THE LIBRARY 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 THE 
 
 WHOLE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN WRIGHT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE RETROSPECT," &c. &c. 
 
 WITH 
 
 A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 AND A 
 
 SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 AYR: 
 PRINTED BY M'CORMICK & GEMMELL, 
 
 ADVERTISER OFFICE. 
 
 MDCCCXLIII,
 
 r i\/\ ^ 
 
 
 'i 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Dedication, 
 
 Preface, 
 
 sketch of the aathor's life, 
 
 PAGE 
 iii 
 
 T 
 
 xi 
 
 THE RETROSPECT 
 
 Canto I., 
 Canto II., 
 Notes to Canto I., 
 Notes to Canto II. 
 
 1 
 23 
 47 
 50 
 
 "^*.. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 To the Queen — before her Coronation, . . . - 
 
 On Temperance, .-.---- 
 
 Epigram on Edward Grubb, Esq., . . . - - 
 
 Friendship, - - - - - - 
 
 Stanzas on the Destruction of the Cities of the Plain, - • 
 
 The Wrecked Mariner, - • .... 
 
 An Autumnal Cloud, - . . . - - 
 
 Battle of Pentland Hills, - - - - - . - 
 
 On the Departure— to America — of the Rev. John Barclay, Catrine, 
 The Blue Devils, . . . . - 
 
 Witch of Endor, . . . . - 
 
 An Odd Character, ..... 
 
 To my first-born Child, . - - - - 
 
 Odd-Fellowship, . . . . • 
 
 Glasgow Odd-Fellows' visit to the Land of Boms, 
 
 A Noisy Subject, . . . - - 
 
 Battle of Lanaside, ..... 
 
 The Broken Heart, ..... 
 
 Barr Castle, ....-- 
 
 55 
 59 
 61 
 62 
 63 
 66 
 67 
 69 
 72 
 75 
 78 
 82 
 87 
 90 
 93 
 97 
 98 
 100 
 101 
 
 Irv^iia- Sftiifc -''Ev{vcAvsV\>
 
 IV. 
 
 Lines written in the house vfhere Professor Wilson was bora. - 104 
 
 To a Withered Rose, ....... 105 
 
 On a Hawihorn, ....... log 
 
 Lines composed on visiting a Scene in Peebleshire, where a Church- 
 
 Yard had been converted into a Pleasure. Ground, - - 107 
 
 Adam's Address to the Nightingale alter the Fall, ... 108 
 
 Epitaph on William Cowper, Esq. ..... 108 
 
 To the Street Reinarkers, ...... 109 
 
 The Clouds of the West, ...... m 
 
 Lines written after visiting Corra Linn by Moonlight, ... 112 
 
 Lines on Prayer, ....... ng 
 
 Extempore Lines, composed on reading Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope," 113 
 
 Sonnet, on seeing a Wedded Pair fondling their First-Born, - • 114 
 
 A Fragment, ........ lis 
 
 Sonnet, ......... 115 
 
 Lines written in a wild seclusion of Nature, .... 116 
 
 To a Pebble, lound on the Grave of Burns's Father, • - 117 
 
 Lines to a Candle, on which tlie Name of a Young Lady waswiitfeo, 117 
 
 Lines on seeing a Lock of the Hair of ■' Highland Mary," - - 118 
 
 Lines composed over Robert Fergusson's Grave, ... 119 
 
 Epitaph on Wm. Tennant, author of "Anster Fair," ... 120 
 
 To Kyle, 120 
 
 Emelie, ---...... 122 
 
 Eliza, ---...... 424 
 
 Stanzas on the departure of a young man for Calcutta, • - 125 
 
 ToCoila, ........ 128 
 
 The Wind, ........ 12» 
 
 The Bereaved Maiden, . . . • • • - 130 
 
 Mary o' Stanley Glen, ....... 131 
 
 To Mary, 133 
 
 The Joys of Love, ..... . . 134 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 Anacreontic Song, 
 
 The Home of Contentment, 
 
 The Maiden Fair, 
 
 The Parted, 
 
 I love thee, Sweet Maiden, 
 
 Can'st thou stay behind. Mary ? 
 
 wert thou on some foreign shore. 
 Here, in the Bankwood, Nancy, 
 
 1 married a wife, 
 
 Lovely Jean, ... 
 
 Jamie and Sally, 
 
 Now Simmer comes in pride again. 
 
 From the scenes of her childhood, 
 
 The old blighted thorn, 
 
 A bonny lass. 
 
 The merry goblet, 
 
 I marked thee pass, in maiden pride, 
 
 • • - - 
 
 13» 
 
 
 140 
 
 
 141 
 
 
 142 
 
 
 143 
 
 
 144 
 
 
 145 
 
 
 146 
 
 
 147 
 
 
 14» 
 
 
 15t> 
 
 
 151 
 
 
 152 
 
 
 153 
 
 
 154 
 
 • • • • 
 
 155 
 
 • • • 
 
 156
 
 TO 
 
 THE KIND PATRONS 
 
 OF 
 
 UNFORTUNATE GENIUS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The flattering notices bestowed on former Editions of 
 the Author's works — while they may exonerate him from 
 a charge of ostentation — may not be considered as yielding 
 him grounds for a third claim on the patronage of the 
 public: hence the necessity of a few preliminary explana- 
 tions respecting the inducements which have led him thus 
 again to intrude himself on its kindness. Praise — 
 though dear to almost every mind — has always been dis- 
 tinguished for its emptiness ; something more is required, 
 as Poets — like every one else — are constitutionally unfitted 
 to derive a subsistence from the chameleon's food. That 
 there has been more of reality than poetry in the events 
 of several past years, has been experienced by many — by 
 few has this lamentable fact been so intimately felt as by 
 the author of the present work. Misfortune — aggravated 
 by the errors which it but too often strews in the path 
 of its victims — had "ridden roughshod" over his fondest
 
 • • • 
 
 Vlll. 
 
 hopes and schemes, blighting all, and crushing beneath its 
 load a mind possessing qualities of no ordinary mould: 
 Despair had usurped the seat of hope, and had left only a 
 shadow of that vigour of intellect remaining, which has so 
 brilliantly exhibited itself in the annexed pages, when it 
 was suggested by a few individuals interested in the Poet's 
 welfare, that a re-publication of his Works, with what 
 additions he could make, would furnish the means of extri- 
 cation from his difficulties. The trial has been made, and 
 on the kindness of a generous and sympathising public 
 rests his hope of success. To his immediate friends he 
 certainly owes a debt of gratitude for the patronage 
 already vouchsafed ; and, should Fortune again condescend 
 
 to smile upon his lot, among her favours we feel 
 
 assured — few would afford him higher satisfaction than the 
 recollection of the kindnesses so cheerfully and so disin- 
 terestedly bestowed. '
 
 SKETCH 
 
 or 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 JOHN WEIGHT.
 
 SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S LIFE. 
 
 Before entering on a detail of the events that have 
 marked the path through life of the Author of the following 
 Poems, we may be allowed to observe, that the road towards 
 fame, over which the humble votary of the Nine must, in 
 doubt and anxiety, pass, is seldom diversified by that stir- 
 ring incident, which yields interest to the biographies of 
 those whose genius is of a less elevated, but more active 
 character. Calm, patient, and philosophical self-denial, 
 endured by humble talent, aiming to rear its superstructure 
 of future greatness, constitutes a section of existence devoid 
 of events interesting to the busy world. True genius feeds 
 upon itself. The spark of Nature's fire, fed by the mid- 
 night oil, glows faintly, but with a pure ray, for a while, 
 until fanned into a steady flame by the breath of popular 
 applause, or extinguished by the rude gusts of adversity. 
 The former lot of genius is the exception. Illustrious ex- 
 amples are, alas! too rife of the melancholy reverse, where 
 the spirit has sunk in helpless obscurity, to be revived only 
 by the unavailing blaze of posthumous fame. Some, again, 
 but chiefly of a lower standard of talent, have been drawn 
 immaturely from their natural quiet, by the importunities
 
 xu. 
 
 of friends, or the flattery of the indiscriminating — have 
 lived to lament the ruin of those hopes which alone made 
 exertion pleasant — have sunk under the burden of disap- 
 pointment which that ruin brought with it — and their names* 
 which might have adorned the roll of the "mind mighty,'' 
 now tinge the book of oblivion with a shade yet darker than 
 its own. 
 
 Feelings, deep-rooted and unfathomable — sensibilities 
 acute, generous, and noble — are the hereditary blessings, 
 (or it may be curses) which operate in chequering the path- 
 way of the Bard, The effect which the collision between 
 these hidden impulses of the soul, and the blasting realities 
 of the world, may have on minds highly tempered by poetry 
 is variable ; in many instances it is certain the contact has 
 proved fatal to the too sanguine hopes of those who had erst 
 revelled in the glowing regions of fancy, and judged of the 
 every day realities of life by the rules which an enthusiastic 
 and over generous and sympathetic heart had culled among 
 the paths of poesy. Refined and virtuous feeling is ill able 
 to cope with the cold selfishness which pervades the 
 busy transactions of this world's votaries. There is so little 
 of poetry in the general constitution of man — such a univer- 
 sal lack of that fellow feeling which the Bard expects every 
 being to possess in common with himself — such a mass of 
 immorality, uncharitableness, and chicanery, that the El 
 Dorado of his former visions sinks into naught ; and, glad 
 to escape from the disappointment which such a discovery 
 engenders, he turns misanthrope, or — what is worse — seeks 
 amid the pleasures of the wassail bowl a solace for the bright 
 hopes lost or faded, which had hitherto urged him on to ex- 
 ertion. Despair seldom lags far behind : it soon finds an 
 opportunity of spreading its dark wing over the wrecked
 
 • • • 
 
 XIII. 
 
 mitid, and degradation seldom fails to find a resting place 
 under its shadow. 
 
 The peculiarities and delicacies which belong to the 
 temperament of the sons of genins, render them especially 
 liable to inordinate impressions ; while, at the same time, 
 they lack that experience of the world necessary to guard 
 them against even common temptations. Uncontrolled 
 indulgence not unfrequently distinguishes and depreciates 
 the characters of those, who, with a world of their own 
 creating, join issue with the real details of this sublunary 
 sphere. Unfitted to sustain the warfare, a solace for de- 
 feat is often sought in the wine -cup — inebriation and its 
 polluting and debasing consequences follow — and the re- 
 sult is unmitigated, irretrievable ruin. Such has been 
 the fate of many a child of song. 
 
 The subject of the subjoined notice, like many others 
 of his class, entered on life with but a very imperfect 
 knowledge of its details. Sanguine of a success and a 
 fame greater far than has been tangibly accorded him, 
 disappointment has wrought its sad work on his conduct 
 and circumstances. He has greatly erred — not, however, 
 we hope, irredeemably ; and if a stern determination from 
 henceforth to eschew these temptations, the past effects of 
 which he has to lament, and a strong resolution to comport 
 himself in such a manner as will yield gratification to 
 himself, and satisfaction to others, can be held as a guar- 
 antee of fulfilment, the consummation is not at all 
 unlikely. Experience — with its sombre train of reflec- 
 tion — has directed its argumentum judicium ; and though 
 old habits — especially when expelled by violence — may 
 return, yet the presumption is strong that his resolutions 
 
 b
 
 XIV. 
 
 may acquire strength in their progress to prevent a 
 relapse. 
 
 It may be necessary to premise that the following 
 simple narrative has been drawn up from information fur- 
 nished by Wright and his relations, and by a few friends 
 who were intimate with him previous to, and at the most 
 interesting period of his career — viz., that in which his 
 " Retrospect," and other Poems were written. 
 
 John Wright was born on the 1st September, 1805, 
 at the farm house of Auchincloigh, parish of Sorn, Ayr- 
 shire.* His father — James Wright — is a native of 
 Galston parish, but at present, and for several years back, 
 has resided in Ayr, where he gains an honest livelihood 
 by driving coals. He is far advanced in years ; and is a 
 remarkably quiet inoifensive person, with a moderate 
 share of intelligence. Wright's mother — whose maiden 
 name was Grizzle Taylor, and who was a native of 
 Mauchline — was the very antipodes of her husband. 
 Lively, bustling, and cheerful, with more of acute pene- 
 tration than falls to the lot of many of her sex in the 
 same sphere of life, her language was characterised by an 
 
 •Auchencloigli is traditionally believed to have been also the birthplace 
 of Alexander Peden, of prophetic memory. Thehonse in which that famed 
 Covenanter first drew breath has been pnlled down, and a new stead- 
 ing erected on its site. On one aide of the kitchen chimney of the old 
 tenement, there was fonnd, when the honse was taktn down, an aperture 
 in the wall, the month of which had been filled by a square slab of stone. 
 This receptacle had escaped the eyes of tbose resident in Auchencloigh for 
 upwards of a century and a half, as was supposed. In the recess were fonnd 
 several warlike weapons — including two swords, which since have been 
 called" Peden's ewords," with what degree of truth let antiquaries say. 
 Both are in the possession of the writer of this notice.
 
 XV. 
 
 originality and force of expression, which reminded 
 the listener strongly of her wayward son ; whose diction, 
 especially when excited by the social bowl, is, even when 
 applied to trifles, of a peculiarly graphic and comprehen- 
 sive description. She died of fever about the beginning 
 of December, 1842. The family — of whom John is the 
 fourth — consisted of seven, five sons and two daughters. 
 Two of the former and one of the latter are dead ; 
 two brothers are at present with the 9 1st regiment at the 
 Cape of Good Hope ; and the surviving sister is married, 
 and is with her husband in Buenos Ayres. 
 
 While yet a mere child, Wright's parents removed 
 from Auchencloigh to the village of Galston, which liter- 
 ally became his native town, and where he spent the few 
 schoolboy days allotted to him — which in reality extended 
 only to a few months. His literary attainments on leaving 
 school embraced no more than a very imperfect knowledge 
 of English reading, while as to writing he knew nothing : 
 indeed, until he had_arrived at seventeen years of age, when 
 he contrived to scrawl a few pot-hooks by dint of studying 
 Butterworth's copy lines, he had no notion whatever of 
 caligraphy. A remarkably retentive memory was the only 
 striking quality of mind be exhibited at this early 
 stage of his life. As a proof of his ability, we may mention 
 an anecdote related to us by one who witnessed the incident, 
 which singularly demonstrates the power of memory he 
 possessed. He had for some time attended a Sabbath 
 School established in the village, and had gained the ap- 
 plause of his teacher for the fidelity with which his tasks 
 were committed. On one occasion it had been announced 
 that a school Bible would be given to the pupil in Wright's 
 class who should commit to memory, and repeat the great- 
 fa 2
 
 XVI. 
 
 est portion of the 119th Psalm. A fortnigat, we believe, 
 was the time allowed, but John had been busy during 
 the first week in assisting his father to supply the villagers 
 with coals, and the Sabbath day found him as diligent in 
 bird-nesting. By the middle of the second week — Poets 
 are ever dilatory — he had not even looked at his task ; 
 however, through the persuasions of his mother, and the 
 hope of the reward acting as an incentive, he commenced 
 to get the Psalm by heart. A few hours in the evenings, 
 were the only time he could devote to his mental labour : 
 still he applied himself perseveringly, and on the afternoon 
 of the Sabbath, John set out for school with a smile of sa- 
 tisfaction on his countenance. One or two of his rivals 
 preceded him in the trial of mental strength, but they 
 broke down ere they had made mere than a third of the 
 way. It came to John's turn : be got up, and commenced 
 with his eyes shut, and in bis peculiar drawling tone, fin- 
 ished his task by reciting the Psalm from first to last, and 
 that without even once requiring the aid of a prompter ! 
 The operation — or, as it was considered, the infliction of 
 such a lengthy yarn^ lasted for upwards of an hour and a 
 half. The unusual length of the task and the sententious 
 accuracy with which John thought proper to embellish its 
 delivery, had their effect on his audience — the greater part 
 — including all the other scholars, having stolen away : in 
 fact, the minister and his elders, (who were the teachers) 
 were all that braved it out, and these by their yawning, could 
 gladly, by appearance, have followed the example of the 
 others. John opened his eyes on victory, and the prize 
 Bible, which he bore home to his father's house in tri- 
 umph. This fact has given rise to a proverb, current 
 among the good folks of Galston ; if they happen to meet
 
 XVll. 
 
 with an individual addicted to prolixity in his discourse, 
 they give vent to their ennui by declaring that, " they 
 would rather by far listen to John Wright repeating the 
 119th Psalm." 
 
 The beauty of the scenery around the quiet and retired 
 village of Galston is peculiarly calculated to awaken the 
 sympathies of the poetic mind ; these scenes — which are 
 among the most beautiful of which Ayrshire can boast — 
 and to describe which th* pens of a Ramsay and a Tanna- 
 hill have been employed, could not but impress the heart of 
 the embryo poet, with a feeling of their surpassing loveli- 
 ness. When a mere boy, we find him foregoing the 
 attractions of play, and the company of his merry com- 
 panions, to wander in solitude, and gaze with certain inde- 
 finable sensations on " Loudon's bonny woods and braes," 
 clothed in the foliage of summer ; or the unsung, but not 
 less beautiful, banks of the " woody Burnawn," whose 
 fairy haunts had always a peculiar charm in the eyes of 
 the youth, and are well fitted for the nurture and devel- 
 opement of poetic genius. 
 
 From infancy until he had reached the twelfth year 
 of his age — saving the gift of memory before alluded 
 to — nothing remarkable exhibited itself in the charac- 
 ter of young Wright, if we except a strong pen- 
 chant for boyish sports, at all of which he was an adept. 
 His appearance was eccentric and ungainly, He even 
 describes himself at this period as " a wild, wayward, 
 reckless, and peculiarly odd boy in appearance and 
 everything else : overmatching all his compeers at 
 the various out-door employments, amusements, and 
 pranks." At ball-playing — a favourite sport among the 
 youth of Galston — he was an acknowledged proficient ; 
 
 b 3.
 
 XVI 11. 
 
 the hidden haunts of the feathered songster seldom 
 escaped his prying eye ; bee hunting was also a favourite 
 recreation ; and even at the present time, while enjoying 
 his summer rambles, the wild bees " bizz oot wi' angry 
 fyke," under the plundering hands of the Poet. Little 
 wonder then, that so fond of bee-hunting, one should get 
 under "his bonnet." Possessing a robust constitution,' and 
 a lively and active spirit, it was not surprising that he 
 courted these stirring enjoyments so congenial to the 
 taste of youth. Ambition for physical as well as mental 
 superiority — and that too of the most reckless and arbi- 
 trary description — influenced his general conduct ; and 
 many of his youthful associates recollect well that, if 
 worsted in a game — even by fair play — he invariably 
 knocked his opponent down, or had himself well buffeted 
 for his audacity. 
 
 From the time Wright had attained his sevenrh year up 
 to the period of his being put to a trade, he assisted his 
 father in driving coals for the villagers of Galston, conse- 
 quently he had few opportunities of indulging in his 
 favourite country rambles. The Sabbath day was gener- 
 ally set apart by him for these excursions ; but as this 
 desecration of the holy day did not coincide with the rules 
 of his father's domestic establishment — a proper regard to 
 the fourth commandment being strictly enjoined — his com- 
 munings with Nature amid those scenes where she shines 
 in her loveliest garb, were few and far between. Mo- 
 ments were, however, snatched when he could gaze with 
 rapture on the beauties of creation — moments sweeter 
 because of their having been stolen ; and, when weary 
 and hungry, the evening of the day sacred to rest found 
 him at his father's threshold — reproof, correction, and
 
 XIX. 
 
 advice awaiting him, he cheerfully endured his punish- 
 ment listened to his parent's admonitions, but secretly 
 vowed to deserve them more and more. Though a pure 
 love of wandering among those scenes he has celebrated 
 in his poetry, seemed alone to iufluence such conduct ; and 
 though no motive definitely poetic could be said to prompt 
 this passion ; yet, we cannot but rest the foundation of 
 that vivid natural imagery with which his works are 
 adorned, on the feelings immaturely engendered in his 
 breast during these hours of wayward rambling amid, — 
 
 " The beauteous scenes of nature ; where he found 
 In shades and solitude, that true delight, 
 Wealth cannot purchase, nor even sceptres yield." 
 
 As a further proof of his strong attachment to the scenery 
 
 of the hills and dales and bubbling brooks— the favoured 
 
 haunts of the Muse — we may mention that — when all 
 
 other means failed— his parents— in order to " keep their 
 
 wayward child" at home, were sometimes in the habit of 
 
 locking past his clothes, so as decency alone might compel 
 
 him to pay a due respect to the Sabbath day. An open 
 
 door was, however, with John an excellent equivalent for 
 
 this deprivation ; and many an extended ramble has he 
 
 indulged in while almost in a state of nudity. 
 
 In one of his predatory excursions into the woods in 
 
 search of wild fruit, he had the misfortune to get a fall 
 
 from a very high wild-cherry tree, by which his skull was 
 
 fractured. He was carried home, and for a time his life 
 
 was despaired of. He, however, soon recovered, and set 
 
 about his wonted pursuits. Shortly after the occurrence 
 
 of this accident, he happened to engage in a quarrel with 
 
 a playmate — John, as usual, being the aggressor. His 
 
 opponent was forced to beat a retreat, but rallied, and 
 
 lifting a great stone, hurled it at Wright's head, which it
 
 XX. 
 
 struck, and almost killed him. He lay for two days insen. 
 sible, and all hopes of his recovery had fled ; when, strange 
 to say, he started to his feet on the third day, and the 
 following Sabbath found him at his old occupation of 
 wandering. From this period a visible change took place 
 in his deportment : his roystering habits gave place to a 
 sort of nervous melancholy, which, with an impaired 
 equanimity of temper, have distinguished his character 
 ever since: this change of disposition he himself attributes 
 to the effects of the accidents narrated above. 
 
 At thirteen the Poet was apprenticed to the weav- 
 ing trade, to a Mr George Brown, in Galston, who, ac- 
 cording to Wright's account of him, was a man of an 
 excellent heart and sound understanding, and to whose 
 kindness he was greatly indebted during his pursuit of 
 knowledge. His memory yet lives in the minds of his 
 contemporaries, associated with all those virtues that 
 blend to form the upright man. Every information he 
 could afford was freely granted to the Poet, who im- 
 proved with wonderful rapidity under his tuition, and he 
 never mentions his benefactor's name without expressing 
 the warmest gratitude for his kindness and attention. It 
 was customary with Mr Brown to have weekly meetings 
 in his house, of such among his friends as were fond of 
 literary pursuits, and among whom were several very in- 
 telligent men. To these converzaiiones Wright had free 
 access, as also to his master's library, which was extensive 
 and well selected, and in a couple of years — as he himself 
 states — " he had got so much of general information that 
 he determined to set up thinking for himself." Consider- 
 ing that he was yet comparatively a youth, and that 
 extreme bashfulness had taken the place of his former
 
 XXI. 
 
 resolute disposition, this determination may appear to 
 have been premature : but it must also be kept in m'.nd 
 that his powers of memory were still most extensive, and 
 his judgment generally acute ; besides, by the conversation 
 of a few congenial spirits among his acquaintances, he 
 received much information and expansion of mind, inde- 
 ])endent of the sources mentioned above. Books of all 
 descriptions be devoured with avidity, but poetry had 
 always for him a peculiar charm. With this love of read- 
 ing came the " sin of rhyme" — they were begotten 
 simultaneously — they were twin born. 
 
 It has often been proven that first love has been the 
 primary incentive towards the developement of the latent 
 energies of the mind, producing that true poetry of the soul, 
 breathing all that is virtuous, pure, and sincere. Though 
 he had jingled puerile rhymes almost from infancy, these 
 had been unmixed with feeling ; his first love called 
 forth his heart in its earliest song. The object of the 
 Poet's youthful affection was a worthy girl of modest 
 deportment, with a happy though subdued wit, and an 
 easy sprightliness, combined with imitative talent of no 
 ordinary quality. Though not by any means attractive 
 in the eyes of the fairer part of creation — from his morose, 
 or rather misanthropical, habits, more than from his per- 
 sonal appearance — John yet became the accepted of the 
 lively girl, and with all the enthusiasm of inexperience, 
 they plighted their vows ere either had reached their 
 sixteenth year. Their love was truly reciprocal, and the 
 Poet sang his hopes ana joys unalloyed by those tantaliz- 
 ing fears which generally mark the course of the tender 
 passion. Many a soul breathing strain has his memory 
 contained — for he could not write at this period — the
 
 xxu. 
 
 greater part of which have faded with those feelings first 
 love awoke in his mind. As he attached himself to the 
 Nine, the " luve o' life's young day" gradually wore off, 
 and his inamorata, whether jealous of the power which the 
 daughters of Jupiter and Nnemosyne had usurped over 
 the heart of her betrothed, or from some other cause un- 
 known, we are not enabled to say : yet certain it is the 
 correspondence broke off abruptly, and at a period when 
 the whisperings of ambition, and the desire of putting 
 forth to the world his clainis as a poet, had be- 
 gun to engross his almost every thought. A suitor 
 less apathetic soon presented himself, and his " flame" 
 shortly afterwards married. The grave has now closed 
 over her — *' the perfection of whose liveliness and beauty" 
 — to use bis own words — " infused poesy and passion into 
 his heart, and scattered bloom and fertility over the 
 parched and barren desert of his existence." An effusion 
 (valuable only as being the first effort of the untaught 
 muse) inspired by those feelings which first love calls 
 into existence, will be found in this volume. 
 
 Plying the shuttle for fifteen hours per day cannot 
 be considered as an effectual spur to a poetic mind : 
 yet, notwithstanding this labour, Wright found oppor- 
 tunity to string his thoughts together in rhyme ; or, in 
 the company of a few amiable and intelligent associates, 
 whose kindred feelings recommended them, to wander 
 among their favourite haunts on the delightful banks of 
 the Irvine, or the fairy margin of the secluded Burnawn, 
 making a paradise of the present, while their thoughts of 
 the future were visions of unclouded pleasure. Poetry 
 was a passion with the more select of his companions, but 
 to him it wsis all in all of his existence — his day-dream and
 
 XXIU. 
 
 his night reverie. He had already commenced a Tragedy, 
 which he entitled " Mahomet ; or the Hegira", at which 
 he wrought with unceasing study until it had extended to 
 upwards of 1500 lines, all of which he retained on his 
 memory, which he was necessitated to do owing to his in- 
 ability to write it down. On repeating it to his friends 
 they passed sentence of condemnation upon it owing to 
 its almost total want of stage effect — a circumstance solely 
 to be attributed to the fact that the author had never, at 
 that time, seen a dramatic representation. He continued, 
 however, to add to it, feeling persuaded that injustice had 
 been done to it by its critics ; but through the acute per- 
 ception and gentle persuasion of a young girl — a mere 
 child — and her repeated assertions that it was " immeas- 
 urably dull", the author was at last forced reluctantly to 
 see this defect. 
 
 Whether proceeding from intense application, or the 
 hitherto dormant effects of the accidents already described; 
 or from the disappointment arising from the failure of his 
 first effort, we are unable to demonstrate, but a deep 
 melancholy took possession of, and settled down on his 
 mind at this period. Gloomy and troubled thoughts — a 
 general depression of spirit — confusion of ideas — a nervous 
 anxiety and proneness to irritation — accompanied by an 
 overpowering and indefinable fear, gradually usurped his 
 mind, and threatened to undo his purposes for ever. By 
 the advice of his friends, he was induced to suspend his 
 poetic labours, and seek in recreation the means of bracing 
 his shattered nerves, when he might again set himself to 
 his mental toils with renewed energy. This monomania 
 took possession of his mind at the commencement of a dull 
 winter ; but, by dint of constant and severe exercise in
 
 XXIV. 
 
 the fields, and a course of judicious medical treatment, 
 the following Spring found him in full possession of his 
 mental faculties.* It may be here stated that he man- 
 aged during this unhappy period to instruct himself in 
 writing by the means previously mentioned. So soon as his 
 mind had resumed a healthy tone, he addressed himself to 
 his literary labours with an application that even exceed- 
 ed in intensity that of the foregoing summer. His first ob- 
 ject was to re-model his Tragedy of " Mahomet," making 
 such alterations as would produce the required stage 
 effect ; but, after labouring assiduously for several months, 
 he was at last forced to abandon the subject as one ill 
 adapted for the purpose intended. The melancholy that 
 had before seized him, returned at intervals. For a few 
 years afterwards he but occasionally " perpetrated 
 poetry," but applied himself with divided diligence to his 
 loom — the study of nature — and the general improvement 
 of his mind. 
 
 The Retrospect was announced in the year 1824. At 
 the outset, the Poet formed a resolution that he should com- 
 pose not less than two stanzas daily, which, under all cir- 
 cumstances he continued to do until it was nearly finished. 
 The whole of the first Canto he retained on his memory 
 until an opportunity should occur when he might get it 
 committed to paper. The woi-kshop was his study, and 
 the loom his desk. His poetical exertions were greatly 
 marred by the persuasions of some individuals who were 
 nevertheless excellent friends — but who decried every 
 thing in the shape of poetry, from a mistaken notion of 
 
 *While thus in search of health, the Poet sjyahe, in the winter monthti, 
 indulged in the novel paatime of bathing in a favourite pool in Bnmawn, 
 »Dd thinki it aid«d his recovery.
 
