his rage — his voice Floats hoarsely in the distance, and is lost In loud huzzas from such as cannot hear. Again the tumult swells, and cloven tongues Rise in the babel of a wavy noise ; Again the music rings, and the dense crowd, Loosed from its bondage, parts in lesser bands. Hi ii h :\\ •I' ■' 120 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. And bending to the city, moves along :_ Inns, taverns, tap-rooms, dram-shops, and hotels, Soon overflow with strange, loquacious guests, Blacksmiths and barbers, and the hosts who live By looms and spindles, all transform'd anon To soldiers, heroes, senators, and kings, And soon, like other rulers of the world, Grow fools and madmen-talk of nought but war, And death and vengeance-all good feeling dies ' in wine or whiskey, till the blood boils hot, £vn at the temp'rature where heroes fight. Threats, banters, insults, next fly forth, and then Is valour tried unon each other's heads. Chairs, tables, forms, and glasses overturn'd. And sturdy blows, and hard knock-downs, and groans, And oaths, and murder-cries, are wildly blent In one appalling scene of ruin gaunt. Till wounded, wearied, penniless, and drunk, The champions, thrown like rubbish to the street. In darkness stagger to their own poor homes. And on their wives vent their remaining wrath,* • This is certain!, not a genuine picture of the conduct of the whole worbng population. It is far frotn the character of the great V. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 121 'H WhoBe silent suff'rings haply make them loath And inly curse political reform I— There is a strange perversity in man, Which not the holiest ties have power to bind. Ev'n love o( woman, life, and progeny. Are feeble bonds— but ah I in rending these, He to true bondage adds foother chain. Church, court, camp, cabinet, and rank and wealth. And even Learning, with her thousand schools, Are but the legal, complicated means Of binding thraldom on the toiling mob. Yea riches, genius, talent, all combine, In anxious, unremitting, mental toil. Devising how the monstrous multitude May best transmit its likeness to its sons The castes of Brama are in ev'ry clime A leading item in the civil code. And in " hereditary rights" the mob To endless ignorance must be entail'd. The dram-shop and the church act as the power- majority ; but it is a real transcript of the conduct of such a number, ai will sufficiently retard every amelioration of the vrorking roan'i tondition. till such times aa thpse orrnre am <.n»:..;<>i.. ...uj i * ■ ■ I 122 THE MOORLAND MiNSTltEL. ^ The moving power, or xvondVous state machine, By which gross ignorance, with nil her woes, Of famine, bondnge, misery, and death, Are raanufactur'd for the thoughtless crowd. And still the crowd, impatient for the bait. ■ Anticipates the tyrant's worst decree, '-:= oes. gulps, and swallows ere the draught's distill'd, ^nd for the church makes sacrifice of life, And for the dram-^hop starves his helpless young I The busy artisan, whose daily task Scarce for his offspring furnishes due food, Looks forward, and in all futurity Sees nought but hardships and incessant toil, And losing courage, when of greatest use, Because the State's imperial behest From ev'ry shilling earn'd must drain a groat, Tn.kes to the tavern, and quite prodigal Of curses on taxation, ffives the State. Poor, gen'rous fool I his two remaining groats ! There is a demon in the love of wealtn. Which no power sacred, social, civil, just. In art or nature, wholly can subdue : A deep, insatiate, yawning still for more, A rooted, strong desire-a love to thrive, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 123 ;fi A sharp propensity to gather gain, At ev'ry hazard, and at all expense Of feeling, comfort, and of honest fame; Yea, ev'n religion's holy precepts fail, Wax feeble, and oft die beneath its power ! The Christian, urg'd by this unhallow'd sting, Doles out, with steady hand, the aieasur'd draught Of mental poison, sweeten'd o'er with smiles, Till fellow- Christians wallow on the floor, And foam and curse in wildest, madden'd rage : Ev'n deacons of the temple freely give To raw communicant, on Sunday morn. The passport, sign, pledge, token, symbol mete, Or whate'er else is deem'd a guarantee Of worthy membership to heavenly rites. And ere the evening of to-morrow comes, For money sells him that accursed thing Which, on the tenets of his own pure creed. Is certain passport to eternal death I These are sharp strictures— sharper that they're true, And truth is powerful in correcting vice : I would, were't nnssible, make men perceive The grand utility— the blest effects Of being all-consistent with their creeds. , .;.is f. .■■-■ ■ J 24 THE MOOHLAND MINSTREL. What boots it though the tavern-keeper bawl Against a nation's boi.dage and harsh laws, Or walk through all formality of rites, And boast and bully o'er religion's truth, If still, at ease, he lives on others' toil, And in his very calling dooms mankind To heavier chains and loads of deeper guilt? Or what avail the groanings of the crowd, Its malediction^ on the ruling power, Its loud complaints against the galling yoke, Its unions, speeches, meetings and resolves. If in the end the objects realis'd Are doubly-doubled thraldom self-impos'd, And weeping wives and famish'd progeny ? The monarch on the throne sees far abroad " That which hath wings," said Solomon the wise, " Will tell the matter."— All our evil deeds. Our foibles, follies, vices, and disputes, Find readier access to the «« gracious ear," Than do our murmurs or our humble prayers. And better far kings love to hear and see Our discords, quarrels, drunkenness, and wo. Than ought of our prosperity and skill. They know, forsooth, their thrones' foundations rest 1- •fli THE MOORLAND MINSTIIEL. On our disunions, ignorance, and strife, And, smiling on our instability, With dignified indignity demand, " Are these the men who seek to tumble thrones ? Are these the future rulers of the world ? These shreds and patches of humanity. Who want stability enough to rule. With just economy, their own affairs. And who, to glut the minions of our will, Impoverish their naked hovel homes, And in the dram-shop fatten our excise I" Such is the merited contempt, the crowd, The ignominious, souUless, cringing mass. Must bear from all who only live to rule. Yet, 0, 1 love these sons of honest toil— These sun-burnt children of stern industry— These trampled men of labour, on whose nerves The wealth of nations, and the weal of man, Have risen, prosper'd, and for ages hung. I live, and work, and sleep, and eat, and talk, Rejoice and mourn, and sigh, and sing, and laugh. And weep, with peasants— they have been, and are, And still must be, while aught of life remains, My gay companions or kind comforters : 125 i. m f 126 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. From thera I learn'd my usefulness^my trade, My language, habits, morals, foibles, faults, Passions and instincts, rudiments of thought, The germs of knowledge— first ideas all From humble peasants were transfer'd to me— All that I am in body and in soul, All that is lovely in the perish'd past. All in the present worthy of regard, Or in the future yielding aught of hope, > With peasants and with peasant-scenes is blent : A peasant nurs'd me, and in softest strains Above my cradle sung my lullaby; I suck'd my life-blood from her kindly breast. Yea, life's first breath itself I drew from her— I call'd her « Mother"— dear and deathless name- And she— yes, she was just a peasant girl I 1 love the millions ; but I cannot love The follies and the vices they pursue. Fve reason'd with the drunkard— check'd the lewd- Preach'd to the ignorant— reprov'd the fool— Rebuk'd fanatics— scolded the profane- Decried the cruel— satiriz'd the proud— Declaim'd 'gainst all dishonesty, and strove, As far as humble effort would extend, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 187 To stop the current of the vicious age ; But ali in vain— men will not, cannot thinit. Habit and prejudice make half the man : Each man makes laws for all men but himself, And few can act as other people bid. Then who could blame the unreflecting crowd ? Its crimes in ignorance alone have root, And this is amply furnish'd by the State. And think ye— O ye rulers I can ye think That these your halcyon days will never end ? Think ye the writbings of the monster mob Will always fill the coffers of th' excise ? Be not deceived — these are portentous times The beast turns restive, shakes itself, and yawns ! Yes, Byron's little bird sings louder now ;* O hear its song, nor madly laugh to scorn The lessons of a Tyler or a Tell I Think not that Mind, though doubly purified, r " But never mind — God save the king ; and kings— Or if He don't, I doubt if men will longer Methinks I hear a little bird that sings, ' The people by and bye will be the stronyer.' " Don Juan, rirS!WKJnM.1 I 128 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. I8 less susceptible of insult now, Or lesj resistive than in days of yore, When Wallace or harsh Cromwell spurr'd it on : Be wise in time— review your former deeds- Speak gently, soothing speeches to the crowd- Relax your iron grasp, lest its vast power, Stung into life by hunger and hard words, And madden'd with the drunkard's drink, bursts forth, And with one mingled and terrific yell Of « Vengeance I Vengeance I Slaughter l" hurries on, Till thrones, and principalities, and powers. Are strew'd like bubbles on an angry sea. *Ti3 Sabbath morn— again the streets are fill'd ; The votaries of public worship swarm- All, all is life and stir and gay apparel. The abettors of unnumber'd, jarring creeds, In all directions meet, and hurry on, Pass and repass to where their party Gods In varied portions of the town sojourn ; And many a serious, sober, godly man. Whose life and labours bless his hoary hairs, And scatter dignity around our race. With solemn raein, in eyry sect is found ; Nor sect nor party can absorb his love— •4m THE MOOKLAND MINSTREL. 129 00 : its forth, mrnea on, •d; His soul, expanding, would embrace the whole I And many a canting, puritanic bonr, Of rigid honesty prescribed by law, And who, wer't not the terrors of the rope, Or dread of hell, had certainly been hang'd I Austere, harsh, gloomy, and forbidding churl, Whose niggard soul ne'er felt a gen'rous pang Of sympathy for others' mightiest woes. And whose hard Bat ne'er parted with an alms. Unless he hop'd for usury in heaven I Religion's curse, and nature's foulest stain, Who measures God's omnipotence and love By his own stingy feelings, and believes That heaven was made for his poor, paltry sect I He, too, with ev'ry party strides along, As though he walk'd by raathematic rule. Coxcombs in chains, and the more flimsy fops. Prudes, coquettes, giddy-headed dames and daws, And blushing, bashful rauida, and smiling nymphs. Whose mirthful face and lovely laughing eye Have more of life than deep devotion's air. And men of business, learning, and all trades, And many who do nought but live and spend All, all this mingled and promiscuous mass H ' ^()lf4!l^C^^%KS^^!