POEMS

BY.

Alexander Wilson.

——Sweet Poetry, thou Loveliest Maid,1.
Still first to fly, where sensual Joys invade— 
Dear, charming Nymph, neglected and decry’d,3.
My shame in crouds, my solitary pride; 
Thou, source of all my Bliss, and all my Woe, 
Thou found’st me poor at first, and kept me so—— 

GOLDSMITH * .

——————————————

PAISLEY:.

PRINTED BY J. NEILSON, FOR THE AUTHOR..

MDCCXC..

PREFACE

Through life, what miseries, cares, and disappointments daily occur to those on whom Fortune seems to look unpropitious! Hours, with them, are days, months seem years, and Time steals as sluggishly onward, as if he delighted in our griefs and wished to spin out our miserable existence. In such sickening circumstances, the mind eagerly engages in any pursuit that can communicate one gleam of joy, however transient, one prospect of pleasure, however remote. An attempt to beguile some of those unhappy moments, joined to an irresistible love of Poetry, gave being to the greatest number of the pieces that compose the following Collection. And, as the intention of every publication should be to instruct, or entertain, or both, I fondly hope, that having endeavoured to blend the two together; to adorn them with the colouring of poetry, and enliven them with humour and fancy, they may not be altogether unacceptable. 1.

Poetry, notwithstanding those numerous and formidable volumes that now march through the land, is, in my opinion, long since on the decline; and instead of its noble sentiments, sprightly wit, and astonishing imagery, we are of late tormented with the mere tinkling of childish rhymes. Should this miscellany be deservedly included among those insipid lumps, I shall drop my pen with a sigh, and resign the wished-for laurels to some more fortunate adventurer. Time, but neither the applause of fools, or the snarling of a ZOILUS, will fix the fate of these little pieces, whose merits, their immediate relapse into oblivion, or their honorable existence two hundred years hence, shall determine. However, as I have not a doubt, but that either from my own deficiencies, from envy, or the ignorant affectation of others, I may have enemies enough to encounter; I shall here address two species of my most formidable antagonists, of whom a certain train of stiff, upright, formal, square-and-rule critics shall have the preference. 2.

Methinks I see one of these dogmatic Pedants, poring over this book, wrying his mouth with every revolving leaf; ever and anon muttering to himself the expressive monosyallble “Stuff—!” Ten thousand pardonable faults that escape, even the judicious, his penetrating eye discovers. “See! Here an apostrophe is omitted—What a transposition of grammar!——This expression should and ought to have been, according to all the just and equitable rules of grammar, inclosed, confined, or put between two parenthesis.” The Pedant possessed of such a narrow soul, may be justly likened to another of his kind, inspecting through a microscope the shining surface of a needle; to every other eye it glitters, smooth and polished, but to his, seems nothing else than a coarse rugged piece of deformity. Not that I would here be understood to depreciate that useful branch of learning, or justify a loose, incorrect mode of writing; far from it; but let those, whose deepest observations and most powerful objections, consist of misplaced commas, superfluous conjunctions, unnecessary repetitions, and such like truly important points; I say, let them, in the midst of their exclamations, consider, how little I wrong them, and how much they are indebted to my very faults. Had I never deviated from their mathematical lines, how many glorious opportunities would they have lost of displaying to the world the excellence of that deep erudition which they certainly possess. Let me however seriously ask them, Would they, for the misplacing of one dish at table, lose the enjoyment of their dinner? If not, never let the unfortunate slip of a grammatical error prejudice them against a whole piece, and let them be content if, in one instance, I have kept to their rules; for, in plain English, let me say it, Them I never did intend to please, and their applauses I would not hesitate to consider as so much ridicule. 3.

As for those, whose judgment, knowledge, taste and impartiality, justly entitle them to the appellation of Critics; to you with diffidence I submit the following pieces. To defy you would be, no doubt, to arouse the indignant lion, and seal my own destruction. Yet not think that I shall here abjectly kneel—beseech your gracious clemency—profess my own insignificancy, and tremble for your sentence. No; all I request from you, or the world, is simply this: Peruse with impartiality the following pages—Give merit its praise where you find it—And pity, rather than exult with a savage joy, over those frailties to which every mortal is liable; ever generously considering, that, 4.

“To err is human, to forgive divine.”5.

PAISLEY, July 22, 1790.

Morning

(Scene, a Barn).

My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,1.
And find no spot of all the world my own 

GOLDSMITH* .

HAIL! ye drear shadows, willing I approach1.
Once more to join you, from my humble couch. 
Welcome, ye friendly shades, ye kindred glooms!3.
More do I love you than the wealthy’s rooms. 
The dark, damp walls–the roof scarce cover’d o’er, 
The wind wild whistling thro’ the cold barn-door: 
Those, like myself, are hung in ragged state; 
And this seems shrilly to deplore my fate.8.

Far from a home, Fate has my lot design’d,9.
A lot inglorious, and a lot unkind; 
No friend at hand to bless my list’ning ear,11.
No kind companion to dispel my care; 
No coin to level round the flowing bowl, 
And in dark shades, to wrap the welt’ring soul. 
If that is bliss, ’twas what I never miss’d, 
And were it all, I’d rather be unbless’d.16.

But, come, thou cheerer of my frowning hours,17.
Native of heav′n adorn’d with blooming flow’rs; 
Thou, who oft deigns the shepherd’s breast to warm,19.
As on the steep he feeds his fleecy swarm; 
Sublimes his soul, thro’ Nature vast to soar, 
Her works to view, to wonder and adore. 
Tho’ Fortune frown, and writhing Envy hiss, 
Be thou, O POETRY, my pride, my bliss;24.
My source of health–-Misfortune’s adverse spear, 
My joy hereafter, and my pleasure here. 

While yet sad Night sits empress of the sky,27.
And o’er the world dark shades confus’dly lie; 
Forth let me stray along the dew-wet plains,29.
While all air echoes with the lark’s loud strains. 
With lonely step I’ll seek the gloomy shade 
Of yon wide oak, half bending o’er the glade; 
Here let me rest, unseen by human eye, 
And sing the beauties of the dawning sky.34.

How still is all around! far on yon height35.
The new-wak’d Hind has struck a glimm’ring light; 
Hush’d is the breeze, while high the clouds among37.
The early lark pours out her thrilling song, 
Springs from the grassy lea, or rustling corn, 
Tow’rs thro’ dull night and wakes the coming morn. 
And see! sweet Morning comes, far in the East, 
Pale lustre shedding o’er the mountain’s breast;42.
Slow is her progress, unobserv’d her pace, 
She comes increasing, and she comes with grace; 
The dewy landscape opens to the eye; 
Far to the west the gloomy vapours fly; 
Instant awake, the feather’d tribes arise,47.
Sport thro’ the grove, or warble in the skies; 
Blithe and exulting with refreshen’d glee, 
From ev’ry bush and ev’ry dropping tree. 

In sullen silence to her ancient home,51.
Where close shut up she doses all day long, 
The hermit owl, slow takes her gloomy way,53.
And frets and grudges at th’ approach of day. 
The Bat, the busiest of the midnight train 
That wing the air, or sulky tread the plain, 
Sees MORNING open on each field and bow’r, 
And ends her mazes in yon ruined tow’r.58.
Now is the time, while joy and song prevail, 
To spurn dull sleep and brush the flow’ry dale; 
To climb the height of some hill’s airy brow, 
Where woods shoot branching from the cliffs below; 
Where some clear brook winds in the vale profound,63.
And rich the landscape spreads immense around; 
While, under foot, gay crimson’d daisies peep, 
And shepherd’s clubs*
hang nodding o’er the steep; 
There, on the downy turf, at ease reclin’d, 
Invite the Muse to aid your teeming mind,68.
Then shall grim Care, with all his furies fly, 
As sulky Night speeds from the dawning sky, 
And your calm breast enjoy a rapt’ring glow, 
Which wealth or indolence can ne’er bestow. 

Let boist’rous drunkards at th’ approach of day,73.
In stagg’ring herds forth from the tavern stray, 
Stand, belching oaths, and nauseous streams of wine,75.
Less men resembling, than the grov’lling swine. 
The Cit, with pride and sordid meanness bred, 
His be the privilege to snore in bed; 
No knowledge gaining from the changing skies, 
But just his bed-time and his time to rise.80.

Mine be the bliss to hail the purpling dawn,81.
To mark the dew-drops glitt’ring o’er the lawn; 
Thrice happy period, when amid the throng83.
Of warbling birds, I join the grateful song; 
Or wand’ring, thoughtful, near the bubbling stream, 
Or wrapt in fancy by the early beam; 
Each gives a joy, an inward reigning bliss, 
Pen can’t describe, nor lab’ring tongue express.88.

O thou dread Pow’r! thou Architect divine!89.
Who bids these seasons roll–those myriads shine; 
Whose smile decks Nature in her loveliest robe,91.
Whose frown shakes terror o’er th’ astonish’d globe; 
To thee I kneel; still deign to be a friend, 
Accept my praise, and pardon where I’ve sinn’d; 
Inspire my thoughts, make them unsullied flow, 
To see thy goodness in thy works below;96.
That whether Morning gilds the sky serene, 
Or golden Day beams o’er the blooming plain, 
Or dewy Ev’ning chears, while Philo sings, 
Or ancient Night out-spreads her raven wings; 
Whether soft breezes curl along the flood,101.
Or madd’ning tempests bend the roaring wood, 
Rejoic’d, adoring, I may view the change, 
And, while on Fancy’s airy plumes I range, 
Collect calm Reason, awe-struck eye their ways, 
And join the chorus, since they sound thy praise.106.

Alexis’ Complaint *

Of joys departed, never to return,
How painful the remembrance!

‘TWAS where smooth CARTHA
* rolls in winding pride,1.
Where willows fringe young DAMON’s garden side, 
And o’er the rocks the boiling current roars,3.
Murm’ring to leave these peaceful, flow’ry shores; 
There, sad and pensive, near an aged thorn, 
Sat lone ALEXIS, friendless and forlorn. 