 XXV. 
 
 its inutility. Their representations, however, only served 
 to damp his ardour for a time, and he continued to add to 
 the poem until it had been nearly finished, his natural 
 intelligence always pointing to such exertion as the way 
 to popularity — now his exclusive ambition. A period of 
 four years was suffered to elapse, during which the Poet 
 seems to have given his Muse a jubilee. At the end of 
 that time, a few friends, whose enlarged understandings, 
 extensive information, and critical acumen, rendered them 
 pretty good judges of poetical merit, had the manuscript of 
 the " Retrospect" submitted to their correction. They 
 read, reviewed, censured, and praised as they saw fit — 
 suggested a few improvements, of which the author took 
 advantage — and filially recommended him to publish ; 
 but, in the first place, they thought it advisable that he 
 should carry the work to Edinburgh, and make an effort 
 to obtain an opinion as to its merits from some of the 
 literati there. 
 
 Wright instantly set about the preparations for carry- 
 ing this suggestion of his friends into effect ; and, having 
 procured some writing materials, he went home to his 
 father's house, where he carefully transcribed the "Retro- 
 spect," and a few smaller pieces, which occupied him about 
 a fortnight. He then left Galston with his manuscript in 
 his breast, and with only one halfpenny in his pocket. 
 He had been disappointed of some money owing him, but 
 having fixed on a time to begin his adventure, he was not 
 to be diverted from his purpose ; he had put his hand to 
 the plough, and scorned to turn back. 
 
 On his arrival at Glasgow he was introduced to Mr 
 John Struthers, the author of " The Poor Man's Sab- 
 bath," and the late Dugald Moore, Esq., author of " The 
 
 c 
 
 #
 
 XXVI. 
 
 African," &c., both of whom received him in a kindly 
 manner, and treated hira with all the warmth of poetic 
 friendship. They perused his manuscript, and approved 
 of his intention to seek a patron in Edinburgh. They 
 also gave him some money, and he set out for Auld 
 Reekie with a light heart, and the most sanguine hopes of 
 future fame. He had taken his passage in one of the 
 canal boats; and among the passengers was a character 
 
 belonging to L , a messenger-at-arms — who, seein? 
 
 something peculiar in Wright's appearance, hobbled (for 
 he had a wooden leg) up to the Poet, and entered into 
 conversation with him. John explained his business, and 
 the views be entertained of ultimate success, should he 
 only be fortunate enough to obtain an audience of some 
 of the leviathans in the literary woild, who were domi- 
 ciled in Modern Athens. His new acquaintance was 
 graciously pleased to promise the Poet that he would use 
 the utmost exertion to procure him an audience of his 
 friend Walter Scott, his bosom crony Professor Wilson, 
 and his talented cZm^ <:o?«;9arezo« Henry Glassford Bell; 
 and, from the intimacy existing between him and those 
 exalted personages, there was no doubt whatever but 
 Wright's views as to an audience, and more, would be 
 fully borne out. The worthy also condescended to call 
 in bottle after bottle of porter, which he graciously allow- 
 ed Wright to pay, until the Poet's finances had dwindled 
 down to sixpence ; and, to sum up the aggregate of his 
 many kindnesses and condescensions, he bolted the moment 
 the boat arrived, leaving John to find access to his dear 
 friends in whatever manner he chose. The man of sum- 
 monses, poindings, hornings, &c. &c., having thus given the 
 Poet his first lesson in the ways of the world, by abruptlj
 
 1.XVU. 
 
 leaving him with no other companion than that which too 
 often constitutes " the badge of all his tribe," — viz., an 
 empty purse. John's natural timidity and heartless situation 
 had nigh overcome him, and many a time and oft he glanced 
 towards the canal with the thought that in its muddy waters 
 might be found a relief from the pains of this " his first 
 real grief," — as he himself expresses it. However, after 
 battling with his mental afflictions, the love of life and 
 fame gained the victory over his suicidal notions, and he 
 determined on the instant to call on that patron of merit 
 and miracle of genius, Sir Walter Scott ; and thus re- 
 solved, he enquired his way, and found himself at the 
 domicile of the mighty Wizard. Much to the chagrin of 
 our Poet, Sir Walter had left town the preceding day for 
 Abbotsford. Wright then set out with the intention of 
 visiting Sir Walter at his favourite villa, and had reached 
 the extreme boundary of the city of Edinburgh, when 
 fatigue, want of sleep, and the cheerless prospect of a 
 pennyless journey of sixty miles, overpowered his resolu- 
 tion, and his heart gave way under the burden of his afflic- 
 tion. He hesitated — stood still — then threw himself 
 down on the ground — drew his manuscript forth from his 
 bosom — and cast it from him in despair, like Hagar when 
 she abandoned her child in the wilderness ! After indulg- 
 ing in a burst of disappointed feeling, he determined to 
 return home, and resign his ambitious views for ever. 
 While in this mood he bethought him of a friend who 
 lived at Leith, and thither he went at early dawn, and was 
 well received, and remained until he had fully recruited 
 his bodily fatigues, when the desire of popularity returned 
 with tenfold force. Another kind townsman, to whom 
 Wright was known, also enacted the part of the good 
 
 c 2
 
 XXVIU. 
 
 Samaritan towards him; and, among other kindnesses, 
 introduced him to the notice of several students belonging 
 to the Edinburgh University — among the rest a Mr David 
 Hastings, a native of Dumfriesshire — who particularly at 
 this, besides subsequent periods, interested himself in 
 Wright's behalf, and perseveringly carried him through 
 many formidable difficulties, especially in the matter of 
 preparing his work for the press. It was through this 
 gentleman's instrumentality that he was ultimately intro- 
 duced to the favour of Professor Wilson, Dr M'Crie, H. 
 G. Bell, Esq., of the Literary Journal, and other distin- 
 guished men of letters, to whose good opinion our Poet 
 was mainly indebted for the success that followed ihe issue 
 of his first edition. Mr Hastings — who was well known 
 as an excellent general scholar, and who possessed genuine 
 poetical talent — died a few years ago of sniall-pox in 
 Watson's Hospital, Edinburgh, where he held an official 
 situation. He was respected for his abilities, beloved on 
 account of his warm hearted kindly manner, and left many 
 friends to mourn over his loss, and none more sincerely 
 than he who forms the subject of this sketch. 
 
 Through the intercession of Mr Hastings and his 
 friends. Professor Wilson condescended to peruse, and 
 give his opinion regarding Wright's poem. For this 
 purpose the MS. was delivered to him, and after a few 
 days Wright was sent for, in order to have an interview 
 with " Christopher," who spoke flatteringly of the merits 
 of the production, and gave the author, at his departure, 
 the following testimonial : — 
 
 " Professor Wilson has read with much pleasure Mr 
 Wright's M.S. volume of Poems. They display great feel- 
 ing and fancy, and are assuredly most creditable to the head 
 and heart of the Author. Should Mr Wright think of
 
 XXIX. 
 
 publishing by subscription, Professor Wilson begs that his 
 name may be put down for eight copies ; and, in the mean- 
 time, wishes him to be assured of his esteem." 
 
 At his request another visit was paid to the illustrious 
 author of "the Isle of Palms," who gave our Poet a most 
 cordial reception. He entered freely into conversation 
 regarding Poetry and Poets, — Cowper, Byron, Words- 
 worth, Campbell, and Burns — spoke of the general litera- 
 ture of the day, but never once alluded to his own produc- 
 tions. The Professor proffered his patronage in various 
 ways, and strongly urged Wright to set about the publica- 
 tion of his works by subscription, and he would do all in 
 his power to further the sale of the impression — a promise, 
 it is needless to say, he fulfilled to the letter. Before tak- 
 ing leave, Wright was furnished with several recommenda- 
 tory letters to gentlemen in the West Country, expressing 
 in high terms the Professor's sense of the talent which 
 dictated the " Retrospect," and those documents tended 
 greatly to promote the sale of the work. H. G. Bell, 
 Esq., also, with a kindness characteristic of that gentle- 
 man's nature, did much to forward Wright's interest. He 
 corrected several errors in the M.S.; paid its author the 
 subjoined compliment in the Literaiy Journal^ and behav- 
 ed towards him in a manner which has earned his lasting 
 gratitude : — 
 
 " Gentle feeling and acute sensibility to all the charms 
 of nature, are the characteristics of Mr Wright's Poetry." 
 
 After a stay of about three months in Edinburgh, during 
 which period Wright had seen a good deal of life ia cir- 
 cles to which he had not before or since that time a 
 means of access — had benefited much by the advice and 
 direction of his patrons there — and had procured nearly
 
 XXX. 
 
 one thousand subscribers for his work — he set out for the 
 West Country full of hope, and sanguine of a success far 
 beyond probability. Estimates were taken in, and the 
 first edition of his Poems was published by Messrs. Curl 
 and Bell, Glasgow. The impression sold rapidly, a cir- 
 cumstance mainly attributable to the flattering notices 
 bestowed on the work by the Periodical and Newspaper 
 Press, Metropolitan and Provincial. It may not be out of 
 place here to give a few of these : — 
 
 " Volumes of better poetry have lately been written by 
 persons more illiterate than any of Southey's uneducated 
 Poets. In particular we allude to John Wright, who though 
 illiterate in the largest sense, and confined to the most 
 severe labour in a cotton factory,* somewhere in Ayrshire, 
 has embodied in his works a system of rural images, and 
 a train of moral reflections, that would have done honour to 
 more distinguished names." — London Quarterly Review, 
 
 " We read on with delight ; we are astonished at the 
 originality and power of the Author ; we pause over the 
 achievements of his unassisted mind, and wonder, with all 
 the difficulties be has struggled mth, that he has produced 
 so much." — London Montldy Review. 
 
 The following extract is from a critique on Wright's 
 poems, which appeared in Blackwood's Magazine ; — 
 
 " Many of the poems of John Wright, an industrious 
 weaver somewhere in Ayrshire, are beautiful, and have 
 received the praise of Sir Walter Scott himself ; who, though 
 kind to all aspirants, praised none to whom nature had not 
 imparted some portion of creative genius. One of John's 
 pieces we have committed to memory, or rather, without try- 
 ing to do so, got by heart ; and as it seems to us very mild 
 and touching, here it is." (The Poem alluded to, entitled 
 " The Wrecked Mariner," will be seen in this volume.. 
 • This is a mistake — Wright never was employed in a cotton factory.
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Poet, after the sale of his first edition, remained for 
 some months in his native village ; but, instead of being 
 lionized, as his anticipations had led him to expect, he 
 found in place a verification of the proverb that a prophet 
 has no honour in bis own country ; and, being tired of an 
 inactive life, he resolved to seek a change of scene as a 
 cure for that bilious feeling which prompted him to write 
 the " Street Remarkers." With this view he set out for 
 Cambuslang, near Glasgow, a place where he was not 
 known, and having gone thither he commenced to work 
 at his trade of weaving. Very shortly after settling 
 there, he married Margaret Chalmers, a young woman of 
 excellent character, who had received a more than 
 ordinarily liberal education under the care of her grand- 
 father, the teacher of the parish school. Having naturally 
 a turn for literary pursuits, she and John lived very happi- 
 ly together, their tempers and dispositions according well. 
 After the birth of their first child, which was still born, 
 Mrs Wright experienced an attack of bad health. The 
 double advantage of making a little money, and of reno- 
 vating Mrs Wright's health by travel, induced our poet to 
 think of publishing a second time, and he therefore enter- 
 ed into a contract with Messrs Bell and Bain in Glasgow 
 for a thousand copies. The Poet, accompanied by his 
 wife, then set out for Greenock, whore ho had good suc- 
 cess, having sold as many copies there, and in Port- 
 Glasgow, as defrayed the expenses of printing the edition. 
 He also found a number of subscribers in Dumbarton and 
 Stirling shires; and many copies were sold in Glas- 
 gow and its neighbourhood. Every encouragement that 
 could be given the Poet in his exertions was freely vouch- 
 safed by many kind individuals, among whom were the
 
 XXXll. 
 
 Rev. Mr. Anderson of Dumbarton — a gifted votary of the 
 Muses — Capt. Mackieson, now of the Dundee Pohce — 
 Mr Tennant, author of " Anster Fair," — and several others 
 whose genius has not slumbered, although their efforts have 
 not been made public. Wright speaks of the goodness of 
 Tennant with gratitude. While at Dollar, many long 
 and earnest conversations took place between them on the 
 merits of the most popular poets. Tennant's opinions 
 were tinctured with a charitable feeling which shielded 
 the blemishes attributable to character or style. Byron's 
 faults were glozed over by the many beauties of his poe- 
 try — Burns's errors were sheltered under the splendour 
 and versatility of his talents — to all the sons of the Muse 
 he was a friend, and advocated even their failings with a 
 zeal and earnestness that would almost make them '' lean 
 to virtue's side." He was of an unpretending character, 
 and without even a shadow of that egotism, which is 
 chargeable on many, who, with slighter claims to genius, 
 have more assurance. When he died, Wright — with a 
 lively sense of his worth — composed the epitaph which 
 will be found in the body of this volume. On leaving 
 Dollar our author made a tour through the "kingdom of 
 Fife," thence by the east coast into Dumfries shire and 
 by Galloway to Ayrshire. He Mas greatly indebted to 
 the kindness of John M'Diarmid, Esq., Editor of the 
 Dumfries Courier, for the patronage he received in that 
 quarter, and, as a mark of gratitude, dedicated his miscel- 
 laneous pieces to that gentleman. The wandering sort 
 of life which he had led for a season, while it advanced 
 his interest in one respect, resulted in what may be justly 
 termed the destruction of his health — mental and physi- 
 cal. His name had been wafted abroad on the pinions
 
 xxxni. 
 
 of adulation, and in almost every town or village he visit- 
 ed during his peregrinations, he found some individual to 
 take him by the hand and afford him that attention which 
 genius always commands when inclination leads it to seek. 
 praise. The innate bashfulness of John's nature was 
 often forced aside by the influence of the intoxicating 
 bowl, and succeeding indulgences soon conspired to beget 
 a habit that has clung to him with a pertinacity which — 
 it is to be feared — will never be effectually removed. 
 Had prosperity always lingered around his footsteps, it 
 might have been otherwise ; but, alas, we regret to say 
 that his has become a wreck among the many noble 
 minds that have been stranded on the rocks of intem- 
 perance. We would fain have denied ourselves the task 
 of recording this blight among the flowers which his fancy 
 has called into existence ; truth, however, directs the 
 pen, while friendship mourns over the page. 
 
 After resting three months from the toils of his journey, 
 which had brought on a disease in his ankle joints, and 
 had kept him rather unwillingly at home in Ayr, he set off 
 for Cambuslang, and recommenced his old trade of weav- 
 ing. Some exertion was by this time necessary, as the 
 profits of his second edition had been spent. Mrs Wright's 
 health had been completely re-established, and both set 
 to their domestic duties with a will that promised future 
 prosperity. But the depression which had long been 
 felt in the weaving trade had — shortly after the Poet 
 settled at his loom — arrived at a climax ; and, as its effects 
 came to press heavily on his endeavours, he lost 
 heart, and allowed his pent-up inclinations to take sway 
 over his reason. His literary friends plied him with his 
 favourite beverage — domestic squabbles usurped the place
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 of peace ; and John's habits becoming daily confirmed in 
 intemperance and its evils, a separation ensued. Mrs 
 Wright and her two boys continue still to reside at Cam- 
 buslang, and the Poet's conduct, until lately, has been 
 such as to hold out few hopes of a reunion. His view in 
 publishing the present volume is to provide the means for 
 effecting this purpose — an end to which his wishes have 
 been directed for some time past. 
 
 From the period of his separation from his wife and 
 family, up to the present moment, to describe bis 
 life would be a hopeless task, and the picture would not 
 tend to advance the cause of morality, or shew human na- 
 ture in any thing but its most lamentable aspect. Home- 
 less, comfortless, but not aimless, on his success in the 
 present undertaking depends, in a great measure, the 
 happiness he has anticipated to experience in future. To 
 the friends of Genius in Misfortune he has made a first 
 appeal; but, should he fail, and what remains of a 
 spirit within him be crushed amid its last and most 
 lively hopes, those who now befriend him will at least 
 have the happy reflection of having exerted themselves to 
 the utmost to save the wreck of a noble mind from being 
 engulphed in poverty and despair. 
 
 In conclusion, it may be expected that we should say 
 something of the character of Wright's works, and the 
 claims which may be advanced in his behalf on the score 
 of genius. These have already been shewn to be of a very 
 superior character ; and we would point to the testimo- 
 nies of a Scott, a Wilson, and a Bell in proof of this fact, 
 rather than give a preference to our own opinion, which. — 
 favourable as it might be — would not serve in the smallest 
 degree to illustrate the truth of theirs.
 
 THE RETROSPECT 
 
 OE 
 
 YOUTHFUL SCENES. 
 
 IN TWO CANTOS.
 
 THE RETROSPECT. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 I. 
 
 Life, Pre by Reason swayed, its joys I sing, — 
 A theme still searched and sung, and still inviting ; 
 Now that the Muse again is on the wing. 
 After a long blank pause, all undelighting— 
 A sterile wreck. Fame, Hope, Ambition, blighting; 
 By passion brought, that brought despondence dire, 
 The darkened heart with fancied ills affrighting; — 
 Poetic vision quelled, and quenched its fire,— 
 So now with trembling hand I touch life's early lyre. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh ! for the winning sorcery of those 
 When in their bright career they first did start, 
 At once to Fame's proud pinnacle who rose. 
 And deified themselves in every heart ! 
 To brook no more oblivion's bitter smart, 
 Have I not warred with joy, or baffled pain ? 
 And still all efforts fail the gloom to part. 
 And show a path that so I may attain 
 Hope's promised eminence, again and still again. 
 
 A
 
 THE RETROSPECT, canto i. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet, but its due bewitching Glory give. 
 As soon as found 'tis stale, the dear-bought boon : 
 The Flower we plant and rear, and o'er it live — 
 And jet 'tis left to wither when full blown — 
 Pressed immature, matured, its perfume gone ; 
 Allow we relish what it may bestow, 
 'Tis all a hazard, and can ne'er atone 
 For those bereavements — all we must forego, 
 Ere scaled the rising height, we long to reach below. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus will I tune my unambitious song 
 To Childhood, cherished in the rural shade; 
 Nor form again a wish, nor ever long 
 The dizzying height to reach, nor fawn for aid. 
 The flowers that I will gather soon may fade; 
 The gems that glitter in their native dell 
 May lose their lustre, to the world displayed ; 
 Yet will not I 'gainst frowning fate rebel ; 
 Sharp, festering, sad regrets shall ne'er be mine to quell. 
 
 From every stage of life we love to look 
 Through the dim backward distance, to the day 
 Ere time had planted, and the heart did brook. 
 The ills that bear o'er life their bitter sway ; 
 When through the blissful scenes we used to stray 
 Of Fairyland unfabled, and full slow 
 Approach where Hope first led our steps away 
 To richer realms, where brighter pleasures flow; — 
 Bewitched the tale to trust, how wrong were we to go !
 
 PANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 3 
 
 VI. 
 
 Much from remembrance falls, and fades away. 
 Like leaves blown from the bough when winds beat keen ; 
 But youth's endearments, gemmed in heavenly ray. 
 Still bloom and brighten there, as evergreen 
 That lovelier still appears, more verdant seen, 
 In nature's wreck, in winter's sunless gloom : 
 We may not, eannot be as we have been, 
 Yet still in thought sweet Boyhood we resume, 
 Press the light foot-prints o'er, and mitigate our doom. 
 
 VII. 
 
 In youth's bright summer, when I skimmed along 
 On rapture's rolling tide, 'twas sweet to try. 
 In buoyancy of soul, to weave sweet song. 
 While searching nature with unsullied eye : — 
 The aggregated charms of earth and sky, — 
 The bUght of winter, and the bloom of spring, — 
 The green and golden mantle and soft sigh 
 Of gentle autumn, — all alike did bring 
 Fresh beauty to the mind on Adoration's wing. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then sweet to wander through the leafless grove. 
 While yet Spring's infant anthems rang, to wake 
 Earth into life — with winter now she strove. 
 Now would the hue of summer beauty take. 
 Now autumn-drapery, and then all forsake, 
 To shine herself alone ; nor loved the less ; 
 And as we gazed, above the late fallen flake, 
 Seemed gei'm of spring, that sunbeam loved to kiss — 
 Chasing the clouds away, to hasten vernal bliss.
 
 THE IILTROSPZCT, canto I, 
 
 IX. 
 
 And sweet to roam o'er yet snow-cbequered scene 
 Along the hilly rise, and there behold 
 Earth — one vast gem of sparkling white and green ; 
 And down the steeps streams dashing bright and bold, 
 Noisy, innumerous — half from winter hold 
 Their short duration, yet impetuous, proud. 
 As through all lands, all ages they had rolled : — 
 Ephemeral offspring of the fleeting cloud. 
 Foam on ! the upstart streams of life yet i-age more loud, 
 
 X. 
 
 And sweet to wander forth at glimmering dawn 
 Ere, echoing, heard brown labour's pond'rous tread, — 
 Or flock or herd, uncouched. spread o'er the lawn : 
 Where'er ye turn, by love the soul is led ; 
 The tuneful lark has left her dewy bed — 
 Seems hung from heaven ; enchanting music floats 
 Along the vale from bushes high o'erhead ; 
 Whilst the grey mock-bird 1 trills its varying notes 
 As 'twere a dulcet choir from thousand different throats. 
 
 XT, 
 
 The yellow-hammer mounts the birch tree hoar. 
 With melancholy dead-deploring wail ; 
 And now, shrill harping, wren and red-breast pour 
 Their mingling melody adown the vale ; 
 And thrush, with song voluptuous, loads the gale ; 
 Impatient all of leaflets' long delay, 
 Slow shooting verdure, and — that still assail — 
 Slight frosts, and blighting \\inds, that build may they 
 In open field secure, tree, hedge, or hedge-side gray.
 
 K 
 
 CANTO 1. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. O 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thou comost, Spring ! like an o'er-fondled child, 
 That frets, and brawls, and weeps, and knows not why ; 
 Straight smil'st, with cheek all beauty, dimpling mild ; 
 And now, to tempt pursuit, afar dost fly; 
 And in thy absence with each other vie 
 To seize thy sceptre, frost, snow, wind, and rain ; 
 And opening flowerets drop their heads to die : — 
 With wreath of beams and joyous flowers, again 
 Thou com'st, to rout abashed stern Winter's hostile train. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thou com'st like maiden in her earliest bloom. 
 That young hearts homage with impassioned glow ; 
 Thou com'st like day-star diving through the gloom, 
 The hope of morn on mortals to bestow ; 
 Thou com'st like manhood struggling with the throe 
 Of seeming dissolution ; like a dream 
 That fills the fluttering soul with an o'erflow 
 Of every bliss, delights that brightest seem. 
 And then in heart-ache ends at morning's dawning gleam. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 , t 
 
 How rich, how lovely, in thy flowery prime. 
 Fair Spring ! oh, would this were thy radiant home 
 Too fleet thy sojourn in our pallid clime. 
 Sweet wanderer I when thou leav'st thy native dome. 
 For ever on the wing like warning Gnome ;2 
 In Paynim solitudes why love to smile. 
 Or where barbaric hordes embruted roam. 
 Unprized, with all thy peerless charms — the while 
 Thou leav'st to storms a prey this our else favoured isle ? 
 
 A 3
 
 6 THE RETROSPECT, canto i. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Thou op'st a storehouse for all hues of men : 
 To hardihood, thou, blustering from the north, 
 Roll'st dark; hast sighs for those that would complain; 
 Sharp winds, to clear the head of wit and worth; 
 And melody, for those that follow mirth ; 
 Clouds for the gloomy ; tears for those that weep 5 
 Flowers, blighted in the bud, for those that birth 
 Untimely sorrow o'er ; and skies, where sweep 
 Fleets of a thousand sail, for him that ploughs the deep. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 As one awaked from sweet reviving sleep. 
 O'er renovated nature, looks abroad, — 
 Himself transformed, he drinks, and drinks more deep 
 Of gladness, gathered round his bless'd abode. 
 That, for a space, withholds the accustomed load 
 Of ills indigenous — he wondering feels 
 Youth's fairy-ground beneath him, long untrod : 
 Much more, sweet Spring ! thy loved approach reveals 
 Of all that glads the heart — which winter's breath conceals. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Of all the seasons. Summer ! thee I hail ! 
 Congenial most with manhood, youth, and age ; 
 When fragrant verdure crowns the sheltered vale. 
 And hill, and wood, and stream, so strong engage; 
 Youth bursts the lonely prison, that the rage 
 Of wintry, vernal storms immured so long. 
 To greet thee. Summer, in thy fairest stage. 
 Amid the green exuberance, and the throng 
 Of birdsj from every bough, that wake symphonious song.
 
 CANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And many a nameless pleasure winged those hours 
 Of halcyon beauty, — sweet the search to find 
 Gay coronal of convoluted flowers. 
 The brow of vestal innocence to bind ; 
 Untouched and pure, and like the cultured mind 
 That opes not all its treasures at first view ; 
 As sparkling gems, by silvery bar confined, — 
 Without attractive — more to wander through 
 The labyrinth of folds, so fair that hidden grew. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The sight, how charming I whatsoe'er it be, 
 Though not in mould of song or beauty cast, 
 That in our early days we used to see, — 
 Straightforth before us rolls the pleasing past, 
 And life's first lovely visions gild our last ; 
 Thus would I spurn imperial couch — reclined 
 On trunk of long fall'n tree, decaying fast. 
 That moss enwraps, and weeds and wild-flowers bind. 
 And ivy shoots, that knit the sear and sapless rind. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The sight enchanting ! wheresoe'er beheld, 
 (Attractive most beside our early home,) 
 Of hoai'y ruin, Time hath long upheld 
 In beauty ; now, as with the weight o'ercome. 
 Has left to perish ; ever would we roam 
 Its misty annals o'er, and fancy new, 
 And still of its young glories — hence its gloom 
 Of age endears, that, otherwise to view. 
 Were oft as desert drear we think to traverse through.
 
 8 THE RETROSPECT, canto i. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 To Lockhart's Tower-^ now flocked we forth — the prey. 
 The wreck of ages, and the pride of song ; 
 Where many a gambol circled round the gray, 
 Dark, feudal vestige, and its dells among ; 
 But o'er all sports athletic, nimble, strong, 
 Was hand-ball pastime ; young, mid-aged, and old. 
 As equals mingled, after practice long ; 
 And scarce a neighbouring village was so bold 
 As struggle with our own, the sovereignty to hold.'' 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Now sloe and sounding nut, raspberry wild, 
 Allure our footsteps to the hazelly height ; 
 Haw, juniper, and bramble-berry mild, 
 And clustering fruit of mountain ash invite ; 
 And hip mellifluous, after evening's blight 
 Uf hoar-frost bland ;— and ever as we went. 
 By the dark stream's worn eddy, foaming white ; 
 Our bathing place of pastime — we gave vent 
 To joys aquatic — life with pleasure truly blent. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 oh ! there, around the old gray ash that hangs 
 O'er the stream's rapid whirl — where, 'tis said, 
 Wrung by despairing love's transfixing fangs. 
 To its far top light scaled the maniac maid,^ 
 And thence with ringlet band, all undismayed. 
 Herself suspending, swung ; the sapless bough 
 Hurled with her headlong down the dark cascade ; 
 Whence her wild scream of agonizing woe 
 Each night, as legends tell, comes bubbling from beiow !
 
 CANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In this lone scene of beauty, our chief joy — 
 Surviving youth itself and all its charms — 
 Was with the wilding Bee, but not to cloy, 
 From its sweet stores, the heart, nor spread alarms. 
 Assailing ruthlessly with murderous arms : 
 These from the soft heath, those from flowry sward 
 Transplanted we, fond from autumnal storms, 
 To rush-wove glass-roofed bovver, — our rich reward, 
 Their movements to behold, their labours not retard. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 We roamed the wild wood ; searched the sunny dell ; 
 Explored the foggy hedge-side round and round ; 
 Scaled the acclivious banks of mountain rill ; 
 Paced every nook of land where flowers abound — 
 Where the dark freckled wild bee still was found : 
 And leaped the lightened heart, crowned was desire 
 With fall fruition, when they sought the ground : 
 To learn their strength, stamped we the turf on fire — 
 AH instantly rushed forth with buzzing vengeful ire. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 When woods would shower their foliage, and the wave 
 Roll dark with summer's beauty, forth we'd stray, 
 O'er rustling ruin, to some lonely cave. 
 And pass, with pleasing themes, the night away; 
 Or tracing, by the moon's romantic ray. 
 The undiscovered charms of haunted scene, 
 Where down the woodland's gray declivity 
 Hurled the clear gliding brook, that elves did screen 
 With curving underwood, to lave their limbs unseen.
 