^J9^^S&uit^£fA%r!i.4i 130 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. ''I t'i'i M ''< :■ Of creeds, shapes, garbs, grades, age, and sex, which thus Pretends to one exclusive sacred aim, Is urg'd by motives as diversified As are the forms and features of its parts- Fashion, necessity, pride, fear, and love, Int'rest and vanity, in social bond Combine to swell the worship-Ioving host, And lend to piety a potent name ; But motives all are hid-th' impartial eye Sees nought but one bright, dazzling display Of wealth and gaiety portray 'd in dress— Or haply, at a transient glance, perceives Some worn-out spirit, or dull, heavy head, Tir'd with hard labour or last night's debauch, And driven to church by dread of losing caste. Seems mutt'ring, as it slowly drawls along, " I'll soon be slumb'ring snugly in my pew ;" But chanty o'er motives flings a veil, And kindly gives sincerity to all. The rush is past— a calm— an empty calm Hangs on the streets-death-like desertion seems Sole tenant of the town, save where, perchance. Some dizzy artizan, in working garb. Through private door of meanest tavern steals, '■\ *>, ,. THE MOORLAND MINSTIIEL. 131 Aad for his coppers begs a " quick'ning glass." The city-guard performs his short patrol, And'nought indecorous of feud or fraud Disturbs the equal tenor of his pace, Save where the hungry vagrant dogs break out In worrying conflict o'er some filthy bone Or useless garbish floating on the stream. But who is she with smileless, bloated face, And haggard, tearless, loveless, red swoln eyes. Who in the mouth of the dark ally stands. And still as thitherward returns the guard, Like skulking guilt, afraid of open day. Retreats some paces from his dreaded view ? It is the city-wench — who all night long, Unhoused, unbedded, stroll'd upon the streets, Or in dark lanes and passages alone Stood shriv'ring, trembling, anxious as night owl To seize unwary wight, in hopes to ply Those little, artful stratagems and cheats, . By which she earns a miserable meal ! But all her sleepless watchings have been vain. The cold night winds that shook her scanty robes. The hunger, weariness, and rude rebuffs, Have brought no success — all her little arts A -i I i ' I '•iiltfmiliiiinnMliUlilifcli^i* II ■iiilil'lllilMlilml III I 132 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Have been but profitless— her soul ia sick— She dare not cross the threshold of her home, Till some peace- offering 's earn'd wherewith to soothe The worthless baud's unsyrapathising frown. Poor child of destitution and disgrace I Unhappy outcast, whence this awful doom ? Did no fond mother kiss thy infant cheek. And, in the fervour of her glowing soul, Breathe one short prayer for virtue to her child ? Yea, yea that prayer was breath'd, but breath'd in vain. Though full of ardour, love, and hopeful joy, As though thou hadst been heiress to a throne- But one false step— one rash, one thoughtless act, One yielding to a natural desire. Has doom'd thee to a most unnatural doom. Society, that artificial dame, Who tortures crimes created by herself, Deceived, deluded, ruin'd, cast thee forth Beyond the precincts of reclaiming care. To wander friendless, fortuneless, forlorn. To bear the rudeness, taunts, insults, and scorn, Be trampled, spit upon, and beat by such As caus'd at first, and still protracts thy guilt. But thou art useful !— cities make thee so— THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 133 Great nations and commercial people find That such as thee are necessary ills ! Good heavens ! has man— has civilised man, In his refining mania, found out That happiness can only live secure Amid the ruins of pure nature's laws ? Can virtue only feed on virtue's blood, Or real honour grow upon disgrace ? Accurs'd discovery ! perish from the earth ! O ! let man to his savage state return, Where such refin'd injustice is unknown, And where no portion of the tribe is doom'd To pleasure others at their souls' expense : Nay, even the beasts which ravage on the wild, And in their intercourse seek mutual bliss, Would curse thy fate, poor child— would pity thee, Thou germ of cities falsely civilised ! The law protects thee ! O most gen'rous law ! Protects thee in thy infamy and vice- Protects thee with her bridewells and her jails- Protects thee in the practice of that guilt Which ev'n thine own sear'd heart so deeply feels. That only darkness kindly hides the blush Which modest nature spreads upon tbv cheek. 134 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. t! 't 1 Thou art the creature of commercial life- Refined society has nurtur'd thee. Rank, wealth, and learning, talent, genius, all Have hugged, embrac'd, kiss'd, fondled, kick'd thee forth A thing of loathing and infectious death ! Ev'ii holy men have pluck'd thy petticoats. Perhaps to lead thee to their «' better land," But lessen'd not thy sorrow nor thy guilt ! Sad child of misery ! creature of despair ! Poor, homeless, hopeless, heartless, withering thing I And is this all that Britain's boasted wealth, Her glory and renown— her moral fame- Her holy Christianity and creeds. And « land of Bibles," have secur'd to thee ? Frail orphan of the world ! society has been To thee a very step-dame.— But ev'n now The faded roses on thy cheeks presage That bounteous nature will ere long bequeath The hallow'd rest which thine own species raarr'd, And thou, the victim of disease and scorn, Shalt sleep as soundly in her blest embrace. As those who tempt'd thee first from virtue's path. And then debarr'd thy penitent return. The city swarms with ills— disease and death THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 135 thee forth bingi 'd, tb, Are billeted in ev'ry twentieth door! At ev'ry turn we meet the " sable group" Conveying solemnly to Death's long home The shatter'd fragments of a thing that liv'd. The «* well-plum'd hearse," and meaner, rustic band Of half-dress'd tradesmen, carrying the pall Of fellow lab'rer, have their weeping friends, And lamentations, equally sincere : One common task is pensively perform'd, One common doom is in the end secur'd The pompous cavalcade and humble bier Are but the different pathways to the grave, And end alike in dust, and weeds, and worms !— The man of empire and unbounded fame Is but distinguished from the still-born babe. Whom Superstition buries in the dark, By ranker weeds or shovelfuls of dust, At best by some frail slab or monument, The representative of living pride. Men congregate in cities, till the scenes Of human misery no more awake Commiseration for their fellows' wo The frequency of death and sickness sears The sensibility of human souls, ; i •!^ -1- i 136 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Till scarce a pang of sympathy survives, Till death and dirges seem mere common-place, And till, at times, strange medleys may be seen, The fiddle and the fun'ral side by side. In ev'ry city, hamlet, village, town. Men violate the simple laws of life. And spread disease, in wilful ignorance, Tf" -ome appalling epidemic sweeps Its millions to the dust ; then marvel why So many honest, righteous people died. Or why the rural peasantry escap'd, While desolation ravag'd through the town. The ev'ning's sun o'er Arran's lofty brow. Serenely smiling, bade our world good night ; To many 'twas a last farewell !— yea, even To some, whose vivid hearts, unhing'd from thought, Seem'd flushed and dancing with the cup of life. The village bell had closed the hours of toil. Mechanics met, and stood in little groups About the public corners of the town. And laughed and spake of all the floating news, Or mutter'd rude remarks on lively nymphs Whom pride or business hurried o'er the street. Uncomely tales of riots at the fair, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 137 Or ball-room broila, or tipsy lewdness, fell, 'Midst vulgar laughter, on the listner's ear. A few, whose thirst had scarcely ceas'd to crave. Slunk to the ale-house, and in noisy mirth Enveloped all that elevates the man. The merchant, musing on his success, hung Across his counter, or, with some shrewd friend Whom lack of labour furnish 'd with an hour, Convers'd with pertness on the mighty things That would be done in politics and trade ; The matron ply'd her thrift; the buxom maid Before her toilet, self-adoring, stood, Adjusting matters for the coming ball ; The thoughtless stripling, who supposed that life Was made of sun«hine and uninjured health, Play'd off his little wicked pranks and jokes On dizzy bacchanal, whose muddy head Held frequent converse with his miry feet. So things went on— so had they gone before : The village seem'd all happiness and glee, And flush'd with hope of pleasures yet to come; And ev'n the sinking sun appear'd replete With smiles benignant from the fount of heaven, That promised long felicity to man : u 138 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. When lo I the shriek of terror— uncouth sound I From yonuer hovel wildly pierc'd the ear ; Its humble master, as by magic kill'd, Had ceased to live, and scarcely knew he ail'd I Another shriek proclaim'd another death I Another I yea, a fourth ! The plague went on ! Amazement spread I Conjecture, thin as air. With many a ghostly shadow in her train. Rose up to solve the problem why they died : 'Twas in the atmosphere— 'twas in the clothes— The food— the blood— the lungs— the mind— . tvas fear- 'Twas constitutional— contagious— mild— Severe— incurable— a simple thing A mighty mystery ne'er to be disclos'd. Such were the vulgar theories pursu'd, All empty as the breath that gave them birth : And spite of all, the pestilence stalk'd on With silent step, and sudden death, and wo, And bitterness to many ; and to all Dismay and terror. Men's hearts fail'd for fear. Suspended seem'd all labour and affairs : All human life stood still as petrified, And hung the head, and sigh'd a hopeless sigh. As though creation's final doom had come. w- THE MOOllLAND MINSTREL. 139 as fear — Friends met upon the street and halted mute,— Or if they spoke, 'twas with a shaking head, Half muttering, " 'Tis an awful time, indeed !" They parted with a 2:od, and met no more : For ere the next day's sun had gone his round, The lone note of the village bell proclaim'd That one, or both, should, in a Hide hour. Be laid to mingle with the dust of death. The tender wife, behind the curtains clasp'd, In love's embrace, her lively spouse at ev'n, And, with the rising ray of light, beheld The ghastly features of her lifeless lord 1 The husband saw the wife, whose healthy hand Had dress'd the meal of which he last partook. Lie struggling in the ravages of death I A few short hours were all that interven'd Between the strong, robust, athletic swain, And the cold lump of dull, unconscious clay I The plague went on— and oh I what dire distress. And wo, and lamentation, and despair, And clouded brows, and melancholy dark, O'er all the village spread ! and still anon Deep wailings for the dead, and mingled groans Of agonised life expiring fast n'' w 'I !;i .^i- ■•i.l6f'%!