Pale was his visage, lost to joy his ear,7.
Involv’d in grief, he shed the ceaseless tear. 
Poor hapless swain, alas! he mourn’d alone,9.
His dearest friend, his kind companion gone. 
Each list’ning bush forgot in air to play; 
Round gaz’d the flock, mute hung the people’d spray; 
Sad Silence reign’d, while thus the Youth, distrest, 
Pour’d forth the sorrows of his burden’d breast:14.
O’er all the plain the mournful strains pervade,  
O’er all the plain a solemn sadness spread, 
Nor wak’d an echo but to murmur “dead!” 
Thus sung the hapless swain, “Short is the span 
Of fleeting time, allow’d to feeble Man!19.
No sooner born, he fills the air with cries, 
No sooner known, than pale he droops, and dies. 
To-day he laughs the dancing hours away; 
To-morrow lies extended, lifeless clay. 
While o’er the silent corpse, each weeping swain,24.
In anguish sigh, but sigh or weep in vain. 
Such was thy fate, HORATIO! from this shore 
Too sudden torn, ne’er to revisit more. 
The rigid debt, alas! thou now hast paid; 
Thee on the couch relentless Fever laid;29.
Thy heaving breast with dread disorder wrung, 
And ‘plaints, still trembling from thy feeble tongue; 
And scarce a soul thy frequent wants to ease, 
Or soothe each moan, or whisper to thee peace, 
While I, far distant, on a foreign plain,34.
Exulting rov’d, unconscious of thy pain. 
Oh! had I known the pangs that tore thy breast, 
Had some kind pow’r but whisper’d, “he’s distrest”, 
Soon had I measur’d back my lonely way, 
And sought the bed where poor HORATIO lay;39.
Kiss’d from thy face the cold, damp, deadly dew, 
And groan’d my last, distracted, long adieu. 

“That dismal hour ne’er from my thought shall go,42.
When black appear’d the messenger of woe; 
O’er all my soul a gloomy horror came,44.
And instant trembling, shook my feeble frame. 
Thy dying strains I read, still yet I hear 
The solemn counsel sounding in my ear;*  
Words that shall tremble on my latest breath, 
And only leave me when I sink in death.49.
Frantic with grief, twice fifty miles I sped 
O’er sev’ring seas and gain’d his silent bed; 
Each weeping friend confirm’d my gloomy fear, 
That earth had clos’d on all I held most dear! 
Yes, mute he lies beneath yon rising sod,54.
While his lone cot, of Peace the late abode, 
Now grim and drear, to tott’ring ruin falls, 
Loud blasts, wild howling through the naked walls; 
His flow’rs torn up, his garden bare and waste, 
And I lone left, a solitary guest.59.

“Sad change indeed––ye once lov’d scenes! where now60.
The growing bliss I felt at each fond view? 
Where all that sweetness that perfum’d each flow’r,62.
That bless’d our walks and wing’d the passing hour? 
For ever fled! fled with that pride of swains, 
Whose presence grac’d these now forsaken plains! 
When he appear’d, each warbler rais’d his note, 
Each flow’r blow’d fresher midst the peaceful spot;67.
Ev’n while sweet CARTHA pass’d the smiling scene, 
She smoother flow’d, and left the place with pain. 
Thrice happy times! when hid from Phoebus’ beam, 
From that green shade we angl’d in her stream, 
Or, wanton, stript, and, from the hanging shore,72.
Exulting, plung’d her pearly depths t’explore, 
Tore from their rocky homes the pregnant dames, 
And to the sun display’d the glob’lous gems. 

“But now no more amid the peaceful night,76.
Beneath pale Luna’s azure-throned light, 
We’ll leave the noisy town, and slowly stray78.
Where shadowy trees branch on the moon-light way; 
There wake the flute, harmonious, soft and shrill, 
While Echo warbles from the distant hill. 
Gone are those times, for which, alas! I mourn; 
Gone are those times, nor shall they e’er return;83.
Gone is my friend, and ev’n forgot his name, 
And strangers rude, his little Mansion claim; 
New schemes shall tear those blooming shrubs away, 
And that green sod turn down to rugged clay; 
Where rich Carnations burst the pond’rous pod,88.
Where Pinks and Daisies fring’d the peebly road; 
Where glowing Roses hung the bended spray, 
Where crimson’d Tulips rose, neat rang’d and gay; 
Where all these bloom’d beneath their guardian’s eye, 
Hogs shall inhabit, and foul dunghills lie.93.
Then, oh! adieu, ye now unfriendly shores, 
Another Swain now claims your flow’ry stores, 
A surly swain, puff’d up with pride immense, 
And see! he comes, stern to command me hence. 
Thou hoary Thorn, adieu, ere ’tis too late,98.
Yon lifted ax seems to announce thy fate.” 

Thus spoke the Youth; then rising, ceas’d his strain,100.
And, wrapt in anguish, wander’d o’er the plain. 

Epistle To Mr. David Brodie,
Written On The Last Night Of The Year*

STAIN’D with the guilt of Man’s continued crimes,1.
The parting Year prepares to wing its way; 
To join the concourse of departed times,3.
And wait the summons of the final Day. 

Its sad egress no crimson’d Clouds bewail,5.
Nor tuneful bird its parting moment cheers; 
But silent, wrapt in WINTER’s gloomiest veil,7.
It leaves us trembling at the load it bears. 

Far distant, in an Inns, third flat uprear’d,9.
The sheet, beneath a glim’ring Taper spread; 
While o’er the shadowy walls no sound is heard,11.
Save Time’s slow, constant, momentary tread, 

Here, lone I sit–and will you, Sir, excuse13.
My midnight strain, while (feebly as she can) 
Inspiring Silence bids the serious Muse15.
Survey the transient bliss pursu’d by man? 

Deluded man! for him Spring paints the fields,17.
For him warm Summer rears the rip’ning grain; 
He grasps the bounty that rich Autumn yields,19.
And counts those trifles as essential gain. 

For him, indeed, those lesser blessings flow,21.
Yet why so fleeting, why so short their stay?– 
To teach poor Mortals, what they first should know,23.
That all is transient as the passing day. 

Short is the period since green smil’d the wood,25.
And flow’rs ambrosial bath’d my morning path; 
Sweet was the murm’ring of the glitt’ring flood,27.
Glad roam’d the flocks along th’ empurpl’d heath. 

With conscious joy I hail’d the rosy scene,29.
And join’d in concert with the woodland throng; 
Stretch’d by the hazel bank, or sunny plain,31.
Where answ’ring Echo warbl’d out the Song. 

Delightful times! but ah! how short their stay!33.
Stript was the foliage from each flow’r and tree; 
Grim growling Winter veil’d the joyless day,35.
And roar’d imperious o’er the hail-beat lea. 

Where now the fragrance of the howling wood?37.
Or what the pleasures we from morn can taste? 
The snow-clad banks, the big brown roaring flood,39.
The bleak wind whistling o’er the drifted waste. 

‘Tis thus, dear sir, in Life’s delusive dream,41.
We fondly sport, till Youth’s wild act is o’er; 
Till Age–till Death–steals on, in sullen stream,43.
And wordly bubbles charm the soul no more. 

But, hark! the sullen midnight tempest roars;45.
Loud o’er my sireless dome it wildly howls; 
Th’adjoining ocean, thro’ her rocky shores,47.
Majestic groans, and swells the mingled growls. 

The shiv’ring Muse has fled my frozen frame,49.
And shouts of riot strike my list’ning ear; 
In sinking–mounting–sad inconstant flame,51.
My candle’s ending with the ending year. 

Adieu, my friend! may success, health, and peace53.
Crown your each year, and ev’ry labour too; 
And sure, if virtuous worth claims human praise,55.
Fate still in keeping holds a wreath for you. 

Fraught with fresh blessings be this coming year;57.
And should some fav’ring period of its reign 
Admit my steps, rejoic’d I’ll homeward steer,59.
And hail your mansion, and my friend again. 

Address To Calder Bank

YE hoary Rocks, ye woody Cliffs, that rise1.
Unwieldy, jutting o’er the brawling Brook; 
Ye louring steeps, where hid the Adder lies,3.
Where sleeps the Owl, and screams the sable Rook; 

Ye rev’rend trunks, that spread your leafy arms,5.
To shield the gloom, that darkling dwells below; 
Ye nameless flow’rs, ye busy-winged swarms;7.
Ye birds that warble, and ye streams that flow.– 

Say, ye blest scenes of Solitude and Peace,9.
Strayed e’er a BARD along this hermit shore? 
Did e’er his pencil your perfection trace?11.
Or did his Muse to sing your beauties soar? 

Has oft at early Morn and silent Eve,13.
Responsive echo stole athwart the trees; 
While easy laid beside the glitt’ring wave,15.
The shepherd sung, his list’ning Fair to please? 

Alas! methinks the weeping Rocks around,17.
And the lone Stream, that murmurs far below, 
And Trees and Caves, with solemn hollow sound,19.
Breathe out one mournful, melancholy–”No.” 

The Shepherdess’ Dream,
Founded on a Fact

WHERE LORN ‘s wild hills, in lonely grandeur rise1.
From th’ Atlantic shore, till lost amid the skies, 
Immensely throwing, while young Morning smiles,3.
Their dark’ning shadows o’er the distant isles; 
Here, near the border of a ragged wood, 
The young MARIA’s rural cottage stood. 

Soon as the night to western skies was borne,7.
And early Cock proclaim’d the op’ning Morn, 
Forth stray’d the blooming Maid, with all her train9.
Of Bleaters, nibbling o’er th’ empurpl’d plain. 
High on the summit’s brow, or braky Glen, 
Or heathy dale, or near the grassy fen, 
Or on the hill, they fed, where blue bells hung 
Their nodding heads; high thron’d the sweet Lark sung,14.
While Rocks around, with lows and bleatings rung. 
Here stray’d the SHEPHERDESS, while blazing day 
Awoke the warbling choir and flow’rets gay. 
Deep in the shade she shunn’d the sultry air, 
Or kept from startling sweep her milky care;19.
Till in the sea bright Phoebus’ chariot roll’d, 
Then, singing, wore them homewards to the Fold. 