 10 THE RETROSPECT, canto i. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 For ever lovely, thy deep thoughtful hue. 
 Soft Autumn eve ! these clouds thy spirit fair, 
 Like necromantic chariots posting through 
 The blue expanse, in life and beauty ; there 
 Serpents seem billowing forth with speckled glare; — 
 Here, a huge mammoth rests upon the snow 
 Above, and belches down abrupt through air, 
 A burning fire-flood to the plain below. 
 And o'er an azure deep, where little skiffs float slow. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Here towers a golden statue, borne in air 
 By pebbly rock, and poised by gentlest wind ; 
 There witch-forms scamper 'mongst the moonbeams fair. 
 Or sail along^ on hills, their charms unbind. 
 As they withdraw, relaxing, like the hind, 
 In overseer's wished absence, or removed. 
 An army, from its leader : now reclined 
 On the horizon hills ;— and now, unmoved. 
 Unnerved, the cold, pale moon, less lovely, yet beloved. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 As lovers lingering in each other's sight. 
 The more apart, more fixed the fettered eye ; 
 As Bard the eagle in its upward flight 
 Surveys, through air, cleft clouds, and yielding sky ; 
 As INIariner tossed on ocean, surging high, 
 His bark o'erset, hails land, afar unfurled : 
 Thus greet we these fair forms, and still descry 
 Enchantment there — live emblem of the world ! 
 Passion and poesy by fits to madness whirled.
 
 CANTO I. OU YOUTHFUL SCENES. 11 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Though fettered to the spot we life begin, 
 We live, and die — the world unknown by sight — 
 The beauty and sublimity therein ; 
 And though our hearts ne'er heaved on Alpine height, 
 Nor sailed on iceberg through the Polar night. 
 Oh ! deem not thou, aloft where fortune shines, 
 Our day-spring darkness, our enjoyments slight, — 
 'Mid lovelier, loftier scenes the Bard reclines — 
 These dread stupendous forms his Alps and Appennines. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Kind Heaven to reimburse the shackled limb, 
 A world of wonders at our feet lets fall ; 
 As is the light that gilds them as they skim — 
 As is the hand that shaped them— seen by all — 
 Obsequious still to fancy's forming call : 
 The pleasure ground of Poet's boundless home ; 
 Spirits of thunder ! and the lightning's pall ! 
 When dark from ocean's bed, abroad ye roam, 
 With half its waters drenched, o'er earth to fret and foam. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Spring's verdure fades, and Summer's flow'rets die ; 
 Ye never — Nature still keeps watch o'er you, 
 Ministrant delegates of the Most High ! 
 Still marked with joy and gratulation due, 
 Whate'er your embassy, or form, or hue : 
 To few a blessing, and to all a bane, 
 Who may avow ? ye seel, not to undo 
 Existence, but primeval life maintain ; 
 Hope, Love, and Mercy bear these fire-bolts o'er the plain.
 
 12 THE RETROSPECT, canto 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Again ye roll in beaut}', and again 
 My soul mounts onwards with you, as 'twould melt 
 Into your essence. "Who might him arraign. 
 Whose more than childhood o'er such beauty knelt; 
 Who would not reckon that the spirit dwelt 
 Of Poesy w ithin you ; — what so grand 
 Of all that brightest genius ever felt. 
 And breathed upon the world, in whisper bland, 
 Or loud as ocean's roar, against the rocky strand ? 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 That broken circle of huge forms abrupt. 
 Now most resemble thy infernal band. 
 Creative Milton ! When with lightnings whipp'd 
 Through hell's unfathomed gulph,— they wait command, 
 The Arch-fiend rears aloft his snaky brand ; 
 Now, in array of battle, up the steep 
 Of heaven they rush, as nought might them withstand ; 
 Save one, on whose dark front sits anguish deep — 
 And now he lags behind, and now begins to weep. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 'Tis divination ! — round the silvery moon 
 Transformed are all — this, grown the dome august 
 Of monarch on whose head is placed a crown — 
 And that, an old tower mouldering into dust. 
 Its brazen portals mantled o'er with rust — 
 Who seemed the mightiest, towered most high, now shrinks 
 Into a cascade — curiously embossed 
 Its waters, as the moon upon it blinks — 
 I'ut one, of form unchanged, that from the current drinks.
 
 CANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 13 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Ag one who looks, with eye-lid close compressed, 6 
 Through fancy's haze, and sees, as prompts desire. 
 Before him rise the regions of the blessed ; 
 Or, wrapped in twilight dai'kness, spirits dire, 
 Shapes never formed before, and that expire. 
 For ever undefined ; still whatsoe'er 
 You wish, you see ; — thus these loved forms inspire 
 Like pleasure to the mind ; thus wild appear, 
 And still, as most uncouth, the more our hearts reTcrc. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Who would not from him charm most potent cast, 
 Each tie terrestrial, and of heaven partake ? 
 Who that beholds these wonders, and can waste 
 Such hours in slumber, ought not to awake ? 
 From earliest youth I've drunk, in vain, to slake 
 Desire from these ambrosial floods that flow 
 Along the sky, when, Autumn, thou dost shake 
 From hill and dell thy mellowed charms below — 
 That all may upward look, reflect, and wiser grow. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The child is his sire's image ; thus am I, 
 Thine, lonely Autumn, portraiture of thee; 
 Grief, more I've sometimes loved — to list the sigh 
 Suffused from swelling breast, than laughter free ; 
 The softened accent and the cheek to see 
 Embathed in tears, and sighed when sunbeam drew 
 The pearly pleasure from me ; sweet to dree 
 The tender pang, that, like a seraph, flew 
 From heart to heart, with love showered forth as summer dew.
 
 14 THE RETROSPECT, CANTO I. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Show not the world thy heart ! if thou therein 
 Hast treasured up a joy thou would'st preserve ; 
 All panting to besiege the prize and win, — 
 Not foe alone will arm — but friendship swerve. 
 Yet, weep its flight ; — the streaming tear will carve 
 Its passage to their soul, the dreaded arm 
 Upreared against you, instantly unnerve ; 
 And now themselves will weep their own wrought harm : 
 "With nature thus, even woe comes not without its charm, 
 
 XL. 
 
 The world's a counterfeit — not what 'twould seem : 
 Unsifted virtue oft but vice asleep. 
 Hate's burning brand was once fair friendship's beam; 
 And love — now envy — weaving malice deep, 
 Wakes wormwood fountains for the heart to weep; 
 This I have felt, and found it good to sheath 
 The heart within itself, and silent reap 
 The wild-flowers scattered o'er the mountain heath, — 
 Nor blend with, nor inhale, the world's contagious breath. 
 
 XLT. 
 
 Thus far thou'st led me. Autumn ; it may be 
 I have stolen from thee like a playful child, 
 At times to wander ; 1 have breathed of thee. 
 And drunk thy spirit till the heart was soiled 
 With other sadness, lasting and more wild ; 
 I DOW must drink less deeply — thy own hue, 
 With mine, seems changed and changing, and less mild 
 Even as I trace thee — hast thou known how few 
 Of youthful friends are left, of youthful prospects true !
 
 CANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 15 
 
 XLII, 
 
 Once in such scene — not thus as now I seem — 
 I hailed thee, Autumn ! nor with tear nor sigh, 
 Birth-place of Hope ! and many a blighted scheme 
 That reared its tender stem, and flowered too high ; 
 And yet, methought, was strong, I longed to try 
 Its height to scale, to mount aloft thereon. 
 And reach the flower that blossomed in the sky ; 
 But, while I watched the day-star that led on, 
 A cloud rolled dark between — 'twas night that came anon. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 It came, like lui'king Death beneath the bloom 
 Of untouched beauty, not yet mellowed quite. 
 Light-hearted, laughing o'er a lovely doom, 
 And, in the eye, (undreaded coming blight,) 
 Lay Love amidst his lightnings to invite ; — 
 It came like desert lake,^ reflecting heaven, 
 'Midst sandy wreath and simoom ^ sparkling bright. 
 That, after pilgrim long to reach has striven. 
 Becomes a stifling ridge of dust, against him driven. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 At once we weep, and smile, and sigh, and sing; 
 Our song of morn bathed in the tears of even ; 
 Not far the spirit mounts on buoyant wing. 
 Till by some leaden thought 'tis downward driven : 
 Not many joys allure that are not riven 
 From our fond grasp, ere we the boon partake ! 
 Elate ambition wings his flight to heaven. 
 And weaves his starry wreath, and makes earth quake- 
 Anon he sinks, he bleeds, amid the briery brake. 
 
 B 2
 
 IG THE RETROSPECT, CAKTO 1. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Each season brought its change, pervading all, 
 That varied but our joys, that else had thriven 
 Not long, enwrapt in surfeit's leaden pall; 
 Sweet ! when rough Winter lashed the surge to heaven. 
 Ship-crested ; the deep-rooted oak was riven 
 From its fixed base, in the afifrighting glare 
 Of wrathful tempest fiend, its branches driven 
 From their aerial home — like offspring fair, 
 O'er earth soon scattering wide, reft of parental care. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Sweet ! Spring's approach, and Summer's maiden hue. 
 That onward dance to timbrel, harp, and song ; 
 But fairer flow'rets, dipped in brighter dew. 
 And other sounds that thrill the heart more strong. 
 Spirit-awaking Power ! to thee belong : 
 Thou fillest the streams that parching Summer drained. 
 The soul's dried springlets, that now bound along; — 
 Look round ! behold each to its height regained 1 
 What fountain now may tell heaven hath not richly rained ! 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 I've thought not always thus, else could I trace 
 Of boyish feeling more, into thee wove ; 
 But now I view thy sear and wrinkled face 
 With that unwavering, uncoquettish love 
 Which follows fluctuation — when we prove. 
 Perchance, a thousand — and the first withal, 
 Becomes again our choice — no more to rove : 
 Yet not in youth unloved thy wizard call, 
 Mid lonely night-wind's howl, and storm and snow-stream's 
 brawl.
 
 CANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 17 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 For then I was all Poesy, and would breathe 
 Song of my own awaking, and still loved. 
 In vapours, clouds, and storms myself to sheath — 
 From these alone the sweets of being proved — 
 Partook their spirit, and perchance promoved 
 My own, it may be, higher than its height — 
 Loftier than darkening destiny behoved; — 
 Yet wheresoe'er a star of earth shone bright, 
 Or heaven, there was my home, my heart and my delight. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And, lapped in bliss, not seldom have I sought, 
 
 Along thy shivering nakedness, the linn,^ 
 
 Up the steep mountain, when to madness wrought, 
 
 By Kelpy '" foaming with convulsive grin, 
 
 Far down the crannying crag ; shrieking therein. 
 
 Blood-craving cry ! yet not with blood appeased — 
 
 Mingling with woodland spirit's warring din — 
 
 The heart that quakes with terror is released 
 
 By the blessed sight sublime — with awe and wonder seized. 
 
 L. 
 
 Lo ! where it thunders down the dark abyss. 
 Its jaws wide opening, deeper and more deep. 
 With boiling, bursting, bellowing heave and hiss- 
 Starts up like horror from unhallowed sleep — 
 Shoots, like a fire-bolt, down the winding steep. 
 All winged with speechless terror ! yet not long, 
 Till from its fright recovered, it doth creep, 
 O'erspent, unspirited, and — the woods among — 
 Is quickened into life with ousel's amorous song. 
 
 B 3
 
 18 THE RETROSPECT, canto t. 
 
 LI. 
 
 That eddy, all infulging on its brink. 
 And dizzying to destroy, unfathomed seams — 
 A passage to perdition,— and does shrink 
 Even from itself; and when the pale moon beams 
 At midnight lone, who hears and sees it, deems 
 A hive of warring demons therein yell, 
 And hies him home all terror-stricken — dreams 
 Of shapes, of which he dares not think nor tell. 
 That never were surpassed in most appalling hell. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Above, how bright and beautiful ! the billow 
 Whirls tremblingly along, as it foreknew 
 What lay before, and lingers by the willow. 
 Twining itself around it, as it grew 
 Like yonder ivy round the margin yew ; 
 Now slanting from the sluggish shallower brink 
 The waves concentre, rushing madly through 
 The rocks, deep channelled, as 'twere vain to shrink. 
 Till downward dashed to spray, in uproar wild they sink. 
 
 LIIL 
 
 No Iris, watered by the rising shower 
 Of foam, rests o'er you— ye no realms divide : — 
 I would not have ye : o'er my rock-hewn bovver. 
 Alone for me thou pour'st thy dark'ling tide, — 
 No other sceptre reared to quell my pride ; 
 'Twixt cliff and curve I stand, and call thee mine. 
 And, all enchanted, throws the veil aside 
 Of thy transparent billows, that so shine- 
 As poured from heaven, to bathe with baptism divine.
 
 CANTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 19 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And art thou not a river of the blessed 1 
 So livingly serene thy crystal wave ; 
 Untainted here his wing might seraph rest, 
 And look, and love, embrace, and round him lave 
 The bright mortality, and not dread a grave : 
 Surely some spirit, bright as his blue home, 
 Hath breathed o'er thee, and blessed thy gurgling cave 
 Of gushing waters, thus to be the dome 
 Of one whose love leads not with the vile world to roam. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Blessed spot ! where love in heaven's tranquillity 
 Bathes his expanding spirit ; the bright home 
 Of beauty, mellowed, melting in the glee 
 Of upland melody, above the tomb 
 Of village vapours — joy repelling gloom : 
 I seem, thus high, a link above the line 
 Of being underneath ; the cannach's bloom 
 That whirls around — like happy spirit's shine — 
 Like the pure thoughts that teem o'er this, my home divine. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Here, where the ravished soul and swimming eye 
 Walk, leap, and bound together to the shore — 
 Here will I live, and here, if death comes, die, — 
 Though this eternity, wherein I soar 
 Already, scarce can be extended more ; 
 The distant azure hills of other land 
 Seem almost at my feet, in this pure air ; 
 Distinct I trace stern Time's uplifted hand 
 Wide crannying sea-girt tower on its remotest strand."
 
 20 THE RETROSPECT, canto i. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Wild, witching scene ! yet shall it be that I 
 From thee shall part ? thy waters still roll on, 
 Leap, burn, and blaze with poetry — thy sky 
 Its drapery of clouds and stars enthrone 
 In everlasting loveliness thereon. 
 All beautifying, beautified, — the while 
 Above my bones, sepulchral ashes strown, 
 Shall hide thet from me ? can it be, this hill. 
 That wood, these dells shall glow, and I lie cold and still ? 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Thus much I've sung, and still the exhaustless treasure 
 Glitters of golden youth, 'mid sufferance sad ; 
 1 may complete it in my hours of leisure. 
 From penury's hard grasp if these be had — 
 And dreaded evils blacken still the bad ; 
 Yet dost thou oft — adversity — unlock 
 And sharpen wit, making dark prospects glad; — 
 As sweeps the swoll'n stream pebbles from the rock. 
 That hidden lay beneath its gentle summer shock. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Fond, yet more fond, I've traced my youthful way 
 Through the rich rolling year, on raptured wing ; 
 Though well I ween but dimly I pourtray 
 The radiant forms remembrance still would bring ; 
 And yet for Bard, youth's potent sp'rit to fling, 
 Through its tombed tenement, till all, or one, 
 Saw, felt, and heard as his own soul did sing 
 In silent harmony, by sound undone — 
 "Were holding out a lamp to light the unclouded sun. 
 
 i
 
 CANTO n.
 
 THE RETROSPECT. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 I. 
 
 Belov'd, fair, fleeting paradise of life, 
 We still would linger o'er thee and adore ; 
 So beautiful thy flowers, so rich, so rife — 
 Dear, dear departed Youth! behind, before, 
 And all aroand etherial ! 'midst the roar 
 Of life's loud surging sea — thou land alone ! 
 Of scanty bloom, weeds cankered to the core, 
 Is hence each coming stage — no ray thereon ! 
 Untempting in the bud— poison and death when blown. 
 
 IT. 
 
 All-chai-ming Youth ! of loveliest visions brought 
 By thee— sights, sounds, too beautiful to stay, — 
 Too bright for clay-bound spirit — this I caught :— 
 All underneath huge cataract I lay, 
 On hill whose summit held, apart from day. 
 Communion with the stars ; on the far height 
 Of ever-vernal green, that grew alway. 
 Skimmed up and down etherial beings bright, 
 Towards earth, and their loved home, of living azure light.
 
 24 THE RETROSPECT, canto i. 
 
 III. 
 
 The moon shone sweetly, and the waters seemed — 
 Of spiritual life — an uncorrupted mass, 
 And breathed supernal song — and my soul streamed 
 Away in wonder-worship, tears of bliss, 
 And love that flamed more high than hot caress 
 Could kindle — gaze unsating 1 till from thence, 
 With kindred spirits bounding bodiless, 
 My own seemed fluttering o'er me, and, with glance 
 Of sympathy allured, I rose — when all at once 
 
 IV. 
 
 The stream stood still, and sparkled o'er it Sprite 
 Yet more divine, adorned with deathless crown 
 Of heaven-wrought flowers, and robe of flowing light, 
 That seemed a bright star shed, dilating on 
 In beautiful adoration, and skimmed down 
 The illumined waters with pervading blaze. 
 " What marvel these floods pause ! and thou thereon. 
 Fair Spirit !" I exclaimed; "how shall I raise 
 My burning prayer to thee, thou goddess of all praise ?" 
 
 « The Genius I of Youth," mellifluous, bland, 
 The Goddess whispered ; " I have watched thee long 
 With love maternal, seen thy soul withstand 
 The world, stern fortune, and, amid more strong 
 Unbafiled hate still carol forth her song — 
 This be thy guerdon ;" straightforth in her hand 
 She held a shining mirror, large and long, 
 Whereon was writ " Remembrance," that like wand 
 Of wizard, deepened more the spell august and grand :
 
 CAXTO H. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 25 
 
 VI. 
 
 " See, brightened into beauty what seemed dark, 
 The lost, the latent shed forth glowing day ; 
 This grown a sunbeam thou did'st deem a spark; 
 And that an ocean dashing forth its spray, 
 Thou deemed'st a little brooklet on thy way ; 
 The tree become a forest, and the rose 
 A garden of delight ; see Autumn gray 
 Laughs itself back to Spring, and o'er the snows 
 Of Winter, to adorn thy brow, the violet blows." 
 
 VII. 
 
 As thus I wondering stood, soft breathed the maid, 
 Soft as sweet whispering love, on love reclined ; 
 And instantly the fleeting visions fade 
 Before me. Turn your eyes, and look behind — 
 There crowding bards, from lord to lowly hind, 
 A locust swarm, came bounding up the hill 
 Each seemed already summitted in mind. 
 And spurned his fellow, — one asleep and still. 
 Came plodding ever on, and rose with wakeful skill — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A wreath in's hand of thistle, fern, and broom, — 
 He wrung its perfume forth, and scampering, to 
 An Eden hied — of bramble flowers in bloom — 
 'Mid prickly penance, dashed from thence the dew 
 Upon his brow, his spirit to imbue 
 And blend with nature — a blood shower o'erstreanii 
 His face, and opes a wished-for passage through, 
 The cliff before him, now some Muse he deems, 
 Embraces, and beats out a thousand rainbow dreams.
 
 2G THE RETROSPECT, CANTO li. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O'er his fallen fellow, mark yon dreadful form, 
 The while his eye-ball burns with living gore, 
 Escargatoire with brandished fire-bolt storm — 
 The thunder list, to echo forth its roar. 
 And ocean drag with all its waves ashore ; 
 'Gulfed in an earthquake at full stretch he lies. 
 And shakes astounded nature, as with oar 
 Skims the light skiff ;— his nostrils' fume forth flies, 
 Fair mantling earth, and forms the drapery of the skies — 
 
 X. 
 
 Anon he stalks by the Lethean stream, 
 Bard, patriot, seer, and sect — and systems grave. 
 Forgotten, from oblivion to redeem ; 
 With eagle's swoop divides the darkling wave. 
 Dives to its bottom — youthful glory's grave — 
 Drags forth and brings to life, and gilds more fair. 
 The learned, the witty, and long latent brave ; 
 Before him bow Wolfe, Washington, Voltaire ; 
 Newton, Napoleon drenched, on the banks re-appear. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Another yet behold, more grand, sublime, 
 In whose bright beam all others look aghast; 
 He comes from tour through fair Elysian clime. 
 To unroll all wonders yet to come or past — 
 Himself a prodigy shall ever last; 
 Spans with the rainbow, ocean, earth, and sky. 
 Soars far, where sunbeam ne'er might pry, nor trust 
 His wing might noteless seraph ; and, thus high. 
 The stars in vassalage holds, like steer couched on small fly.
 
 • CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 27 
 
 XII. 
 
 Himself thus rates he, phrenzied in the bright 
 And burning beams of beauty, and the glow 
 Of scenes unfurled— the loveliest, most to blight ; 
 Thus dreams elate— whilst all the world avow 
 Such scribbling dog should whipped be to the plough ; 
 Upborne on false wing, he awhile may soar, 
 Yet down at length shall dash— already, lo ! 
 His dripping pinion's drenched with his own gore — 
 The o'erblown bubble bursts, he sinks, and all is o'er. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But see ! uprising from yon orient stream, 
 Wreathed Bard, with looks of sympathy and love ; 
 Shining', and shedding forth a glorious beam ; 
 'Tis his with tales of woe the heart to move. 
 And sing of hill and dell where nations strove, 
 And fire with amorous flame — spread thou thy wing, 
 No more through lone oblivion's shades to rove. 
 And drink of our unsating, sacred spring. 
 Till echo of thy fame through every isle shall ring. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Up the far steep of science thou didst climb 
 Unaided, unassuming child of nature! 
 Though tossed by adverse fate, with step sublime, 
 And unsuppressive soul ; most noble creature ! 
 That time will beautify, as these defeature. 
 Glory to thee ! thou art not borne on whim; 
 Than all combined, of more Titanic stature — 
 Eeach forth thy hand to heaven, quell these clouds dim, 
 Thy cup of coming bliss shall sparkle o'er the brim. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 THE RETROSPECT, canto ii 
 
 XV. 
 
 These, disappearing, into shapes recede. 
 Dark and again more dark, till, blent with night, 
 I turned me round the soul with its first meed 
 To cherish — when above the beauteous Sprite 
 Misshapen Phantom rose upon my sight. 
 Lank, meagre, and appalling ; with stern look. 
 Slow shooting through the Goddess deep death-blight,- 
 But not dismay — I gazed till her frame shook 
 With dissolution's pang, and then no more could brook, 
 
 XVI, 
 
 " On me wreck forth thy fury ! spare ! oh, spare 
 The guiltless! god of ruin," I exclaimed; 
 " Thou hast torn from me all life deemed most dear, 
 With agonies, immedicable, maimed, — 
 And is my sole remaining solace claimed 
 To glut thy gorging appetite ?" — for known 
 To Bards the unsightly form, who most are tamed 
 Beneath his talons ; I awoke — not gone 
 The spectre, Penury, that lowered when morning shone. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Stern Poverty ! how heavy and how hard — 
 The struggling heart down pressing even to death — 
 Thou lay'st thy icy fingers on the Bard — 
 Thy daggers. Poesy did first unsheath. 
 Transfix, pale heaving Hope at every breath ; 
 No voice to soothe — of all the world even one 
 Were bliss ; by early friends now deemed beneath 
 Their high-flown love, their kind consolement gone — 
 'Mid the still black'ning storm, unsheltered and alone.
 
 CAKTO I. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 29 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Before thy freezing breath we shrink afar, 
 And when removed, to stand or fly we pause, 
 Thou roll'st upon us like the rush of war, 
 And down we sink in Ruin's earthquake jaws ; 
 And, since ourselves have been the bitter cause, 
 No arm to aid, no eye to pity, near ; 
 And what in happier life might find applause, 
 Brings but the rude reproach, and vulgar sneer, 
 To blight the bleeding heart, and sharpen doom severe. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Shower on me all thy plagues ! yet not aghast 
 Will I sink underneath thee ; the wild wave 
 Shall sleep beneath thee — tower o'ersetting blast — 
 Or e'er I shrink before thee to a slave. 
 Or bend beneath thee to a timeless grave ; 
 Creation fails not with the bright day gone ; 
 Fair flowers outlive the spring ; and in its cave 
 The diamond wars with darkness, ripening on ; 
 The tree stands, and thus I, in bloom 'mid winter lone. 
 
 XX. 
 
 For ever loved whate'er our youth revered. 
 Familiarized with heart, or ear, or eye ; 
 The scene, however wild, in which upreared ; 
 The tree that with us grew to manhood high ; 
 The bush that screened us from the summer sky j 
 Upon its limber bough, the birds that hymned, 
 Blent with the bee's unchangd monotony : 
 The wild fowl o'er the lake that flew or skimmed ; 
 The caterwauling owl, by darkness unbedimmed ; 
 
 c 3
 
 30 THE RETROSPECT, 
 
 CANTO n. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The stream attracted zephyr ; the long whine 
 Of night breeze, bathed in redolence, astound 
 Like strong ; the bosom-chord, with touch divine. 
 That thrills through life amid the ruin round : 
 As germ, of plant long perished, under ground 
 Is wrapped in death, yet lives, awaiting spring ; — 
 Thus dear the dell with broom and thistle crowned ; 
 The gently heaving height, whose golden ling 
 A sweeter perfume breathes than evening's roseate wing. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 For ever loved whatever may have been 
 Our youthful sports and prowess, friendships bland, 
 Encounter fierce with rivals of stern mien. 
 And wrathful rolling eye, and firm clenched hand ; 
 We, haply, all their efforts would withstand 
 For victory, and win the bloodless field. 
 And village glory, and for aye, command 
 O'er them— o'er those that to the vanquished yield,— 
 The thought delights us still, and yet with heart unsteeled. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 War's boyhood this; thus rose the fire-eyed chUd, 
 So soft, so mild throughout, as if allied 
 To peace, and love, and virtue ; now more wild 
 As near approaching manhood, he has hied 
 Abroad, with dagger, dress, and feature dyed 
 In blood, to blaze his nature and his name ; 
 Like eagle, hung upon himself, descried. 
 All heedless of the world— and now we blame 
 Our boyish thirst of war, and blot those scenes with shame.
 
 c ANTO II, OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 31 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 O'er earth he roams, with crown, and covering formed 
 Of clotted crimson, life's sclectest shower 
 Still thickening o'er him — monarchies alarmed, 
 And states, to yield the still extorted dower 
 Of blood, the ocean, earth, and sky deflower ; 
 And is thy doom unwritten, dreadful fiend ! 
 No fitting scoui'ge prepared to sack thy power ! — 
 With God's red-rolling wrath yon heavens shall bend, 
 For ever thee to blast, thy bone-built throne to rend. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 To quell the fiend, to lop this limb from death. 
 And maim earth's mortal foe, the good may strive ; 
 Yet these to thwart, power pants till out of breath— 
 When fall the mighty, mightier props survive ; 
 Even bards, though craven-hearted the whole hive, 
 And shrink convulsed at sight of bloody brand. 
 Have sung it from its scabbard ; fame wont thrive, 
 (Its blasted branches bare and naked stand,) 
 That takes not root in blood, and drinks from War's red hand. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Upon an ocean dark of gathered tears. 
 Drained from war- wasted lands, War's blood-hounds floatj 
 Seek they its haven, earth still backward steers ; 
 Their doom — no more to find a resting spot ; 
 But sympathy be yours whose wayward lot. 
 To bathe in life-warm waves of smoking gore, 
 Has led reluctant or from tower or cot. 
 Commanding or commanded, evermore 
 Beloved be ye, with half your deeds forgot when o'er.
 
 32 THE RETROSPECT, cikto ir. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 That sympathy be thine, who ploughs the ware, 
 From home, and love, and him, whose agony 
 Intense, had rested lighter on thy grave, 
 Than then the dear, the living loss to dree. 
 As 'kerchiefs waved farewell to shore — to sea; 
 Then all creation's loveliest objects seemed 
 The shadows of an idle dream to me : 
 From lip, no sound ; from eve, no tear-drop streamed ; 
 The heart withheld the bliss, — I stood as one that dreamed. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 1 looked, till like a cloud thy dear bark seemed, 
 Pale on some distant summer sky at even ; — 
 Delirium's fevered flash then o'er me gleamed, 
 I stared on vacancy, I felt as riven 
 From life, and love, and bliss, and hope, and heaven ; 
 For one fond look, one word, one short fembrace, 
 A world of paltry gold I would have given; 
 Who in this bosom e'er can fill thy place ? 
 Who, charming e'er so high, thy memory dear efface ? 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The live long nifjht I lingered on the strand, 
 'Mid roarinj.v waters and the sea-f jwl's cry ; 
 Of home 1 thought not — couM nor sit, nor stand, 
 Nor rest recline:!, nor heave the lightest sigh, 
 Nor greet liglit-lie;irted mariner passing by, 
 Nor gaze — but on the deep : I sent forth Hope, 
 That looked, and looked, and then lay down to di«, 
 Upon the billow ; earth had now no prop 
 For me to lean upon, nor plant nor flower to crop :
 
 CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. ' 33 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Upon a cliff at length I threw me down. 
 As feeling with quick rush had reached liCe's bourne ; 
 Grief quelled, by its own blight ; yet seemed I lone 
 As the wild wind that sung through cliinks wave-worn 
 From ocean's breast below — I seemed forlorn — 
 Yet knew not why nor where ; — a gushing stream ^ 
 Joined its eternity as 'twere in scorn, 
 And would not mingle — I myself did seem 
 The same, nor slept nor woke — a dark delirious dream ! 
 