*t*ia- N ; I m 140 THE MOORLAND MINSTUEL. From many a dwelling came. Small sable groups Round many a door in sullen silence stood. With hand on mouth, to ward contagion's breath, AH mournful, waiting to convey the corpse To the lone mansions of the peaceful dead ;- Yet none approach'd the bier, save those few friends Whose sympathy was strong as love of life : AH distant stood ;-.yea, ev'n the Man of God,- ffe, who alone knew why the people died. And solv'd the problem with '« 'Tis Heaven's decree 1" His daily theme of happiness in Heaven, And angel's harp, and glory's diadem, And righteous hope, that would be realis'd With strange unutterable things, reserv'd For all who did believe, had made him deem Honours and riches— yea, and life itself. Mere secondary things, vain trifles, trash,— Vague bubbles, quite unworthy the regard Of dignified, immortal things like man ;— Yet, even he felt smitten with the dread- Forgot his calling and his trust in God— Refua'd to minister the gospel's balm To dying husband, or to widow'd wife. The plague went on— and awful numbers died. j 4 ,. ups th, lends jcree THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Of every age, and sex, and rank, and kind ; The matron of threescore— the blooming maid — The sucking child— the babe within the womb Died while unborn — the foolish and the wise — The weak— the strong— the wicked and the good — The lusty tradesman and the sickly fop — The child of misery and the man of wealth — The florid drunkard, and the sage who spurn'd The dazzling cup that held the poison'd draught ; — All fell alike before the dreadful scourge I Died, then, the virtuous ? — yea, I knew him well, A man of stern, unbending principle. With soul untutor'd to the yoke of power, Unawed by wealth or popular renown ; He prayed and laboured for the rights of all. Till even interest, that supinely lulls The conscience of the high priest and the king, Shrunk from his being, as ashamed to meet Inflexible alliance to the truth. And he is gone I the voice of heaven— that breathes Upon the midnight wind — that sweeps his grave. While I repeat this short, expressive dirge, " Peace to his ashes" — seems to say *« Amen." Unhappy village I what art thou becoriie ? m2 141 'fi' ■ t ''ii 142 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Sad emblem of the fleeting things of life ! What bosom bleeds not for thy curelesa woea ? Deaerted homes, and orphans' plaintive cries, And widows' tears, and deep parental throes. And solitary husband's stifled groan, Lead back the mind through time's encumber'd maze To Egypt's mournlDs ^r her fond first-born. Or Rama's wailing for her children slain. The plague wept on— Conjecture ceas'd, for now All theories seem'd vain— men only fear'd, Nor knew what 'twas they dreaded ! 'Twas fear of fear. The grave phy8ician,-whose best feelings fell A sacrifice long since, before the shrine Of motley ills,--who fatten'd on disease, And mark'd with apathetic unconcern The thousand thousand various forms of pain That rack'd the carcass of humanity,— Stood here without one scientific phrase, Observed the ravage of the strange unknown, Bluntly confess'd his ignorance and awe, And cross'd his arms, and said, - 'Tis death I 'tis death I" And what is death P-but first, say what is life— A curious mechanism— a strange effect— An undefin'd immeasurable— u spark THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Of subtile fire — a negative of weight — A pendulous vibration — a desire Of consciousness — a mystic quality — A feeling, property, or latent power, Which loves and still perpetuates itself— A simple sequence of peculiar forna, Which, like the tones of music's instruments, Is modulated by organic modes, And stops whene'er the organs are derang'd. — I saw the aeolian harp laid on the ground, Its strings were quivering in the gentle breeze. Its tones were sweet and varied— it did seem A thing of life and feeling; — but anon I saw't unstrung, its strings lay by its side ; The harp, as formerly, was whole and sound, The balmy breeze swept o'er it as before All things were what they had been, save its tones, And these were musicless, and mute, and dead : The squirrel, leaping on the chesuut boughs, Seem'd like a magazine of perfect life ; , It fell upon the grass — I took it up. Fur, skin, fiesh, sinews, nerves, bones, muscles, blood, Brain, and intestines, all appear'd entire The very squirrel that so lately leapt H.) • I 144 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Upon the chesnut boughs, forsooth, was there. Weight, size, and form, and colour, all complete ; But just some valve, or string, or chord, had broke, And chang'd the motion to a thing call'd Death I It, too, had turn'd a stringless, toneless harp. All things that live are living to decay. And all decaying life will live again ; Yet all, however fond of change, are loath To part with life, though full of weeds and thorns. The little gnat, whose age is but an hour, Feels the tenacity, and, near its end, Gives some convulsive flutters, as if meant To grasp existence on a longer lease ; The sky-lark screams before the rav'nous kite ; The timid hare flies panting from the hound ; The swan her death-hymn echoes dolefully ; The dauntless goat weeps o'er the fatal knife ; And the mild lamb turns up a piteous eye, And pleads for mercy at its murd'rer's hand— 'Tis loath to die— .ev'n when the mortal steel Has touch'd the vital citadel, it leaps, And kicks, and struggles, anxious still to live, Till the last drop of blood has left the heart, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 145 ^^fi And then— ev'n then, some solitary nerve Will start, as though it hop'd to live alone ! And man is more tenacious of life : Boys wish for youth, and youth for manhood sighs, And man looks longingly for distant days. Which realis'd, just make him wish again. Till terra on term, and event on event, Have brought him to the confines of the grave, A hoary creature, full of years and pains— And still he longs for morn, and noon, and night, And night brings darkness and increase of pain ; He tumbles, turns, yawns, finds no posture best, Thinks darkness long and lonely, and agtiin Just turns, and wishes for to-morrow's dawn Yet would not die— he trembles at the thought. And, as the vulture fastens deep his fangs, And grasps still closer round the bleeding heart. His eyes roll wildly— terror gives him strength, He flings his limbs, and with convulsive force Clings to his bed-clothes, till the desp'rate grasp Can scarce be slacken'd when the man's no more ! The old, the young, the sinner, and the saint. And ev'n the very prodigal of time ) ■* ■h'i * 146 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Who Studies how to shorten ev'ry hour, Alike reluctantly dispense with life. Though " death were nothing, and nought after death," Yet man, superior to the crawling worm In life, organization, consciousness, Has love of life proportioned to his sphere, A volume of resistance to decay A thousand-fold more powerful, and could not. More than the worm, exterminate himself, And sure the worm but seldom dies from choice. The Suicide is mad, or madly brave ; But ev'n his valour often fails, too late, When nature, rising in her native strength, Flings back a ling'ring, wistful look on life. And from her soul could wish the deed undone. The grave is horrible ev'n by itself, Apart from all futurity :_the wretch Of sternest wretchedness looks bluntly shy. Recoils and trembles, and would sooner hug His gnawing misery, with all her stings. Than lull his sorrows in a profFer'd grave. The broad red sun had sunk behind the hill, And not a cloud nor speck diversified (As far as eye could stretch) the concave vault ; I|;i 'ter death," THE MOORLAND MINSTUEL. Nor glittering star nor moon had dar'd to break The dull monotony of ev'ning's sky : The whole horizon glow'd with equal dye, Like one unchequer'd, undivided plain, Save where the western verge was ting'd with gold From Sol's last breathings as he sunk to sleep. The din of labour and the voice of mirth Were luU'd to silence, and the hopeless moan Of human misery was heard no more. Earth, air, and sky seem'd slidin^ into rest, A stirless, changeless, bright tranquillity. As if eternity had just be?'7'> I But lives the land, hf rich and good. Or glows the scene, however grand or gay, Or rises morn, or falls the ev'ning mild, Where human kind exists but fosters wo ? And here, too, 'mid this still, calm loneliness. Where silence wrapt the world like the sad pall Of past existence, there was one who trac'd. In dreary solitude, the glowing charms, And view'd, alone, as monarch of the whole. The vast expanse of earth, and air, and sky : Yet he was sad — the burnish'd firmament The balmy breeze— the fertile vale — the hill 147 at. us THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. That carried verdure midway to the heavens, In vain pour'd forth, with lavish kindliness, Their beauties on his darksome mind—his eye Seem'd eager, \*and'ring in the world of thought, Quite heedless of earth's grandeur, or the smile Of peace that hung from heav'n, for— ^ was sad. A man he was not passing forty years, Yet shrunken, withered— three-score-ten he seem'd ; His hair, which nature had intended black. Was grey with grief, and from his bones Had sorrow, and deep thought purloin'd the flesh. So that his sinews and Jiis large blue veins Protruded, and display 'd in living form The frame-work or the skeleton of life— - His garb, of simplest make, all loosely hung In sluggish carelessness, and all his mein Bespoke a sickly, misanthropic soul. His step was sad, as heavily he pac'd Yon little rising mound, where lonely rears The village church its weather-beaten spire, And, like the solitary gnome, proclaims The fleeting destiny of all that lives — Sad, sad he was, as carefully he strode O'er the small hillocks, where serenely slept THE MOOHLAND MINSTREL. U9 The mould'ring relics of his friends and foes ; But enmity was dead— and now he view'd With equal sympathy the lone abodes Of those who lov'd and those who hated once. Full oft he paus'd, and ponder'd as he pass'd ■"'le resting-places of his youthful peers, And gazing on the verdure of their graves, Retrac'd the fairer portions of their lives. At length he reaeh'd the far, sequester'd nook Of Death's o'er-crowded, equalising realm, Where magic-like the world's distinctions cease, And 'neath yon hoary elm, where the lone rook Her solitary nest for ages hung, Upon the grave's dread brink he sat him down, And with a deep, deep sigh survey 'd the cell— 'Twas newly dug— 'twas cold— 'twas tenantless— Its last inhabitant, per-force expell'd By the unfeeling sexton, scatter'd lay Among the hemlock and the long fat grass, In senseless, fleshless, worm-eaten bones. As disrespected as the shapeless shreds Of what had been his coffin— yea, forsooth. Such are the honours dea h has to bestow I oh I he was sad, as in thp npw.maHo irrava ■i ^ vl ? 1 ■ i j|,;«l||H ^H^ ^H 1 ! 1 1 1 ^M J m 150 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. He gaz'd intensely, for, though tenantless, Ere Haifa circuit of the sun was trac'd, Its yawning mouth should swallow his last friend I The world had us'd him harshly, and his soul Of giant stature spurn'd the tyrant lash, Till, writhing 'neath the tortures and mishaps, His heart was broke, and life became a load, And now he came, with trembling step, and sad, To naturalise him with the land of Death I And much he gaz'd, and reason'd with his heart To reconcile it to its long, last home. The evils of the past— the present wo— The dark'ning prospects of the coming day- Pain, sickness, poverty, and helpless age. And lack of friends, and calumny's foul tongue, Insult and railery, and all the host Of nameless ills that feed upon our race. Were conjur'd up in horrible array, And ting'd with dark hues of his own sad soul. To bend the heart to brook her irks )me doom ; And independence to the proud was life, And rest was sweet to guiltless misery. And sleep, sound sleep to weary wretch was leav'ii. Thus argu'd he, and in his languid eye id THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Ephein'ral joy in fitful glances shone, And momentary pleasure flush'd his cheek- But still the grave was loathsome— and as oft As lower'd his glance deep in its dreary womb, Cold tremblings of reluctant horror thrill'd His meagre frame, and shiver'd through his blood, Sicken'd his soul, and, like the thunder cloud, Bedim'd and darken'd what had else been bright. He look'd around him, and abroad, beheld Both hill and dale, and river, lake, and wood, Hamlet and city, and the great man's halls, And lofty mountain, and extended sea, With islands slumb'ring on her breast afar; And all was beautiful, and glow'd as yet With golden tinges of the setting sun. Blushing the beauties of pure loveliness, And wooing man to love life and the world. But what avail'd this vast variety To him whose soul was sad, nor now possess'd One single foot-breadth of his Maker's world ? He but beheld his own oppressors' wealth. And rather loath'd than lov'd the glorious scene. He look'd to heav'n-not with that selfish stare Of positive assurance that tho r»ro»o 151 iir ill ! 