Near her lone Cottage rose the rugged shore,22.
Where foaming billows rav’d with ceaseless roar; 
High, grim, and dreadful, hung the gloomy steep,24.
And tow’r’d black threat’ning o’er the low-sunk deep, 
And now ’twas Night–the maid in bed reclin’d, 
The following prospect open’d on her mind. 

She dream’d, that careless in the noontide ray,28.
Stretch’d on a flow’ry bank, she sleeping lay, 
When some kind voice, soft whisper’d in her ear,30.
“MARIA! rise, thy flock hath left thee here”– 
Sudden she started, found herself alone, 
Around all silent, and her Bleaters gone. 
She snatch’d her Crook, flew o’er the lonely dale, 
Plung’d thro’ the Brook, and gaz’d adown the vale;35.
But nought appeared. Again she sought the heath, 
Each creek, each hollow view’d with panting breath; 
Till, toil’d and faint, the airy steep she gains, 
And views enraptur’d, views them on the plains– 
Cows, sheep, and goats, at once burst on her eye,40.
Some crop the herbs, while others peaceful lie, 
Her little heart expands in an exulting cry. 
Yet still she thought, between her and the flock, 
Arose a shelvy, black, impervious rock, 
Which oft she strove to pass, but strove in vain,45.
Some pow’r unseen still pull’d her back again. 
With toil fatigu’d, she view’d them as they fed, 
And on the rock reclin’d her heavy head. 

Thus dream’d the Maid, and waking midst the Night,49.
Beheld, good gods! beheld a horrid sight. 
High on a rock’s dread verge, hung o’er the main,51.
Whose far-sunk surge wheel’d round her giddy brain; 
Amaz’d she found herself, half-clad, alone; 
Her hand laid leaning on a jutting stone, 
Dark was the night, save where the shrowded Moon, 
‘Midst dusky clouds, shone on the waste aroun’,56.
And show’d the horrid steep, a dreadful sight, 
Cliff hung o’er cliff, in grim stupendous height. 
Back from the threat’ning scene she headlong fled, 
Lest the whole mass might yield beneath her tread: 
Then raised the maid to Heav’n her streaming eyes,61.
And pour’d her grateful soul in fervent sighs, 
To that kind Pow’r, who feeble mortals keeps, 
Whose eye all-seeing, slumbers not nor sleeps; 
To whom each being owes all that he hath, 
Each pulse’s throb, and each returning breath,66.
Implor’d his presence still to guard her path, 
Then, rising, sought her Cot along the lonely heath. 

Thoughts in a Church-Yard

Earth’s highest station ends in, Here he lies; And, dust to dust, concludes her noblest song.

AGAIN, O Sadness! soft’ning pow’r, again1.
I woo thee, thoughtful, from this letter’d stone; 
And hail, thou comes! to view the dreary scene3.
Where ghastly Death has fixt his awful throne. 

How lone, how solemn seems each view around?5.
I see, at distance, oh! distracting sight! 
I see the Tomb–the humble grassy mound,7.
Where he now lies, once all my soul’s delight! 

A Youth more gen’rous, more humanely kind,9.
A Friend more loving, or a Heart more brave; 
Ne’er Breath’d a Being from th’ Eternal Mind,11.
Nor fell a Victim to the cruel grave. 

But cease, ye tears, nor thus incessant flow,13.
And still these tumults, oh! thou bleeding heart; 
Methinks his Shade soft whispers, “Wait the blow,15.
And soon we’ll meet, ne’er, ne’er again to part.” 

Here stands the Artist’s tomb, in splendour rear’d,17.
And all the pomp surviving Art can give; 
But will hoar Time the pillar’d Dome regard,19.
And shall its pride to endless ages live? 

No–though the marble seems to start to life,21.
Tho’ firm as rock the structure rears its head, 
Time’s cank’ring jaws will end the daring strife,23.
And lay it level with th’ unhonour’d dead. 

Ye lonely heaps, ye bones, ye grim sculls, say,25.
Must I be stretch’d cold, lifeless in the dust; 
Must this poor head be wrapt in putrid clay,27.
And glare like you?––Ye murmur back––”It must.” 

Then what avail thy fleeting joys, O Time!29.
Thy Bliss uncertain, when such truths are sure; 
May these scenes teach me to contemn this clime,31.
And seek that Bliss, those Joys that shall endure. 

These are thy spoils, thou grisly monarch, Death!33.
Grim pleas’d thou stalks above the low-laid train; 
Each sculptur’d stone, each poor, low grassy wreath,35.
Thou eyes as trophies of thy dreadful fame. 

But know, proud lord, thy reign shall have an end,37.
Tho’ nought on earth can now resist its force; 
Yet, shalt thou fall beneath a mightier hand,39.
And yield thy weapons, and thy meagre Horse. 

In that dread day, when from the bellowing clouds,41.
The trump’s loud sound shall shake th’ affrighted earth, 
When these, and millions, struggling from their shrouds,43.
Shall wake to mis’ry or to endless mirth: 

When Time shall cease in scanty stream to flow,45.
And Earth and Stars in endless ruin sink; 
Then Heaven’s high KING, with one triumphant blow,47.
Shall dash thee headlong from Existence’s brink. 

But, see! sad Ev’ning spreads her sable veil,49.
The chilly breeze bleak ruffles o’er the lawn; 
For once, adieu; ye silent heaps, farewell,51.
Perhaps I join you ere to-morrow’s dawn. 

Oft let me stray where these lone Captives lie,53.
And, sad and thoughtful, o’er the deep grave bend; 
This is the place, Truth tells us with a sigh,55.
Where all our sorrows or our singings end. 

Verses to the Memory of an Engaging Youth,
Uncommonly Attached to Learning

HERE, Stranger! pause, and, sadly, o’er this stone1.
A moment ponder on the deeds of Fate: 
Snatch’d hence, in blooming Youth, here moulders one,3.
Whose life seem’d worthy of a longer date. 

Mild was his temper, and his soul serene;5.
Truth warm’d his breast, and dwelt upon his tongue; 
Oft would he wander, from the noisy scene,7.
To list, while Virgil, or bold Homer sung. 

With such a Son, what was his Parents joy?9.
No thought can reach it, nor no tongue can tell; 
Nor paint their anguish, when the lovely Boy,11.
By Death assaulted, pale and lifeless fell. 

Yet they submit to Heav’n’s wise-acting Pow’r;13.
And think, O Reader! as thou tread’st this sod, 
He once, like thee, enjoy’d Life’s glitt’ring hour;15.
Thou soon, like him, must pass Death’s gloomy road. 

Epistle To Mr. James Kennedy*

AS when, by play retarded, past his hour,1.
The scampering school-boy ventures to the door 
With throbbing breast, lists to the busy noise,3.
And starts to hear the master’s awful voice, 
Oft sighs and looks–now offers to burst in, 
Now backwards shrinks, and dreads a smarting skin, 
Till desp’rate grown, by fear detain’d more late, 
He lifts the latch, and boldly meets his fate:8.

So I, dear sir, have oft snatch’d up the quill9.
To hail your ear, yet have been silent still. 
Aw’d by superior worth my pen forgot11.
Its wonted pow’r, and trembled out a blot; 
The Muse sat mute, and hung her languid head, 
And Fancy crawl’d, with diffidence and dread, 
Till forc’d at last, I spurn the phantom Fear, 
And dare to face your dread tribunal here.16.

No flow’ry sweets I bring, tho’ Summer reigns,17.
And Flocks, delighted, rove thro’ painted plains; 
Tho’ glitt’ring Brooks flow, smooth, meand’ring by,19.
And Larks soar, warbling thro’ the azure sky; 
And Meads and Groves rejoice–to me unblest; 
For oh! bleak WINTER raves within my breast; 
Here whirls a Storm, tho’ hid from human sight, 
Fiercer than winds that howl thro’ gloomy Night.24.

As Griefs reveal’d are robb’d of half their sting,25.
And seeming Doubts, when told, oft take to wing, 
Permit me here, some mis’ries to unnest,27.
That long have harbour’d in my labo’ring breast. 

Oft pale-ey’d Poverty, in sullen state,29.
Stalks round, and threatens to deform my fate; 
Points to the future times, and, grinning, says,31.
“Old age and I shall curse thy Ev’ning days; 
His shaking hand shall change thy locks to grey, 
Thy head to baldness, and thy strength to clay; 
Make thy sad Hor’zon with dark tempests roll, 
And lead me forward to complete the whole:36.
To count thy groans–to hear thee hopeless mourn, 
And wave these trophies o’er thy closing Urn.” 

Then mad Ambition revels thro’ my brain,39.
And restless bids me spurn Life’s grov’lling plain, 
Awake the Muse, and soft enrapt’ring Lyre,41.
To G* * * * * * **’s * praise, our Villa’s friendly Sire; 
In glowing colours paint his rural Seat, 
Where Songsters warble, and where Lambkins bleat; 
Where groves and plains, in sweet disorder lie, 
Hills rough with woods, that tow’ring cleave the sky;46.
And darksome woody Vales, where hid from sight, 
Lone CALDER brawls o’er many a rocky height; 
Tell in soft strains how rich our plains appear, 
What plenty crowns them each revolving year; 
Till smiles approving bless my task and Fame51.
Enrol the Patriot, and the Poet’s name. 

But when (sad theme!) I view my feeble Rhyme,53.
And weigh my worth for such a flight sublime, 
With tearful eye, survey the fate of those,55.
Whose pow’rful learning shielded not from foes; 
Damp’d at the thought, Fear clogs the Muse’s wing, 
And Grief and Hope by turns inspire or sting. 

While such sad thoughts, such grim reflections roll,59.
In dark succession, o’er my gloomy soul, 
One ray from You, to chase the chearless gloom,61.
And bid fair Fancy’s fields their sweets resume, 
Wou’d lift my heart, light as the sweepy wind, 
And deeper bind me your indebted friend. 

When darkness reigns, or Ev’ning silence deep,65.
Some moments rescue from the jaws of Sleep, 
Bid your sweet Muse unfold her downy wings,67.
And teach a Youth to touch the trembling strings; 
Dispel his doubts, arouse his hovering flame, 
And point the road that leads to bliss and Fame. 