 XX XL 
 
 A speckled flock of sportive clouds were borne — 
 A ruffian wind their shepherd — o'er the sky ; 
 As hurrying to withhold the coming morn. 
 And I did bless them with a thankful sigh, 
 And wished, if not already dead, to die ; 
 For agonizing memory's fitful flash 
 Again would sparkle o'er me, and then fly ; 
 And while of nothingness the deep dark hush 
 Prevailed, conflicting waves of passion on would rush. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 That rushing storm, o'erblown, hath left behind 
 Wrecks that must still remain — when grief's turmoil 
 Still seeks the soul the balm it used to find ; 
 Possessed of fortune's boon — to share the spoil. 
 Judge of my youthful song ! whose fav'ring smile 
 And kindling aspect bade me not despair j 
 Thy parting presage, seated by the rill. 
 Of more than village glory, died not there. 
 But much ere this hath cost, oh ! many a hidden care.
 
 34 THE RETROSPECT, canto ii. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 To be thyself a tyrant, or to crouch, 
 Alike revolting— ill thou would'st sustain 
 Compulsion stern, or bear the foul reproach, 
 That brought to others— if not joy, not pain; 
 Thy cheek ne'er wore disguise, thou could'st not feign 
 Submission, when thy proud heart did rebel ; 
 To bare the sword, to trample o'er the slain 
 As stones that cumber ; fitted worse to dwell 
 With those such deeds who boast — that were to thee as hell. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Thou would'st return ! thy broken spirit longs 
 To be renewed with one sweet draught of home ; 
 To lift the rusted lyre, forget thy wrongs, 
 And deem the cottage more than earthly dome, 
 Nor ever from the sweet seclusion roam ; — 
 Thou decm'st not youth's fair portraiture, still drawn. 
 Is but a likeness of the dead — not from 
 Thyself alone, but from the world withdrawn. 
 The joys thy dreaming heart still hoards by sweet Burnawn." 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Clear, wild, romantic rill ! at sound of thee 
 How thrilled affection throbs through every vein ! 
 A lovelier fountain search were vain to see ; 
 From hills so rich, ne'er leaped into the main 
 Thy likeness yet, nor rolled through wealthier plain. 
 The genius of thy waters is the maid 
 That moistened Eden — and, unhurt, here reign 
 Peace, love, primeval purity, arrayed 
 In garb that peccancy to stain yet never strayed.
 
 <ANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 35 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 By thee first kindled, in my soul the fire 
 That still must burn — though love and life decay : 
 In youth's sweet spring first woke my infant lyre 
 In thy blessed bowers : I sung my later lay 
 In concert with thy dashing billow's play. 
 My soul still sickens, sad — unconscious why — 
 And nerved no longer if from thee away. 
 Fountain of life! here all my treasures lie, 
 In thee I live, I breathe, and in thy absence die. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And, far amidst those hills, where thou dost spring, 
 Whither so oft we traced thee, through the vale 
 And woods that with thv ceaseless echoes rinjr. 
 That gather o'er thee, and, enamoured, pale 
 Thy bed of beauty from the autumnal gale — 
 Where envious winter howls o'er vernal bloom 
 He may not blight, how much soe'er assail — 
 Life's first sweet breath above these woodlands' gloom. 
 Beside thy source I breathed, and thither still would roam. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Roll on, sweet streamlet ! in thy fairy dream; 
 
 Bright are thy banks with verdure, and thy bowers 
 With bloom and melody '.—the beauteous gleam 
 Thou wearest, on thy wave and in thy flowers. 
 That led us to thee, in our buoyant hours 
 Of blissful childhood, when the heart ran o'er. 
 And lip and eye spoke love. Oh ! ye blessed Powers 
 That here preside, waft back to his loved shore, 
 And these dear haunts, the form so fitted to adore !
 
 36 THE RETROSPECT, canto ir. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Long had we drunk, and still together drained, 
 The sweets of childhood, youth, and riper days. 
 From many a blissful fount, that waxed or waned, 
 As we did seek or shun — led by our lays 
 Through sunny mead or subterranean maze; 
 And still where'er we wandered, at our wish 
 Up rose life's fair profusion, and our praise ; 
 Scaled we Hope's ragged sleep— no cliff to crush, 
 Loosed by our light embrace, in thunder down would rush. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The varied pastime, and the heart's soft swell 
 O'er hidden beauty — sweetest to explore — 
 Deep, dark, wild, woody Connor, ^ thou canst tell, 
 Oh ! thou can'st tell, but never can'st restore ! 
 Still roll thy peaceful waters to the shore ; 
 Still bloom thy green bowers on the rocky rise, 
 Where hewn, hath giant hand, thy caverns hoar ; 
 And green the grove, whose birds of varying dyes 
 Still sing thy summer past, and war with wintry skies. 
 
 XLL 
 
 Thou art unchanged, in feature still the same ; 
 And breathed is now thy song, as clarion shrill, 
 To woo me from myself, the world and fame. 
 And bid thy bowers again their dews distil 
 Around the heart, and purifying fill : — 
 " The lights of cherub-beauty, unalloyed, 
 That fluttered o'er thy childhood, cherish still : 
 Ah 1 why forsake the scenes that never cloyed. 
 To be with dreams, ev'n less than lightest dreams, decoyed."
 
 CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 
 
 XLIL 
 
 Delightful haunt 1 of thee the deepening thought, 
 With all its woe still conjures up the tale 
 Of true, not guiltless love, from far that sought 
 In thy wild shades a shelter from the gale 
 Of lowering tempest mustering to assail ; 
 Wood, grot, and dell yet breathe the tender theme, 
 And winds prolong its melancholy wail ; 
 Its joys retained in flower and sun-bright stream — 
 Its shuddering horrors waked in prey-birds' midnight scream. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 "Twas love, by reason spurned — love spurning fame, 
 Wealth, grandeur, pride, and power, and all the world — 
 That under foot trod wedlock's holy name, 
 And round opponents proud defiance hurled. 
 And deep, and deeper down the vortex whirled ; 
 Both fair of form, both beautiful of mind. 
 And much sound virtue either heart unfurled ; 
 Hers was a soul too tender, his, though kind, 
 Not open — he who searched had still much more to find. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 And many searched, and sought, and tried to win ; 
 And many searched, and sought, and tried in vain ; 
 The soul portcullised, walled itself within. 
 Opened its portals, few, how few ! to gain — 
 Even these reluctant, as with baffled pain : — 
 But there was one, though war she did not wage, 
 Unbarred, and shut, threw down, upreared again 
 At pleasure, and in all provoked not rage, 
 Nor did the heart from love an instant disengage.
 
 38 THE RETROSPECT, canto w 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Whilst others strained, from intercourse, their all 
 Of earthly good, oft stamped with indesert, 
 He walked^ where life's ambrosial dews did fall, 
 And held communion with his glowing heart : 
 So closed upon himself nought might him thwart : 
 
 'Mid vulgar throng if thrown by niggard fate 
 
 He'd from his path with hasty step depart. 
 To shun a salutation — not in hate. 
 But diffidence, that blushed even at its own retreat. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 All eloquent with nature ; but with man 
 Mute, cold, and sullen, even from youth — as 'twere 
 Entombed in thought none but himself might scan. 
 Whilst his dark eye seemed sunk with laden care, 
 'Twas angel Poesy sat shadowing there, 
 And shut him from himself; nor durst intrude 
 That instant ought of earth, or dread, or fear, 
 Pain, pleasure — not even passion — save what would 
 Burst on him from wild theme, and stir his sleeping blood. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 The child of more than melancholy sadness 
 Yet oft was he — deep wrapped in darkest gloom. 
 That tinged his spirit with the hues of madness. 
 And laid in ashes his life's summer-bloom : 
 To war with phantoms his the dreadful doom, 
 Fiends strengthening o'er the deadly strife — their prey, 
 The wide strewn withered wreck of his soul's tomb. 
 None knew the death within : amid the gay. 
 Mirth sparkled in his cheek, like verdure o'er our clay.
 
 CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 39 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 'Twas thus, they sought far Connor's sylvan site — 
 In the deep solitude themselves inurned ; 
 Oft might be seen their cottage : blazing bright — 
 As hind, or huntsman from his toils returned — 
 Thy beacon. Love ! that long these wilds adorned. 
 O'er woe's wild hue to shed unfleeting joy ! 
 Rowena strove, young Herbert's bosom burned ; 
 No watch-dog there was sentinel'd, to annoy 
 Low stooping beggared age, or wandering orphan boy. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 There is a gem — our first sire let it fall — 
 That bafflid all his after search to find ; 
 Age after age his offspring, each and all, 
 To gain the treasure, ransacked, unconfined, 
 Earth, ocean, air, and sky, apart, combined ; 
 Philosophy pursued it up to heaven. 
 Yet in remotest orb her hopes resigned; 
 Hills were uptorn, and lands to ruin driven, 
 Wher^ av'ricc;, "Wisdom's self hath searched, yet none have 
 thriven. 
 
 This feir, fond couple, driven by haggard fate, 
 And drawn by deep affection, sought the prize. 
 And found it in dark Connor's wild retreat : 
 Thus recked they, and so spoke their beaming eyes 
 That rained, 'mid brimful bliss — like summer skies 
 Watering a long parched wilderness, — anon 
 Springs the gay verdure, vernal flowerets rise ; — 
 They looked, they pressed, yet not its lustre gone ;- 
 *Twas unstained, beautiful, and bright as first it shone. 
 
 D 2
 
 4-0 THE RETROSPECT, canto ii. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Here Herbert woke his wild romantic lyre 
 O'er themes his soul had long desired to scan ; 
 And, chief, love leapt along its strings of fire, 
 And buoyant childhood, light as first it ran — 
 The electric spirit of life's leaden span ; 
 He thence through manhood traced the broken dream, 
 Till, sad, it sickened into autumn wan ; 
 Reclined in ci'annied cavern's twilight gleam, 
 Thus would his descant flow o'er the lone rushing stream : — 
 
 LIT. 
 
 " Sweet retrospect ! could fate again bestow 
 Those hours ere time had reared on life's flowered spray 
 That thorn reflection, gladly would I throw 
 The intervening years of care away. 
 And still 'midst Boyhood's sunny bowers delay ; 
 When siren Poesy wove dreams of bliss ; 
 When passion swayed, unconscious of its sway ; 
 When heaven's smile sweetened the enchanting kiss • 
 Of innocence, and hope, and halcyon happiness. » 
 
 Lin. 
 
 " More wild, Lore passed along the golden dream, 
 All sparkling as the fleecy summer sky ; 
 As Autumn eve, when o'er the stilly stream 
 The white mists thicken, and the moonbeams fly, 
 And winds o'er withered wood-roof whisper by ; — 
 My eye swam in Love's ecstacy, and brought 
 Fond pangs, electric pulses, life's first sigh ; 
 Nature I recked not, now with sadness fraught. 
 And, Boyhood if not past — its pleasures shrunk to nought. 
 
 I
 
 CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 41 
 
 LIV. 
 
 *' Oh ! 'tis a bitter world ; were we to drink 
 From all the wormwood fountains that o'erflow 
 Life's melancholy way, the soul would sink 
 "With the unceasing draught. Awhile we glow 
 With boundless wishes, ere the world we know ; 
 
 From youth's bland visions we at last awake 
 
 Then comes the counter charm to all below ; 
 Life that did seem a star on stirless lake. 
 Becomes a shattered skiff, that waves and tempests shake. 
 
 LV. 
 
 *' Bright o'er remembrance beams the hallowed morn 
 Of Reason, when discrimination threw 
 Her lights around me, and I left with scorn 
 The drowsy, darkened multitude, and flew 
 To minds illumed, where pleasures, prized by few. 
 Delights unsating, sheltered from the storm, 
 Lay thick as summer flowers, whose perfume drew 
 To where they bloomed, of most enchanting form, 
 And came not wintry blight to wither and alarm. 
 
 LVL 
 
 " And there was happiest love that knew not change 
 And fondest friendships fading not away ; 
 Hearts that for ever heaved, but not to range, 
 And eyes that flashed the intellectual ray : 
 Oh ! could those lights divine in death decay. 
 And leave me darkened, darker than before ? 
 Died all the wit that early did display. 
 Supernal grandeur's undiminished store ? 
 Fled all its beauty, bright, and brightening evermore ! 
 
 D 3
 
 4(2 THE RETROSPECT, canto n 
 
 LVII. 
 
 There lived on high, 'mongst woody cliffs concealed, 
 In that same solitude, enchantress dire ; 
 Before whose spellful breath, rocks, mountains reeled. 
 And whirlwinds swept down forests through her ire ; 
 Her eye the lightning, thunder her loud lyre ; 
 Each element her vassal ; the wild wave 
 Above the affrighted hills at her desire 
 Leaped from the low scooped vale ; —thus fame would rave : 
 Young Herbert heard the tale, and sought her rock-hewn cave. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 'Twas eve — and prey birds flapped their pinions rife, 
 As Herbert hied along that lovely vale ; 
 O'er the deep stream, a cavern on the cliff. 
 That sprouting underwood clung round to pale. 
 Now met his eye, and sounds his ear assail 
 Of melody, so winning and so wild. 
 That lured him on, the rugged height to scale : 
 The stars were clustered round the moon, and mild 
 The sky, that on the wave lay like a sleeping child. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 But as the acclivous steep, through bramble, brake, 
 On hand and foot he scaled, he turned him round ; 
 And now cloud rolled on cloud, — like moon-lit lake. 
 The sky becoming bright, with snow wreaths crowned. 
 The soften'd stars that hid not, though deep bound 
 In their transparent prison ; like bri;;ht eyes 
 In the quick gush of fitful sadness drowned. 
 And fading slow in death — till long his prize, — 
 They lose all lustre— quenched even ere the frail frame dies.
 
 CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 43 
 
 LX. 
 
 Now rapid as the hurrying shades of eve 
 Descend and deepen o'er some wint'ry site. 
 Where all day long frost's hairy fingers weave 
 Earth o'er, as 'twere with eyes, quick, sparkling, bri"-ht, 
 And tree and stone seem lit with living lio-ht : 
 Thus o'er that sky, in Alpine terror stole 
 Shapes, wrapped in hues of death, that quenched in ni^ht 
 All but one lonely star, nor ceased to roll. 
 Till shrouded in the gloom young Herbert's bleedino- soul. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The mustering winds now like a giant rise 
 
 From sleep in thunder, lone, and wild, and hio-h • 
 
 And, tempest-winged, the showery torrent flies, 
 
 As if the shattered windows of the sky 
 
 Again were opened, and a world to die ; 
 
 The drooping youth essayed to turn, but found 
 
 The river at his feet, that late did lie 
 
 By the steep's base below, with scarce a sound 
 
 A sleeping melody that hushed all nature round. 
 
 LXIl. 
 
 Slow, sad, and drenched throughout, he crept alon", 
 Yet knew not wiiither— wished no more to see 
 Or sorceress, or list her siren son" • 
 But breathed a prayer, and wept, and vowed to be 
 Henceforth the child of Hope— though hard to dree, 
 This once should mercy spare ; and, nerved anew, 
 Fast from that fatal cavern sped, as he 
 All ainly reeked ; for deeper still night threw 
 Her horrors o'er the scene, her darkness round him drew.
 
 44 THE RETROSPECT, canto ir. 
 
 LXiir. 
 
 Groping he moved along, when all at once 
 The caverned cliff rose o'er him, and, anon 
 There pale and postrate, met his withered glance, 
 In lightning's livid flash that o'er him shone, 
 The form of one too well and deeply known ; 
 Who, come to seek the partner of her soul. 
 Had perished in the storm : no heart of stone 
 Was his, but o'er him sudden phrenzy stole, — 
 Heaven's best boon, when it may, and can no more console. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 And for a time he stirred him not, but lay 
 And looked upon the dead, the features fair. 
 The bloom, though chilled in death, not yet away ; 
 And still he pressed — nor deemed that life thrilled there 
 No longer ; — the quick feeling of despair 
 Now rolled upon him like the rushing wave, 
 And down the rock's dread perpendicular 
 They headlong hurled, so fleet no arm might save — 
 In grief's floods steeped through life—and found a watery 
 grave. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Thus burst the unholy bond : — what offspring crowned 
 That wild, yet never-ebbing love, remains 
 To be discovered — search hath never found ; 
 Sad ! found, where love parental, unsustaius : 
 Our life's a lazar-house of cureless pains, 
 A sire, a mother only can allay 
 Its teeming sorrows, with the dewy strains 
 Of sympathy, that ever and alway 
 We hear, feel, sec, in sounds more sweet than angel's lay.
 
 CANTO II. OR YOUTHFUL SCENES. 45 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 How fair Rowena reached the cliff above, 
 Or crossed the dark wild waters, none e'er knew ; 
 Though feeble human power, what will not love 
 Accomplish ! what strong fetters burst not through ! 
 But, driven by love, what will not woman do — 
 What hath not woman done ! when Hope, long o'er, 
 Hath crined * and crumbled into ashes — you 
 Sweet woman ! only can that light restore. 
 Thy potency begins when man's strength is no more. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Man, the proud scoffer, may contemn ; though all 
 His schemes of bliss twine round thee — spurn and threat : 
 Yet, ever and anon, when ills befall, 
 He casts himself a suppliant at tliy feet ; 
 Frozen apathy not long his wintry seat 
 May fix where thou should'st sway — solo mortal boou 
 That charm'st through life, and mak'st a death-bed sweet; 
 Grief fades in thy bright beam like mists from noon. 
 Or crags that melt in light beneath the summer moon. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Heaven's fairest semblance, woman ! fount where lies 
 True sympathy alone ; sweet woman's ire 
 Ends with her weeping, like a cloud that dies 
 Away when emptied ; but there is a fire 
 No tears may stifle, rooted, dark desire 
 Of vengeance iu proud man, inflamed by time, 
 Which not till life-blood quench it can expire ; 
 Like shower of summer dropped from heavenly clime. 
 To soften, brighten earth, is woman ; man, all crime.
 
 46 THE RETROSPECT, CA.NTO ii. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Of love, unquenched through life, in death that shone. 
 Of their wild woes the tale hath long gone by ; 
 Its last faint, fitful echo heard alone, 
 If chance you roam these woodlands — thus found I 
 This little lovely gem, that well might vie 
 (From its rust fetters freed, its prison strong,) 
 With loveliest treasure underneath the sky ; 
 But as it is, its rays confus'dly throng, 
 Crude cantlet of sweet, wild, and winding, witching song. 
 
 (
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO I. 
 
 Note 1 Pago 4. 
 
 And now the mock-hird trills its varying notes. 
 
 1 have often wondered that no notice has been taVeii of this sweetly imita- 
 tive melodLst. It is very small, and of a gray colour, and, if I mistake not, 
 known amongst the peasantry of Scotland by the term " Whittle- whey bird." 
 Often in my evening rambles, more especially in the autumnal season, have I 
 been amused and charmed with its emulous notes, when, though every other 
 songster was silent, the woodlands seemed to ring with innumerable warblers 
 —intermingling their melody, or answering each other 
 
 Note 2.— Page 5, 
 
 For ever on the wing— like warning Gnome. 
 
 There was formerly a general belief, and in many places is so still, of the 
 existence of warning spirits, or phantoms that assume the form and features 
 of those who are about to die, or, at least, who will not live long afterwards, 
 thcugh at the time in perfect health ; never seen by the persons themselves ; 
 and no sooner perceived by any one, than instantly vanishing from view. 
 
 Note 3.- Page 8. 
 
 To LockharVs Tower now flocked we forth, 
 
 Lockhart's Tower, or Barr Castle, is a gray, Gothic, and stately pile ; one of 
 the mightiest vestiges of feudal times , in the environs of my native village, 
 and northern extremity of the district of Kyle, in Ayrshire ; and though for 
 ages it has remained desolate, and now seems a ruin, the hand o' time has 
 pressed but lightly on its strong and massy frame. Till of late years, a beau- 
 tiful spreading plane. tree grew out from the upper part of the w.ll, and 
 proudly overlooked its broad and moss-grown battlements, (the tree alluded 
 to in the poem of " Barr Castle,") the glory, the delight of the village ; the 
 resort and play-place of venturous boyhood.
 
 48 NOTES TO CANTO I. 
 
 Note 4.— Page 8. 
 Sovereignty to holdt 
 
 Hand-ball playing is, and has long been, a favourite amusement with the 
 villagers of Galston, many of whom are proficients in the pastime. The east- 
 ern wall of Barr castle is the principal spot where the sport is carried on ; and 
 in the summer evenings, the young men, and eke by a time the village 
 patriarch, whose spirit has sadly overrated his physical powers, may be seen 
 at the recreation, producing health and agility to their frames, and much 
 amusement to others. From a want of facilities favourable to the practice of 
 the game, it is not so common in any other town in Ayrshire ; hence thg 
 ia,me of the Galston players, who have every advantage in thia way to 
 boast of. 
 
 Note 5. -Page 8. 
 
 To its far top light scaled the maniac maid. ^ 
 
 This, though a gray tradition, is still strongly attested and believed by 
 many around ; though little more is known than what I have related of the 
 melancholy tale. She was young, beautiful, and high born, driven by unhap- 
 py affection into gloom and melancholy, succeeded by madness, which at 
 length terminated in this appalling act. About a quarter of a mile beyond 
 Barr Castle, by the rivulet Bumawn, is still seen the site of the romantic ca- 
 tastrophe -with the bowed and blighted ash till of late suspended over the 
 falling waters, rushing into the eddy. 
 
 Note 6.— Page 13. 
 As one who looks with eye -lid close compressed. 
 
 This image, carried thus far, may to some appear fantastical, or at least 
 poetically pxaggeraed ; others again will realize it in its fullest extent. The 
 source of this romantic amusement is, if I mistake not, entirely regulated by 
 the imagination. These, therefore, endowed in the greatest degree with this 
 creative power of the mind, will not fail to discover at once the truth of this 
 delineation. Press the eye lightly with your hand, and you are instantly im- 
 mersed in the gloom of a melancholy twilight, wrapped in the most rueful 
 scenes, and surrounded by unhallowed and haggard forms of every dimension. 
 Again, press the eye-lid more hard, and suddenly you are transported into 
 realms of almost insufferable effulgence of glory and beauty— ethereal shapes 
 of every delightful hue fluttering above, beneath, and around you,— spirits of 
 tranquillity retreating hurriedly from view, if but the slightest motion is made. 
 
 et, as it were, disappearing only to usher in objects of greater delight.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO 1. 49 
 
 Note 7. — Page 15 
 
 ,,. Like desert lake. 
 
 This Phenomenon is occasioned by the sun basking at certain times or 
 places on the sultry sands of the desert, where the thirsty traveller beholds 
 at a distance the appearance of a clear, smooth pool of water, but which, as 
 he approaches, gradually becomes shallow and more shallow, dim and again 
 more dim, till he is ingulphed in a wreath of burning sand, where the seem- 
 ing waters slept and shone so invitingly a little before. 
 
 Note 8.— Page 15. 
 'Midst sandy wreath and simoom sparkling bright. 
 Simoom— a dreadful blast which blows over the deserts of Arabia, fraught 
 with suffocating vapour, and fatal to all who continue within its range. 
 
 Note 9.— Page 17. 
 
 The linn . 
 
 Linn— a cataract, a waterfall. 
 
 Note 10.— Page 17. 
 
 By Kelpy foaming with convulsive grin, 
 
 WateR-Kelpies— a sort of unsightly and implacable furies, said to b" 
 cherished with the screams of drowning persons — frequenting overflowing 
 rivers and dangerous fords to decoy the unwary into the rushing waters, and 
 then leaving them to their fate. 
 
 Note 11. — Page 19. 
 Wide crannying sea-girt tower on its remotest strand. 
 
 In a clear dav the view from the face of Galston Hill extends over the 
 country for many miles, taking in the range of the " hills of Galloway" 
 on the south-west; west and north-west, the estuary of the Clyde, with the 
 lofty mountain peaks of Arran, at the south end of which .stand* the light- 
 house of Pladda, — the object alluded to above ; while to the north and 
 north-east, the Highland hills, particularly the " lofty Benlomond," and ihe 
 fertile plains of Cunningham meet the view, the whole forming a scene em- 
 bodying much that is grand ami beautiful in nature, and peculiarly cal- 
 culated to awaken the sympathies of the poetic soul. 
 
 E
 
 NOTES TO CANTO II. 
 
 Note 1.— Page 33. 
 
 ,rA gushing stream 
 
 Joined its eternity, as 'tviere in scorn. 
 And would not mingle. 
 
 It is well known, that after a storm, and for a considerable time, the fresh 
 waters are seen roiling trown along the shore, and far into itself repelling 
 the passive ocean, where their widely contrasted hues are beheld meeting, 
 but not mingling, and still apart amidst the wildest commotion. 
 
 Note 2.— Page 34. 
 
 The joys thy dreaming heart still loards by sweet Burnawn. 
 
 Buraawn, or Burnann, a rich romantic rivulet, abounding with jaspers, 
 pebbles, and other precious stones— coming down from the heights of Kyle, 
 and winding through a variety of wild and uncultured scenery, till it empties 
 itself into the Irvine, at the village of Galston. 
 
 Note 3.— Page 36. 
 
 ...., Deep, dark, wild, woody Connor. 
 
 Connor,— a rugged and picturesque scene in the district of Kyle, enve- 
 loped in woods, and scooped out by nature so deep beneath the level ot the 
 adjacent plains, that you ramble on and scarce discover a change of scenery, 
 till you are embosomed in a lonely and sequestered hermitage of woods, 
 and streams, and vales, and underwood of all sorts, scrambling up the high 
 and almost perpendicular acclivities. 
 
 Note 4.— Page 45. 
 Jrlath crined and critmhled into ashes, 
 CRINKD,— to shrink away into nothing, to dry gradually into dust.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
 
 TO 
 
 MR JOHN MOORE, 
 
 BEPORTER FOR THE " AYR ADVERTISER," AND EDITOR OF 
 THE PRESENT VOLUME, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 
 
 ARK DEDICATED, AS A MARK OF THE AUTHOR'S GRATITUDE 
 
 FOR HIS DISINTERESTED KINDNESS. 
 
 JOHN WRIGHT, 
 
 1^.
 
 I
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN 
 
 BEFORE HER CORONATION. 
 
 [A copy of the following Poem was sent to Her MAJESTY, who, through 
 her Secretary, J. Wheatley, Escj., sent the Author a Letter of acknowW'dg- 
 ment as follows :— " ST; James' Palace,— Her Majesty is highly 
 " honoured by the receipt of the enclosed Poem, and, through her Se- 
 " cretary, begs to testify her utmost gratitude."] 
 
 Victoria! England's vestal Queen, 
 
 Heaven's smile be on thy lot for aye — 
 
 Elizabeth and Anne be seen 
 
 In thee restored, with brightening ray. 
 
 The homage of the free is thine — 
 
 Brave and enlightened hearts — whoso pride 
 
 Is to uphold their rights divine ; 
 
 Or, Martyrs fall by Freedom's side. 
 
 Siill, keeping thy Brittania free. 
 Be Peace the laurel of thy reign: — 
 On land our leading-star thou'lt be — 
 Our guardian Goddess on the main. 
 In love — the nations knit as one — ] 
 Wake the sweet strains of loyaltie : 
 They hail the era that's begun, 
 And hang their golden hopes on thee.
 
 56 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Oh, ne'er may Discord's pennon wave 
 To soil the royal banners fair ! 
 May envy in her fetters rave, 
 And Discontent her ruin share ! 
 Propitious Power surround thy throne, 
 And wider be thy sway unfurled — 
 To cheer far lands with light unknown — 
 Thou Mediatrix of the world ! 
 
 'Tis sweet to see the snow-drop spread. 
 While winter's chilly tempests blow ; 
 'Tis sweet to see the whin-blooms shed 
 Their gaudy tints 'mongst wreaths of snow j 
 'Tis sweet to hear the red-bx'east sing 
 The birth-song of the infant year ; 
 So sweet's thy fair unfolding Spring — 
 Our youthful Queen — Victoria dear ! 
 
 Yet seem'st thou Nature's holier boon, 
 So richly cast in "rapture's mould :" 
 When broadly hangs the harvest moon, 
 O'er ripening fields of green and gold : 
 When spangled clouds are sailing slow- 
 Like liv'ried pages round their Queen ; 
 When all is fairy land below — 
 And all is bliss in aether seen : 
 
 Millenial glory — as it runs 
 Along earth's darkened mental skies — 
 Shine o'er thine Albion, like the sun's 
 First dawning beam on Paradise,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 5T 
 
 Embraced thy sceptre be, and crowned 
 The Isles with Freedom, back to scare 
 Those fiends of earth, that all around 
 Have ravaged and laid Nature bare. 
 
 When Albion -beautiful and free — 
 O'er half the habitable earth 
 First swayed, and throned her on the sea, 
 And gave to Art and Science birth. 
 She tow'rin<,' stood in strength and bloom, 
 Till knavery knawed her inmost core : 
 Consign such traitors to their doom ! 
 And Freedom's pilfered sweets restore. 
 
 Thine is no superhuman arm : — 
 
 We ask no miracles of thee ; 
 
 But, thou hast in thy power to harm, 
 
 Or set the burthened nations free. 
 