153 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. And glory everlasting were for him Insep'rably link'd~nor with that dread or conscious guilt, which shakes and shrinks, and riews The tomb as threshold to eternal wo — These doctrines he had learn'd, nor learn'd to doubt, But, 'mid the vast perplexities of life, Had half forgotten them: — and now he raisd His modest brow, and, gazing o'er the sky, Wonder'd if in that vast eternity Of changeless nothingness there did exist, For wearied spirits, an immortal home — And long he thought and reason'd on both sides, And gaz'd intensely o'er the azure vault. And wish'd and hop'd the theory were true I But ah I not ev'n a star was seen — his eye, Like Noah's dove, could find no restiug-place. And, disappointed, sought its ark, the grave I But still the grave was loathsome — and again Cold shiverings shook his blood — he shrunk apace, And, musing, stood sad, puzzled, and perplex'd, As though the iron enter'd in his soul : He look'd upon the earth — then on the heav'ns — Then, disappointed, with a deep, deep sigh. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 153 Gaz'd in the grave, and, weeping as be went, Retrac'd his steps to struggle on with life. The love of life is truly life itself; Desire to be is the responding voice, The faithful echo, that perpetuates A consciousness of being — yet, harsh man I O piteous truth I has strain'd his mental powers, His ingenuity, and muscles strong, More than on feats of universal good, In framing systems and devising means For marring, torturing, and destroying life I — His legal and religious butcheries. His deeds of blood, however bold the task, O Muse, sing now, in truth's unshrinking strain. k2 THE ARGUMENT. An Allegorical Description of the Origin and Progress of Oppres- sion— War— its Causes and Consequences— Unjust Nature and dread- ful Effects of the British War in India— Surajah's Prayer— Seriouj Address to Britain on the Iniquity of her Colonising Principles WhatislMonarchy— Religion— Faith -its baneful Influence on Mo- rality— Description of a Strange Character— Address to Faith the Poor Man's Death— Life and Death rendered additionally Miserable by Artificial Means — the Malefactor— Benevolence of Nature's Dis- pensations compared with the Revengeful Spirit of Man— Purchased Prayers. ^^ ( i j ill i 1 i ^V'! 11 e *^ IBk i ^wO.t' ^^^^^B H 1 If ^H m i BOOK III. . " Religion, freedom, vengeance, what you will. A word's enough to raise mankind to kill, Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread. That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms be fed." Byfo»'t Law*. I STOOD upon Mount Retrospect, and lo ' In th dim distance of departed years, Far back beyond Cairo's pyramids, Created wisdom struggled to create Some prodigy wbereon man's name might live. — And now 'tis done. — In centre of the crowd, Twisting and writhing into life appear'd The huge misshapen monster, whose rude form And vast unwieldy bulk seemed not akin To aught that God's creative hand had form'd. A sullen, dull determination lurk'd Supinely in his eye, and on his brow Bondage and mur'^er, partially conceal'd. Enthroned sat. Listless he yawn'd, and shook His grisly mane, as if imploring aid From his creators, who in scorn beheld I / 1^1 158 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. His inactivity, and spurr'd him on, While still the feeble suffer'd from his tread. At length, convinc'd the monster lack'd a guide, The subtle few, in secret conclave, fram'd A kind of phantom-shadow made like man; Tliey hight it Monarchy, and swore that heaven Had sent it down, empower'd with right Divine To ride this great Oppressor o'er the world. And now the ^east, urg'd by the phantom's skill. With lengthen'd strides travers'd the peopled globe, Bequeathing chains and vassalage to all, And blood and death to millions of mankind. Realms that erewhile bloomed in perfect peace, Nor ever dream'd of war save with a dread. Were now, pursuant to the Beast's behest, Dragg'd to the Held, their liquid life poured forth In copious streams to drench their native soil, And inundate the verdure that had once Impress'd with happiness their grateful souls. Yea, mighty empires, trampled in the dust, Have long since ceas'd to live-their names alone Are dimly written in the world's archi es. The peasant, slumb'ring on his couch of straw. Enjoying dreams by labour rendered sweet, (i THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. In fiendish fury, hurried from the bed Of faithful spouse, and rosy babes that slept. Unconscious of the darkness-shrouded deed, Woke not from the delirium of his dream Till war's loud thunders echoed in his ear At famous Nile or glorious Trafalgar. The lover, seated by the sylvan brook, Or milk-white hawthorn in the cheery glade, With raptures of unclouded extacy Sung love's seraphic music to the ear Of one whose very soul was twined with his, And who gaz'd forward with a hopeful eye To future days of boundless happiness, Was torn from all his heart had ever lov'd To glut the thirsty appetite of war. The wand'r^ng savage strode the desert path. With bended bow, in quest of living food, And, wearied and exhausted, stretched him down Beneath the shadow of his favourite tree. Where, o'er the ashes of his perish'd sires. He slept his liberty's last living sleep, And woke but with the clanking of his chains ! The child that sported by its mother's door, UncoHsScious that such things as fetters were, 159 u i. h 1' *■ 160 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Was borne and barter'd for some paltry toys, In dimes remote, to feel a tyrant's lash, Nor more to know a freedom or a home ! And still the Beast went on— and still I saw The shadow keep its seat. Near and more near, Through Time's elapsing maze, I mark'd his course, Till on the Gaul his iron foot was placed Till on the necks of Poland's hardy sons Were rivetted hts fetters— till I heard The grating of his chains— the struggling groans Of sinking nature, crush'd beneath his tread- Then marvel'd I if mankind all were blind. Or if they slept, or if they lov'd the Beast, Till I beheld an agitation dawn, Stirring the minds of men, like wither'd leaves Stirr'd by the evening's breeze ; and some seemed fond To give mankind their native liberty, And drive the Beast and Rider from the world : When lo 1 the Priests 1 the Ministers of God, Leapt up instinctively, and cried aloud, " Touch not the Lord's anointed, but submit I" Then Freedom's sons were hooted from the crowd, And all things just coni.»iued as they were. Not abject thraldom, nor the name of serf. I{i^ THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Was deem'd sufficient to degrade the mob, But fiery tortures and debasing deaths, Massacres, dungeons, piecemeal butcheries ; And all of pangs and sorrows that the mind Of hellish genius thought or could create, Were heap'd relentless on the passive crowd. The grey-hair'd sire was doomed, ah I cursed deed, To steep his wither'd hands in the pure blood Warm reeking from his only son's pierc'd heart ! The virtuous matron was compell'd to view, With shiverings worse than death's horrific throes. Her maiden daughter glut the lustfu. rage Of ruffians who anon should murder both ! The infant, sucking on its mother's breast, In wanton cruelty, was pois'd in air On point of that same spear that in a *rice The weeping, widow'd mother should divide f O I what a feast to feed a mother's eyes, When season'd by malignity and scorn—- Oh Jewish crucifiers, " Woman! look! Behold thy Son /"—and deeper insult still, " The serpent seedling of a traitor sire I"* 101 • Specimens of these refined cruelties were exhibited in Ireland s« late as the close of the last centurv. o !ii 'ih 162 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Such are the great Oppressor's mighty deeds, That marvellous monster which mankind call'd forth To show their love of immortality. Yet countless thousands worshipped the Beast, And to his Rider gave Jehovah's due : While in his hand the shadow held uprear'd, The pond'rous book of Fame, in which were ecroll'd, In characters of blood, the dreadful names And titles of Wis doughty votaries. And how ludicrous was it to behold Things— dvfQxk in body, and in soul half-forra'd. With cowardly courage steep in human gore Their little hands, and strain, and toil, and twist, Till every nerve was strain'd in hopes to blot The Monarch's register with their small names ; While many fail'd, and tumbled in the mire. Where, all unnotic'd, 'neath the Monster's hoof, They shrunk from life, and never more were seen. The lieast went on, and blood, and groans, and fire. Told when and where he journeyed o'er the land ; Cities were burned, and o'er the extended plain, Rich with the bounties of a fertile soil, Blaz'd, in one gen'ral conflagration dire, The waving corn, by autumn mellow'd quite, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 163 forth oll'd, id fire, The hind and horse, the shepherd and his flock, Cottage and inmates, all that liv'd and mov'd, Or form'd the features of the landscape fair : And, step by step, man deepen'd in disgrace, His dignity decay 'd and disappear'd, The moral image of his God was gone, And beast-like toil and beast-like death were his— Till hell stood up on tiptoe, and in joy Grinn'd o'er the prostrate and degraded race ; Earth stagger'd like a drunkard, and the air Sicken'd and reel'd disorderly and wild ; Heaven shook and wept ; and the vast universe Seem'd sinking 'neatb Corruption's pond'rous load. And what is war ? 'Tis hight the game of kings— 'Tis worthy of the'dignity, for they, Like heroes of the chess-board, push mankind To tread each other's toes, as if in sport, Which, grown to wrath, knocks out each other's brains ; And this is war— and war is royal sport — The very child of kings, and, like its sires, Blights, as a common curse, the joys of life. The Savage Chief, whose rude, uncultur'd mind, Untam'd by science, ranges in the chace, Or wanders fiercely in his tractless woods, W ,|.M fril !i{ 164 THE MOORLAND xMlNSTREL. J!v f I Sees earth's best beauties-views the. glowing heav'ns, Gazes on nature in her native cliarms, And bows instinctively in formai rites To please imaginary monster gods ; Yet cannot learn, in all creation's maze, One solitary lesson, nor discern One. single trace of all th' unerring laws Which bring existence to f he world and him— Nay, cannot le^i. n io cultiv.ite the soil Nor woo the eavi\ ; u ?;.eressary hod ; Still he has learned, •''OKgh ignorant, to kill— His tribes have lear^id to shout the war-hoop wild. And, pressed by hunger or their chieftain's call, Can drown the arrow or the coral spear Deep in the Jife-blood of their fellow-tribes I The man of commerce learns to kill for gold ; The patriot for freedom wages war ; The son of glory butchers for renown ; And Jew and Persian, Mussleman, Hindoo, With all the other civilis'd realms, Save Christian Britain— blessings on her love- Murder religiously to please their gods ! O Britain ! boast and terror of the world ! Mother of science I pure religion's nurse I THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 165 Bav ns, Id, Cradle of freedom ! where thy hardy sons Can lose no liberty, but, bound ere born, Still drag thy chains, and glory in their strength I My ?,ative land I I love thy healthy shores, Begirt and bulwark'd by the eternal deep, Proclaiming loudly to thy sons that they. Like their own mountain winds, were destin'd free- Yo3, Britain I thou art all a land of love— Love fervent, zealous, unabating, pure, Platonic in its nature; thou lov'st all Of conquest, property, and wealth, and gold, In ev'ry patch and corner of the world !