[First] Epistle To Mr. James Dobie

CLOS’D in a Garret spread wi’ beuks,1.
Whare spider wabs, in dozens, 
Hing mirk athort the winnock neuks,* 3.
Maist dark’ning up the lozens, *  
Thro’ whilk the Sin, wi’ beams sae braw,*  
Ne’er shows his face discreetly, 
Save whan out owre the Misty-Law, 
He’s flitherin’ * downward sweetly,8.
To close the day. 

Here sits the Bardie, sir, his lane,10.
Right glad to rest retir’d; 
His griefs an’ girnin’* cares a’ gane,12.
An’ a’ his fancy fir’d; 
The Muses round him dancin’ thrang, 
Their skill fu’ proud to show it; 
In lively measure, thun’erin’ lang, 
To sing an’ please the Poet17.
O’ Beith, this day 

O! how my heart exulting loups,* 19.
To meet a chiel like you; 
Life’s bitter Horn aside it coups,21.
An’ fill’st wi’ chearing blue; 
While chaunrin’ Critics grin an’ growl, 
An’ curse whate’er they light on, 
The honest, friendly, gen’rous soul 
Can check, inspire, and brighten,26.
Wi’ ease each day. 

Yet some there are whase flinty hearts,28.
An’ hollow heads (poor wretches!) 
Despise the Poet’s glorious parts,30.
An’ ca’ them daudron bitches. 
Tell them a plan o’ cent. per cent. 
They’ll glut yer words like hinee; 
But mention Poetry, they’ll gaunt 
An’ gloom, as gin’t war * Sinee,35.
Or salts, that day 

Anither set comes in my view,37.
A’ trampin’ heaven’s way in. 
See! how they shake their heads, an’ groo39.
At ought but grace an’ prayin’. 
These godly fouks will tak’ the qualms, 
To hear a Rhyme-repeater, 
An’ solemnly declare the ‘Salms 
To be the far best metre44.
On earth this day. 

Poor brainless wights! they little ken* 46.
Its charms, its soaring fire; 
In ev’ry age, the best of men,48.
Have, raptur’d, tun’d the lyre. 
‘Tis this that breathes Job’s mournful plaints, 
Or aids him to adore, 
And this the Seraph’s mouth, and Saints, 
Will fill when Time’s no more,53.
But endless day. 

Whan bonny Spring adorns the year,55.
An’ ilka Herb is springing, 
An’ birds, on blossom’d branches clear,57.
Wi’ lightsome hearts, are singing; 
How sweet, to rove at early Morn, 
Whare dewy flow’rs are ranket, 
While they wha sic enjoyments scorn, 
Lie snorin’ in a blanket,62.
Till height o’ day. 

I ne’er was rich, nor ever will,64.
But ony time ye come 
To our bit Town, we’se hae a gill,* 66.
An’ owr’t we’se no sit dumb. 
A Gill, man, spreads the Muse’s wing, 
Sets ilka quill in order, 
And gars* her mount, an’ soar, an’ sing, 
Till she maist gains the border71.
O’ brightest day. 

Elegy on the Death of William Witherspoon,
A Particular Friend of the Author.

SUNK was the Sun, ‘midst clouds of gold,1.
Lone Night reign’d from her starry dome, 
When slow I left the bleating fold,3.
And weary sought my little home. 

There, sad and cheerless, near the fire,5.
I gloomy sat, to grief resign’d; 
And, while down stole the silent tear,7.
These thoughts slow wand’red o’er my mind. 

Alas!––my distant friend, I fear––9.
Why these woe-bodings at my heart? 
What sound still tinkles in my ear,11.
Which Mirth nor Pleasure can divert? 

I spoke–I sigh’d–and rais’d my head––13.
I sigh’d, I groan’d, yet knew not why, 
When, strange! a voice soft breathed out, “Dead!“15.
I heard, and changed to palest clay. 

Prostrate I fell, lull’d in a faint,17.
Till by degrees life on me broke; 
I wak’d to mis’ry–rose pale, spent,19.
And thus in deep distraction spoke. 

And art thou gone, oh! hapless Youth!21.
And shall these eyes ne’er view thee more? 
Thou, in whose glowing breast dwelt truth,23.
Art thou for ever from me tore? 

Ye dreary walls, list to my doom,25.
Bear witness to my heart-felt wail, 
And wrap you with a darker gloom,27.
While I relate the mournful tale. 

For oh! insatiate cruel death,29.
Hath torn from me my dearest friend; 
Then farewell, World, and hated breath;31.
I shall not long delay behind. 

Ah, see! the breathless Cor’se there lies,33.
White stretch’d along–distracting sight! 
How chang’d that face! How sunk those eyes!35.
For ever sunk in endless night! 

Pale is the face that wont to smile,37.
Adorn’d with charms of native red; 
Cold, cold that breast, where envious Guile39.
Ne’er found a shelter for her head. 

Oh! barb’rous Death,–relentless Pow’r!41.
How hast thou made my bosom bleed? 
In one tremendous, awful hour,43.
Thou’st made me wretched–poor indeed. 

Ye once delightful scenes, adieu!45.
Where first I drew my infant breath, 
Since the sole friend this breast e’er knew,47.
Clos’d are his eyes, and sunk in death. 

Farewell, ye Banks with willows tipt,49.
Where oft beneath the summer beam, 
‘Midst flowery grass, we’ve fondly stript,51.
And plung’d beneath the opening stream. 

No more, while Winter rules the sky,53.
And firms pure CARTHA’s icy face; 
Shall he on skates, swift, bounding fly,55.
While I pursue the mazy chace. 

No more, alas! we’ll nightly walk57.
Beneath the silent, silver Moon; 
Or pass the rapt’ring hours in talk,59.
In yonder Bow’r retired from noon. 

How will that beauteous Maid bewail,61.
Whose charms first caught his youthful heart? 
Who often heard his tender tale,63.
And, blushing, eas’d his wounding smart. 

No more with thee he’ll spend the Night,65.
Where CYNTHIA gleams athwart the grove; 
Nor seize thy hand, in dear delight,67.
And tell enchanting tales of love. 

Alas! he’s bid a long adieu;69.
In vain we weep, in vain repine; 
Ne’er shalt thou meet a swain so true,71.
And ne’er shall I a friend so kind. 

How long we’ve been companions dear,73.
How lov’d–nor tongue nor words can tell; 
But hark!–alas! methinks I hear75.
Some solemn, dreary, warning knell. 

Yes–I will come–thou beck’ning Ghost;77.
I hear thy kind, thy awful call: 
One green-grass sod shall wrap our dust,79.
And some sweet Muse weep o’er our fall. 

The Fly and Leech:
A Fable

CONTENT’s the choicest bliss we can1.
E’er reach to in this mortal span, 
‘Tis not in grandeur, pow’r or state.3.
The Lordly dome, or Cottage neat, 
Still to be found–But chief she dwells 
In that calm breast that care repels; 
With dauntless heart braves frowning Fate, 
Nor e’er concludes that Hope’s too late;8.
Aspires no higher than his sphere, 
Nor harbours Discontentment there. 
Pale Discontent! the baneful sting, 
From whence unnumber’d mis’ries spring; 
Ambition gazing to the skies,13.
And ever planning schemes to rise, 
Till to Pow’r’s dizzy peak up-whirl’d, 
Fate shakes the base and down he’s hurl’d; 
Heart-wringing Cares, that still torment, 
All flow from murm’ring Discontent.18.

Some forward look at coming ills,19.
And die long ere they thwart their wills; 
Others in real mis’ry groan,21.
And think Heav’n frowns on them alone; 
While many a one, mean, pining Elves, 
Raise airy horrors to themselves. 

Happy the man, whose views ne’er stretch25.
To things beyond his honest reach; 
Who, whether doom’d to Hall or Cot,27.
Ne’er curses Fate, or mourns his lot; 
If rich––despises not the poor, 
Nor drives them harshly from his door; 
If low in fortune––ne’er envies 
The wealthy’s pomp that meets his eyes;32.
For oft, within their bosom reigns 
A raving group of nameless pains, 
That ceaseless torture, growl and fret; 
And when they fall, the ruin’s great; 
Sinking, they eye the humble Clown,37.
Grasp at a Spade, and spurn a Crown. 

One sunny evening, calm and fair,39.
A FLY that wing’d the fragrant air, 
In wheeling, past a Village-lane,41.
By chance popt thro’ a broken pane. 
A scene that ne’er had met his sight, 
He now surveys with doubtful flight; 
Around the room, with airy drone, 
His curious search had circling gone.46.
He views its bounds, and yet more bold, 
Pries o’er the walls, damp, moulded, cold; 
Then, pertly sneering, thus began: 
“How wretched are th’abodes of man! 
How rank the smell!–whoe’er comes near it,51.
May guess the owner’s taste and spirit.” 

This said, and roving round, he spies53.
An Object, that engag’d his eyes. 
Within a glass a moving Being,55.
Sluggish and black; which Bizzon seeing, 
Perch’d on the bottle––gaz’d with mock, 
And thus the foppish flutterer spoke: 
“And what art thou, poor grov’lling creature, 
Of such detested hue and feature;60.
That sunk amid that putrid fluid, 
So closely cramm’d––so irksome bowed, 
Scarce seems to move thro’ scanty water? 
An ugly hulk of lifeless matter; 
Shame! thus to loll, while summer hours65.
Invite thee forth, thro’ blooming flow’rs 
Enrapt to rove; or, where the field 
Of blossom’d Beans their fragrance yield; 
Or wanton in the noontide beam; 
Or skim along the glitt’ring stream70.
With boundless sweep––But thou, lone wretch! 
Must here remain, till Death shall fetch 
Thee from this hold, with furious ire, 
And tread thy carcase in the mire. 
A life like this what beast could dree,75.
‘Twere death and worse to aught but thee.” 