 We thee adjure — our gracious liege — 
 
 To grant a true, not mock Reform ; 
 
 And our warm prayers shall Heaven besiege, 
 
 To shield thee safe from every storm. 
 
 Thou'rt young and guileless — in thy ear 
 Will Flattery pour her dulcet lay, 
 To throw back Justice to the rear. 
 And witch thee from thyself away ; — 
 Adoring suppliants low will crouch. 
 Beyond what is to mortal due ; 
 But trust them not— nine-tenths of such 
 Are hollow-hearted and untrue.
 
 58 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Thou'rt young — and youthful follies will 
 In less or more degree — prevail ; 
 Thou'rt a rich argosie — and skill 
 "Will be required to guide thy sail : 
 Thou art an IJouri of the earth, 
 "Whom Araby's fond seer would cull 
 Before his own — of heavenly birth- 
 Reclining by the wine-stream's lull. 
 
 Thou'rt young and tempting — and a host 
 Of suitors, to obtain thy smile — 
 And share thy sceptre — that proud boast— 
 From 'far shall seek the sea-girt Isle ; 
 But let not youth's affections snare 
 Thy judgment, like woe's hapless child — 
 The Scottish Mary — good and fair. 
 But plunged, by love, in errors wild. 
 
 Victoria ! may the hand of fate 
 
 Spare thee through many a rolling year, 
 
 And thy Britannia wax m ore great. 
 
 And nations blest thy reign endear. 
 
 May Folly find a sure defeat — 
 
 That still the bark of State would steer I 
 
 The Virtues all thy favour meet. 
 
 And Wisdom ever have thine ear ! 
 
 i
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 59 
 
 ON TEMPERANCE. 
 
 Eventful institution 1 spreading wide 
 
 Tby robe of richest blessings o'er a curse 
 
 All baneful as an earthquake, on whose brink 
 
 A thousand crowded cities moulder down 
 
 In rapid desolation. Sure the tongue — 
 
 The harp of angel hovering in mid air — 
 
 Lamenting o'er a lost and ruin'd world, 
 
 First whispered thee in heavenly strains to man. 
 
 Where are the champions that should now come forth 
 To succour this great cause ? Where are the men 
 Who term themselves the Ministers of Grace 
 And delegates of the Most High ? Oh where 
 Hath all that holy patriotism gone, 
 That pealed its thunders through the house of prayer, 
 — The sanctuary of peace — the ark of rest — 
 Whore the dove brings the olive branch to man ? 
 
 What changes hast thou wrought ! What wonders done 1 
 What guilt curtailed ! What misery withdrawn ! 
 What Peace, and Love, and Virtue shed around. 
 Thou most diffusive blessing dropped from heaven 
 In mercy to mankind! Th' Almighty's hand 
 Is seen outstretched to succour. Have not means 
 To cherish and promote thee, glorious end. 
 Even from the bosom of impediments. 
 Been gathered with success ? The drunkard, late, 
 All madly reeling o'er his midnight bowl,
 
 60 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And grimly plotting deeds of dark revenge — 
 
 Even murder glancing from his haj^gard eye 
 
 Is now transformed, and anxious to impart 
 Th' experienced good to others. Some before 
 Look'd on him as a reptile they should spurn : 
 But now he, dauntlessly, can measure looks — 
 Can with compassion gentle meet their scorn. 
 And — true philanthropist — can preach to them 
 What preachers tremble and turn pale to hear. 
 
 Hosts may arraign thee, foes of virtue scowl, 
 And seem to scatter darkness round thy head ; 
 But these shall mar not, nor the gates of hell 
 Prevail against thee, glorious child of heaven ! 
 These in time's changing hand shall yet become ' 
 Thy brightest halo : they who strive to hide 
 Their serpent's slough, and war with thee, and say, 
 " We fiftht— we fight the battle of the Lord," 
 From their high places, soon, of pride and power — 
 Must fall and wither — widening the domain, 
 Ebriety has won from Belial's sway. 
 
 Let him not make pretension to the name 
 
 Of Christian — lover of his kind — who sees 
 
 Inebriation stalk like monster foul 
 
 O'er earth, treading its sweetest flowers to dust. 
 
 And spreading desolation all around. 
 
 Yet will not rise to quell the invading foe, 
 
 And save a sinking world. Go to that God 
 
 Ye worship : ask if 'tis an idle dream — 
 
 An airy speculation — and a stain 
 
 And stigma upon duty — to essay
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 61 
 
 Each art and just expedient that may win 
 One single victim back to hope. Let none 
 Look coldly on as if they knew not how 
 To act ; but least the man who has assumed 
 The priestly robe — the sacerdotal stole — 
 Emblem of holiness — livery of Heaven, 
 
 Resist no longer the full blaze of truth 
 That bursts upon you — if your hearts would tell. 
 Walk in a way where darkness cannot come — 
 Where Heaven liath planted all its beams of light 
 That none may stumble. This in mercy do ; 
 Else, ye wine-bibbers, God will visit you. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 on EDWAED ORUBB, ESQ., THE CELEBEA.TED TEE-TOTAT, 
 
 LECTaBEB, 
 
 Oh Eloquence ! are ye grown fey. 
 And, drawing near your deein' day, 
 To throw sweet names in Discord's dub, 
 Yet place at your richt-haun — Ned Grubb ? 
 Oh what a name is this, to be 
 Allied to heavenly harmony I 
 Drown dulcet Brougham's in a tub, 
 Since eloquence is joined to Grubb. 
 
 V
 
 ^1 
 
 62 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 [This Poem was written while the Author was superintending the pub- 
 lication of his Second Edition at Glasgow, and dedicated to Mr WiLLIAM 
 Mackison, a gentleman to whose friendship he was 'greatly indebted, and 
 who is now Captain of the Dundee Police.] 
 
 I've tried the charms of poesy — 
 
 I've tried the charms of wine ; 
 
 But friendship is a holier tie 
 
 Than both — when both combine. 
 
 Not the vague friendship of light minds 
 
 Which only life in wassail finds, 
 
 And with the goblet's flavour dies ; 
 
 Which may — or may not — be again 
 
 Rekindled in the heated brain, 
 
 "When reason spreads her wing and flies. 
 
 Not theirs, Avhose friendship — all of clay — 
 
 Hath not a spark of fire — 
 
 Formed out of Mammon's dustj which they 
 
 Had raked from many a mire ; 
 
 'Tis thine, Intelligence 1 that beams, 
 
 And, undisguised; is what it seems — 
 
 A ray of Nature's holiest light! 
 
 Angelic potency its dower, 
 
 To halo Academic bower 
 
 Or gild Creation's mental night. 
 
 Such friendship felt the Hebrew pair,* 
 The rivals of a crown ; — 
 
 • David and Jonathan 
 
 1
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 63 
 
 Yet idol self could claim no share 
 
 In its unmatched renown. 
 
 So purified and so sublime. 
 
 It sheds its light on distant time, 
 
 To vivify a callous world ; 
 
 And raised its own rich monument 
 
 Of song — whose beauty will augment 
 
 As riper Virtue is unfurled. 
 
 What was that friendship ? All unfit 
 Are accents of the earth, 
 With time's accumulated wit, 
 Such love to shadow forth : 
 The mingling of fond hearts and free 
 Can all its attributes define ; 
 'Twas a communion of such cast. 
 As love of womankind surpassed — 
 Dominion — glory — wealth and wine. 
 
 STANZAS ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE 
 CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 
 
 Morn, swathed in ruddy gold, and gaily crowned 
 Witli shapes fantastic, leaves the eastern main ; 
 
 Day beams with wonted loveliness around 
 The proud and princely cities of the plain ; 
 
 Soft, dewy twilight comes, — and comes the sound 
 Of mirth, and song, and revelry again; 
 
 The wine cup sparkles, and th' abhorred embrace 
 
 Of man with man again pollutes th' accursed place, 
 
 F 2 
 
 •
 
 
 64 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 But ye shall be from your wild revels driven, 
 
 Admah, Zeboim, Sodom and Gomorrah ! 
 With what blood-chilling dread your hearts were riven^ 
 
 Could ye a faint glance from the future borrow, 
 And see the red flood, from indignant Heaven 
 
 Hung out, to burst upon you ere the morrow ; — 
 Are there no visible portents on high. 
 Or howling in your streets, to tell of havoc nigh ? 
 
 Ye princes, weep 1 break, potentates, the rod 
 
 Of your ungodly sway ! full soon shall wane 
 Your lowering glories, deep as ruin trod, 
 
 All drenched to dust in heaven's sulphureous ram. 
 Descended are (he seraphims of God, 
 
 In wrath, to punish : intercessions vain 
 The Patriarch plies, and still again entreats 
 For you, whose final hour of mercy onward fleets. 
 
 Unbridled lewdness, robbery, and wrong. 
 
 Fraud and foul incest, hasten the dread doom j 
 
 The obscene morris and lascivious sons 
 
 Shall sleep with those that framed them — in one tomb. 
 
 The hour wings on, — fate lowers yon clouds among, 
 
 Sublime, and big with woe. Oh, God, 'tis come! J 
 
 Earth opes her sulph'rous womb — huge firebolts play 
 
 Towns crash and melt to dust — four kingdoms pass away !* 
 
 Thousands on thousands rush from street to street. 
 
 But meet grim ruin wheresoe'er they turn : 
 Some to the temples of their gods retreat. 
 
 And proffer vows, and prayers, and incense burn ; 
 
 • The reader is requested to remember, that the four cities which yteit- 
 iestioye'^, were four petty monarchies. 
 
 ^
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 65 
 
 Others die sweetly, swathed in bridal sheet. 
 Dreaming of joys awaiting them at morn ; 
 And down the chasms of the opening earth, 
 Some, flushed with wine, descend in merriment and mirth ! 
 
 And some, by whirlwind's fury tossed and torn. 
 Seem struggling hard for life, but strive in vain ; 
 
 While others, lingering low, with age outworn. 
 Yield up their fainting spirits without pain : 
 
 All earthly ties are sundered : brothers mourn 
 
 No brother's fate; sires reel, with swimming brain, 
 
 Past their unheeded offspring ; friend flies friend; — 
 
 Remorse and terror reign, and ruin without end ! 
 
 No sound uprises on the sulphury gale. 
 
 Save the gorged earthquake, mutt 'ring lone and dire ; 
 The voice of gladness and the wild death-wail 
 
 Are hushed in one wide hurricane of fire ! 
 Nought that e'er breathed survives to tell the tale : 
 
 No living thing but shall in dread retire. 
 Ye cities, from your stench, — where bloated waves 
 Roll, monuments of woe, dark rising o'er your graves ! 
 
 A sea delightless, wrapt in putrid gloom. 
 
 Dark rocks, and hills volcanic* mark the scene. 
 
 Where once the Cities stood in youthful bloom. 
 And stately towers 'mid landscapes smiling green : 
 
 • The late Dr Clarke, in his recent travels through Palestine, mentions 
 that he discovered a mountain, on the western shores of the Dead Sea, re- 
 sembling, in its form, the cone of Vesuvius, and having also a crater on the 
 top, which was plainly discernible. 
 
 F 3
 
 • MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Ye guilty nations, tremble o'er their tomb, — 
 
 Heap dust upon your heads, and cry — Unclean! 
 If these dared heaven, dread ye the unequal war — 
 Ye that are stained with crimes, moredeep, morenum'rous far! 
 
 THE WRECKED MARINER. 
 
 [The illustrioug Editor of Blackvrood'.s Magazine— Professor Wilson— in 
 a notice given in that publication of Wright's fir>t Edition of Poems, says, 
 in reference to the following verses ; — " One of John's pieces we have com- 
 mitted to memory, or rather, without trying to do so, got by heart : it seems 
 to us very mild and touching."] 
 
 Stay, proud bird of the shore ! 
 
 Carry my last breath with thee to the clifi^ 
 
 Where waits our shattered skitf 
 
 One that shall mark nor it nor lover more. 
 
 Fan, with thy plumage bright. 
 
 Her heaving heart to rest, as thou dost mine ; 
 
 And, gently to divine 
 
 The tearful tale, flap out her beacon light. 
 
 Again swoop out to sea, 
 
 "With lone and lingerin<j wail, — then lay thy head. 
 
 As thou thyself wort dead. 
 
 Upon her breast, that shs may weep for me.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 61 
 
 Now, let her bid false Hope 
 
 For ever hide her beam, nor trust again 
 
 The peace-bereaving strain,— 
 
 Life has, but still far hence, choice flowers to crop. 
 
 Oh ! bid not her repine. 
 
 And deem my loss too bitter to be borne, 
 
 Yet all of passion scorn, 
 
 But the mild, deepening memory of mine. 
 
 Thou art away ! sweet wind ! 
 
 Bear the last trick'ling tear-drop on thy wing, 
 
 And o'er her bosom fling 
 
 The love-fraught pearly shower, till rest it find ! 
 
 AN AUTUMNAL CLOUD. 
 
 [This is— in the opinion of the Bard— one of the loftiest flights of his 
 genius, and the Poem is cherished by him with all the fondness which a 
 mother would lavish on a favourite child. It was composed on a beautiful 
 autumn eve, as the Poet— his mind wrapt in the robes of fancy— wandered 
 along the banks of the " woody Burnawn," near Ids native village. Critics 
 have characterised it as being the mightiest effort of his mind : one of the 
 most distinguished of the literati of the present day, even pronounced it 
 equal to Burns's " Had I a Cave. "J 
 
 Oh ! would I were throned on yon glossy, golden cloud. 
 Soaring to heaven with the eagle so proud, — 
 Floating o'er the sky 
 Like a spirit, to descry 
 Each bright realm, — and, when I die, 
 May it be my shroud ! ,
 
 68 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 I would skim afar o'er ocean, and drink of bliss my fill, 
 O'er the thunders of Ni'gara and cataracts of Nile, — 
 
 With rising I'ainbows wreathed, 
 
 In mists and darkness sheathed, 
 
 Where nought but spirits breathed 
 Around me the while. 
 
 Above the mighty Alps (o'er the tempest's angry god 
 Careering on the avalanche) should be my blessed abode. 
 
 There, where Nature lowers more wild 
 
 Than her most uncultured child, 
 
 Revels Beauty — as one smiled 
 O'er life's darkest mood. 
 
 Our aerial flight should be where eye hath never been, 
 O'er the stormy Polar deep, where the icy Al ps are seen, — 
 
 Where Death sits, crested high. 
 
 As he would invade the sky. 
 
 Whilst the living vallies lie 
 In their beautiful green ! 
 
 Spirit of the peaceful autumnal eve ! 
 Child of enchantment ! behind thee leave 
 
 Thy semblance mantled o'er me I — 
 
 Too full thy tide of glory 
 
 For fancy to restore thee 
 Or memory give! 
 
 *•
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 69 
 
 THE BATTLE OF PENTLAND HILLS. 
 
 [The Pentlands ar« a ran^e of fine pastoral hills, and are situate in the 
 counties of Peebles and Mid-Lothian. The tops of some of the mountains 
 forming the range have an altitude varying from 1,600 to 1,800 feet above 
 the level of the sea. The scenery of the hills is beautiful. The Scottish 
 Presbyterians, smarting under the iniJignities indicted on them by the Earl 
 of Lauderdale and his colleagues in the then admiuistration, (1666) took up 
 arms, and after accomplishing a few unimportant victories, marched upon 
 Edinburgh, where they expected to be joined by the citizens in making a 
 struggle for their rights. They were however disappointed in this, and their 
 original number, amounting to 2,000, dwindled down to a few hundreds, and 
 these were half famished froin want of provisions. General Dalzell attacked 
 them on their retreat homewards, — the conflict taking place near Pentland- 
 hills, — when 40 were killed and 130 taken prisoners. Of these 45 were exe- 
 cuted, and among t'.iem the Rev. Hew M'Kail, one of Scotland's noblest 
 martyrs, whose piety anil zeal in the cause of his Maker, as well as his heroic 
 fortitude in the hour of death, have hallowed his memory, and rendered it 
 dear to every lover of religious liberty.] 
 
 Shall that dread hour of glory — 
 Till Time himself grow hoary — 
 Ignobly die in story 
 
 Or in a Briton's ear : 
 That hour with horror spangled, 
 When Liberty lay mangled, 
 Her votaries entangled 
 
 On Pentland mountains drear 2 
 
 A faithful few, unbending, 
 To deathful storms impending, 
 Were seen those heights aseending^. 
 At early watch of morn.
 
 70 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Pursued — but yet unfearing: — 
 They sung their songs endearing, 
 While a bloody foe appearing. 
 
 Laughed the heavenly sounds to scorn. 
 
 For Liberty they had sfriven, 
 In the open face of Heaven : 
 Afar, 'mongst deserts driven, 
 
 Their front defiance wore. 
 On the heaths above Dunedin, 
 Soon that patriot band lay bleeding, 
 And the carrion, foul, were feeding 
 
 Their young with Martyrs' gore. 
 
 But while their hands were wielding 
 The spear, their hearts were building 
 On prayer — hope — faith — unyielding 
 
 To the myrmidons of crime 
 By a hell. let-loose of Nero's, 
 "Whose names like simooms sear us, 
 "Were massacred the heroes 
 
 Of the Covenant, sublime. 
 
 Then songs of mountain gladness 
 "Were changed to strains of sadness ; 
 "While havoc, in its madness, 
 
 Wrought all around despair ; 
 Hope seemed for ever blighted — 
 Sweet mercy fled affrighted — 
 From blackest fiends united. 
 
 Tormenting earth and air. 
 
 ^
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 71 
 
 But the sword of justice glancing, 
 Came in the rear aJvancin£r, 
 Heaven's armoury elancing 
 
 Its rays of dreadful sheen : 
 Thon came vindictive Ruin — 
 A monarchy undoing — 
 That long had been imbruing 
 
 In blood its hands unclean. 
 
 Then dawned the golden season, 
 Of Liberty and Reason — 
 The hated name of treason, 
 
 Stamp'd no more on Faiths was seen ; 
 The Muses from Aonia, 
 Soug^ht out sweet Caledonia, 
 And mists of Pandemonia, 
 
 Dispersed from thence bedeen. 
 
 Then smiled each peaceful village — 
 No more given o'er to pillage — 
 Then flourished trade and tillasfe — 
 
 Every blessing we adore : 
 Be hallowed and defended, 
 The sceptre that's extended, 
 The monarch that ascended 
 
 To gladden Albion's shore. 
 
 M.
 
 TS miscellaneous riECES. 
 
 ON THE DEPARTURE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ' HEV. JOHN BARCLAY, C A TRINE, 
 
 TO A PASTOKAL CHARGE IN UPPER CANADA. 
 
 Away thou young Apostle to the land 
 
 That needs thy mission, fair Columbia's strand ! 
 
 Bright be thy evangelical career — 
 
 Heaven speed thee, Barclay, in thy future sphere ! 
 
 On earth's far confines boldly to proclaim. 
 
 Justice, and mercy, and a Saviour's name. 
 
 Till knowledge of the Godhead's Avorkings be 
 
 Spread far o'er earth, as waters fill the sea; 
 
 And nations all in Gospel peace become 
 
 One family, in full millenial bloom. 
 
 Go set the desert's darkened offspring free ; 
 In solitary places of the sea, 
 Uprear the standard of eternal truth ; — 
 Great be thy harvest, — enterprising youth ! 
 Tell those whom nought but earthly objects move. 
 Of all the wonders of Redeeming Love — 
 Heaven, Hell, Eternity, and fleeting Time, 
 And Mercy seated on the bow sublime. 
 To light up lowering vengeance to a smile. 
 Till Justice drops a tear in Mercy's style. 
 
 Tell those who deep through Nature's pages look. 
 Yet shun the pages of the Sacred Book, 
 Bliss may be found 'mongst peaceful solitudes. 
 Clear running M'aters, and the desert woods — 
 May be the visitant of bright abodes, 
 By rapture fashioned for the seats of Gods — 

 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 73 
 
 And, in the ray of fancy, may be seen 
 Her fairy gambols on the cottage green : 
 Yet is her home by Faith's inspiring stream ; 
 She rests her win* within the Scripture beam. 
 
 There be who dream of universal woe 
 And feel no i-ay of gladness : let them know 
 This world's not all delightless, void and dark. 
 Where feeble joy scarce sheds a transient spark : 
 Where man walks sad by day, and lays his head 
 At night on sorrow's uninviting bed. — 
 Flowers turn not all to ashes in our grasp ; 
 All are not shades and phantoms that we clasp ; 
 Charms all around entrance the cherished soul, 
 "With Gospel comforts to enrich the whole. 
 
 ******** 
 
 The task is arduous to reclaim mankind 
 
 From prejudice and error; some we find 
 
 Who Heaven's eternal purposes disclaim, 
 
 And brand election as an idle name ! 
 
 Who owns a God, must own that power to be. 
 
 Himself past, present, future ; — Deity 
 
 Omniscient, therefore, who himself must know — 
 
 Eternities from out his being flow; — 
 
 He therefore is eternal, so must all 
 
 He ever purposed be ; no shadows fall 
 
 In rear of his omniscience, or in van, 
 
 To mar a purpose, or destroy a plan ; 
 
 No back ground hid from view — nought lies behind 
 
 The vision of the uncreated mind. 
 
 Dark unbelief, that in our favoured Isle, 
 Hatli scooped her den, and lived, and wrought turmoil.
 
 74 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PJECES. 
 
 Shall meet thee at Toronto: and display 
 
 Her pall of clouds to hide the rising day; 
 
 For, wheresoe'er a Christian church is seen, 
 
 The monster Infidelity hath been ; 
 
 Yea, striven with hell-born artifice, to throw, 
 
 Discord and doubt o'er all, and death and woe. 
 
 The dove sent from the Ark, that found no spot 
 
 To rest her foot on, types the sceptic's lot; 
 
 He hath no eyesight, and is worse than blind ; 
 
 A tiny nutshell holds his little mind ; 
 
 Dark bate is all the woof with which he weaves 
 
 His web of life, who of all hope bereaves 
 
 The downcast soul, — yet cannot in its room 
 
 Leave one faint rush-light peep to cheer the gloom. 
 
 Some you will find who perish as they live, 
 Regardless of the future, yet believe : 
 Go to their death-bed, ask what chart's to guide 
 Their feet through Jordan, to the heavenly side. 
 Few were their faults, they tell, of import light, 
 And God is merciful, and all is right: 
 () Sin, that nailed up Jesus! be thy power 
 Resisted to blood-striving since that hour : 
 Leave earth, fair earth, foul enemy of God, 
 In Hades' depths lift thy rebellious rod- 
 Far from the windings of thy native Ayr, 
 Themes such as these shall be thy constant care ; — 
 To win the soul from sin's entangling mesh. 
 Till hearts of stone be changed to hearts of flesh : 
 Like oil poured forth to calm the stormy main. 
 Let words of peace the passions all restrain; 
 Like dew-clouds dropping on the thirsty soil, 
 So may thy care of souls in Christ requite thy toil. 
 
 *
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. "75 
 
 THE BLUE DEVILS. 
 
 {This poem, inscribed to an intimate acquaintance, and genuine well- 
 wisher of the Bard, ( Mr J AMES QuiGLE Y, Reporter for the " Ayr Observer,'') 
 was written alter a long debauch, and when the Poet was enduring all the 
 poignancy and horror of what he designates the '■ Blues." It is a real, and 
 not an imaginary picture, and faithfully pourtrays the torture of mind which 
 he experienced while the attack of DELIRIUM TREMENS continued. Not 
 unfrequently during these aberrations has the poet, in the silent hour of 
 midnight, betaken himself to the " gurgling Ayr" to bathe his burning tem- 
 ples in its limpid waters. On one occasion, in particular, he went to the 
 Fort. Green, adjacent to the harbour of Ayr ; and, althougli it rained heavily 
 at the time, he lay down upon his back, expecting that here, at least, he 
 would be relieved from the interference of the noisy imps who marred his 
 repose. The night was exceedingly dark. He had not remained long extend- 
 ed upon the grass, before a mimic Pandemonium presented itself to hU 
 beated imagination : and he gravely declares that the largest of the fiend- 
 ish multitude, whom he supposed to be Old Nick himself, seemed very 
 anxious to take him captive. Although he had not a " grey mare Meg" to 
 effect his escape from the " hellish legion" yet we are positively assured 
 that his retreat almost equalled thatof Tam o' Shanter himself.] 
 
 Now that I have, at last, got out of di-ink. 
 After four moons of Bacchanalian glee. 
 
 Grave, sober, wisely, let me sit and think, 
 And. dearest Quigley, pen a line to thee. 
 
 I reck not whether it be prose or clink, 
 Poetic dreams are all withdrawn from me; 
 
 The only inspiration of the Muse 
 
 Is deep hell-burning — in ten thousand Blues ! 
 
 Terrific fiends 1 I'd rather meet a score 
 
 Of Tartars fierce, than in their clutches be ; 
 
 They pinch and probe, and threaten with loud roar. 
 To throw their hapless victim in the sea ! — 
 G 2
 
 76 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Frighten with hideous oaths, that ne'er before 
 
 Were uttered out of Tophet — they that dree 
 Such dreadful terrors here, have felt the fire 
 That is unquenehed, and death is their desire. 
 
 By day they haunt you — thundering forth their jests 
 That keep the heart in agonizing pine ; 
 
 No getting rid of such unwelcome guests — 
 Close by your side they lie when you recline. 
 
 You hear the very beating of their breasts, 
 Till your own heart its functions would resign ; 
 
 And when you strive to rest the weary head, 
 
 They whisper — " Tear the out of bed ! " 
 
 A dozen voices will bawl out at once — 
 " We'll never let the Poet sleep again !" 
 
 Another cries — " No Poet, but a dunce. 
 
 These twenty years, that's rack'd a barren brain !" 
 
 Then all with one accord upon you pounce. 
 And reason's weak resistance comes in vain ; 
 
 Though well aware no sorcery is there. 
 
 You roar outright, and shake, with stiffened hair ! 
 
 But hearing is a heaven to what you feel, 
 When they appear before the startled sight — 
 
 When reason becomes madness, as they reel 
 And grin around you through the long dark night. 
 
 Such grisly forms no limner might reveal. 
 Though all e'er penciled could in one unite ; 
 
 Unheard of shapes, creation never saw — 
 
 Such as would make even Satan stand in awe !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 77 
 
 Thus thousands suffer from life's bitter foe — 
 Strong drink — delusive parent of all ill ! 
 
 Sin ne'er contrived on earth a deadlier wo — 
 What prey, what precious spoil, his altars fill ! 
 
 Oh, man's worst vampire ! thy swoU'n features glow 
 With blood — profusely shod, and drunk at will; 
 
 Plagues, death, and devils drive their wish, when we 
 
 Become enamoured of the " barley bree." 
 
 Toads, serpents, vipers — all foul things combined 
 And blent in one — would injure less than thee, 
 
 Cursed alcohol ! — a devil now defined. 
 By all who reason, and have eyes to see ; 
 
 Ruin of hope ! wreck of superior mind ! — 
 More fatal far than Java's poison tree; 
 
 Down from her seat thou hast man's gloi'y driven — 
 
 Even Reason's self, the noblest gift of Heaven. 
 
 But there is one shall triumph, and shall shine. 
 
 And break down Belial's sway with sovereign rod ; 
 
 Hail ! holy, heavenly Temperance benign ! 
 That paves the way to happiness and God: 
 
 How beautiful thy influence divine. 
 Subduing sorrow in its dark abode ; — 
 
 The flushed wine-god is falling to the ground. 
 
 And thou, oh Temperance ! gives the mortal wound. 
 
 May high enlightenment and mercy work — 
 O'er every land ebriety be laureled — 
 
 Till nations all behold the sacred ark 
 
 Of Temperance, whose standard is unfurled, 
 G 3
 
 78 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 To save from damning whisky's delug^e dark 
 A ruined race of men — a drowning world ; 
 And may they be by conscience whipt, who throw 
 Abuse on those who strive to root out woe. 
 
 Ye youths, take warning while ye yet are free, 
 The false allurements of the bowl gainsay ; 
 
 Resist temptation, lest ye come to dree 
 Disease and want — Blue Devils night and day ; 
 
 Oh thou, my dearest friend, bestow on me 
 A portion of thy spirit — that I may 
 
 Be temperate, wise, and sing o'er earth abroad, 
 
 The harmony of nature and of God. 
 
 WITCH OF ENDOR. 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 Enchantress ! thy power I come to implore ; 
 
 The gold in this hand's but the earnest of more. 
 
 If from death's dismal monarchy, mouldering and cold. 
 
 Before us you bring whom we come to behold. 
 
 WITCH. 
 
 Though what thou would'st have me I were, thou must know 
 From loathed divination what miseries flow ; 
 Were 't known I had practised aught friendly for thee, 
 'Twere woe to thyself, but red ruin to me. 
 
 .# 
 
 SI
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 79 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 Earth, towering shall kiss out the stars: the fallen stream 
 Backward roll — be ice-bound by the sun's sultry beam ; 
 The steep mountain, wrapped in sterility's gloom, 
 Change at once to a valley of beauty and bloom, 
 Ere for this aught befall thee of peril or pain, — 
 As lives the Eternal, I swear it again ! 
 
 WITCH. 
 