— - The ocean foaming in destructive rage— The desert, with her thirsty, herbiess sands— The forest howling with voracious death The Himaleyan mountains, whose appalling height Seems hinting at a second war with heav'n And ev'n the endless unthaw'd hills of ice Which nature meant to guard the polar seas. Have all been conquer'd by thy love of gold ! The Spaniard first inspir'd thee with this love. When Hispaniola's treasures he disclos'd ; And thou hast not disgrac'd him as a dunce. Thou hast outdone thy teacher — not a spot, o 2 If.!/ 166 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. From Hispaniola to the Esquimaux, But has possess'd a portion of thy love- Cities in flame and seas of human blood, And living bonfires of her naked tribes, Record thy amours in the Western world I Thou art the queen of commerce I Ev'ry land Has something thou requir'st ; and thou hast one, One simple article that suits all climes I 'Tis Christianity^ Religion— Faith- True Faith, and evangelical : O what a rare commodity for sale I It costs thee nothing — it is duty free, And free of freight— 'tis like the wishing-cap Of young romance— it never, never fails; And thou hast barter'd it five thousand times, And fiU'd five thousand coffers with th' exchange. And yet 'tis nothing less— yea, it has cost The sable natives of the torrid zone Their homes, their lands, their liberties, and lives, In more gross millions than can ere be known : Van Dieman's savages are now no more. And the bronze islanders of Southern Sea's Are only vassals on their own rich soil I Yet Faith is just as trafficable now THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 167 As when 'twas first brought forward to the mart. Slaves, savages, and cannibals have been Its chief consumers — they alone, poor souls I Have paid it with their country and their blood I The empires of the earth— the peopled world The civilis'd realms — the human race — e Need not thy drugs— they make these things at home : The Turks wish weight for weight— words are but wind ; The Persian spurns thy selfish intercourse ; The Japanese divorc'd thee long ago ;* And the refin'd and intellectual sons Of the celestial empire have turn'd sick. And lately damn'd thy opium and thy faith. True, thou by stealth hast foisted thy pure creed On India, framer of religious rites Fountain of mystery— nursery of priests— • Christianity was introduced into the populous empire of Japan in 1549, and was so favourably received by the intelligent natives, that the government sent an embassy with rich presents to Gregory XII. In less than half a century, however, the profligacy, avarice, and dis- honesty of the priests rendered their extermination necessary to the peace and prosperity of the empire ; and in 159G many thousands of them were destroyed, on refusing to abandon the country, an offer very generously given them. Since that time, no Christian, except on extraordinary occasions, has been permitted to enter the empire. 168 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Great infant cradle of all human creeds I Yes, Britain, blush— hide " j alow'd head I Presumptuous pignoy ' wi»o couij'st prof/er nought For all the Mogul's tteibures and his lands Save Christianity, which cost thee nought, And seem'd to him a thing of yesterday Compar'd with Drama's mysteries of years. Thy offer was contemn'd— thou could'st not gain One single ir .h of India's ancient faith ; But thou coald'st gain leagues of her happy soil. And to 1 1/ hellish thirst of wealth could'st join Thy thirst oi' rapine, villainy, and war. And, with a fiendish, guileful treachery, Spread desolation, luisery, and death. Till blood and fire seem'd nature's final doom. Ev'n now, methinks, beneath the banian tree* I see Surajah'sf M'asted, wo-worn form. * The banian is the la^ge''^ tree in the world It is estet med sacred, and held as emblematical , the deity's infinity by the Hindoos, who very frequently perform their devotional ceremonies under its shade. f Surajah, one of the most poweiiul chiefs in India, after having gained several complete victories, and engaged in sev. ; ;.omiirable treaties of peace, was at length, by the duplicity nd flagr-nt treachery THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 169 Half-naked, hungry, destitute, forlorn. As with a languid, hopeless eye he turns To take a last farewell of the gay plains. And halls, and woods, and cities of his sires— A lengthen'd line of chiefs— himself the last— His proud heart bleeds I he weeps aloud— now kneels, And with uplifted hands and fervent soul, In madden'd fury supplicates his God— " Awake, O Brahma I* be thy light nings hurl'd In red destruction o'er the Christian's land I The sons of Jesus have usurp'd thy thrones, Have robb'd thy iltars— spurn 'd thy holy laws- Thrown down thy temples— trampled on thy priests- Defied thy judgments— plunder'd thy realms; And, in the ^urs'd impiety and rage, liave slain thy , uldren, and have mock'd thy power. wake, O Brahma I Fierce Virsavanaf k eir raurd'ring hosts Through cities and o'er plaiii., through hut and hall. of the British, obliged to abandon iiis dominions i ?e was lound des- titufe, and almost naked, on the road to Patna— was carried back to Muxadabad, where in a few hours afterwards he was u ' ately beheaded. * The Supreme Being. t The God of Riches. 1:* 170 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Till gold and jewels all were torn away, Till wo were hunted o'er a thousand fields, Till flara'd the ruins of our fathers' homes, Till butcher'd bodies lay in siting piles, Till Burra-Gonga* flow'd with Indian blood, And Groptf refus'd to calendar our woes. Awake, O Brahma I No more my father's banian shades ray brow, No more my father's halls resound my fame ; His dancing girU and singing nymphs are gone- My father's bow can never more be strung I No ray of thy eternal Spirit dawns Upon me now— a negro darkness hangs Above my tortur'd soul— I feel revenge, But, feebler than Chandala,:j: ne'er again Can quench my fire in slaughtering Christian's blood 1 Awake, O Brahma I O may the tiger, from his bamboo home, Come with his leapings of an hundred feet, • Burra.Gonga, or the Great River, is the original name of the Ginges. t The recording angel, or the accuser. t The general name given to those vyho have lost caste. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 171 May the red lion of Cashmir descend, And, with the jackals, bears, boars, panthers, wolves, And false hyenas, which, like Christians, smile To lure their victims to more certain death, Come howling to their camps, and limb from limb Tear all their hellish hosts, till cormorants And the fierce vultures suck their children's blood I Till all the lands of India are restor'd, And the rich diamonds of Golconda's mines Again belong to thy devoted sons. Awake, O Brahma ! Arise, Iswara I* drag thy legions forth, Bring Agneef wifh his thousand streams of fire, Till all their stores, and forts, and factories blaze In one wide flaming incense to the skies I Varoona IJ V yoo Istences. as it must be admitted that, in epite of all his whimsical and extravagant notions, Bishop Berkley , as both a very amiable and a very talenteu man. p2 ^itl^''^iii*i>M 178 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Suffus'd With homage to his fellow-man War, not that priests proclaim the Rljht of Kings, And man is taught '.hat priests are sent from God. But what is Monarchy? Alas, the time Is scarce emerging from the stingy womb Ofdark futurity, when man. unchain'd % blinded superstition's rigid law, Shall exercise his noblest faculty, And, in a voice^that must and will be heard Explode the mighty mystery of kings: Meantime, shrewd common sense, known to the world For downright sophistry and falsehood bland And curs'd by clergy as the imp of hell, insinuates with guileful sorcery That Monarchy, in ages far remote, Was manufacturd by designing priests To aid them in a mutual attack Upon the liberties of humankind; And, marv'Ious mystery I it is hinted, too, That Monarchy in turn created priests, And that in indolence and sluggish ease, For generations past, o'er all the world Creating and created, they have liy'd In wanton revelry on others' toil ; THE MOORLAND MINSTUEL. And, as a recompense, would have us think That all their energies and healthful hours In prayerful watchings zealously are spent, To guard our bodies and to save our souls— When, in reality, they only make Both flesh and spirit drag their pond'rous chains, And laugh the strange duplicity of man ;_ This may be false-for who that honours God And loves religion, would presume to trust The sceptic reasoning of Common-sense I Religion next our carefui thoughts demand. Because, forsooth, 'tis fraught with vast expense, And modestly pretends to cost us nought- Besides 'tis universal, and bestows On all its proselytes in ev'ry land. Of ev'ry version of its countless creeds, Peace, virtue, happiness on earth below, And never-ending glory in the skies- Strange mutinomial being, that appears In evVy form and opposite extreme. Which suit the varied fancies of our race ; And yet to ev'ry paltry sect appears Its own exclusive privilege and pride. Hindoo and Mussleman, Chinese and Jew, 179 180 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Birman and Persian, Christian and the tribes Who worship the Great Spirit-ali seem pleas'd That each has got religion to himself- All have their special faiths-the Christian, most Indulg'd and favour'd by the higher powers, Like Joseph with the mess, has more than all; ^^^ fifty creeds, all equally divine f But creeds, unless by practice a.ded, seem, To me at least, (I speak but for myself,) ' A tinkling cymbal or a sounding brass,' And stand for nothing in my cash account; Yet stamped sterling are they to be found In evVy corner of all Christian lands. Like paper guineas in the British isles, Not more than value for a comic song.' Yes, Faith is all-the wonder-working stone Of ancient alchymy, which turns to gold The veriest dross and filth of human deeds— Men cheat, and lie. and steal, and swear, and drink, Sell drink, and swindle till a fortune's rear'd Upon the ruins of their neighbours' peace, Then capture heaven by violence of faith- The man who in a stol'n coat keeps the church Is deem'd mudi better, more akin to grace, THE MOORLAND MINSTKEL. Than he who lost the coat and has n^ joice, But spend his Sabbaths by the family hearth': Yet faith is just a phantom, a mere sound, A spiritual monster, which devours With blood and bonfires its own progeny. The good wan needs it not-his gen'rous deeds Are ample passports to internal peace; And faiths invisible-no man has seen Or known aught of its essence, save the scenes Of rancour and destruction which it spreads Around its own mad votaries, whose deaths Are hail'd as trophies of its wondrous power I See the blood-thirsty Calvin canonis'd For canting treachery :*-then see, ah I see, The man of mind-the rev'rend Priestly, doom'd To save his carcase from his burning home, By seeking shelter in a far strange land ! And this is faith-th- imperial gauge which priests Set up to measure all morality. Alas ! that men should bow to such a judge. 