Thus Bizzon spoke, when from her font77.
The LEECH uprear’d her dark-brown front, 
And thus reply’d, in solemn mood:79.
“Know, vainest of thy useless brood! 
Thou hast my scorn–I too might rail, 
But listen to my humble tale: 
Ne’er make, by outward signs, thy guess, 
Nor think, tho’ poor, my peace is less.84.
Compos’d I live, and from my Bow’r 
Survey the bustling World, secure. 
Or when some stubborn, rank disease 
Calls for my aid, to give men ease, 
I glad obey, and suck the ill,89.
In my own breast, to save them still; 
Who call me blest, while kindly filling, 
From the clear brook my freshen’d dwelling, 
And in my lonely mansion here, 
Nor fatal bird, nor snare I fear,94.
That constant lurk to fix thy doom, 
Ev’n while thou rambles thro’ this Room; 
As thou may feel yet ere thou leave it, 
And when ’twill be too late, believe it.” 

“Poor Wretch (quoth Bizzon) mind thy distance,99.
Disgrace of all e’er dragged existence! 
I scorn thy speech and slav’ry both,101.
Mean, ugly lump of bondag’d sloth. 
Now, what thou art, I plainly spy; 
Blest be the Pow’r made me a Fly.” 

He said–and up, exulting, springs,105.
To gain the fields with sounding wings; 
But miss’d his mark, and ere aware,107.
Dash’d full into a SPIDER’s snare. 
He buzz’d and tugged–the Foe alarm’d, 
Rush’d, gloomy, forth; with vengeance arm’d, 
Fixes his fangs, with furious stride, 
And darts the poison thro’ his side.112.
Poor Bizzon groan’d, with quiv’ring sten, 
And as Grips dragg’d him to his Den, 
Thus faintly cry’d, “Ye Flies, beware, 
And shun Ambition’s deadly snare. 
Oh! save my life!–I vain beseech:117.
I faint–I die–Oh! happy LEECH! 

Groans From The Loom:
A Song, in Imitation of Colin’s Complaint*

DEPLORING beside an old Loom,1.
A Weaver perplexed was laid, 
And, while a bad Web was his theme,3.
The Breast-beam supported his head; 
The Walls, that for ages had stood, 
In sympathy, wept for his pain, 
And the roof, though of old rotten wood, 
Remurmur’d his groans back again.8.

“Alas! simple fool that I was!”9.
(These words he roar’d out with a grin) 
When I saw thee, I sure was an Ass,11.
Else I’d dy’d ere I handl’d the Pin. 
Thou glanc’d, and transported I seem’d; 
When I held thee, how panted my breast! 
In raptures I gaz’d while thou beam’d, 
And exclaim’d, Was e’er mortal so blest!16.

What a blockhead was I to aver,17.
It would work thro’ a Mounting so fine; 
Or, that such phantom of hair,19.
Would in a gay Handkerchief shine? 
Good Gods! shall a Mortal with legs, 
So slow, uncomplaining, be brought! 
Go, hung, like a Scarecrow in rags, 
And live o’er a Seat-tree–on nought!24.

What though I had patience to tie,25.
Till their numbers my Temples o’erspread, 
Whene’er the smooth tread I apply,27.
My Shopmates deplore how I’ve sped. 
Ah! SANDY, thy hopes are in vain; 
Thy Web and thy Mounting resign; 
Perhaps they may fall to a Swain, 
Whose patience is greater than thine.32.

And you my proud Masters so stern,33.
Who smile o’er the wretch ye torment, 
Forbear to import us such yarn,35.
Or, by JOVE, you’ll have cause to repent. 
Though through the wide Warehouse ye foam, 
In vain shall ye threaten or mourn; 
‘Twas yours to distress my poor dome, 
Now ’tis mine, and triumphant I’ll burn.40.

If, while the poor trash I pull down,41.
They expect to regain my esteem, 
Let them come with the Crouds of the Town,43.
And see how it flames from the beam. 
And then the last boon I’ll implore, 
Is to bless us with China so tight, 
And when the pure Piece you look o’er, 
You will own my Petition was right.48.

Then to LONDON Nymphs let it go,49.
And deck them in dazzling array; 
Be fairest at ev’ry fine show,51.
And bring us the heart-cheering Pay; 
Then NOVA’s dead bell we will toll, 
No more to be heard of or seen, 
Unless, when beside a full Bowl, 
We laugh at how wretched we’ve been.” 56.

The Pack

Hard Fate has this ordain’t, that I
Maun dauner thro’ the warl’,
The wants o’ thousan’s to supply,
An’ heavy lades to harl:
Sae aft, whan E’ening brings the Night,
In lanely desolation,
I seek a corner, out o’ sight,
To mourn my condemnation.

THE western Sun, bright to the eye,9.
Was sinking in the flood, 
Adorn’d with robes of richest dye,11.
Gay crimson streak’d wi’ blood; 
The swallows twittert through the sky, 
In jinking, sportive mood, 
While, prest wi’ care, poor hapless I, 
Near yonder riv’let stood,16.
Thoughtful that day. 

My pond’rous PACK upo’ the ground,18.
I carelessly had flung; 
A wallet green, wi’ straps fast bound,20.
And near’t a hazel rung;*  
The vera sight my heart did wound, 
My breast wi’ grief was stung; 
Fir’d wi’ indignance I turn’d round, 
An’ basht wi’ mony a fung* 25.
The Pack, that day. 

“Thou cursed, base, inglorious load!”27.
(Enrag’d wi’ grief I cry’d) 
“Shall thou along the weary road29.
Borne on my shouthers ride; 
While crusht beneath I groaning nod, 
An’ travel far an’ wide–– 
Hence! frae my sight, or wi’ this clod, 
I’ll dash thy hated hide,34.
This vera day. 

“Nay, no excuse––I winna hear,36.
I winna tak’ a word in; 
What! was these shouthers form’d to bear38.
Thee, vile, disgracefu’ burden? 
My lugs* to thole* ilk taunt an’ jeer, 
That pierce me like a sword in, 
Crouchin’ to ev’ry wretch, to speer, *  
‘Mem! will ye buy a bargain43.
Right cheap, the day?‘” 

It fires, it boils my vera blude,45.
An’ sweats me at ilk pore, 
To think how aft I’m putten wud,47.
Whan drawin’ near a door; 
Out springs the Mastiff, through the mud, 
Wi’ fell Cerberian roar, 
An’ growlin’, as he really wou’d 
Me instantly devore,52.
Alive, that day. 

“Ye’re come frae Glasco’, lad, I true;”54.
(The pert Gudewife presumes;) 
“Ye’ll be a Malefactor too,56.
Ye’ll hae yer horse and grooms; 
What de’il brings siccan chaps like you, 
To lea’ your wabs * an’ looms? 
Wi’ Beggars, Packmen, an’ sic crew, 
Our door it never tooms,61.
The live-lang day. 

Nae doubt ye’ll e’en right hungry be,63.
I see your belly’s clung; *  
I hae some parritch here to gi’e,65.
As soon’s a sang ye’ve sung. 
Come, lilt* it up wi’ blithsome glee; 
Ye’re supple, smart an’ young; 
An’ gin ye please our John an’ me, 
Ye’se get the kirnan rung* 70.
To lick, this day.” 

What flesh an’ blude could thole this jaw,72.
An’ no start in a rage, 
An’ kick their heels up ane an’ a’,74.
E’en though he war a Sage? 
Aft hae I dar’t them, grit an’ sma’, 
Gin they durst but engage, 
Their noses in their a–– to thraw,*  
And screw’t as firm’s a wedge,79.
Right smart, that day. 

O thou, who ‘midst the Muses all,81.
Plays while they rapt’ring sing, 
Attentive hear thy vot’ry’s call,83.
An’ view his drooping wing! 
How mournfu’, how forlorn I crawl, 
Far frae Parnassian spring; 
Oh! deign to stoop, an’ from this thrall 
Thy once-lov’d Bardie bring,88.
In haste, this day.” 

I ceas’d–and to my huge amaze,90.
That bordert maist on fear; 
Upon ae end the WALLET raise,92.
Tho’ cram’t wi’ silken gear; 
While I, wild glowrt, to see its ways, 
An’ stood a’ een an’ ear, 
It solemn shook its verdant claes,*  
Syne in tones hoarse and queer,97.
Thus spoke, that day. 

“Ye proud, provokin’, hair-braint ass!99.
Owre lang I’ve borne your bleth’ring, 
I’ve lain a’ frythin’ on the grass,101.
To hear yer nonsense gath’ring. 
Ye’ve brought me to a bonny pass, 
Since your rhime-wings war feathering, 
An’ now, set up yer saucy jaws!–– 
Earth! ye deserve a leath’ring,106.
Right snell,* this day.” 

Ha’e ye sae soon forgot the gude108.
Whilk I ha’e aften doon you? 
Had ye no ance aneath me stood,110.
JOHN swore that he wad poon you. 
Whan ye fell in the snawy flood,  
I truntl’t* frae aboon you, 
Or trouth ye’d soon been flesh an’ blood, 
For craws to pick, and spoon you115.
Wi’ their nebs, that day. 

Weel may ye mind, yon night sae black,117.
Whan fearfu’ winds loud gurl’d, 
An’ mony a lum dang down an’ stack,119.
Heigh i’ the air up swirl’d, 
Alangst yon brae, ye clam, an’ stack, 
Down whiles like to be whirl’d, 
Had I no slippet aff yer back, 
An’ ere I stoppet, hurl’d124.
To the fit, that night. 
Not to relate how aft, in barns, 
When Night without did bluster, 
On me ye’ve laid yer crazy harns, 
An’ fixt me for a bouster.* 129.
There wad ye lie, an’ sit by turns, 
An’ rhyme e’en in that posture, 
Or through the thack* survey the starns, 
Till glimm’rin’ Night did foster 
The new-born day.134.

For me, indeed (I scorn to wheese* )135.
Ye’ve tholt some bits o’ losses; 
For me ye’ve waded to the knees,137.
Thro’ gutters, bogs, an’ mosses; 
For me, adventur’d foamin’ seas, 
An’ met wi’ mony crosses; 
For me, ye’ve tell’t ten thousan’ lies, 
An’ measurt stairs an’ closses,142.
For mony a day. 

But than, reflect what blissfu’ gluts* 144.
O’ parritch ye ha’e bury’d 
Within the caverns o’ yer guts,146.
While wi’ me ye ha’e tarry’d; 
What dawds o’ cheese, frae out yer clauts,*  
Wi’ fury ye ha’e worry’d; 
How aft lain dozin out yer wits, 
Disdaining to be hurry’d151.
By ought, that day. 