 The mists of mortality fall from my eyes, 
 
 Pervading (as thine, at a glance yonder skies) 
 
 This world's far bottom. The spell is prepared 
 
 And the rod that would mock earth's joint potency reared ; 
 
 Nay, your treasures withhold till that power I display ! 
 
 Now, would our destroyers come down on their prey. 
 
 These eyes to devour 'em in death and despair. 
 
 My breath would blow, Saul, like burst bubble in air ! 
 
 Now, whatever you name shall arise, (and more soon 
 
 Than uttered,) of all ever breathed 'neath the moon. 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 Urned in Ramah, our prophet ; but, woman, beware 
 Of defeating fond hope with a mockery of air : 
 "Why startle and shriek, with a loud beating heart ? 
 
 WITCH. 
 
 Thou may'st not deceive me disguised, as thou art : 
 
 If blameless I live not, ask, monarch ! of Heaven, 
 
 Nor enchantment have wrought since thy mandate was given-
 
 80 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 That reck not, remember my vow ! What appears 
 Thus terrible to thee as waken thy fears ? 
 
 WITCH, 
 
 A god, out of earth's opening bowels, ascends, 
 And, lo ! towards Endor indignantly wends — 
 Close mantled in form of a sage. 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 It is he ! 
 My soul, what dark surges are rising in thee ! 
 How I shrink from his frown !— sink him down from my 
 
 sight ! — 
 Ha ! sorceress ! he comes ! of thy power in despite. 
 I will fly— at that look all my hopes are laid low : 
 Oh God ! were I yet in the gleam of the foe 1 
 My servants, stand by me,— thou, sorceress ! retire. 
 Hail, (bowing to earth,) Israel's Prophet and Sire ! 
 
 SAMDEL. 
 
 From the far heights of glory— eternal repose- 
 Why conjure mo back to this desert of woes ? 
 Why am I breathing this world's foul bane, 
 And trembling twofold 'neath life's burden again ? 
 What would'st thou with whom thou hast dragged from the 
 
 dead, — 
 Thou, who upon life all its bitterness shed ?
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 81 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 From the deep of despair, in its wildest uproar, 
 
 Convey me, oh sire ! to Hope's halcyon- shore. 
 
 The legions of Palestine, spread o'er the land. 
 
 Ne'er dared us to battle so dreadful a band : 
 
 And neither by prophet, by Urim, nor dream, 
 
 Have we, oh, father ! yet gathered a gleam 
 
 Of faint firing hope ; fell presages appear 
 
 (Discomfiture, vassalage, roll in their rear !) 
 
 From earth's muttering womb, from the wave on the shore 
 
 To the cloud in the sky, red with Israel's gore 1 
 
 Hie we to the lowly cot, sorrow hath there 
 
 Spread her pall, the proud dome yet more dark with despair • 
 
 The warrior's heart fails in their ominous ray. 
 
 And the prowess of Judah hath melted away ! 
 
 SAMUEL. 
 
 K thus thou'rt forsaken, why call upon me ? 
 
 Ah I of thee that foretold now accomplished I see 
 
 The sceptre of power to another is given, — 
 
 Thou to ruin thrust down by the fire-bolt of heaven. — 
 
 That vengeance thou left'st on cursed Am'lek unpoured. 
 
 On thyself, fallen monarch ! infuriately showered. 
 
 To-morrow, thy troops are or scattered or slain, 
 
 But the remnant thou never shalt rally again; 
 
 And the blood of thy children— outblotting thy line — 
 
 Shall stream to the valley, and mingle with thine. 
 
 To earth, as a cedar o'erset by the storm, 
 Fell prostrate the monarch of Israel's form ; 
 And his eyelid in death seemed for ever to close. 
 While the prophet retired to his broken repose.
 
 82 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 AN ODD CHARACTER. 
 
 [The talented Author of" TheCoutemporaries of Burns," says, — in a short 
 sketch of the life of Wright, given in that publication— that the following ver- 
 ses are descriptive of the Poet's own habits and feelings. They are but partly 
 so. Although the efi'usion bears every indication of its having been written 
 to express his own view.s of his own character, the peculiarities ot those of 
 two of his " bosom cronies" were added to swell the aggregate of eccentrici- 
 ties pourtrayed. The pojrn is considered, by competent judges, a finished 
 piece ot description ; but by no means should it be viewed as embodying the 
 exclusive features of Wright's general character, although those the most 
 prominent are faithfully delineated.) 
 
 A WATWAKD youth, of vague and varying moods. 
 And strong, though checked propensities, I sing : 
 
 One who could woo the Muse by streams and woods, 
 Or make her drunken at unhallowed spring, — 
 
 One who could carol on the thundery clouds^ 
 
 The song of Hope, or soar on Doubt's dark wins' :- 
 
 All men mistook him, reck'ning at first glance 
 
 He was an easy and good-natured dunce ! 
 
 Ay, they were much mistaken, — for he threw 
 
 Simplicity around him as a veil. 
 Whereby the working of men's minds he knew, — 
 
 Himself unknown ; they reck'd not to inhale 
 So dull a spirit; and there were but few 
 
 Who otherwise beheld him : he seemed stale 
 And spiritless in gesture, speech, and feature, — 
 A heartless, harmless, good-for-nothing creature.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 83 
 
 His spirit ceased at times — though to none known 
 
 To be itself; for he had grown ideal 
 In almost all things he did look upon. 
 
 Touch, taste, or hear ; and objects most unreal 
 Received from him more bulk of blood and bone 
 
 Than would with witch-lore even at times agree well ; 
 The brown leaf, rustling forth its evening sigh, 
 Shook him all o'er, as if a god rushed by ! , 
 
 The multitude he loved not, though at times 
 
 He stood among them in their noisy mirth, 
 And seemed to laugh at their loud-boasted crimes. 
 
 And drained the goblet round their tasteless hearth ; 
 Yet was ho weary of them ; and as climbs 
 
 The clay-clogged butterfly from miry earth 
 To bask on beaming flowers, so he, disgusted, 
 
 Left the dark scene where long his soul had rusted. 
 
 Love he had felt, — but let it pass away; 
 
 Because on woman though he doated much. 
 He felt his spirit could not bear the sway 
 
 Of making e'er such slender reed his crutch : 
 Though he had heard of happiness this way, 
 
 He dreaded deeply the connubial clutch ; 
 O'er him, withal, did Love much power retain, 
 Back from the clanking of his iron chain. 
 
 He, too, had friends, but kept them not ; they were 
 — Except in absence, without letter-writing — 
 
 A burthen he had tried, but could not bear, — 
 The pain of being invited and inviting !
 
 84 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Casual if met, he joyed, no matter where, 
 
 But closer friendship soon became affrighting. 
 'Twas torture to be to night-parties led. 
 When he would have an hour or two in bed ! 
 
 Round bis own lovely village centered all 
 His loves, his hopes, and wishes, till he found 
 
 His cup of bliss there filled with burning gall, 
 By Envy's squinting horde, that gathered round, 
 
 And o'er his path of fame did foully crawl. 
 
 Like hissing adders, when his hopes were crowned : 
 
 His Muse they tried to blight, — but she unmarr'd — 
 
 They fell to work upon himself, the Bard ! 
 
 And greedily you might have found them gleaning 
 ' Tones inarticulate — misapprehended ; 
 Looks were construed to an ill-favoured meaning'. 
 
 And all his movements in one black cloud blended ; 
 And now his scorn was reckoned pride o'erweening, — 
 
 An empty foam, to its wave-top ascended ; — 
 Yet though such hordes upon his fame made pillage, 
 There were good kindred fellows in the village. 
 
 And these were friends of his — his very brothers— 
 "Who wished him well, as all the village knows ; 
 
 But, if I could remember, there were others 
 Alike inclined to cherish his repose, — 
 
 Although at times he found them like fond mothers. 
 That show their love to children by sound blows ; 
 
 They drew the sword, and stabbed— the bow, and shot him- 
 
 But then, true love was (God knows) at the bottom.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 85 
 
 It may be that I may advert elsewhere 
 To these his friends, and haply paint 'em better ; 
 
 But he, all independence, could not bear 
 
 His mind with Friendship's epithets to fetter : 
 
 From dread dun's eye he saw a demon glare. 
 And rose to pounds by being a pence debtor : 
 
 His hand was turned against all men, through whim, 
 
 And every man's was lifted against him ! 
 
 His was the hand of scorn, — not power : mankind, 
 
 In ordinary cases, found him civil ; 
 But, once awaked, they shrunk aghast to find, 
 
 A spirit rise that would browbeat the devil ; 
 His heart was warm, and vain, and oft would wind 
 
 Around him flattery from a common drivel : 
 His brow was wrinkled, and his young scalp hoary. 
 Twice ten years ere his time, through love of glory. 
 
 He, too, was jealous — Jealousy's first-born! 
 
 Jealous of all men, jealous in all places ; 
 All night of desperadoes dreamt, — at morn, 
 
 He saw a snare lurk in most priestly faces : 
 One dubious look or accent made him lorn, 
 
 Till love or friendship lost their winning graces, — 
 And at such times, the wafture of a hand 
 Told on his spirit like a hell-fire brand ! 
 
 Yet was he not much fitted, as you'll see, 
 
 To be in deep woods a lone eremite ; 
 Even then he was not from forebodings free — 
 
 Annoyed to death by kelpy, ghost, and sprite : 
 
 n
 
 86 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES- 
 
 Yet only from such shadows would he flee, — 
 Bold could he lift his brawny arm in fight ; 
 So bold, had bodied spirit dared him then, 
 He would have beat it into air again. 
 
 Though forests, and deep glens, and mountain streams. 
 And high o'erhanging cliffs, and cave rns drear. 
 
 Formed the first rainbow of his youthful dreams, 
 — That o'er him hung for ever, fresh and clear,— 
 
 Yet solitude, though wrapt in noonday beams. 
 Without some cottage or companion near. 
 
 He trembled to approach. Why is it so. 
 
 That cherished feeling e'er should end in woe ! /; 
 
 Thus was this youth the comet of his kind, 
 
 A dancing streamer, — wandVing Will-o'-wisp ; 
 
 The rusty ties of men could never bind 
 His free and daring spirit in their grasp ; 
 
 The common path he left, if he might find 
 A by-way near, some random Muse to clasp. 
 
 Reader ! this youth's no phantom of the brain : 
 
 He is not dead, but sleeps — to rise again. 
 
 
 f
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 87 
 
 TO MY FIRST-BORN CHILD. 
 
 [The following verses appeared in the Second Edition of Wrighfs poems, 
 but in a different, and rather questionable shape. The Author, how- 
 ever, has been prevailed upon to remodel their structure so as render them 
 less offensive to the refined ear. " The evil power" which has " crossed 
 his father's path," has prevented him hitherto from using the means, which 
 he so feelingly describes, for the culture of his child's mind. Misfortune has 
 deprived the boy of " a .sire's sustaining care," but " a mother's fond affec- 
 tion" supplies the want. Thoughts of his children often occupy the Poet'* 
 mind, accompanied by the keen regrets which a separation from all that 
 dear on earth conspires to engender.] 
 
 The breath of life, my child ! 
 Distends thy nostrils ; and the restless flame 
 Runs quiv'ring through thy frame, 
 
 Of thy sire's spirit, fitfully and wild. 
 
 And thou hast now become 
 The denizen of a world so woe-begone, — 
 Thou'lt feel its cares anon. 
 
 And ne'er know freedom, though born free to roam. 
 
 Many a long weary hour 
 Of grief, despair, dejection, may be thine, 
 When thou would'st glad resign, 
 
 With all its transient sweets, life's bitter dow'r. 
 
 But Hope shall lead thee on 
 To bowers of bliss, still fair though far away, 
 Whose rapture-beamjng ray 
 
 Shall gild existence, even when manhood's gone. 
 
 H 2
 
 88 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES- 
 
 Oh ! may the evil power. 
 That crossed thy father's path like simoom wild, 
 And many a sweet hope soiled, 
 
 Ne'er blind thine eye with tears, nor o'er thee lour! 
 
 I would not have thee be 
 
 The child of Song : who courts this art divine 
 
 Is left on earth to pine, 
 
 Like skiff too far out on a stormy sea- 
 Yet will I cherish fond 
 
 In thee the power and spirit of the Muse, — 
 
 Imaginary views 
 
 Of man and nature, common reach beyond. 
 
 To scenes of grandeur I 
 Will lead thee, and familiarize thy mind 
 With all that we may find 
 
 On Alpine heights, beneath a summer sky : — 
 
 Where round the rocks is seen, 
 Like Beauty rip'ning in the embrace of Death, 
 In many a massy wreath. 
 
 The fresh young ivy intertwining green : — 
 
 Where Spring, in all the glow 
 Of beautiful divinity, looks down 
 From cliffs, with leafy crown 
 
 And green attire, on Autumn stretched below ] 
 
 Thou emblem of thy God ! 
 Yet innocent, whom we do love I ween. 
 As thou hadst with us been 
 
 Long years already on life's thorny road.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 89 
 
 A sire's sustaining care — 
 A mother's fond affection sliall be thine. 
 That round thee close shall twine. 
 
 And share thy joys, and shield thee from despair. 
 
 The annals of the seer. 
 Who suny: crration startinij into light 
 From never-broken night, 
 
 Shall early greet thy little infant ear : 
 
 And thoughts all bri;,^ht — the stream 
 
 Of rapture that pervades the sacred page 
 
 Shall thy young heart engage. 
 
 Where beauty, pathos, heavenly grandeur beams t 
 
 And when, my lovely child I 
 The season thou hast reached to mix with men, 
 
 Sportinii by hill and glen, 
 
 O'erhanging cliffs, and precipices wild : — 
 
 When thou hast reached thy prime, 
 And fi'lt the magic power of woman's eye, 
 Begin not then to try 
 
 To ease the heart, song-making and sweet rhyme : 
 
 'Twill steal thee, in (he end. 
 Away from happiest love, to woo wild fame. 
 Where thou niay'st blight thy name, 
 
 A:id reap no good but what to ill may tend. 
 
 Thus fell the Peasant Bard, 
 Coila's sweet minstrel, to whom did belong 
 A stream of richer song 
 
 Tl):in India's strand or Eden's living sward ! 
 H 3
 
 90 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 As mists of evening, curled 
 In many a shape of bliss o'er mountain gray. 
 Was his bewitching lay, 
 
 Whose home's each heart — whose cenotaph's the world. 
 
 ODD-FELLOWSHIP. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE "lOYAL BANKS OF ATB LODGE.' 
 
 [Odd-Fellowship, now almost universally spread over the land, made its 
 first appearance in Ayr in 1841. After much importunity a few individuals 
 were induced to have themselves initiated into the Order. Notwithstandin;/ 
 the title of the fraternity is rather singular, and, we may add, unhappily 
 chosen, — the charitable and philanthropic principles which distinguish this 
 Society above all others, soon found Patrons ; and the Lodge, which was insti- 
 tuted, on 17th May in the aboveyear, now numbers upwards of 210 members, 
 with a very respectable fund for the relief of the sick or the distressed belong- 
 ing to the brotherhood. The Poet, though not an Odd- Fellow in the sense 
 described below, was keenly alive to the importance and advantages of the 
 institution ; hence the following verses.] 
 
 Hail ! glorious Institution, hail ! 
 Thou'rt like a ship just setting sail. 
 Blest with calm sky and prosp'rous gale, 
 
 On summer sea — 
 O may'st thou never, never fail. 
 
 But 'stablished be. 
 
 Hail ! brethren of the " Banks of Ayr " 
 Odd Fellows but in name, nae mair ; 
 Unlike those Bacchanals that bear 
 
 That appellation — 
 Masked, rampant fiends, whose red eyes glare 
 
 O'er deep potation. 
 
 ^%
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 91 
 
 But Terap'rance is your fixed degree. 
 High order, love, and harmony ; 
 An Institution that shall see 
 
 No rival ne'er: 
 The honour of humanity 
 
 And virtue dear. 
 
 Is competence an acquisition ? 
 
 Is your deep prayer and warm petition 
 
 Ne'er to come in dire collision 
 
 With meagre want ? 
 Come hither ; — if ye find admission 
 
 Ye've cause to vaunt. 
 
 Ye who contrived such good for man, 
 Ye noble Howards in the van — 
 Executors of mercy's plan — 
 
 Bright be your fame ! 
 While bitter spite, that would trepan. 
 
 Is brought to shame. 
 
 Most glorious union of Odd Fellows ! 
 Whae'er blavvs slander's horn to tell us 
 Ye're come wi' politics to spoil us 
 
 And hunt down truth, 
 Is owre lang frae the hulks or gallows — 
 
 Deil stop his mouth ! 
 
 Here peace presides, the soul and centre 
 Of the communion ; nor dare enter 
 Fierce party squabbles, the tormentor 
 
 And wreck of all ; 
 That even into the Kirk will venture, 
 
 "With lips of gall.
 
 92 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 O for a whip and power to lash 
 The demon that first raised a clash ; 
 That works o'er earth sic wide stramash, 
 
 Grief and despair, 
 And would break down with thund'ring crash 
 
 This fabric fair. 
 
 Ye bats that flutter in the gloom. 
 Ye moles that riddle nature's womb, 
 In dark assemblage bent to doom 
 
 Our lights away, 
 And Institutions that shall bloom 
 
 Above your clay. 
 
 Bright Brotherhood ! ne'er nurse disorder. 
 Of noblest plans the sure retarder ; 
 Nae blessing e'er cam owre the Border 
 
 Like your grand scheme : 
 Enlightened wisdom be its warder 
 
 Down time's rough stream. 
 
 May stunted shrubs that bear no fruit 
 Ne'er in this garden fair take root, 
 Nor idle weeds that love to shoot 
 
 From richest soil. 
 And mongst the sweetest plants that sprout, 
 
 Work sad turmoil. 
 
 While Ailsa Craig sits on the deep. 
 While Goatfell rises stern and steep. 
 While tides roll on, and billows sweep. 
 
 The shores of Kyle, 
 Sae lang may ye high station keep, 
 
 And, thriving, smile! 
 
 i
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 93 
 
 LINES ON THE GLASGOW ODD FELLOWS' 
 VISIT TO THE "LAND OF BURNS." 
 
 [On the fifteenth of July 1842, the Odd- Fellows belonging to the several 
 Lodges in Glasgow, to the number of nearly 1000, paid a visit to A)T and the 
 " Land of Burns." They came from Glasgow by a special train, and having 
 met their brethren from the Ayr, Kilmarnock and Troon Lodges, the whole 
 body marched out to the Monument in procession. The spectacle was of 
 the most imposing character. The following was written about a fortnight 
 prior to the event it alludes to.] 
 
 Bright band of Brothers from the Clyde ! 
 Renowned Odd- Fellows, far and wide, 
 On Spitfire's back away ye glide, 
 
 Wi' social glee, 
 The land of song, in summer's pride, 
 
 Right fain to see. 
 
 To meet your gallant Brethren there, 
 The Branch Lodge of The Banks of Ayr ; 
 Boys that possess, and winna spare. 
 
 The yellow treasure, 
 Who will provide, with treatment rare. 
 
 For your high pleasure. 
 
 Odd-Fellowship — guid o' itsel — 
 Conceived in love, born to excel ; 
 That o'er a' unions bears the bell, 
 
 Throughout the nation, 
 Seems doubly dear from this grand spell 
 
 Of visitation.
 
 94 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 From Cart to Doon let memory 
 Hoard up the lovely sights ye see ; 
 O'ermantled with the poesy. 
 
 And music strong, 
 Of Burns and Tannahill, that be 
 
 The gods of song. 
 
 H Yours is a glorious route to-day. 
 
 Befitting such a grand display ; 
 By Wallace' birth-place — Elderslie ; 
 
 And where each hill 
 Heard famous Habby Simpson play 
 
 His pibroch shrill. 
 
 Ride proudly on, yo lads of mettle. 
 
 Bid fire-horse fume, and^carriage brattle ; 
 
 And let nae cares your hearts unsettle, 
 
 At such a season ; 
 Auld Ayr shall boil the toddy kettle. 
 
 To weet your wizen. 
 
 Guid save's, what speed ! the valleys reel. 
 And mountains, like a spinning wheel ; 
 E'en streams are whirling to the deil. 
 
 In backward motion ; 
 And men and cattle seem to feel 
 
 The strange commotion. 
 
 The Garnock is recedin;j fast — 
 The bleak Kilbirnie hills are past — 
 Now 'pear the glories of the West, 
 
 Hill, sea, and shore j 
 And Ailsa — ocean's giant crest — 
 
 Uprises hoar.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 95 
 
 Kilwinning, the Papingo town, 
 Held by Montgomerie of renown, 
 Seems, in the hurry, sinking down 
 
 Into the sea. 
 Whose bowmen Robin Hood might own, 
 
 And honoured be. 
 
 And now is heard the billows' roar — 
 And seen the towns that stud the shore — 
 And felt the sea-breeze more and more, 
 
 Exhilarating ; 
 The breeze that pent up cits adore, 
 
 Fresh life creating. 
 
 As on by Irvine's shores ye haste, 
 Pay homage to the Earl's taste. 
 And mark the spot that saw the last 
 
 Of chivalry ; 
 Such glorious tilting in the west, 
 
 Wha e'er did see ? 
 
 Dundonald Castle next appears, 
 O'erladon with the weight of years : 
 A princely dome, that stoutly bears 
 
 Th' attacks of time ; 
 And in its very ruin wears 
 
 A look sublime. 
 
 And Troon, gemm'd in yon fairy nook, 
 Upgrown, yet still of infant look. 
 Well patronised by Portland's Duke, 
 
 Its foster sire ; 
 A new creation starts — like brook 
 
 From mossy mire.
 
 96 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 The woocls of FuUarton before ye, 
 Flash proudly in their summer's glory ; 
 The Powburn— famous in witch-story, 
 
 Throughout the land ; 
 And Prestwick— in appearance sorry, 
 
 Are close at hand. 
 
 Hurrah, my boys '.—right merry be, 
 
 The point is gained :— ye now may see 
 
 The Branch Lodge marching down the Quay- 
 
 A goodly throng : 
 What salutations, toasts and glee, 
 
 Ye'U hear ere long ! 
 
 The blooming, far-famed maids of Ayr, 
 Shall welcome you in clusters fair : 
 Provost and Bailies shall be there. 
 
 Laymen and priest. 
 Crowding the streets, in concourse rare, 
 
 T' enjoy the feast. 
 
 The Wallace Tower ye'U now discover, 
 
 Basking in beauty up the river ; 
 
 The Brigs, whoso colloquy time never 
 
 Shall try to blot ; 
 As proud as Burns were passing over. 
 
 They'll maist speak out. 
 
 I needna paint the joys ye'll feel, 
 When ye gang out to see the biel 
 Where Burns was born, and sung sae weel : 
 
 And by the Kirk, 
 Where Tarn O'Shanter saw the De'il, 
 
 And Cutty-Sark.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 97 
 
 Were Burns alive, his heart would glow, 
 To see the charms that art can throw 
 O'er nature's face — the grand ^et d'eau, 
 
 And grotto fair, 
 Contrived by Auld, who well can show 
 
 Each beauty rare. 
 
 I leave you now, — a higher spell 
 
 Shall your whole souls with transport swell ; 
 
 By the Auld Brig, and Mungo's Well, 
 
 And Monument, 
 And may your steam trip, ending well, 
 
 Give cause to vaunt. 
 
 A NOISY SUBJECT. 
 
 WEITTEN IN A MOMENT OF INSPIRATION. 
 
 LouDEK Burke's cuddy ass doth bray. 
 Than lion raging for its prey, 
 Or devils yelling in a fray ; 
 Louder than roar old Ocean's waves, 
 When storms dig deep the seamen's graves; 
 Or the wild tempest on the land, 
 Howling and bearing dread command ; 
 Like some great mob's tremendous squall; 
 Or bursting mines, when cities fall ; 
 Or Waterloo — what time our Chief 
 Implored for Prussian relief ; 
 Or frozen masses rumbling down. 
 From Alpine hills, to crush a town ; 
 Like thunder pealing through the sky ; 
 Or savage's loud battle cry ; 
 Or cannon — at its murderous work — 
 So roars thy cuddy — Jamie Bubke. 
 
 I
 
 98 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LANGSIDE. 
 
 [On the death of James V. in 1542, his successor— Mary— was but a few- 
 hours old. Her beauty, imprudence, and misfortunes are alike famous in 
 history. She was married while yet in her minority to Francis IL of France, 
 during which period the Reformation had made rapid strides in Scotland. 
 On talking possession of the Scottish throne, she married her cousin-german, 
 Darnley, whose untimely fate has given rise to so much controversy. In 
 consequence of the violent death of her husband, and her subsequeut mar- 
 riage with Bothwell — hia supposed murderer — an insurrection broke out 
 among her subjects; and^althouj^h Bothwell made a show of resistance, 
 Mary was compelled to surrender herself to her associated nobles. She was 
 afterwards confined in the castle of Lochleven, whence she made her escape, 
 and was received by a few determined loyalists, who raised an army of 6,000 
 for her defence. The Regent Murray and his adherents routed Mary's army 
 
 at Langside, near Glasgow, and the unfortunate Queen was obliged to flee 
 into England, where she was detained 18 years prisoner, and then beheaded, 
 
 by order of Elizabeth in 1587, in the 46th year of her age. ] 
 
 Queen Mart looked from Cathkin's top. 
 
 On Langside's bloody day, 
 
 And saw her brave defenders drop 
 
 In thousands 'mid the fray ; 
 
 She saw the rebel's pennon float — 
 
 The Koyal banner fall — 
 
 Then turned her weeping from the spot, 
 
 Friends, kingdom, lost was all. 
 
 '■ Oh wae betide thee, Scotland's isle 
 In grief I e'en must say : 
 Ye've ne'er deserved a monarch's smile. 
 Since that disastrous day,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 99 
 
 The Regent Murray and his brood 
 
 Of emissaries vile, 
 
 Dip't their curs'd hands in kindred blood — 
 
 The purest of our Isle." 
 
 No blemish in her life we find 
 
 To match her sad o'erthrow ; 
 
 Her faults were those of womankind- 
 
 A mountain's weight her woe. 
 
 Let adulation as it will 
 
 Deck England's vestal Queen :* 
 
 Surveyed from Mary's prison cell 
 
 She's but a despot seen. 
 
 Time has rolled on — and prejudice 
 
 Been hunted from its shade ; 
 
 And darkling deeds are brought to light- 
 
 Their barbarous guilt displayed. 
 
 Thy mem'ry — deeply injured one 
 
 Still brightens on our view, 
 
 And calls for imprecations on 
 
 The regicidal crew. 
 
 • Elizabeth. 
 
 I :i
 
 100 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 Sad was thy fate, Eliza dear! 
 
 It had been well for thee, 
 
 The cradle to have been thy bier, 
 
 Beside thy mother's knee. 
 
 No other child e'er shared her love; 
 
 And while thy years were green, 
 
 Thy mother's heart true joy did movf> 
 
 That thou had'st girlhood seen. 
 
 Alas ! she recked not, nor could see 
 The page of coming years — 
 The portraiture of agony — 
 Else blood had been her tears. 
 Ye rose in bloom the eye to bless, 
 Like bright bird on the wing, 
 In all the life and loveliness 
 That decks the orient spring. 
 
 Thine was a look that snared the heart, 
 
 And held it to the last ; 
 
 A face — a form — from which to part. 
 
 Rent one from rich repast 
 
 An eye, nor blue, nor darkly bright. 
 
 Nor grey ye would it call. 
 
 But an enchanting aggregate 
 
 Admixture of them all.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 101 
 
 But these were to thee as fair flowers 
 
 Are to the parent spray, 
 
 That are, all in their natal hour, 
 
 Snatched by rude hands away. 
 
 The owl that sweeps the forest through, 
 
 In darkness finding prey — 
 
 So felon man did all undo 
 
 Thy bosom in such v>'ay. 
 
 Peace fled thee with thy faded fame 
 
 And thou — wrecked — passion's slave, 
 
 Hid, with thy broken heart, from blame, 
 
 In an untimely grave. 
 
 Sad was thy fate, Eliza dear ! 
 
 It had been well for thee. 
 
 The cradle to have been thy bier. 
 
 Beside thy mother's knee. 
 
 BARR CASTLE. 
 
 Ba.bk Castle ! tenantless and wild ! 
 
 Dome of delight ! dear haunt of mine ! 
 The shock of ages thou hast foiled. 
 
 Since fell the last of Lockhart's line ; 
 Thou, left a hermit, to grow gray 
 O'er swallow, crane, and bird of prey. 
 
 Proud edifice! no annals tell 
 
 What thou hast brooked, what thou hast been. 
 Who reared thee in this lovely dell. 
 
 What mighty baron, — lord, I ween, 
 I 3
 
 102 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 
 
 Of hardy Kyle: no bordering tower 
 Possessed more independent power. 
 
 O for a pinion from the wing 
 Of pelf, to lift me from the mire, 
 
 And crown a wish, formed ia life's spring. 
 When life was ail desire ! 
 
 These walls should ring with Minstrel's lay, 
 
 These turrets fall not to decay. 
 
 On thy broad battlements, moss- wove. 
 In nature's holy, unbroken hush, 
 
 Save by the owl's lone note above. 
 
 And the hurrying water's ceaseless gush — 
 
 Through all of bliss heaven e'er unfurled. 
 