181 • In order to justify these epithets. I refer the reader to Calvin's Letters, addressed to William Trie, on the martyrdom of Dr Servetus. Jfc* ' 182 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Wqs Fenelon the worse for what he bellev'd ? Would Howard's sympathies been aught the less Though rooted in a wandVlng Arab's breast ? Or did faith neutralise the curs'd effects Of fawning Cromwell's cruel acts of blood ? Ah I no^« worth makes the man," one gen'rous deed- One act ofcharlty, to soothe the pang Of surring nature, surely reckons more In virtue's estin^ate than all the faith, Ev'n mountain-moving faith, of all mankind. Then, why is faith the measure of the man, To save or damn him in the social state? I knew a man-and though for twenty years I've studied man with r..ious scanning eye, Of all the race I knm hut aimalone- I knew him in his ,mam,d, ere the world Had melted in example's crucible Those innate principles which habit's mould Was only able to subdue in part. Born in adversity, the ruthless blast Of haggard poverty, in forious gusts, Howl'd o'er his infant cradle, and benumb'd The warmer feelings of a gen'rous soul. When slumb'ring infancy had pass'd away, X 9 #. THEAfOOKLANDMINSi. L. 183 And childhood'a eye first woke and look'd abroad, Twas but to .ee the vast unfathom'd depth Ofdegradation circling his Lrth, To mn^k the barriers of distinction, rear'd, By social ignorance and selfish pride, Between him.dfand mankind, and to feel His own impoteney to burst the chain. Yea, ere his tongue had learn'd to speak his thoughts, He saw himselfan outcast, and eschew'd The sports and pastimes ofhis young compeers, And, like a thing ofsolitude, shrunk back From observation, and in some lone spot EnjoyVl his little playthings as in stealth. None had he injur'd. nor had conscience dar'd To dart her sting, envenom'd with remorse In his young heartland yet he ween'd he felt. In the suspicious glance and petty jibe Of jesting juvenile, that latent guilt Lurk-din the tatters ofa ragged robe. In boyhood, too, he shun'd companionship, And hid his poverty in the recluse And solitary wand'rings on the wild. No school-boy days were his, save those he spent In deep domestic misery's sad school; i MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1^ 1^ " liifl m 1^ It -- 22 2£ 1.8 ^ APPLIED IIVMGE 1653 EosI Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 USA (716) 482 -0300- Phone (716) 288- 5989 - Fax 184 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Nor learn'd he aught but hardships, toil, and grief. Save what he learn'd from her who gave him birth, And she, though sunk in withering wretchedness, Blanch'd and heart-broken with a secret grief, Was simple, and affectionate, and mild, Retaining still the virtues of her youth. And teaching prudence and good-will to all. She lov'd him for his strange, unsocial mood- She taught him to distinguish right and wrong- Gave maxims, morals, and examples such As stamp'd her image on his fragile soul, The faithful monitor of after-life ; In scholarship she taught him how to read. And this was all herself had e'er received. Companionless no more— at morn and eve, Noontide and midnight, books became his mates; He thought and read, and read and thought again. And reason'd and refuted, till the mind, Absorb'd in speculation, had forgot The sports and toils, the nourishment and sleep. Sought by the welfare of his feeble frame ; And till the principles of human acts Pass'd in review before him, in the form Of active errors, and the pond'rous mass < ( ] 1 E A T THE MOORLAND MINSTREI,. Of What are cali'd opinions seem'd a host Of vague conjectures or prepost'rous dreams Learn'd like a language, and by mellowing tile And honour'd ancestry made almost good • He saw men sever'd by the deeds that sprung As legal offspring of a few bad thoughts, Which interest first created for herself, ' And ignorance had still allow'd to live! He wish'd for power to dissipate the dream. And drive delusions wholly from the world,' But the morose, unsocial diffidence Of childhood hover'd o'er his best resolves, And sung invidious of his mean descent. Years came and went, and change succeeded change Boyhood and youth, and love and wedlock's joys Pass'd o'er him like a transient broken dream. And stored the mind with unconnected shreds Of pleasing melancholy—Manhood's prime Gave vigour to his feelings, and he tried To tell mankind their errors, or, at least. The fruitful sources of all human wo ; But prejudice repulsive shook him off, And scatter'd infamy around his path. Till his heart siclen'd, and the wilder dreams 185 186 THE MOGUL AND MINSTREL. Of dark misanthropy crept o'er his soul. Again he shun'd society, and o'er The dark, dull prospects of his species mourn'd. And if at timec a casual gleam of hope Sprung from the contemplation of the vast And mighty energies of mind, which soon As rous'd would burst th' imperial chain Of hallow'd superstition, and anon Proclaim emancipation to mankind,— The joy was momentary, and the blest Bright prospect, like heaven's lucid gleam, Sunk in the deeper darkness of the cloud That dim'd the daily actions of the race. His soul, though sensitive, was destitute Of those soft sympathies which lookers-on Can trace in the dissolving symptoms, tears— The hardships of his early days had ting'd With mute indifference to all human wo. The facial features, which in manhood seem'd To indicate the apathetic mind ; Yet was he not a stoic : his life's blood Sped warm and hurriedly through all his veins, Nor carried in its stream one callous drop- He only felt too much ; and those sharp pangs THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 187 Of gen'rous sympathy that softly squeeze The tear-drop from the eye of souls less firm, Wrung his internal mechanism, till all The nervous fabric sunk beneath the shock, And shew'd a frame bow'd down and paralysed. He lov'd all mankind-yea, he could have died To save from ignorance bis fellow-men : And yet they hated him ; and if at times Their evil deeds or wanton ridicule Would fling his best philosophy far back. Till, unrestrain'd, his soul was left to foam In wrecfcless rage, which threaten'd to destroy The vulgar objects of her heated wrath, These frantic gusts of passion were anon Shap'd iuto deadly weapons hy his foes. To wound his feelings and to crush his pride. He knew these bursts of demon rage were wrong- He felt their sad effects upon his frame- He saw they but demoralis'd the man, And rent the harmony of social life: But nature is omnipotent, and oft Will thunder through all artificial guards— And bis was wild as the untutor'd storm That sweeps the forest in destructive ire; 188 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. An.H fraud and falsehood, cruelty, deceit, Oppression, lewdness, folly of all grades. And the malignant insult of the proud, Awoke the tempest which in fury burst The brittle barrier rear'd by sager thoughts- Yet lack'd he not the scoffings of the crowd To lead him to repentance for his crimes. Ah I no, he felt apart from all the world, In the dark depths of midnight solitude, ' The gnawings of the worm-the poison'd sting- And while deep sleep, and pleasing hallow'd dreams Embrac'd all nature, in some dark recess He wept the agonies of his sad soul. But never, never wash'd away the stains Which momentary impulse had impressed. Yes, yes, he was a strange anomaly, A thing of equilibrium, just pois'd By passing circumstance,-now mad, now wild, Now mourning for the miseries of man, Now foaming wildly o'er their unjust deeds, And then, in the delirium of remorse, Weeping his own intolerance that scowl'd, Unmercifully harsh, on erring man : Loving and shunning the vast multitude. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. He wander'd throu-h the crowd-yet mingled not- Its pastimes, pleasures, festivals, and feasts, Pursuits and policy, and holy rites, Appear'd as flimsy follies in a group, Void of all sense or meaning, wholly void Of tendency to elevate mankind. Yea, ev'n in worship he was found alone, Strolling afar upon some mountain's brow. Or in the deep and distant loneliness Of the wild, sunless, and unpeopled glen. Tracing, in rude sublimity of rocks, Ravines, deep chasms, and cataract's hoarse roar, Or foaming eddy or the whirling pool. The grander glories of this little world ; Or when the thunder's hoarse, tremendous voice Rent the black cloud and snook the atmosphere, Till earth rock'd as recoiling from her doom, The living 6re that Jarted through the gloom, The torrent gushing from the bursted cloud. The gloom itself, and the fierce tumult, woke The warmest adorations of his sou! I He lov'd, he woo'd, ha bow'd before the storm. In deep and awful homage to the power That thus sublimely toss'd the elements I q2 189 ]90 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 'Twas Nature's power -he worshipVl Nature, she Was all he knew of God.-He lov'd her charms And woo'd her beauties too ; but most he lov'd Her living progeny, and could have shar'd His morsel with the meanest of his race. The flutt'ring insect and the crawling worm Were sacred in his sight, and never once, Designedly, from him endur'd a pang ; Yea, ev'n the mouse that feasted on his corn, Was kindly suffer'd to enjoy its meal, And then permitted to depart in peace.- Yet holy men, whose practice would disgrace The lawless savage, spuru'd him from the world As one infected with a moral death— An epidemic fiend_a guilty wretch— A dang'rous enemy to humankind. Because, forsooth, he trusted not to faith.— Yes, Faith, thou art a demon, and thy deeds Are proof sufficient of the fearless charge. Down from the honest Stephen ston'd to death. To where the pious Huss flam'd on the pile. Thence through the hosts of Scotia's martyr'd sons Through Cromwell's papist slaughtering age, and then To where Rathcorraac's murders slaked thy rage. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 191 In ev'ry land and under ev'ry name, But chiefly Christian and Mahometan, Tliou hast been drunk with blood of honest men- All parties have been heretic in turn, And thou hast serv'd as hangman to them ail— 'Twas thee— the very same unhallowed fiend Who lit the torch for Jerome's fun'ral pile, And blew the faggot where Servetus burn'd. Thy burning days are gone— thou'rt grieved for this- Thou hast grown old in crime— thy iron teeth No more can tear thy victim limb from limb ; But thou can'st gnash thy haggard toothless gums, And gnaw men's characters and moral worth With that same hellish spirit as of old— Thou art unchanged in nature, but less strong : I know thy power— I know thy venom too Yes, I have felt thy dire malignity : I care not-dread not-shrink not from thy sting. Though thou shouldst starve me from the human world, Nor would 1 change my feelings and my iate For those of thy best votary, though worlds. Yea worlds of gold were freely given to boot. Faith, war, and whiskey, have, perhaps, done more In maiming morals and destroying life, 192 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Than all the evils which mortality And laws of change make incident to man. And surely death, eVn in its common forms, Has fears and pains sufficient of itself, And needeth not man's artificial aids. I stood beside the bed, the death-bed drear. Of one whose early life was 'twined with mine'. He was a man, in manhood's active stage. But poverty and grief had made him old. Extended on his humble bed he lay Emaciated, pale, and ill at ease; He toss'd his arms and struggled hard for breath, And through the window, open'd to give air, Gaz'd with a mournful eye, as if to say, I* Farewell, gay world"»he fear'd the approach of night, For many long and weary nights he'd pass'd, And day but chang'd the scene of wearinessl I watch'd him painfully, methought I felt A sorrow equal almost to his own ; My soul flew to the past-to childhood's days, And, with a cruel faithfulness, rak'd up Th' endearing incidents of former times. He was my senior school-boy, and full oft Had borne me oa his back-taught me my tasfc-J ^^~..- .._„.. „ THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Claim'd crimes and floggings justly due to me, And fought my battles with mischievou? boys ; He made me balls, and boats, and tops, and kites, And all the playthings, which his better skill And more experience easily performed ; And oft, when sick, or hurt, or vex'd, sat down And wept, and sooth'd me with a flattering tale. Together still we ate and slept, and toil'd. And grew to manhood lovingly, and now The golden ties, which threatened to give way, Seem'd stronger than they e'er had been before ; I saw and trembled with the rending pang That heav'd his struggling heart,-I heard him speak Of his approaching end, his widow'd wife And helpless family thrown random-like Upon a careless world ; I felt the sting That such reflections gave a sadden'd soul ; I saw the blank that never could be fiU'd, And, turning from his sight, burst out and wept. His youngest son, a child of thr e years old, Play'd on the floor, unconscious of his loss, And drawing near the bed-side, meant to ask His usual question for his father's health— A question which for many days and weeks 108 194. THE MOOIILAND MINSTIIEL. Had been but formal courtesy in all- .He lisp'd out. " Father/' nor had The dying time for more man ga/d wildly on the child, Then drew him closer in a last embrace, And in the fervour ofa father's love, Shed tears upon his face, and cried, '.My son I % son !•• then in a dreadful agony Of grief drove hence the bov t» • ^«e boy. rh appall^no- mass Ofhomelesshupger, nakedness, and cold, And all the train of orphan misery, In one short moment rush'd upon his mind. H.S phrenzied eye look'd nothing but despair • H.S faint heart swell'd and heaVd^his soul recoil'd^ The hfe strings forcibly were torn in twain- He grasp'd my hand in death's convulsive grasp And shook his head, and with a shudder died • Such are the horrors of the poor man's death- More agonising ev'n than death itself,-. And artificial too; for why should man Forbode starvation to his orphan young, Left in a world where he himself has toil'd. Assisting to accumulate such wealth. As from its vast abundance scarce finds room, Wer't not that selfhas eaten justice up, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. And canker'.! to the root the social tree ? Men could (I speak collectively) prevent One-halfofall the fears and pangs of death. And almost two-halfs of the ills of life; And yet to aggravate these miseries Has grown a sort of science in the world. The malefactor, whom vindictive law Would teach the moral VK.ues in a rope. la doom'd to linger weary days and nights In lonely pond'rings in his dreary cell, Nor s,es the light nor knows how time goes on. Save from the warning voice of dungeon clock, ' Whose eVry stroke comes through the gloomy vault And strikes his ear-nay, strikes his fainting heart With all the horrors of a dreadful death ! Thus days and weeks roll on, and not a ray Of hope can reach his soul-the moments all That brings successive hours, are sadly spent In close communion with the dying pang. And is this Justice ? Then the horrid deed For which the culprit died was merciful : He killed his victim with a single blow, And Justice kills him with a thousand deaths. Deaths agony is just the instinctive pang 185 196 THE MOORLAND MlNSTIlEL. Of chill, cold horror which the being feels In parting with its old affinities ; And gen'rous nature of herself employs Far milder means to separate the bonds Than wonder-working man has yet devis'd. The tiger heralds not his fatal leap ; The earthquake closes and the scene is o'er ; The lightning strikes and leaves its victim dead ; And the great Ocean heaves, and foams, and yawns, And swallows ship and crew ere hope has died ! But man pursues man to the bed of death, Already wretched with chill penury, And there, before his sbatter'd mind, drags up The startling errors of his bygone days, Adds pang to pang, till in the lonesome grave His fated victim is se surely lodged ; Nor stops his vengeance here-it soars away. And in imagination feeds itself With chains and torments in another world ! O man, renounce the rigour of thy creed. Learn mercy from the power that fosters thee, Nor char-e AILGoodness with such hateful rage As even thy vindictiveness would spurn. See Nature o'er her common family THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Shed blessings equal to its varied spheres, Quite reckless of its colours, climes, or creeds- The Persian bowing humbly to the fire, Godaraa's millions with their nameless rites. The Christian with his Trinity, and he Who worships the Great Spirit of the wild, Are all supplied from Natures lib'ral hand. And share alike her pleasures and her plagues. The torrent sweeps its district, and has done- The conflagration rages, and then die Volcanoes bury towns, and are at rest- And the tornado desolates whole lands, And sings itself into a pleasing calm ;- All things relent, save that unyielding power Of man's disordered fancy, which nor death, Nor graves, nor planetary limits bind. Alas, that men should thus imbitter life, And give to death a thousand venom'd stings. With words to which the most gigantic minds. Nay, all the minds of all the men that live, Have been unable to attach a thought!— Alas, that men should tremble and turn pale Beneath the beadsman's bugbears, or at death Should purchase prayers to torture their own souls 197 198 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. I hate these purchased prayers ; they savour much Of what the world calls proxy, and I hate All proxies, for the errors they produce. Men rule, and rob, and fight, and woo, and wed, Get heirs and wealth, and often happiness. By proxy~and Hibernia's gen'rous sons Eat half their oats by proxy, and are starv'd! Then he who prays by proxy, it is plain. Must in the end ^e saved by proxy too. 3uch BOOK IV. THE ARGUMENT. The Change of Opinions-Address to Britain on the Value of her Moral Heroes-Present Moral Aspect and Future Prospect of Bri- tam-Religion-its Ameliorating Influence and certain Adaptation to Regenerate the World— the Conclusion. " That altar of oppression, fed with rites More savage than the priests of Moloch taught, Shall be consumed amid the fire of justice ; The rays of truth shall emanate around. And the whole world be lighted !" SOOTHEY. Opinions change— I yet could touch the time When inexperience, guided by the voice Of idle rumour, or unpolish'd faith, By age made popular, had made me deem The world a bloated and unshapely mass, With undisguised scoundrelism replete— Where every man, of every creed and clime. Devised and studied every sordid scheme, 200 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. Thought, talked, and reasoned-pl/d all subtile arts, And w,Iy stratagems, and borrowed smiles, And shallow sophistry, to circumvent, Cheat, pilfer, plunder, or by fraud or force, Of reputation, property, or life, All less experienced villains than himself. Yea, I remember, with a thoughtful smile. The flimsy bugbears of my early days : When such suspicion lingered on my soul, 1 shrunk like timid wild-gcat from my friend. And fled from my own shadow I-not because 'Twas like a ghost or devil-these I scorned- But fear, still more romantic, fill'd my breast- Fear of substantial human flesh and blood. In ambush lurking to destroy my life : Not for my gold (this thing I seldom had), But just for very barefaced murder's sake : In short, I deem'd that every mortal's aim Was to inflict on all the human race (Himself excepted), by whatever means, The greatest possible degree of wo. And, strange anomaly ! I then believed That these huge murders and unhallow'd acts Transpired beneath the eye of mercy's God, I. 1 IV 1 T arts, THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. gQl Who ruled the World to satisfy himself, Possessing, meaniime, boundless power and love. Demanding justice and humanity. Opinions change-but whence are they ? or what ? This is philosophy, and well I wot No connoisseur in this deep lore am I— Yet have I learned from observation's book. And that stiff-necked and stubborn pedagogue, Experience— that man, in every age, Crosses the threshold of life's theatre Unburthened with opinions, and receives The hackneyed notions of his paltry tribe— And all opinions, subtile and absurd, And vain and vicious, rational and just, At different periods, in all climes have swayed. Not so the people will; but some event, Uninfluenced by popular demand, Starts up, to break the dull monotony, And change the circumstance whence arise The faith and practice of the passive crowd. Men do not choose opinions as they choose The colour of their coats, else who'd believe, That, after drawling out a wretched life, He stood a thousand chances to be damned ? £2 202 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. All our ideas are abruptly reared By some externals, seen, or heard, or felt ; While yet the mind is unprepared to choose. Though choice were proflPered-which but seldom comes Man is the child of customs and of creeds; He who believes and he who disbelieves, Make not themselves, but stand on equal ground, The objects nor of censure nor applause. Who would dbspise the undesigning boast Of Marian Islander, who never heard Of other lands or people than his own. And simply deem'd his island was the world ? Or who would plunge in shades of endless wo The nimble African, because his limbs Danced not the worship of the Shakers' God ? We learn opinions as we learn a trade; And I would tread life's weary round again, And wander o'er her Jark, untrodden wilds, To meet the man whom system had not bow'd ; But who display'd in every thought and act The uncontaminated Nature's son. Opinions change, and seldom for the worse : I've shook the film of terror from mine eyes, And look'd with Nature's optics o'er the world. THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 203 And walk'd abroad, and mingled with mankind ; — They are not demons, — no, they shrink from blood ; Nor woo they evil for the evil's sake, But entertain a sense of right and wrong, And partly sympathise with all their race. 