Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast,
The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed, Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay,
So thou, with sails how swift, hast reached the shore "Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," And thy loved consort on the dang'rous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed, Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, Sails ripped, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosp❜rous course. Yet, oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he, That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins cnthroned and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise— The son of parents passed into the skies!
And now, farewell. Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done: By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem t' have lived my childhood o'er again, To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine;
And while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft- Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
THE CASTAWAY
Obscurest night involved the sky, Th' Atlantic billows roared, When such a destined wretch as I, Washed headlong from on board,
Or courage die away,
But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life.
He shouted; nor his friends had failed To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevailed
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.
Some succor yet they could afford; And such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delayed not to bestow.
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more.
Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help or cried "Adieu!"
At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast,
Could catch the sound no more; For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank.
No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere,
That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear:
And tears by bards or heroes shed
Alike immortalize the dead.
I therefore purpose not or dream, Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.
From naked groves nae birdie sings; To shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings; The breeze nae oď'rous flavour brings From Borean cave;
And dwyning Nature droops her wings, Wi' visage grave.
Fiddlers, your pins in temper fix, And roset weel your fiddlesticks; But banish vile Italian tricks
From out your quorum, Nor fortes wi' pianos mix- Gie's "Tullochgorum"!
For naught can cheer the heart sae weel As can a canty Highland reel;
It even vivifies the heel
To skip and dance:
Lifeless is he wha canna feel Its influence.
Let mirth abound; let social cheer Invest the dawning of the year; Let blithesome innocence appear, To crown our joy;
Nor envy, wi' sarcastic sneer, Our bliss destroy.
And thou, great god of aqua vitæ! Wha sways the empire of this city,— When fou we're sometimes capernoity,—
To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard.
Ye wha are fain to hae your name Wrote in the bonny book of Fame, Let merit nae pretension claim
To laureled wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame, In gude Braid Claith.
He that some ells o' this may fa', An' slae-black hat on pow like snaw,
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