“Gude guides! (quo’ I), thou’s get the gree* 153.
O’ Wallets, De’ils, or Witches: 
A speakin’ PACK’s owre learnt for me,155.
Or ane that steers an’ fitches. 
Wha kens, but thou may Master be, 
An’ haul me thro’ the ditches, 
Or may-be learn (preserves!) to flee, 
An’ lea’ me in the clutches160.
O’ rags, some day.” 

“Ungratefu’ sinner! think how aft162.
I ve fillt yer pouch wi’ catter* – 
For gudesake whisht* ! we’re baith gane daft,164.
It’s nonsense a’ this splutter. 
Come to my shouthers, warp an’ waft, 
Nae mair we’ll flyte an’ chatter;” 
Sae aff I trudg’d alang the craft, 
An’ ended a’ the clatter,169.
In peace, that day.  

Character, Drawn From Life,
And Addressed To Its Owner

GREAT son of Bacchus! and of drowsy Sloth!1.
Thou human Maggot, thou insipid Moth! 
Whose whole Ambition is in bed to snore,3.
Whose Life is Liquor, and whose Soul’s a roar. 
Through thy dark skull ne’er peept a ray of light; 
‘Tis black as Chaos, and eternal Night; 
Confusion’s dizzy seat,–the pregnant source, 
Where Nonsense issues with resounding force;8.
Where floods on floods, from Morn to Ev’ning pours, 
Wrapt up in Laughs and loud unchristian roars. 

When Sunday summons grave religious fools,11.
To pore o’er Books, or drink the Pulpit rules, 
From vulgar bounds thou bravely dares to tread,13.
And spends thy Sunday gloriously in bed. 
There thinks, perhaps, or dreams of Sin and Death, 
This maxim holding as a point of faith, 
“To Heav’n there’s many ways, and ’tis confest, 
Who finds the smoothest, surely finds the best.”18.

On GOD, or Temple, no respect thou puts:19.
An Inn’s thy Temple, and thy God’s thy guts. 

A Father’s precepts, or a Mother’s tears,21.
His plain example, or her meddling fears, 
Shall thou regard? No, ’twere past utt’rance low,23.
Such fools, as Mothers or old Sires, to know. 
When at thy honour they advance their horns, 
Thou d–ns her nonsense,–all his maxims scorns; 
Comes home mad drunk, and, O immortal Brown! 
Kicks up a dust, and knocks thy Mother down!28.

Thunder-Storm

HOT Summer reign’d, and the bright Orb of day1.
High over head roll’d on his cloudless way; 
No rains appear’d, to chear the parched earth,3.
Nor dewy evenings swell’d the oaten birth, 
Nor cooling breezes, curl’d along the streams, 
Where Youths repair’d, to shun the scorching beams; 
Ten thousand Insects swarm the sultry air, 
Crowd in each room, and haunt us ev’rywhere;8.
While, mute, the Warblers to the Groves retreat, 
And seek the Shade, to shun the burning heat. 

Two sick’ning Months had thus roll’d joyless by,11.
While heat reign’d tyrant from the vaulted sky, 
Again the Sun rose in the flaming East,13.
And pour’d his rays o’er Earth and Ocean’s breast; 
But ere yon high Meridian he had gain’d, 
Surrounding Clouds his dark’ning visage stain’d; 
Clouds pil’d on clouds, in dismal huge array, 
Swell from the South, and blot the face of day. 18.

O’er the bleak sky a threat’ning horror spreads;19.
The Brooks brawl hoarser from their distant beds; 
The coming storm, the woodland natives view,21.
Stalk to the Caves, or seek the sheltering Yew; 
There, pensive droop, and eye the streaming rain, 
While light’ning sweeps, and Thunder shakes the plain. 

Dire is the fate of the old wand’ring swain,25.
Who sees the storm, and hurries o’er the plain; 
The plain, far waste, unknown to human tread,27.
The gloom, fast mingling, dismal o’er his head. 
No cottage near, to shield his hoary age; 
All earth denies him refuge from its rage. 
‘Tis black around! Swift from the threat’ning skies, 
A sudden flash darts on his startl’d eyes.32.
Trembling he stops, but how aghast his soul, 
When bursting, harsh, rebounding thunders roll! 
The loud’ning roar confounds his tortur’d ear, 
His distant friends call forth the briny tear; 
Till (hapless swain!) the fiery bolt of death,37.
Extends him lifeless o’er the with’ring heath. 

The low-hung clouds, broke by this mighty sound,39.
Pour down a deluge, o’er the gaping ground: 
Each slate, each tile, teems with a streaming rill;41.
Thick falls the clattering torrent–thicker still; 
While thro’ the wat’ry element, the flash 
Of vivid light’ning, blazes on the sash; 
While follows, slow, the loud tremendous roar, 
As heav’n itself was in dread fragments tore.46.
Down hurls the boiling Brook––hush’d is the breeze–– 
Brooks rise to Rivers–Rivers swell to Seas–– 
Smooth-gliding CART, theme of my infant song, 
Swell’d, broad and brown, resistless pours along, 
In winding majesty, where DAMON’s dome,51.
Half launch’d, detains big whit’ning hills of foam; 
Then raves, loud thund’ring o’er the ragged rocks, 
Sweeps, headlong down, tumult’ous planks and blocks, 
While crowds of Millers gaze and tear their dusty locks. 
Thus foaming CARTHA swells from shore to shore,56.
While distant counties listen to her roar. 

Lone, on her banks, the rain-soak’d Fisher strays,58.
Intent and mindless of th’involved rays, 
Tho’ the bleak heav’ns emit their wat’ry store,60.
With rapid force, and lash the foamy shore; 
Calm, and undaunted, ‘mongst his lines he works, 
And thro’ red light’ning eyes the floating corks.  

Slow pass’d the day, till dreadful night o’erspread,64.
A dismal darkness o’er each mortal’s head; 
No moon appear’d, no star beam’d to the eye,66.
Uproar rav’d monarch thro’ the affrighted sky; 
Stern THUNDER storm’d imperious from his throne, 
Hail furious flew, and sweepy light’ning shone. 

Shrunk to the close recesses of the room,70.
Assembled neighbours sat, in solemn gloom; 
All eye, to catch the frequent startling flash,72.
All ear, when roar’d the awe-impressing crash; 
Fear sat on ev’ry brow, and Guilt, distrest, 
Believed each bolt directed to his breast. 

Kind is that Pow’r, whose dread commanding voice76.
Lulls the loud tempest’s wild discordant noise. 
With us he bids best blessings long delay,78.
While harsh disasters post in speed away. 

Soon as young Morn gain’d on the sulky Night,80.
A beauteous prospect met th’enraptur’d sight: 
The pearly dew-drops twinkl’d on the spray,82.
And Larks, ascending, welcom’d in the day; 
Bright PHOEBUS, ush’ring from his wat’ry bed, 
Superbly rose, and cheer’d the drooping mead; 
Fleet fled the shades of Night, wak’d from the Grove, 
Glad chant the Birds, soft coos the hermit Dove;87.
High from the blue expanse his glory pours, 
Boundless, abroad, and dyes the glitt’ring flow’rs; 
Lambs dance, and brooks, melodious, murm’ring run; 
Creation smiles, and hails the glorious Sun. 

Elegy on the Long Expected Death of
a Wretched Miser*

Wealth he has none, who mourns his scanty store
And, midst of plenty, starves, and thinks he’s poor.

WI’ branchin’ Birk yer winnocks * hing,1.
Whang * down the cheese owre heaps o’ bread; 
Roun’ wi’ the Blue, an’ roar an’ sing,3.
For camsheugh auld Fauldheads is dead 

Hech! is he dead? then ilka chiel5.
May now be fear’t for Death’s fell nips, 
Since he wha fac’d the vera De’il,7.
Has fa’n beneath the spectre’s grips. 

Whare will the god o’ gowden* ore,9.
Light on a Box wi’ sic a dog, 
To guard by night an’ day his store,11.
Since John’s laid caul’ below the fug* ? 

His fearsome blue Kilmarnock cowl,* 13.
His cloutet* hose, an’ sarks,* and bedding, 
Wi’ weel-swall’t* social vermin foul–15.
I saw them a’ flung to the midding.*  

Now, CLOOTIE, loup * an’ shake yer rump,17.
Nae mair ye’ll need at night to watch him, 
Grim glowrin’ by some aul’ tree-stump,19.
An’ rattlin’ airns* in vain to catch him. 

Nae mair need ye in corp-like shape,21.
Aneath the midnight moon lie streeket* ; 
Nor wi’ lang clauts, like ony graip,* 23.
Wauk thro’ his bield,* an’ doors a’ steeket.*  

Whiles like a Cat, ye’d tread his skelf,* 25.
An’ range amang his plates an’ bannocks* ; 
Whiles rumlin’ owre his box’t-up pelf,27.
Or chappin’* awsome at his winnocks. 

But a’ your schemes, an’ a’ your plots,29.
An’ a’ the midnight frights ye lent him; 
And a’ the fear o’ tyning * Notes,31.
Was naething, till a Wife ye sent him. 

“A Wife! a curse! (quo’ John, in rage,33.
Soon as his tickling heat abated,) 
A black, bare w––e, to vex my age!”35.
He said, he girn’t,* swore, an’ regretted. 

His dearie, glad o’ siccan routh,37.
To mill a note was aye right ready; 
Aft she wad kiss his toothless mouth,39.
While JOHN keen ca’d her his ain Lady. 

When in the bed, (whare a’ fouks gree)41.
An’ JOHN laid soun’ wi’ Venus’ capers; 
She raise–lowst* frae his breeks the key,43.
Slade* up the lid, an’ poucht* the papers. 

This pass’t a wee, till rous’d he ran,45.
He visited his cash,–his heav’n; 
He coudna see, but trem’lin’ fan’* 47.
A yearly income frae him riv’n.*  

Gude gods! what tortures tare his soul,* 49.
He groan’d, he spat, he glowrt, he shor’d; 
Then rais’t a most tremendous growl,51.
Sunk by the box, and desperate roar’d: 

“My soul–my all–my siller’s* fled!53.
Fled wi’ a base confounded limmer!*  
O grief o’ griefs!–alake, my head!55.
My head rins* roun’, my een grow dimmer. 
Oh! Had I ta’en but RAB’s advice. 
By clean an’ fair my daft thing stuing:*  
It’s torn my heart in mony a slice, 
An’ now, at last, it’s been my ruin.60.