 Oh ! then and there the soul is hurled. 
 
 The rudely rolling mountain stream. 
 
 From thence, (while floating o'er the lea, 
 
 The mists melt away in the twilight beam,) 
 How sweet to hear, how fair to see ! 
 
 Its every maze we loved to trace. 
 
 Of beauty — met in one embrace . 
 
 Departing Autumn ! oh, thine the hour, 
 
 When, far down the vale to the dusky ocean, 
 
 The moon sheds her mild beam, the light clouds lour 
 Or sport through the blue sky in fitful motion, 
 
 Of every beautiful form and dye 
 
 That love to deck an autumn sky. 
 
 I
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 103 
 
 But when in fond breathings, seclusion that seek, 
 
 Would Love o'er the scene his wild witchery fling, 
 The zephyr that crept o'er the burning cheek, 
 
 Seemed the odorous waft of a seraph's wing ; 
 And the shadows that danced on the turrets, and tree 
 That shoots from the wall, seemed thralled spirits set free. 
 
 The wind tuned its voice to the dulcet sound 
 Of the spirit that harped on the waters below ; 
 
 And the tree's fallen foliage that fluttered around. 
 Seemed unwilling to rest in the life -breathing glow ; 
 
 Shapes of beauty or phantasy forming the while. 
 
 The blue smoke, slow-moving, wreathed round the dark 
 pile. 
 
 But sight so fair the feeling soul 
 May idolize — oh ! ne'er pourtray ! 
 
 Who, by contemplating, e'er stole 
 The sun- bow hues from heaven away ? 
 
 We look, and love, and long, though vain. 
 
 To breathe it in poetic strain.
 
 104 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN THE HOUSE WHERE 
 PROFESSOR WILSON WAS BORN. 
 
 Is this thy birth-place, Wilson ! thou, so long 
 The patron, shield, and soul of modern song ? 
 Is this the spot of thy youth's bright career — 
 The monument for nations to revere ? 
 Is this the scene where Nature's nursing arm 
 Reared thy young genius, soon a world to charm ?- 
 How glows the heart to pour her feelings forth, 
 In these dear halls that gave the mighty birth ! 
 
 Flower of my heart ! fair fabric though thou art, 
 (For, whilst I gaze, mefllinks I'd ne'er depart !) 
 Thine are not charms to catch the vacant stare, 
 Or eye that beams infected by false glare; 
 Not so august, but lordling's gorgeous tower 
 Can thee outrival, — yet thou hast a dower, 
 Sweet pile ! to eye of bard more fair unfurled. 
 Than all the proudest domes of all the world ! 
 
 O, Wilson ! dear to every muse, and dear 
 To all their vo fries — loved with love sincere ! 
 Thine are the laurels that, amid the blast 
 Of envy, ages, shall unblighted last : 
 Oh ! not till Time — till Nature's self decay. 
 Shall one charm perish of thy minstrelsy ! 
 
 As gentlest breeze, at twilight's dreamy hours. 
 Comes laden from a bank of summer flowers, — 
 As moonlight streaming from a cloudless heaven. 
 To ocean's blue wave and the mountains given, —
 
 I< 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 105 
 
 Till death seems past, and spiritual life begun, 
 
 The moon, the sea, and mountains blent in one, — 
 
 So dost thou seize our spirits, till we seem 
 
 The happy beings of a blissful dream, 
 
 'Mongst sights and shapes of beauty, which we may 
 
 All idolize, but never can pourtray. 
 
 In thy own native land, shall wits unborn 
 Follow thy feeling and frequent thy urn, 
 And gather o'er thy canonized shrine 
 Bright inspiration — energy divine, — 
 And here, like me, all adoration, rove. 
 Bound by eternal gratitude and love ! 
 
 TO A WITHERED ROSE, 
 
 IN THE ALBUM OF MISS R OF LAUCHOPE. 
 
 The rose is lovely in the bud. 
 And beauteous when 'tis blown; 
 
 But, Helen, thou hast given it charms, 
 Even when its leaves are strown. 
 
 These secret charms around it play. 
 Its hidden sweets unfurled : 
 
 So virtue blooms when life decays, — 
 The beauty of the world !
 
 106 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 ON A. HAWTHORN. 
 
 WRITTEN IN" A LADy's ALBUM. 
 
 Of all the scents that load the air 
 In Summer's pride, the hawthorn, fair, 
 
 Sheds forth the richest redolence. 
 So sweet to sense — so fair to sight — 
 The very spirit of delight 
 
 Is in its breath, and in its glance. 
 
 It yields more fragrance forth than all 
 
 The flowers of Spring combined — which pall 
 
 Full oft by being pressed too close 
 The hawthorn, without pressing, gives 
 To earth— to every thing that Uves— 
 
 Its bounties all the world across. 
 
 We cease to prize what we possess ; 
 But, does it make the blessing less ? 
 
 Ah no ! and thou fair flow'ring thorn ! 
 Pourtrayed by Cathekine, art more dear 
 Than plants which statelier may appear. 
 
 And rear their heads of thee in scorn.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 107 
 
 LINES COMPOSED ON VISITING 
 
 A SCENE IN PEEBLESHIRE, WHERE A CHURCH-YARD HAD 
 BEEN CONVERTED INTO A PLEASURE GROUND. 
 
 Blessed scene! what forms of rapture crowd 
 Upon me while thy charms I trace ! 
 
 Thou look'st as thou did weave War's shroud, 
 So peaceful — calm thy every grace : 
 
 A pleasure-ground ! and yet we tread 
 
 Above the ashes of the dead ! 
 
 Thou quell'st, to contemplation meek. 
 Pride, arrogance, howe'er unfurled, — 
 
 Sweet home of heaven-born thoughts, that seek 
 Seclusion from the jarring world ! 
 
 Possessing all the heart could guess 
 
 Of Nature's primal loveliness. 
 
 Oh ! give me back that scene divine, 
 
 Of winding walks and sculptured stones, 
 
 Flowers, shrubs, and shrub-girt streams that shine 
 '3Iongst sepulchres of mouldering bones 1 — 
 
 A scene from which wild mirth must fly, 
 
 And all unholy feelings die !
 
 108 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES- 
 
 ADAM'S ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE 
 AFTER THE FALL. 
 
 Ah, Philomel! flyest thou, too? — ob, curse indeed ! 
 
 Beyond what I can bear — beyond whate'er 
 
 My offspring will : like me tbej' ne'er can know 
 
 What this lone desert is, to Eden lost ! 
 
 Yet seemed ray fate less bitter, when of thee 
 
 I thought, delightful songster ! that didst thrill 
 
 Our hearts to transport in our happy state, — 
 
 That haply might'st attend us still, to cheer 
 
 Our pilgrimage of sorrow ! Thou art perched 
 
 On the tree's topmost bough, and hid'st thyself 
 
 Amid its foliage, as if even a look 
 
 Would instantly destroy thee ! — yet thy song 
 
 Is changed to pity ; sad thy softening flow : 
 
 Not thus when forth I roamed, in league with all below ! 
 
 EPITAPH ON WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. 
 
 If genius powerful — piety sincere, 
 
 That warred with vice, despite the scoffer's sneer ; — 
 
 If purity of heart and life, combined 
 
 With warm benevolence to all mankind. 
 
 The tear of feeling and affection crave, 
 
 Here pay the tribute — this is Cowpeb's graTe !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 109 
 
 TO THE STREET REMARKERS. 
 
 [The following splenetic effusion was written on the Author's return to 
 Galston, after the publication of his first Edition. His success — strange to 
 Bay^-created an envious feeling towards him on the part of many of those 
 who used to be his companions ; and who, now that he had been elevated 
 on the shoulders of popularity, and was, in consequence, a little more 
 sparing of his conversation than he was wont to be, took every mean* to 
 annoy and insult him. John gave vent to his spleen in the annexed lines, 
 which have undergone a slight alteration, in order the better to adapt them 
 to the public taste.] 
 
 Ye street-remarking, boolhorned bitches ! 
 Ye idle, lazy, menseless wretches ! 
 I'd sooner meet a group o' witches 
 
 On Hallowe'en, 
 Than come within your cursed clutches, 
 
 Whar ye convene. 
 
 Ye hae nae sense, — ye've nane ava, — 
 Low, byre-bred haverils, ane and a' ! 
 Ye gape and glower, wi' loud guffa, 
 
 At a' that passes, 
 An' cock your crests, an' crousely craw, 
 
 Though nocht but asses. 
 
 Ye stan' upon the street and smoke, 
 An' laugh an' jeer at honest folk, 
 An' drive, an' ane anither knock, 
 
 Like mob a-skailin'; 
 I'd sooner far hear puddocks croak, 
 
 Or grumpily yellin' !
 
 no MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Hae ye nae dub at your ain door ? 
 Ye idle, blethering, senseless core I 
 That ye maun jibe, an' rowt, an' roar, 
 
 Till your sides split. 
 Each telling loud his pig-sty splore 
 
 Of paltry -wit. 
 
 Can ye no' read ? — can ye no' write ? 
 
 Can ye no' think ae thocht that's bright ?— 
 
 Can ye no' nurse some fond delight. 
 
 Aback frae ither ? 
 An' no' be nuisances outright — 
 
 Deils a' thegither ! 
 
 I winna say your heads are boss ; 
 
 They're filled wi' something— gowd or dross; 
 
 Let him wha doubts it keek mair close : 
 
 An' see the byke ! 
 Laying their lazy limbs across 
 
 The priest's glebe dyke . 
 
 Just note the marrow o' their mirth, — 
 Ye'll swear that an Egyptian dearth 
 O' common sense out-ower the earth 
 
 It's black wing stretches, 
 An' pray for strength, an' a horse-girth, 
 
 To skelp the wretches I 
 
 I needna preach ! — sic doctrine's stale, — 
 
 To you at least of no avail ; 
 
 Ane better wad wi' brutes prevail — 
 
 Even Hielau' donkeys : 
 I tell you, ye but want the tail 
 
 To mak you monkeys !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Ill 
 
 THE CLOUDS OF THE WEST. 
 
 The clouds of the west ! the clouds of the west! 
 Are lovely to see ia an April morn. 
 
 When Nature rises from slumber, undrest, 
 In her slender night-robe of flow'rets, worn 
 By the buffet of breezes, yet winter-born, — 
 
 When the weird shapes of heaven, leaping down to kiss earth, 
 
 Chase winter away in their gladsome mirth. 
 
 The clouds of the west ! the clouds of the west ! 
 Stretched o'er the blue hills in a summer's moon, 
 
 That skim o'er heaven's bosom — a sunbeam their guest. 
 All enamoured, bestowing its magical boon 
 Of hues that seem deathless, yet vanishing soon, — 
 
 Forms that leap into beauty, still changing serene, 
 
 Is a sight of rapture I have seen. 
 
 The clouds of the west ! the clouds of the west ! 
 
 In the fairy hues of an autumn eve. 
 When the tired sun sinks to his golden rest, 
 
 And the lingering tints of the sky seem to grieve 
 
 That sight so lovely should ever leave 
 This beautiful world : where sorrow hath been, 
 Is throned enchantment's divinest scene ! 
 
 The clouds of the west ! the clouds of the west ! 
 Abrupt and sublime, in winter's sadness, 
 
 When the fierce winds hurl them o'er the dark breast 
 Of the mountain bleak, in their stormy gladness; — 
 When the elements all are writhed to madness, 
 
 And the smile is brushed from the sun's bright mien. 
 
 Is a sight surpassing all, I ween. 
 
 K 2
 
 112 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AFTER VISITING CORRA 
 LINN BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The star of eve ! the star of eve ! 
 
 Hangs flickering o'er the ruffled stream, 
 Where Corra's misty waters weave 
 
 Their wild enchantment ! — the gray gleam 
 Of downward billows dashed to ruin — 
 
 The cliffs that blighted spirits seem. 
 
 To towering bosoms well may teera 
 With transport, yet must be the undoing 
 Of him that's fitted but for homely wooing. 
 
 It thunders down I the frantic mass 
 
 Of fallen greatness sweeps below; 
 It thunders down ! what mightiness ! 
 
 The cliffs affrighted seem to bow 
 Beneath the salutation dire, 
 
 As 'twere of giant, whose caress 
 
 Could strangle Nature ! — for no less 
 Than such can rouse his dreadful ire; — 
 How scornfully he bounds, and strikes his deafening lyre. 
 
 LINES ON PRAYER. 
 
 Thebe's a glow of pleasure in heartfelt prayer. 
 That they who have tasted can ne'er forego ; 
 
 It yields fresh bloom for the blight of care, 
 A downy couch for the breast of woe ! 
 
 ♦^
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 113 
 
 If heavj', heavy affliction's rod 
 
 Hath bovveil thee to earth in black despair, 
 Como to thy Father, tliy Kinij and God ! 
 
 Oh ! come to the mercy-seat in prayer ! 
 
 Who sing sad songs, with a widowed heart. 
 
 All wearily to the desert air, 
 Why will ye not with your sorrows part. 
 
 In the healing balm of heart -breathed prayer ? 
 
 There's a glow of pleasure in heartfelt prayer. 
 That they who havo tasted can ne'er forego; 
 
 It yields fresh bloom for the blight of care, 
 A downy couch for the breast of woe ! 
 
 EXTEMPORE LINES, 
 
 COMPOSED ON READING CAMPRELl's "PI.EASUKES OF HOPE." 
 
 Tom Campbell ! we part ! 
 
 But the memory of thee 
 Is lodged in my heart. 
 
 As a gem in the sea. 
 
 Oh ! who would not roam 
 In thy heaven-beaming ray. 
 
 Through that Eden, whose beauty 
 Shall never decay ? 
 
 HL 3
 
 114 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 
 
 Fairy-land, but not phantoms, 
 Are hovering there ; — 
 
 Realities loYely, 
 As fiction most fair ! 
 
 Tom Campbell ! I'll love thee 
 Till life's latest breath ; 
 
 Nor fear, if I see thee, 
 Hope's semblance, in death ! 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 ON SEEING A WEDDED PAIR FONDLING THEIK FIEST-BORN. 
 
 Oh ! conjugal affection ! heavenly fond 1 — 
 
 Divided love, how high, how far beyond ! — 
 
 Thou drink'st the pleasure, leav'st behind the pain 
 
 To those unbound by Hymeneal chain : 
 
 No doubt, no fear awaked by rival's eye. 
 
 No dread of parting, clouds thy halcyon sky. 
 
 What so endearing as the tender look. 
 
 When to her arms love's pleasing boon she took ! 
 
 What music so enchanting as the kiss 
 
 Pressed on the pledge of soul-subduing bliss. 
 
 The life of wedded love ! withheld, how soon 
 
 The bright blaze fades — fleets passion's cloudless noon ! 
 
 Then, grant me, Heaven, a consort fair and free. 
 
 With portraitures of both, to dandle amorously !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 115 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 I PRA.T not for a laurelled name ; 
 I court not fortune, fickle dame ! 
 My only wish, my dearest aim, 
 
 Is to be free, 
 An', night about, ilk town my hame, 
 
 Through Christendie 1 
 
 No' pent up aye in ae dull place, — 
 Scenes trod on youth still to retrace — 
 Warm glowing manhood's cheery days 
 
 In grief to spen', 
 An' see nae form, an' see nae face 
 
 But what I ken. 
 
 I'd sooner countless dangers brave — 
 Be toiled an' tossed on every wave — 
 Than be a fettered, parish slave. 
 
 An' therein die, 
 An' ken the man, shall dig my grave, 
 
 An' whar I'll lie ! 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Delusive woman! though full oft I've felt 
 All thy attractions, in my breast there dwelt 
 A power more potent, fancy to control — 
 That checked the sudden sallies of the soul, —
 
 116 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Quenched its first kindlings in the gush of woe — 
 
 The teai's of millions made by thee to flow 
 
 O'er every part of habitable earth, 
 
 Down through all ages since creation's birth ; 
 
 Yet thus far nature bears upon my heart — 
 
 I may not, cannot love, yet cannot part : 
 
 Thus dread thy lies, thus strong thy stable power, 
 
 Thus deep the clouds that, spurning reason, lour : 
 
 Of thousands thou hast been the sole undoin' — 
 
 Yet what were man without thee, lovely ruin ! 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A WILD SECLUSION OF 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 Enchantment, of sedate and winning mien. 
 
 Seems the pervading spirit of this scene, 
 
 Presiding bright o'er all with sway unmarr'd. 
 
 Ere foot of man was printed on its sward; 
 
 When bees, and birds, and streams, and foliage sear, 
 
 Alone sung homage in her heavenly ear ; 
 
 And flow'rets only raised their little heads 
 
 In gratulation, from their perfumed beds. 
 
 Here the wild pear and apple bloom around. 
 
 Like a neglected Eden, — and the sound 
 
 And sight of streams, that careless bubble by. 
 
 Glittering with gems, arrest both ear and eye. 
 
 Bless'd scene 1 thou yet art sacred, and shalt be. 
 
 To Song, and Love — the god of Poesy, 
 
 While cliffy grandeur sheds his heavenly glow, 
 
 Or beauty lingers in the vales below !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 117 
 
 LINES TO A PEBBLE, 
 
 FOUND ON THE GRAVE OF WILLIAM BURNS, FATHER OF 
 "the AYRSHIRE POET." 
 
 Long 'neath the green sod, thou bright-eyed gem ! 
 
 Thou'st shone, by no rude hand arrested : 
 Long hast thou lain o'er the ashes of him, 
 
 The Sire of the Bard, unmolested. 
 
 And thou, in thy noontide beauty, art still 
 
 Like an angel's eye -ball gleaming. 
 As o'er thy cheek, in a tiny rill, 
 
 The dews of heaven are streaming. 
 
 A tear-drop moistened thy lovely die, 
 
 While feelingly I hung o'er thee, — 
 And another stole down, as I thought that the eye 
 
 Of the Bard may've bedewed thee before me. 
 
 Thou lookest as thou thyself did heave 
 
 With a tide of heavenly feeling, — 
 So soft, so tender, as sad to leave 
 
 Thy holy and long-hallowed dwelling. 
 
 LINES TO A CANDLE, 
 
 CM WHICH THE NAME OF A VOUNG LADY WAS WRITTEN. 
 
 Go, glimmering rushlight 1 shed thy lonely ray 
 In my love's bower, amid departing day. 
 That she may mark the mighty spell decline, — 
 As sinks love's setting beam, pourtrayed by thine:
 
 118 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 That she may know manhood's high pride hath quelled 
 
 That power which youth in hopeless thraldom held ! 
 
 As fades away each letter one by one. 
 
 Like little stars that melt into the sun ; — 
 
 Like foot-prints worn from snow by slow degrees. 
 
 Dissolving only in the softened breeze ; — 
 
 So love's deep traces fail, as if the heart 
 
 No more might suffer, yet would break to part ! 
 
 Now 'tis evanished,— not one vestige seen 
 
 Tells where the broken wizardry has been ; 
 
 And thou of light shall be bereft anon, 
 
 As closes gathering night o'er hope and love o'erthrown! 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON SEEING A LOCK OF THE HAIB OF "HIGHLAND MARY." 
 
 Key of Remembrance! ringlet of the heart! 
 In mine thou'rt treasured, never to depart. 
 Thou bring'st to view the maze, with all its turns — 
 The shade and sunshine in the lot of Burns : 
 Of hue immortal, blightless as the maid, 
 That once thou didst adorn, delightful braid ! 
 Oft hast thou shaded the Bard's burning cheek, 
 When all the world of love he could not speak 
 Rushed in one fervent sigh ; for either heart 
 Intensely throbbed — too warm to meet or part. 
 Thou speak'st of love more strong than aught below ! 
 Thou tell'st a tale of song-born bliss and woe !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 119 
 
 Thoug^h, ere I saw or pressed thee, oft and long 
 I've wept o'er the sweet Minstrel's sweetest song. 
 Oh ! not till Time himself with aj,'e grow gray, 
 Shall be forgotten that soul-melting lay, 
 " Sweet Highland Mary !" and thou, lovely gem! 
 Hang'st o'er it like a witch-wove diadem : 
 And still thy glossy hue the soul shall steep 
 In love, and cause even Envy's self to weep ! 
 
 LINES COMPOSED OVER ROBERT FERGUS- 
 SON'S GRAVE. 
 
 Beight was thy short career, ill-fated Bard ! 
 Too bright to last. Martyr of Song ! to me 
 Dear for thy woes, thy comeliness was marr'd 
 In the worst blight of bitter penury : 
 And cold neglect came heavily o'er thee, 
 Shrouding thy soul in frenzy's darkest gloom ! 
 Shamed be thy leaden townsmen, that could see 
 Such beauty die, and not revoke the doom 1 — 
 They brought thee. Child of Song ! to this untimely tomb. 
 
 Thus bending o'er thee, not Fate's sternest frown, 
 Nor Fortune's smile, could grieve or gladden me ! 
 Thus bending o'er thee, I could lay me down, 
 And weep my soul away, and sleep with thee ! 
 There hovers round a spell — a witchery, 
 That, more than loveliest scene or loftiest song, 
 Dissolves the heart to tearful ecstacy 
 And pleasing sadness ! — Poetry more strong 
 Flows o'er thee dead than could to living Bard belong !
 
 120 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON THE LATE WILLIAM TENNANT, PROFESSOR OF GREEK. 
 
 IN THE UNIVEKSlTr OF ST. ANDEEWS, AND AUTHOR OF 
 
 " ANSTER FAIR." 
 
 If worth — if genius of the highest grade, 
 
 In unassumed humility arrayed; 
 
 K learning brilliant, but without pretence ; 
 
 If song illumed with wit, and soul, and sense, 
 
 Have claims upon the world, let Tennant's name 
 
 Be held the dearest in the book of Fame. 
 
 TO KYLE. 
 
 Dark wooded, hilly, streamy Kyle, 
 Thou gem-spot of the Northern Isle, 
 Whose uplands cleave a gorgeous sky — 
 Where all thy stores, Enchantment ! lie ; 
 Whose Tallies meet a peerless main, 
 Far fringed with brown by winter's rain. 
 
 Spots on thy varied bosom lie, 
 
 That with the Trossachs' grandeur vie : 
 
 Scenes that if not unrivalled, wake 
 
 Remembrances of Southern lake ; 
 
 E'en Wordsworth might his wild harp tune, 
 
 Upon the shores of sweet Loch Doon.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 121 
 
 Here Bards with Nature pastime make, 
 And numbers all immortal wake. 
 So that no brook may pass along, 
 Nor hillock rise, but hath its song ; 
 Nor field, wood, copse, nor crag is seen, 
 Where inspiration hath not been. 
 
 Kyle 1 all o'ermantled with sweet song, 
 I love thee — I have loved thee long : 
 In childhood my whole heart was thine, 
 And manhood made thee more divine; 
 When, sacred thou to passion's flame, 
 A portion of that love became. 
 
 Like rose-tree leaning o'er the brook. 
 That sips its wave with freshened look, 
 I bend me o'er my natal home. 
 Extracting endless sweets therefrom — 
 And have nor wish, nor heart to stray 
 From thee — from loves that mock decay. 
 
 I love the hallowed vales to tread 
 Where Wallace was a patriot bred : 
 Where all the landscapes in their turns 
 Have echoed to the lyre of Burns : 
 Where Beauty sheds her artless smile 
 Among the heathy hills of Kyle. 
 
 Though we awhile have parted been 
 My fairy Kyle — enchanting scene ! 
 Yet all the charms, so rich and rare, 
 Of earth and sea, and welkin fair. 
 Were held within my grasp in vain. 
 If proffered for my native plain.
 
 122 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES- 
 
 EMILIE. 
 
 O dear, dear, is the tender joy 
 
 That love, the arching bright haired boy 
 
 Leaves— of his darts the token ; 
 Till pangs of jealousy annoy 
 The blissful visions to destroy, 
 
 That else had ne'er been broken. 
 
 I loved the blooming Emilie, 
 
 And thought no one so fair as she — 
 
 The golden dawn excelling ; 
 Her eye was bright, her forehead high. 
 And snowy as a summer sky, 
 
 With blue streaks o'er it swelling. 
 
 At church, her blushes made me fain, 
 And rose to memory oft again. 
 
 In fancy's ray unbroken ; 
 She seemed familiar to my soul, 
 As breeze is to the billow's roll — 
 
 Though word we ne'er had spoken. 
 
 Were but her form at distance seen, 
 Her name rehearsed in praise or spleen, 
 
 'Twas finding hidden treasure : 
 At church, when seated by her side, 
 High heaved my bosom with a tide 
 
 Of palpitating pleasure. 
 
 ^
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 123 
 
 One sweet short summer, night and day, 
 Passed o'er me in this winning way — 
 
 In silent, soul-fraught wooing; 
 Till one sad hour her eye glowed fain — 
 Beamed amorous on another swain — 
 
 Which wrought my love's undoing. 
 
 The counter charm, not to depart, 
 Came coldly o'er my freezing heart ; 
 
 I felt as one awaking 
 From soundest sleep that has no dream ; 
 Nor on me did past fancies teem. 
 
 To stop the spell from breaking. 
 
 We met again — we spoke at last — 
 As there had been to us no past; 
 
 No look betrayed a feeling 
 Of love still lingering, or renewed, 
 I laughed in heart I ever could 
 
 Have nursed a flame so stealing.
 
 124 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 ELIZA, 
 
 Eliza ! Eliza, 
 
 Oh! can it ever be, 
 
 That all the vows between ns passed 
 
 Dissolve in treacherie, 
 
 The burn, the brae, the beechen tree, 
 
 The leafy woodland grot, 
 
 Were ever — oh! ever! 
 
 Too dear to be forgot. 
 
 Eliza ! Eliza, 
 
 I would this stormy sea 
 
 Had been an unknown element 
 
 For evermore to me ; 
 
 And that my bark had been the bower 
 
 Beside the beechen tree ; 
 
 My ocean, the buruie, 
 
 TUatrins into the Dee. 
 
 Eliza 1 Eliza, 
 
 'Tis sweet to see the morn 
 
 Rise where no mountain intervenes, 
 
 In brilliancy unshorn : 
 
 Sae mayst thou hail thy love's retura 
 
 Ascending from the main; 
 
 We never — oh ! never. 
 
 Shall parted be again.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 125 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 COMPOSED ON THE DEPARTURE OF A TOUNO MAN, A NATIVE 
 OF AYR, FOR CALCUTTA. 
 
 Sweet Competence! how fair thou art! 
 
 Choice pursuit 'mid the schemes of man ! 
 Who, having thee, would think to part 
 
 From friends and home ? Mysterious plan 
 Of nature 1 that oft seems to thwart 
 
 The industrious, striving all they can 
 To win thy dear embrace ; nor scope 
 For heavenward deeds blends with thy hope. 
 
 And thousands, to obtain thy smile. 
 Have been self-exiled, wand'ring, drear, 
 
 Through the far world from isle to isle, — 
 No prospect of thy presence near : 
 
 Is such the fate decreed to wile 
 Far hence our friend and brother dear ? 
 
 Thou that seem'st formed to be the mate 
 
 Of enterprise, benignly great ! 
 
 Thou'rt purified, in high degree, 
 From passions that corrupt the heart — 
 
 Youth of the modest mien ! o'er thee 
 May evil ne'er its power exert — 
 
 Thou soul of sweet urbanity 1 
 Dear Stewart ! wilt thou then depart ? 
 
 Or has an idle, groundless fear. 
 
 Been whispered in our dreaming ear ? 
 
 L 3
 
 126 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Ah me ! for those that parted be, 
 Souls blent in aspirations dear ! 
 
 Alas for the reality 
 
 That throws gloom o'er whatever sphere 
 
 The dye is cast! And we must dree 
 Sad separation's softening tear ! 
 
 Young Stewart leaves affection's smiles. 
 
 To revel 'mongst the Indian isles. 
 
 Adventurous yonth 1 thy generous mind. 
 To friendship, love, and feeling true, 
 
 In retrospective thoughts will find 
 Impressions sweet in memory's view. 
 
 Will change of scene thy senses blind 
 To beauty, in her loveliest hue ? 
 
 By woody Doon, and winding Ayr — 
 
 Ah, no ! thy heart shall still be there. 
 
 Kyle ! land of genius — home of song ! 
 
 Its waters, sweet, with lulling chime — 
 Thou'lt think of much, and think of long, 
 
 To cheat, perchance, the lingering time. 
 Thy Kyle ! though featured stern and strong. 
 
 Is rich, romantic, and sublime ; 
 Its rugged cliffs — in grandeur wild — 
 'Graves on the memory of its child, 
 
 Associations that defy 
 
 Time's destiny, and close him round; 
 Which only with his being die, 
 
 And beautiful in death is found ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. I 21 
 
 Tho bold thoughts, bounding burning high, 
 That glanced on earth's remotest bound — 
 And through all time — all nature flowing, 
 The while the heart was green and glowing. 
 
 Thy early loves shall dwell with thee, 
 
 Deep in thy bosom canonized— 
 Their memories brightening — ever be 
 
 Beyond all coming blessings prized ; 
 The lip, by whose sweet melody 
 
 The heart was cunningly enticed — 
 The blush, the smile, the witching gleams 
 Of love, will gild thy eastern dreams. 
 