'Tis true that fawning priests, in league with kings, Have seared the nobleness of human kind. And rear'd distinctions in the name of God, Which have polluted and disgrac'd the world ; But still the millions, urg'd by nature's law, Employ their energies in search of peace ; And though misguided by fallacious creeds, Would darkly grope instinctively for good. And this great moving mass—this living crowd This toiling, sweating, bustling multitude, Of simple, honest industry and worth. Where each pursues his own peculiar good, And rather forwards than impedes the whole, Impell'd, mayhap, by avarice or fame. But not so selfish as to disavow All human sympathy, or feel inclined To scatter desolation o'er the world ; And this is modern mankind, spite of all That creed and system-makers have devised. 204 THE MOORLAND MINSTIIEL. But, ah, ho«r noble-ah, how dignified, Those glorious spirits that the world can boast. Who, rising in their might, attempt to shake The mystery ofmany years, and shew That man creates the misery of man ; And, in defiance of the scowling brow Of lawless trafficker in sacred things, Proclaim the equal dignity of mind r' And far and wide, where'er the human form Is check'd or chain'd by ignorance or law, Their sympathy i. rafted on the breeze, To break the bondage or to soothe the wo: No creed is theirs, save universal good. Nor country, save the family of man. These are the heroes-these the patriot chiefs- That war against the curse that sears the earth Like gleaming constellation brightening o'er A dark horizon ; or-forgive the thought- A kind of human deities that breathe A moral grandeur o'er their injured race ; These brighten life, and make me love the world. Yes, Britain, spite of all thy wicked deeds, My native land, I love thy healthy shores. And cannot fail to love, ev'n more than these, ( ( ( I 1 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 205 Thy giant minds, that fetterless have soar'd, Spurning the trammels of thy phantom creeds, And smiling on thy puny barriers rear'd To check their aspirations, boldly dar'd. By tangible experiment, to teach The universal, inexclusive God, Whose vast infinity of power and love Can but be known in Nature's wondrous laws, That act inflexibly alike for all. Yea, I could kneel, and weep, and worship, where The ashes of a Newton or a Locke, Pope, Paine, or Priestly, mingle with the dust, For these, in part, redeem'd the human mind. And shook the shadows that erewhile bedim'd The moral grandeur of our little world : These lit the taper which became a torch, Gleaming afar with intellectual rays, To fling the sun-beams of eternal truth O'er crowded city and sequester'd cot Of ev'ry clime and country trode by man, Till Mind shall learn its dignity and power. And smile upon the little grovelling things That once had held it in submissive thrall. See Bentham's morals threat'ning to destroy I 806 All civil THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. from errors, To where the culprit struggles in therope. And wishing, spite of all corruption's laws, To shew th^t mercy is the way to peace^ And Bentham died-and Bowring lives to tell (In the blest practice of his Master's worth) How great was Bentham-he himself the heir Of all his virtues and his talents too- Another link in that stupendous chain Which binds all Time's intelligence in one, And, still descending, clasps a wider range, Till earth's whole family shall be redeemed ! Hal sceptic, dost thou smile? think'st thou that man Is doom'd to endless ignorance and toil ? Wilt thou still urge his past misdeeds as proofs Ofhis incapability to learn? Then where is feudalism ? where now his ghosts ? His goblins, brownies, fairies, where are they ? Or wJiere the fires which Reformation's priests Heap'd round the carcases of wither'd dames ? These all are gone-nor died they of themselves -- No, superstition, interest, and guile, Defended, cherish'd, sooth'd them to the last, Till mind, with her celestial light dispell'd THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 207 shrine. lan The gloom where ignorance had rear'd I Has Combe but written for the passing hour ? Have Simpson's lectures died within the ball ? Or have the facts of Owen, and his wealth, Been flung like music on a tempest's breast ? No, these have echoes in ten thousand hearts, Which, like electric sparks, shall fleetly drive Down through the thinking current of the world, Till the last vestige of corruption's power Shall shake and crumble with the mighty sound. Yes, rear your heads, ye moral patriots I rear Your dauntless spirits—time is fleeting fast, -And 'neath the covert of his stealthy wings Bears to oblivion's unexplored domains The obloquy the world has flung at you : Men of all creeds are bowing to your worth, And worth is rising over ev'ry creed. The feeble Channing rears his awful voice And preaches morals, while a list'ning world Forgets ha faiths, and but admires the man. And is religion nothing but a dream A state machine — a thing of creeds and priests— A war of words— an insubstantial sound ? O what impiety I as soon could man 208 THE MOORLANB BflNSTREL. I Subsist upon the sunbeams' subtile rays, A§, with bis prestu^ feelings, think to live Without religion in his social *«ate; Yes, thou, Religion, art the balm of life— The essence of the soul-th' exclusive source Of real happiness— 'tis thou alone Canst heave the thrilling pang of sympathy, And mitigate earth's countless varied woes : Thou wast the friend of Plato, and the Man Of Na/ereth preached thee when he said to men, " Love ye each oOier as I have lov'd you" The poor Mahometan, whose thirst of wine Had made him Christian, drawing near his end Flings off his novel creed, and clings again To the romantic notions of his youth. Yet, wanting thee, despite of both his faiths, Dies in the horrors of recanting dread ; While the lone Indian, with but half a creed,* If sooth'd by thee, when in the hour of death, His weary soul can smile with pleasing joy On all the actions of his former life, And feel the dying taper gather btrength, • I mean the North American Indian. \ I E C T Is THE MOORLAND MINSTItBU And brighten till the last long breath is drawn In all the sunshine of eternal hope. Ev'n now, amid the horror I've portray 'd Of war and desolation, caus'd by faith. By selfish riuicour and the love of wealth, I see religion lift her glorious form From the deep slumbers of a long dark night, And aing her holy radiance o'er the world. Men of all ranks, all stations, and all creeds. Unite together in one noble aim To curb the guilt and misery of man. Asylums for the sick, the dumb, the blind, The houseless and insane, proclaim aloud That ev'n the wealthy feel religion's power. From man to roan, from clime to clime afar, Th* important question runs, nor runs in vain, " What can be done to lessen human \fb ?" The time draws on— I know 'twill surely come- When none shall bid his fellow know the Lord. Ev'n now, methinks I see, though far away, Religron's glory rising like a sun Of dazzling splendour,_small at first it seems. Then stretching, it expands till land by land Is buried in its brightness. The sad groan 209 210 THE MOOKLAND MINSTREL. Of human agony grows faint and faint; Pale poverty, with her lank features, dies ; Oppression withers like a blighted tree, And lewd corruption, fleeing from the light Like some aw'd fugitive, takes to the hills. But still the brilliant conqueror rolls on O'er town and country like a mighty flood Of glowing lustre. It ascends the hills, In writhy volumes, as the curling mist, Till the last peak of earth's last mountain seems A solitary speck, whereon, at length, Corruption's votary takes his final stand : Like shipwreck'd mariner on some black rock, He gazes hopeless on the bright abyss, Sees no escape, and feels the rising flood Enveloping his limbs-he looks aghast! The brightness gains upon him, and he frowns, And writhes, and twists, but cannot get away. Till nought, save the last finger, can be seen Shaking defiance at its mortal foe. It sinks anon, and all the world is light I Peace, love, and hope, and charity, now meet. Shake hands with righteousness, and sing aloud. In one harmonious universal song, * O hannv PArfh. ki^oIw.. ^c u_, .•> THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 211 CONCLUSION. Harp of the heather, I have woo'd thee long, And thou hast shar'd my happiness and wo ; Our task is done, we've measur'd our last song : No more again our rustic numbers flow, The sympathies that warm'd us cease to glow ; The youthful vigour of our strain has died, Thy riper notes rise sullenly and slow. And more to earth's dull drudgery allied ; But still I love thee more than wooer loves his bride I '. n \ff^fti ^*' But ah I my harp, youth's sunny season's fled, The poetry of life is gone, the cloud Of stern adversity frowns o'er my head ; My young light visions sink beneath its shroud : Opinions now have chang'd— I feel less proud Of what in former years I deem'd life's goal ; The smiles, the shouts, the plaudits of the crowd,— These are but flimsy honours, and, in whole, Have little power to fling calm sunshine o'er the soul. 212 THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. We've sung to please ourselves-perhaps « the World" Will scarcely please the world, as only few ^re pleas'd with their own portraits, but have hurl'd Their censures ou the honest limner, who Had been more prais'd had he portray'd less true. Men will be bad, and flatter'd for their crimes, Despite, my harp, of aught that we can do. It is the genial spirit of the times. Who doubts this'truth may read the » Tournament" in rhymes I The world may blame us, but we care not now ; Its frowns and favours both come to an end. The strain now sung we fear not to avow. And it, like other strains, may find a friend. I still could woo thee, but would scorn to lend One string of thine to utter one false quiver. Vice must be prais'd. I'm poor, but cannot bend : Pride and necessity thus bid us sever ; And now, my heather harp, farewell, farewell for ever I THE MOORLAND MINSTREL. 213 W^orld" arl'd lent" in 'eri APOLOGY. CouHTEous Readeb,-! take it for granted that you have read the foregoing Poem (if it is worthy of that name), and I wish I could also take it for granted that you were satisfied with its sentiments. Perhaps you may object, that I have attributed to Christianity crimes and actions totally opposed to the spirit and genius of that religion ; but I hope you are aware that the atrocities committed in India, and other distant countries, to which I have referred, were committed by persons, and under the patronage of a Government calling themselves Christian, and who would have felt far more aggrieved had they been refused the honour of that name; and should those persons, and that government, assume the title of Infidel, and be guilty of the same species of iniquity, Infidelity will just be substituted for Christianity, and denounced with equal candour and severity. It may be said that I have shewn a disposition to be unmercifully harsh upon the Clergy; and, in answer, I beg leave to state, without ^ostentation, that no man can wish more heartily than I. 214 THE MOOULAND MINSTREL. that the conduct of these men was more worthy of eulo- gium. In short, I have studied to give expression to no one sentiment, but what will bear the strictest investiga- tion of truth; at the same time, I am fully satis6ed that the following opinion of Cowper will, in too many in. stances, be literally verified :— " What's that which brings contempt upon a book And him whp writes it, though the style be neat, The method clear, and argument exact? Tell rae—and I will tell thee what is truth. " Barkip, near Beith, ) 1st Dec 1840. \ THE BAD. Mulr, Gowan., & to. Printer., 4, Dunlop Street. /