The Jade, since e’er we met, ilk night, 61.
Wi’ wabsters* rows amang the heather,  
Has born a get, an’ tho’ untight63.
She kens* my pith,* ca’s me its father.  

Wi’ meikle, meikle faught an’ care,* 65.
An’ mony a lang night’s fell vexation, 
I toil’d, and watch’d to keep it there,67.
An’ now I’m left in black starvation. 

My meal, like snaw afore the sin, 69.
Its aye ga’n doon an’ aye beginnin’, 
Lade* after lade she orders in,71.
An’ than for trash she’s ever rinnin’. 

A’ day she’ll drink an’ flyte* an’ roar73.
A’ night she tears me wi’ her talons, 
An’ gin I crawl butt frae the door,75.
I’m hunted hame wi’ dogs an’ callans.*  

My sons, wi’ chan’ler* chafts gape roun’,77.
To rive* my gear,* my siller frae me; 
While lice an’ fleas, an’ vermin brown,79.
Thrangt in my sarks, eternal flae me. 

Ye precious remnants! curst to me;81.
Ye dearest gifts to JOHN e’er given; 
Wi’ you I’ve liv’d, wi’ you I’ll die,83.
Wi’ you I’ll gang* to Hell or Heav’n.” 

He spak’; an’ on the vera spot,85.
Ramt goud and notes, wi’ trem’lin’ hurry, 
In han’fu’s down his gorged-up throat,87.
While blude lap frae his een* in fury. 

I saw wi’ dread, an’ ran my lane,89.
To clear his throat, and ease his breathing; 
But ere I reach’t he gied* a grane,91.
An’ lifeless lay alang the leathing. 

A Morning Adventure

TO hail sweet MORN, and trace the woody shore,1.
Where foaming CALDER pours his rapid stream, 
His high-hung banks, and tott’ring cliffs t’explore3.
And gloomy Caves, unknown to Sol’s fair beam: 

Three youthful Swains the adjoining Village left,5.
Ere from a chimney roll’d the lazy smoke, 
Ere the lone street of silence was bereft,7.
Or pale-ey’d Morning to the view had broke. 

Along a winding path they kept their way,9.
Where trees, embracing, hung a solemn shade; 
Pass’d the old Mill, o’ergrown with shaggy hay,11.
And gain’d the summit of a rising glade. 

Now, from the east, the faintly-dawning Morn,13.
With op’ning smile, adorn’d the dewy mead; 
The Blackbird, whistled from the blooming thorn,15.
And early Shepherd tun’d his rural reed. 

Gray mists were hov’ring round the mountain’s brow;17.
Thro’ the still air murmur’d the riv’let near; 
The Fields were glitt’ring in the Morning’s glow;19.
And sweetest Music thrill’d the ravish’d ear. 

Smit with the charms of Song PHILANDER stood,21.
To hear his Art by each small throat outdone; 
While DAMON view’d the Stream, grim Rocks and Wood,23.
And snatch’d the pencil to make all his own. 

Beneath a rev’rend oak ALEXIS hung,25.
His drooping head half on his hand reclin’d; 
Borne on the Muses’ wing, his soul had sprung,27.
And left the languid, listless form behind. 

Where now was Care, that gloomy, glaring Fiend,29.
The Wealthy’s horror, and the poor Man’s pain, 
Who bids fierce passions tear the trembling Mind,31.
And wakes his gnawing, his infernal train. 

Fled was the Spectre to some Statesman’s breast,33.
Some raving Lover, or some Miser’s cell; 
Nought now appear’d, but made them inly blest,35.
And all around conspir’d their joys to swell. 

Hail, happy Swains! involv’d in rapt’rous thought,37.
Oh! could I leave you thus, and truly say, 
That here, in peace, fair Nature’s charms you sought,39.
And thus, enrapt, you pass’d the Morn away. 

But Truth compels, nor dare I hide your fate,41.
My trembling hand she guides to tell your doom, 
How oft, alas! on Mirth does Mis’ry wait,43.
How oft is sunshine sunk in deepest gloom! 

As on the airy steep they silent lay,45.
The murm’ring River foaming far below, 
Young DAMON’s dog, as round he rang’d for prey,47.
By some stern Bull insulted, seiz’d the Foe. 

As when in dead of Night, on the dark Main,49.
Two en’mies meet, and awful silence keep, 
Sparkles the match! then peals and cries of pain,51.
Arouse the Night, and growl along the Deep. 

So burst loud roarings thro’ the affrighted Sky,53.
Firm ROGER hung, fix’d by his nostrils deep; 
Loud swell’d the war, till, from the margin high,55.
Both whirl’d down headlong o’er th’ enormous steep. 

How look’d our Youths! They heard the thund’ring sound,57.
Dash’d in the Vale they saw the Heroes laid; 
Whole crowds of Rustics rudely gath’ring round,59.
Alarm’d they saw, and thro’ the bushes fled. 

Day-Break
(Scene, The Town)

NOW darkness blackens a’ the streets;1.
The rowan * e’e nae object meets, 
Save yon caul’ cawsey* lamp,3.
That has surviv’d the dreary Night, 
An’ lanely beams wi’ blinkin’ light, 
Right desolate an’ damp. 

Fore-doors an’ winnocks* still are steeket,7.
An’ Cats, wi’ silent step, and sleeket, 
Watch whare the Rattons tirl* ;9.
Or met in yards, like squads o’ Witches, 
Rive* ither’s hair out wi’ their clutches, 
An’ screech wi’ eldritch * skirl.*  

Now mony a ane, secure frae harm,13.
Lies row’t* in blankets snug an’ warm, 
Amus’d wi’ gowden* dreams;15.
While ithers scart * their sides an’ lugs,*  
Tormentet wi’ infernal Bugs, 
Thick swarmin’ frae the seams. 

Some sunk amid their kimmers’* arms,19.
Are huggin’ matrimonial charms, 
In bliss an’ rapture deep.21.
Some turnin’, curse the greetin’ wight 
For skirling* a’ the live-lang night, 
An’ keepin’ them frae sleep. 

Some weary Wight perhaps, like me,25.
Doom’d, Poverty’s distress to dree, *  
Misfortune’s meagre brither;27.
Now dauners* out beneath the starns,*  
Wi’ plans perplexing still his harns,*  
To keep his banes thegither. 

Now lasses start, their fires to kin’le,31.
An’ load the chimly* wi’ a tanle*  
O’ bleezin’ coals an’ cin’ers:33.
Syne scowr their stoups an’ tankar’s clear, 
An’ glasses dight * wi’ canny care, 
To grace the Gentry’s dinners. 

Wi’ clippet feathers, kame * an’ chirle,37.
The Gamester’s Cock, frae some aul’ burrel, 
Proclaims the Morning near;39.
Ilk chiel now frae his hammock jumps, 
The floor receives their lang bare stumps, 
An’ wives an’ a’s asteer. 

Now, reek * rows briskly out the lums* ;43.
Loud thro’ the street the Piper bums, *  
In Highlan’ vigour gay.45.
Doors, hatches, winnock-brods are steerin’; 
An’ ev’ry ane, in short’s, preparin’ 
To meet the toils o’ Day. 

The Monkey and Bee:
A Fable
To A Young Author) *

THE Bard who’d wish to merit bays,1.
Should shut his ears when Asses praise, 
And from the real Judge alone,3.
Expect a halter or a throne. 

A MONKEY who, in leisure hours,5.
Was wondrous fond of Herbs and Flow’rs, 
(For once he’d worn a GARD’NER ‘s chain,7.
But wander’d to his woods again), 
Travers’d the Banks–the Mountain’s brow, 
The lonely Wilds–the Valley low, 
Collecting, as along he hies, 
Flow’rs of unnumber’d tint and size,12.
Till hid beneath the lovely spoil, 
He onward stalk’d with cheerful toil, 
Thus chatting; “Now, I’ll shine alone, 
I’ll have a Garden of my own.” 

A Spot he plans, to show his parts,17.
Scratches the soil–the blooms inserts. 
Here stuck a Rose, there plac’d a Pink;19.
With various flow’rs stuffs ev’ry chink; 
Torn branches form his spreading Shrubs, 
O’ertopt with stately Shepherds Clubs;*  
Long ragged stones roll’d on the border, 
All placed sans root, or taste, or order,24.
Around him throng’d the mimic crew, 
Amaz’d at the appearance new; 
Survey’d the Shrubs–the nodding Flow’rs, 
And, struck with wonder at his pow’rs, 
Pronounced him, with applauding gape,29.
A most expert, ingenious Ape! 
“Knew Man the genius you inherit, 
Unbounded fame would crown your merit.” 
He proudly bow’d–approv’d their taste, 
And for the Town prepares in haste,34.
When now, amid the ragged ranks, 
A BEE appear’d, with searching shanks; 
From Bloom to Bloom she rov’d alone, 
With hurrying flight, and solemn drone. 
PUG saw; and proud of such a Guest,39.
Exclaim’d, “Say, Friend, did such a feast 
E’er bless thy search? Here welcome stray; 
Fresh sweets shall load thee ev’ry day; 
‘Twas I that rear’d them–all is mine; 
I bore the toil, the bliss be thine.”44.
“Conceited Fool! (the BEE reply’d) 
These pilfer’d, rootless Blooms I’ve try’d, 
Nor Bliss, nor Sweets, repaid my pains, 
Of these as void as thou’rt of Brains.” 
She spoke; the scorching Noontide came,49.
The Garden with’ring, sunk his fame. 

Epistle To A Brother Pedlar

THOU curious, droll, auld-farran chiel,1.
Some rhyme I’se now ha’e wi’ thee, 
May I gang * hurlin’ to the De’il,3.
But I’d be blythe * to see thee. 
‘Mang a’ the chiels wha bear a pack, 
Thro’ kintra, * town, or claughan, *  
The fint a ane can tell a crack, 
Whilk sets us aye a laughin’,8.
Like thee, this day. 