 New scenes and faces may create 
 Fresh fancies, and thy bosom burn 
 
 With something of the past, elate, 
 As if the past could still return. 
 
 But all that's beautiful, or great, 
 
 Of brighter climes, can ne'er o'erturn 
 
 The passion for our early home, 
 
 Howe'er we thrive, where'er we roam. 
 
 Farewell, adventurer ! yet again, 
 The vessel flaps its daring wing 
 
 To bear thee proudly o'er the main. 
 Far from the Ayr's sweet murmuring 
 
 I will not give thee needless pain, 
 
 Nor gloom athwart thy bosom fling — 
 
 Be every bliss thy boon, the while 
 
 Thou'rt absent from thy native Isle.
 
 128 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Afar on India's coral strand, 
 
 Thou'It breathe thy wishes o'er the deep, 
 And think upon the happy land 
 
 That gave thee birth, and still will keep 
 Thy memory in the brother band 
 
 Ye left behind, your loss to weep. 
 Who will not cease the hopeful prayer 
 For thy return— thy welfare there. 
 
 TO COILA. 
 
 CoiLA ! thou nurse of the mighty, stern-beaming ! 
 
 On, in thy pride, like a wild swelling wave ; 
 Hie to the hill where the broad-swords are gleaming— 
 The blent life-blood streaming of freeman and slave ! 
 
 Clydesdale has crossed the heath, 
 
 Avondale, out of breath, 
 Has girt on her armour and hied her away ; 
 
 Cunninghame's banners wave, 
 
 Galloway wields the glaive. 
 Panting with Wallace to join in the fray. 
 
 Thou art up— thou art gone, like the roe of the mountain! 
 
 Woe, woe to the files of yon bright battle wold 
 That thine arm hath encountered, high heaving the fountain 
 Of blood down the heathy declivity rolled 1 
 
 O'er the dread spangled fray. 
 
 Freedom, that mangled lay, 
 Lifts her sunk eye like a star of the night,— 
 
 Re-sinews the hoary. 
 
 Fires youth with fresh glory, 
 Enthroned on thy scimitar, Wallace the wight !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 129 
 
 How dreary, seated all alone, 
 
 To list the breeze, in lonely bield, 
 Rushing, with melancholy moan, 
 
 Through chinks that forced admittance yield 
 In panic haste it seems to blow 
 
 A moment, then is hushed— and then 
 Sigh after sigh, in fitful flow, 
 
 Strike mournful on the ear again. 
 
 It sounds again, with sadder swell. 
 
 Like to distraction's doleful cry 
 O'er unexpected griefs, that thrill 
 
 The very soul of agony : 
 To me it sings the varied lay 
 
 Of sorrow — since the world began — 
 As all the tones of misery 
 
 Were wildly mingled into one. 
 
 Though I were in my lightest mood. 
 
 And chanted e'er so blythe a strain — 
 And thought the world all pure and good— 
 
 And love had ne'er been sold for gain — 
 One burst of this bewailing wind 
 
 Would sink me in despondency, 
 And I would then no comfort find — 
 
 Though all around were mirth and glee.
 
 130 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THE BEREAVED MAIDEN. 
 
 A FAiH maid wandered through the glen. 
 And seated herself by the birchen tree ; 
 
 'Twas the trusting spot, by a fairy grot 
 Of wild flowers and sweet shrubbery. 
 
 Lonely she paced the woodland path, 
 
 Till the hour of meeting long had past, — 
 
 Till the parting hour chimed from the grey tower, 
 As she ventured to the spot at last. 
 
 She looked, she listened,— nought met her eye, 
 
 Save the bark that skimmed o'er the deep blue sea ;- 
 Oh ! never again shall her faithful swain 
 Meet her in the bower by the birchen tree. 
 
 Borne from his love by a ruthless band, 
 
 He sweeps o'er the wild wave to fight the proud foe;- 
 Torn from the bower at the trysting hour. 
 
 Gathering the wild flowers her path to strew. 
 
 She rose, she rushed adown the vale 
 
 To the wild wood side, where a wizard stream 
 
 Leaped down the steep, with fitful sweep, 
 Then stole soft away like a dying dream. 
 
 She dropped her down 'neath an aspen bough. 
 
 That canopied a lonely brake. 
 Like a floweret gem torn from its stem, 
 
 No coming spring might e'er awake.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 131 
 
 Her flowing hair, like flakes of gold, 
 Lay fluttering o'er her heaving heart ; 
 
 And her pallid eye looked, as 'twere, on high — 
 Then lost its aim like an erring dart. 
 
 No sigh she heaved — she seemed as one 
 
 Whose peace was broken, and knew not why ; 
 
 Like a dark storm hushed, no tear-drop gushed,- 
 Oh ! she had wept their channels dry I 
 
 MARY O' STANLEY GLEN. 
 
 My Mary's the pride o' Stanley Glen, 
 
 Afar by yon sunny sea ; 
 The bonniest flower in fair Scotlan' 
 
 Less comely is than she : 
 Her form is handsome, her face is meek, 
 
 Her teeth are the ivorie ; 
 And her fair hair in swirls hangs o'er her cheek l 
 
 Like mist on the sun's e'ebree. 
 
 Oh ! sweet to hear are the sky-lark's strains, 
 When it leaves the dull earth, to skim, 
 
 So merrily to aerial plains. 
 
 Through the cloud and the rainbow's rim ;
 
 132 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And dear to see are the g:aucly dies 
 O' yon wastlin sky at even — 
 
 Whar high, and higher, the green hills rise, 
 Like steps on the stair o' heaven. 
 
 But all the raptures this bosom e'er felt, 
 
 Are summed up, my Mary, in thee — 
 When her Houri's hame the spirit hath built, 
 
 Wi' the beams of Poesy ! 
 For thine is the look and the lovely air, 
 
 To the Bard in vision given ; ^ 
 
 But thy hinnied lips an' thy smile ensnare, 
 
 Like a mesh let down frae heaven ! 
 
 Its lang since we parted, my Mary, dear ! 
 
 By the burn whar the birches twine ; 
 An' mony a time has the scorchin' tear 
 
 Ran down my cheek sinsyne ; 
 For Hope's sweet flowers nae fruitage brought, 
 
 An' sair did we repine- 
 But now the weary battle's fought ; 
 
 An' thou'rt for ever mine !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 13$ 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Weee all those realms e'er fancy traced, 
 Where summer loves to linger, mine, — 
 
 With every gem that ever graced 
 
 Proud royalty,— that wealth were thino. 
 
 The noblest of thy sex above 
 
 Thou 'dst be, fair maid, my peerless queen ! 
 
 But, ah ! 1 may not think of love- 
 Too wide a barrier lies between. 
 
 Wert lower thou in life's ascent, 
 
 Or what I might have been were I, 
 This bosom were not wrung nor rent 
 
 With pining— hopeless agony. 
 The rapture rolling from thine eye. 
 
 The lurking graces of thy mien, 
 My soul's idolatry shall be, 
 
 Whate'er between us intervene. 
 
 As rolls o'er steep the torrent strong. 
 
 Winged with lightning, dashed to spray. 
 So leaped life's bounding pulse along, 
 
 'Mid the delights of one blessed day ! 
 Oh ! doubly hallowed may it be. 
 
 Revered for aye the sacred scene. 
 Where look met love, and side by side, 
 
 A3 what had ne'er divided beea.
 
 134 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THE JOYS OF LOVE. 
 
 By the dark mossy rill, on a flower-bank reclining, 
 
 Alone by yon sbaw, in its dew-moisten'd shade, 
 ^Vhere woodbine and wild flowers were am'rously twining^ 
 
 Round the hawthorn and hazel that grew in the glade ; 
 There spied I a fair maid, all thoughtfully humming 
 
 A wild mournful ditty of passion and pain; 
 And I felt my heart thrill with emotions — that woman 
 
 Had ne'er waked before, nor can e'er wake again ! 
 
 The woodlands wore mute — not a zephyr's commotion 
 
 Amongst the green leaves, as I listened her lay ! 
 Kushed Nature seemed wrapt in unbreathing devotion. 
 
 Amidst tlie rich hues of her summer array ! 
 Deep blushed the maid through her light silken tresses. 
 
 That hung o'er a clieek of so tender a hue. 
 As fitted alone^for some mortal's caresses 
 
 Whose bosom ne'er cherished a thought to undo. 
 
 I pressed her as gontly's the sunbeam that kisses 
 
 The toar-drop of morn from the flower in the vale ; 
 And I thought of the vvitch'ry that beauty possesses 
 
 When sweetened by virtue — what graces prevail ! 
 Oh, ne'er mair again will I wander despairing, 
 
 At morning or e'en on thy banks, sweet Burnawn ! 
 And never again shall false hope re-appearing, 
 
 Cioud life's laughing noontide — love's glorious dawn.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 135 
 
 It'g no' in the chase after finery and fashion — 
 
 It's no' in the beaming of fortune's bright day, 
 That can shield us frae sadness, or soothe us in sorrow, 
 
 Or strew flowers of paradise over our way. 
 Awa wi' ambition, it yields nought but sorrow, — 
 
 Awa wi' the world, my treasure shall bo 
 To live on thy smiling, sae sweetly beguiling. 
 
 While wandering at e'ening, my Mary, wi' thee ! 
 
 M \L
 
 SO^G S. 
 
 M o
 
 SONGS. 
 
 ANACREONTIC SONG. 
 
 Kiss the goblet, and live ! it is sweeter to sip, 
 
 And richer than Beauty's ambrosial lip. 
 
 And fairer than fairyland poets have sung. 
 
 And truer than Flattery's raellifluoui tongue 1 
 
 When clouds o'er the bright sky of young hope are driven, 
 
 Fill the bowl ! fill it high !— it will waft you to heaven ! 
 
 When Penury shoots his sharp frosts through the blood. 
 Or Passion would weave us too early a shroud, — 
 When Conscience starts up like a sibilant snake, 
 And the glory sets darkly that shone to awake — 
 A fire and a feeling which held us in thrall, — 
 Fill the bowl 1 fill it high !— 'tis the Lethe of all ! 
 
 When Obloquy pours forth her poisonous breath, 
 And saddens our sky with the paleness of death, — 
 When Friendship's sweet smile is converted for aye 
 To the frown of contempt and the glance of dismay ; 
 Though these evils above us like thunder-clouds hang, 
 Fill the bowl ! fill it high 1— it will soften the pang. 
 
 Ww
 
 140 SONGS. 
 
 What is life but the sound of a wearisome chime ? 
 What is love but a tree in the desert of time. 
 Whose blossoms look pale in the watery glow 
 That flickering gleams on its branches of woe — 
 Those branches whose leaves are so pallid and few ? 
 Fill the bowl ! fill it high ! — 'twill their verdure renew. 
 
 When manhood declines, and the gray hairs of age 
 Come to tell that we tread on life's last leaden stase, — 
 When the lights of the heart all in darkness subside. 
 And the slow hours, like reptiles, through charnel-vaults 
 
 glide,— 
 When death's shadow rests on the spiritless frame, — 
 Fill the bowl ! fill it high !— 'twill rekindle the flame. 
 
 THE HOME OF CONTENTMENT. 
 
 From the home of contentment, the bosom of pleasure, 
 
 Far, far on the proud waves of glory I rode ; 
 I joyed in my heart o'er each hope and each treasure, 
 
 Nor deemed idol self was a suffering god ; 
 But dark clouds all slowly came gathering o'er me. 
 
 That dimmed the sweet sunshine I bask'd in behind. 
 And the billows rose higher and higher before me, 
 
 Where, a-making Hope's grave, howled the hurricane wind- 
 
 <
 
 SONGS. 141 
 
 To seek the sweet primal delights I'd forsaken, 
 
 From spot to spot wandered I, weary and long,— 
 The glare of the world no joy could awaken. 
 
 Nor the scenes of mad folly inspirit my song : 
 Now, at last, in this sweet little village reposing, 
 
 From sorrow and sighing I soon found release, 
 And I'll hallow for ever. Heaven's kind interposing. 
 
 That led me to seek this asylum of peace/ 
 
 THE MAIDEN FAIR. 
 
 The moon hung o'er the gay green-wood, 
 
 The green-wood o'er the mossy stream. 
 That rolled in rapture's wildest mood, 
 
 And fluttered in the fairy beam ; 
 Through light clouds flashed the fitful gleam 
 
 O'er hill and dell, — all nature lay 
 Wrapped in enchantment, like the dream 
 
 Of her that charmed my homeward way ! 
 
 Long had I marked thee, maiden fair ! 
 
 And drunk of bliss from thy dark eye, 
 And still, to feed my fond despair, 
 
 Blessed thy approach,— and, passing by, 
 I turned me round to gaze and sigh. 
 
 In worship wild, and wished thee mine, 
 On that fair breast to live and die, 
 
 O'erpowered with transport so divine !
 
 142 SONGS. 
 
 Still sacred be that hour to love. 
 
 And dear the season of its birth, 
 And fair the glade, and green the grove, — 
 
 Its bowers ne'er droop in wintry dearth 
 Of melody and woodland mirth ! — 
 
 The hour, the spot, so dear to me ! 
 That weaned my soul from all on earth, 
 
 To be for ever blessed in thee. 
 
 THE PARTED,. 
 
 Though years of solitude and care. 
 
 Since last we met, have rolled away. 
 Still beams thine image on my soul, 
 
 As our farewell had been to-day ; 
 Though much my eyes have since beheld 
 
 Of beauty, kindling love in all, 
 This bosom was already fired, — 
 
 To know, to brook no other's thrall. 
 
 Transplanted, as thou art, from all 
 
 Held sacred by thy youthful heart. 
 Say, are thy dearest thoughts of him. 
 
 Whose all of love and life thou art ? 
 Oh ! shall we never meet again. 
 
 Sweet Irvine ! on thy banks at eve. 
 When flits the moon o'er the heathy hill, 
 
 And the while mists thicken o'er the wave !
 
 SONGS. 143 
 
 I LOVE THEE, SWEET MAIDEN. 
 
 I LOYE thee, sweet maiden ! though all my wealth 
 Is a true heart and fond, fond fancj ; 
 
 But swayed I as the Eastern youth, 
 A world would I gi'e for my Nancy ! 
 A world would I gi'e for my Nancy ! 
 
 Thou art young, and stately, and mild, my love. 
 As the star on the still lake sleeping ; 
 
 Oh ! thou hast in that angel form 
 Every winning grace a -keeping. 
 Every winning grace a-keeping. 
 
 How charming to look on a lovely scene, 
 "When the moon softly o'er it is streaming, 
 
 When all is like an enchanting dream. 
 Of spirit's beautiful framing, 
 Of spirit's beautiful framing. 
 
 But all the enchantments of nature combined, 
 
 Though dear, dear to this bosom, 
 Are nought to the visions of bliss I enjoyed 
 
 Tn thy presence, thou tender sweet blossom ! 
 
 In thy presence, thou tender sweet blossom ! 
 
 When playing with tliy fair flaxen hair, 
 What thrillings of rapture came o'er me ! 
 
 How fondly and warmly I wished thee mine, 
 That I might ever adore thee ! 
 That I mijiht ever adore thee !
 
 144 SONGS. 
 
 But, it may be, my fate is unlovely and dark, 
 And will sever me far frae my Nancy; 
 
 Yet I'll ne'er find anither, fair, fair though they be. 
 Whose charms thus will fetter my fancy, 
 "Whese charms thus will fetter my fancy. 
 
 Then Hope, sweet Hope 1 in my bosom bud, 
 Though thou should'st blossom never ! 
 
 Stern winter may seize thee, ruthless and rude. 
 And thou, ere unfolded, shalt wither, 
 And thou, ere unfolded, shalt wither. 
 
 CAN'ST THOU STAY BEHIND, MARY? 
 
 Can'st thou stay behind, Mary ? 
 
 Can'st thou stay behind, Mary ? 
 
 The winds howl high, as they'd rend the sky- 
 
 Oh 1 can'st thou stay behind, Mary ? 
 
 Fearfu' bodes the black'ning lift. 
 
 The burn jaws like a sea, Mary ! 
 And wildly wings the ewdendrift 
 
 Frae yonder hill, sae hie, Mary ! 
 Can'st thou stay, &c.
 
 SONGS. 145 
 
 The prey-birds co.ver aaiin:^ the cleuchs, 
 The storm is ill to dree, Mary ; 
 
 And the tempest's eerie spirit soughs, 
 Through ilk lone leafless tree, Mary ! 
 Can'st thou stay, &c. 
 
 Trust, fondest love, sweet maid, forlorn \ 
 There's nane so dear as thee, Mary ! 
 
 The rose's breath, on zephyr borne, 
 Was ne'er sae sweet to rae, Mary 1 
 Can'st thou stay, &c. 
 
 O WERT THOU ON SOME FOREIGN SHORE 
 
 O wert thou on some foreign shore, 
 
 Far frae the eye of any, 
 And were I shipwrecked on that shore, 
 
 Were't e'er sae wild and lanely. 
 There would I taste love's purest bliss 
 
 With thee, thou tender blossom ! 
 There I thy nectared lips would kiss, 
 
 Reclining on thy bosom. 
 
 Sweet as the scented vernal bloom, 
 
 But doubly mair endearing, 
 Thyself bloom'st in thy sweeter spring. 
 
 Midst flowers and fragrance peering ; 
 I'd scorn, though e'er so fair that flower. 
 
 That has been by another 
 Plucked from its stem, or pressed, — but thou 
 
 Untouched art altogether. 
 
 '^
 
 146 SONGS. 
 
 HERE IN THE BANKWOOD. NANCY. 
 
 [The following verses are the first effort of the Author's Muse, and were 
 written when he was but a boy. The Nancy alluded to was the fair one 
 whose charms kindled the first emotion of lovp in the Poet's breast : a slight 
 notice regarding her will be found in the memoir prefixed to this volume. 
 
 Ht>re in the bankwood, Nancy, 
 
 Here in the bankwood, Nancy, 
 
 I've formed a bower, from sun and shower. 
 
 To screen thee in the bankwood, Nancy. 
 
 The tree puts forth, at Nature's ca'. 
 Its blossoms fair, and mantle blooming. 
 Primroses smile and daisies blaw ; 
 The simmer, in her pride, is coming. 
 Here in the bankwood, &c. 
 
 Adown by Cessnock's woody braes, 
 Where flowers the thorn and wilding cherry, 
 In autumn there we'll pu' the slaes. 
 And, far'er down, the wild rasp berry. 
 Here in the bankwood, &c. 
 
 Alang the hazle-covered hill. 
 With thee I"d roam, and never weary : 
 Beside the clear romantic rill. 
 What were my joys wi' thee, my dearie. 
 Here in the bankwood, &c.
 
 SONGS. 147 
 
 I MARRIED A WIFE. 
 
 I married a wife for an easy life, 
 
 And a wise puir man, methought, was I, 
 
 She had gear at comman', and was free an' afF haun', 
 
 And had a braw steadin' o' houses forbye. 
 
 The youngsters a' lookit as they could hae bruikit 
 My bride, as wo rade in our carriages by ; 
 And I thocht to mysel — then just buckled to Nell — 
 I e'en was the happiest man 'neath the sky. 
 
 But the dawn may appear in the summer tide clear. 
 And glowin' wi' mony a gay gaudy dye. 
 Till fickle winds veer — drivin',lanely and drear. 
 The Borean vapour and cloud o'er the sky : 
 
 Sae turned out my kimmer the very first simmer ; 
 She gossip'd awa' houses, siller, and kye ; 
 And scarce had we been wed a towmont I ween, 
 When a luckless puir man I found was I. 
 
 She was either a-fiel', gatheriu' in a fresh store 
 
 O' clashes and tales, 'mang the neebors to tell ; 
 
 Or in bed, smoor'd wi' claes, in the lang simmer days, 
 
 Biftin' hysteric win', like the steam o' a stell. 
 
 M 2
 
 148 SONGS. 
 
 And aff for sea-jauntin' in steamers gallantin', 
 She left me alane in my wearisome biel, 
 And sported awa', whyles a week, and whyles twa. 
 And brought hame a budget wad bothered the deil. 
 
 She gaed up and doon stairs — wi' her outlandish airs ; 
 She beck'd and she bow'd, and she caper'd and flang ; 
 She storm'd and was snell — wi' a tongue like a bell, 
 Aye^thun'rin' at me the weary nicht lang. 
 
 No' to bide 'neath the brewin' o' black hopeless ruin 
 I hae sought me a hame 'neath Columbian sky ; 
 And I'll marry nae mae — though a kingdom they hae,. 
 And a wise puir man, methinks, am I. 
 
 #
 
 SONGS. 149 
 
 LOVELY JEAN. 
 
 Now winter o'er tho Ocliills grey, 
 
 Hath breathed his latest, lingering, sigh, 
 And woods revive beneath the ray 
 
 Of unsealed Nature's vernal eye ; 
 Yet winter, in its wildest form. 
 
 Had charms this weary heart to cheer, 
 Were I but wandering through the storm, 
 
 To meet wi' thee, my Jeanie dear. 
 
 But storms may thunder through the woods- 
 
 Or simmer smile, and zephyrs play — 
 Nae hope within my bosom buds, 
 
 And nought can cheer the cheerless day. 
 We twa are parted— thou art gane, 
 
 And perish'd, as thou ne'er had'st been. 
 Whilst I maun pine and grieve alaoe. 
 
 For thee, my lost — my lovely Jean. 
 
 Not perils of the briny deep. 
 
 Nor change of place, nor lapse of time. 
 Can first love in oblivion steep. 
 
 With its impassioned scenes sublime. 
 The bird sings on the naked spray. 
 
 Where once its leafy nest has been ; 
 So passion clings in life's decay. 
 
 To thy cold urn, my lovely Jean. 
 
 M 3
 
 160 SONGS. 
 
 JAMIE AND SALLY. 
 
 " Oh ! where, went my Jamie sae sad in the morning. 
 O'er burnie and brae — o'er the green Gallowlaw ; 
 Oh ! wae to my proud heart, and wae to my scornin'. 
 For that was the thing drave my laddie awa. 
 Yestreen, at the hairst-hame, his daffin to settle, 
 I sported wi' ithers, but ne'er was untrue — 
 I thousrhtna his leal heart was made o' sic mettle — 
 I ne'er had a wish on'y ither to lo'e." 
 
 " I'm wanted amang the young chiels to be wary; 
 
 Am shy as ye like, but himsel' is na sae, 
 
 At the kirn or the clachan, wi' Jenny and Mary, 
 
 He joined in a dance — yet I'd naething to say. 
 
 Is't that my roozed charms hae tint their attraction— 
 
 Is't love that's o'er het is maist ready to cule — 
 
 That Jamie's forgettin' the dear recollection, 
 
 O' times that are past, leaves his lassie in dule." 
 
 Her Jamie — concealed in a turn o' the valley — 
 
 Stood listening to sounds so delightfully dear. 
 
 Then flew to the arms o' his ain lovely Sally, 
 
 Where again vows were plighted, of passion sincere. 
 
 Nae words were o' blame, an' nae thoughts were a-roamin', 
 
 They laughed at the little that lovers annoy, 
 
 And sat by the burn till the grey hour o' gloamin', 
 
 The wild spate of feeling subsiding in joy.
 
 SONGS. 151 
 
 NOW SIMMER COMES IN PRIDE AGAIN. 
 
 Now simmer comes in pride again. 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 And early flowerets gem the plain, 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 On yon bloomy sylvan brae 
 The sheep and lambkins play. 
 And linnets lilt on ilka spray. 
 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 
 Then let soft passion's gentle thrill, 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 
 Thy young and tender bosom swell, 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 
 Life's fair, but fleeting, spring 
 
 Is up and on the wing, — 
 
 Must it but care and sorrow bring, 
 Sweet Mary, my love ? 
 
 Though, by affection fired, thine e'e, 
 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 With all-decaying Time maun dee, 
 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 Yet while it can enchain. 
 Let it not roll on in vain,— 
 This swelling heart yet soothe again, 
 Sweet Mary, my love
 
 152 SONGS. 
 
 But if sweet Hope maun be o'erthrown. 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 
 Disclose it in thy scornful frown, 
 Sweet Mary, my love ! 
 
 Not in thy pawky smile, — 
 
 It may my woes beguile. 
 
 But make me deem the while 
 
 Thou'rt sweet Mary, my lov« ! 
 
 FROM THE SCENES OF HER CHILDHOOD. 
 
 From the scenes of her childhood my Mary is gone— 
 To Scotia's bleak hills from proud England a while, 
 And left mo far distant, to languish alone, 
 For her sweet beaming eye and her soft blushing smile. 
 The woods and the streams of our own native dell. 
 Where together we roamed in the moon's fairy beam. 
 And the broom bower of gold in the valley, may tell 
 Of the rapture's that plighted our loves' broken dream. 
 
 Blow soft o'er the border, ye winds of the south ! 
 
 And charm for a season cold Scotia's domain ; 
 
 For on Clutha's green banks, in the bloom of her youth. 
 
 My Mary strays far from her fond hearted swain. 
 
 Oh ! come to that bosom whoso heart is thy own, 
 
 Thou flower of the fairest, whom modesty sways ! 
 
 Giving Love back his bliss, yielding Hope back her throne, 
 
 As cheery wo sport on our own flowery braes ! 
 
 i 
 
 rift
 
 SONGS. 153 
 
 THE OLD BLIGHTED THORN. 
 
 All night, by the pathway that crosses the moor, 
 I waited on Mary, — I lingered till morn, 
 
 Yet thought her not false, — she had ever been true 
 To her tryst by the old blighted thorn . 
 
 I had heard of Love lighting to darken the heart. 
 Fickle, fleeting as wind, and the dews of he morn ; 
 
 Such were not my fears, though I sighed all night long, 
 And wept 'neath the old blighted thorn. 
 
 The snows that were deep, had awakened my dread, 
 I marked as foot-prints far below by the burn ; 
 
 I sped to the valley, — I found her deep sunk 
 On her way to the old blighted thorn! 
 
 I whispered " My Mary !"— she spoke not: I caught 
 Her hand, pressed her pale cheek, — 'twas icy and cold ; 
 
 Then sunk on her bosom — its throbbings were o'er 
 
 Nor knew how I quitted my hold.
 
 154 SONGS. 
 
 A BONNY LASS. 
 
 A BONNY lass, I ken her face — 
 
 O gin I kent her hame — 
 Comes past, in all the pride and grace 
 
 That fans young passion's flame. 
 Plump, rosy, tight, with eye so bright. 
 
 Dark glossy, silken hair, 
 And smile so sweet, she's won complete, 
 
 A heart unused to care. 
 
 A heart ne'er gained before is thine, 
 
 And beats for thee alone ; 
 I'll name thee by thy charms divine, 
 
 My beautiful unknown ! 
 Speed fast the time when I shall know 
 
 Who is my matchless queen ; 
 Where is her hame, and what her name — 
 
 Sweet Mary, Nell, or Jean. 
 
 Whate'er she be, of high degree. 
 
 Or but a peasant dame, 
 I care not — in her charms I see 
 
 What wins the soul's acclaim. 
 The fairest of her sex, in all 
 
 The bloom of youth arrayed. 
 In form and face, each winning grace 
 
 Of virtue is pourtrayed.
 
 SONGS. 155 
 
 THE MERRY GOBLET. 
 
 Thk dear days o' courtship are over and gone, 
 And the dear days o' wedlock are fast coming on : 
 My Peggy and I, we lo'ed ilk ither lang, — 
 Then fill the merry goblet o'er the blythe bridal sang ! 
 
 This warld's a faucht now,_it's no as we've seen, 
 But contented we'll be as contented we've been ; 
 Frae gloomy repining sweet pleasure ne'er sprang, — 
 Then fill the merry goblet o'er the blythe bridal sang ! 
 
 Ambition sits high on the slippery steep, 
 
 Where fools roam, her harvest of sorrow to reap ; 
 
 But virtue we'll court, the green vales and woods amang— 
 
 Then fill the merry goblet o'er the blythe bridal sang ! 
 
 If bairnies wo hae, may ilk ane o' them appear 
 Wi' tochers o' virtue, — that's better far than gear ! 
 Wi' tochers o' virtue nae gowd could ever bang,— 
 An' we yet may fill the goblet o'er their blythe bridal sang ! 
 
 Gae dance roun' the table, gray Three-score-and- ten ! 
 An' show to your offspring ye ance were young men • 
 An' you, ye gay youngsters, up to your feet bang. 
 And dance us Tullochgorum o'er the blythe bridal sangl
 
 156 SONGS. 
 
 I MARKED THEE PASS, IN MAIDEN PRIDE. 
 
 Ik, 
 
 I MAEKED thee pass, in maiden pride, 
 
 With every rare attraction graced ; 
 I sSiw thee smile, and felt the tide 
 
 Of ecstacy roll through my breast : 
 On thy enchanting mien I gazed, 
 
 Till bound in pa"ssion's pleasing thrall, 
 For thy soft looks upon my soul 
 
 Did in o'erpowering sweetness fall. 
 
 There may be some even fair as thee, 
 
 Though on these lips might seraph sigh ; 
 But a fairer and a dearer face 
 
 Ne'er met my wild and wandering eye. 
 Oh ! by that spreading blush, that smile. 
 
 Soft stealing o'er the seat of love. 
 Thy blissful image from my soul 
 
 Time never, never can remove ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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