A snawy winter’s now maist owre,10.
Since we frae other parted; 
Like ony ghaist I than did glowre, * 12.
Wi’ sickness broken-hearted. 
But, by my sang! now gin we meet, 
We’ll ha’e a tramp right clever; 
Since I’m now stively on my feet, 
An’ hale* an’ weel as ever,17.
This blessed day. 

Whiles whan I think upo’ our tramp,19.
It sets me aft a sneering; 
Though ‘deed our conscience it shou’d damp,21.
When we ca’ to a clearing, 
How whiles, amang the lasses’ smocks, 
We rais’d an unco splutter; 
On Sundays, speelt * owre awfu’ rocks, 
Or ramt auld Grannie’s butter,26.
I’ the plate, yon day. 

I’ll ne’er forget yon dreadfu’ morn,28.
That maist had prov’d our ruin; 
When ye sat on a sack forlorn,30.
Ha’f dead wi’ fright and spewin’. 
Waves dashing down wi’ blatt’rin’ skyle, *  
Wins roarin’–Sailors flyting; *  
Poor wretches bockin’, * rank an’ file, 
An’ some (God knows!) maist sh–ing35.
Their breeks, * that day. 

Though Conscience gab we try to steek, * 37.
It gies* ane whiles a tassle; *  
I’m cheated gin it didna speak,39.
Right smartly at Fa’s Castle. 
Poor Jute! she’d curse our ilka step, 
When she tauld owre her siller; *  
But faith, she got an honest kepp, *  
Might ser’t * a decent Miller.44.
Sax years an’ mair. 

Lang may thou, aye right snug an’ dry,46.
Frae barns be kept aback, 
Whare Tinkler Wives an’ Beggars ly,48.
An’ rain seeps thro’ the thack. 
Aft may some canty * kintra wife, 
Whan hunger wrings thy painches, *  
Draw through her cheese the muckle knife, 
An’ stap thy pouch wi’ lunches53.
O’ scons, * that day. 

Elegy on an Unfortunate Tailor

Wha, like true Brethren o’ the Thumle,
Sav’d aye a remnant as his due;
And ne’er was heard to grudge or grum’le,
As lang’s he fan’ his belly fu’.

O SIRS! he’s e’en awa’ indeed,5.
Nae mair to shape or draw a thread,  
Or spin a crack, or crump his bread,7.
An’ hotch * an’ gigle; 
Or wave the elwan owre his head 
To fight the Beagle. 

In mornings soon, ere sax o’clock,11.
Whan blankets hap * a’ sober fouk, 
Whan fires are out, an’ shoon, * an’ troke * 13.
Confuse the floor, 
Nae mair we’ll start to hear his knock, 
An’ roaring stoor. 

Whan days war caul, near, bit by bit,17.
Close at the glowan ribs * he’d sit, 
An’ ilka wee the eldin * hit,19.
An’ gab fu’ trimly; 
An’ aye the tither * mouthfu’ spit 
Alangst the chimly. 

Ye creepin’ beasts, that hotch an’ wheel23.
Through neuks o’ breeks, an’ ye that speel, *  
Swallt, * gray and fat, now lift ilk heel25.
Wi’ gleefu’ speed; 
An’ up the seams in hun’ers * reel, 
Since RABBY’s dead. 

Assemble a’ yer swarmin’ legions,29.
Baith jumpin’ black an’ creeshy * sage anes, 
An’, rank an’ file, parade your cage ance,31.
Nor needles dread; 
But loud proclaim through a’ yer regions, 
That RABBY’s dead. 

Nae mair his thum’s to death shall post ye;35.
Nae mair his needle-points shall toast ye; 
Nor shall his horrid goose e’er roast ye,37.
For hear’t o’ Lice! 
Death’s made yer foe as caul’ an’ frosty, 
As ony ice. 

Wi’ won’er aft I’ve seen him worry41.
Up cogs * o’ kail, * in hungry hurry; 
Grip up the cheese, in gapin’ fury,43.
An’ hew down slices, 
Syne punds o’t in his entrails bury, 
In lumps an’ pieces. 

Twa pints o’ weel-boilt solid sowins, * 47.
Wi’ whauks * o’ gude ait-far’le * cowins, *  
Synt down wi’ whey, or whiskey lowins,49.
Before he’d want, 
Wad scarce ha’e ser’t the wretch to chew ance, 
Or choke a gant. 

Yet RABBY aye was dousely dautet;53.
For soon as ilka dish was clautet, *  
He’d lift his looves * an’ een, an’ fa’ to’t,55.
Owre plates an’ banes, 
An’ lengthen out a grace weel sautet*  
Wi’ haly granes. 

Aft ha’e I heard him tell o’ frights,59.
Sad waefu’ souns, and dreary sights, 
He’s aften got frae warlock wights,61.
An’ Spunkie’s bleeze, 
Gaun hame thro’ muirs, and eerie heights 
O’ black fir-trees. 

Ae night auld BESSIE BAIRD him keepet,65.
Thrang cloutin’ claes * till twall was chappet; *  
But soon’s he got his kyte * weel stappet67.
Wi’ something stout; 
An’ goose in’s nieve, right snugly happet, 
He daunert * out. 

Maist hame, he met a lang black chiel,71.
Wi’ huggers,* stilts, an’ pocks o’ meal, 
Wha drew a durk o’ glancin’ steel73.
To rob an’ maul him! 
RAB rais’t his brod * wi’ desp’rate wheel, 
An’ left him sprawlin’. 

Tho’ aft by fiends and witches chas’t,77.
An’ mony a dead man’s glowrin’ ghaist; 
Yet on his knees he ae time fac’t79.
The Deil himsel’; 
An’ sent him aff in dreadfu’ haste, 
Roarin’ to H–ell. 

But, oh! ae night prov’d his mishap!83.
Curst on the wide-moutht whiskey-cap; 
Beware, beware o’ sic fell sap,85.
Ye Taylor chiels! 
For RABBY drank owre deep a drap 
O’ JANET STEEL’s. 

Mirk was the night–out RABBY doitet,89.
Whiles owre big stanes, his shins he knoitet, *  
Alangst the Dam the Bodie stoitet, * 91.
Wi’ staucherin’ flounge; *  
Till, hale-sale, in the Lade he cloitet, *  
Wi’ dreadfu’ plunge. 

Loud tho’ he roart, nane was asteer,95.
His yells an’ fearfu’ granes to hear; 
The current suckt him near an’ near,97.
Till, wi’ a whirl, 
The big wheel crusht his guts an’ gear, 
Like ony Burrel. 

Next morning, gin the peep o’ day,101.
Alang the stanes, caul’ dead he lay! 
Crouds ran to hear the fatal fray;103.
Wives, weans, an’ men 
Lamentin’, while they saw his clay, 
Poor RABBY’s en’. 

Epistle To Mr. Andrew Clark
Faulkland, October––

FROM that same spot where once a Palace stood,1.
(Now hanging drear, in tott’ring fragments, rude; 
While thro’ the roofless walls, the weather howls,3.
The haunt of Pigeons, and of lonely Owls.) 
These lines receive–For, hark! the lashing rain, 
In streaming torrents, pours along the plain: 
Yet, snugly here I sit, with Quiet blest; 
While my poor Pack, sits perching on a chest.8.

To him whose soul on Fancy’s heights ne’er soar’d,9.
How painful Solitude, and how abhorr’d! 
Time, tardy steals; we curse the lazy Sage;11.
And ling’ring moments lengthen to an age. 

Not so with him on whom the Muses smile;13.
Each hour they sweeten, and each care beguile; 
Yet scorn to visit, or ev’n once be kind,15.
While bustling bus’ness justles through the mind: 
But, when retir’d from noise, he lonely roves, 
Through flow’ry banks, or solitary groves; 
Leans on the velvet turf––explores a book, 
Or eyes the bubbling of the ceaseless brook;20.
The Muse descends, and swells his throbbing breast, 
To joys, to raptures ne’er to be exprest. 

Curst is the wretch, whom cruel fate removes23.
Far from his native, and the few he loves; 
Who, ever-pensive, ponders on the past,25.
And shrinks and trembles at Misfortune’s blast; 
His is the fate that ev’n Infernals share; 
Pain, without hope, and Mis’ry, and Despair. 

There was a time (no distant date I own)29.
When such my fate was, and my ev’ry groan: 
When struggling hard for base unlasting pelf,31.
I stabb’d, I tortur’d, and I rack’d myself. 

And what, I pray, did all these sighs avail,33.
For ever hapless, and for ever pale? 
Inglorious period! Heavens! it fires my soul,35.
When such reflections through my bosom roll; 
To hang the head with sorrow and remorse, 
From one poor evil raising thousands worse. 

That Grief involves us in unnumbered ills,39.
That with our Courage, all our success fails, 
That Heav’n abhors, and show’rs with fury dread,41.
Tormenting Ills on the Repiner’s head, 
You’ll freely own; but list while I relate 
A short Adventure of a Wretch’s fate: 
A wretch whom Fortune long has held in pain. [sic[ 
And, whose each hour some black misfortunes stain.46.

‘Twas when the Fields were swept of Autumn’s store,47.
And growling winds the fading foliage tore, 
Behind the LOWMON hill, * the short-liv’d light,49.
Descending slowly, usher’d in the night: 
When from the noisy town, with mournful look, 
His lonely way a meagre Pedlar took. 
Deep were his frequent sighs–careless his pace, 
And oft the tear stole down his cheerless face;54.
Beneath a load of silks, and sorrow bent, 
Nor knew, nor wish’d to know the road he went; 
Nor car’d the coming Night, or stormy air, 
For all his soul was welt’ring in despair. 
Dark fell the Night, a grim, increasing gloom;59.
Dark as the horrors of his fancied doom: 
And nought was seen, and nought was heard around, 
But lightning’s gleams and thunder’s roar profound; 
Swell’d by the wind that howl’d along the plain, 
Fierce rattling hail, and unrelenting rain,64.
While from dark thickets issued, as he past, 
Wild groans of branches bending from the blast. 
Deep sunk his steps, beneath the pressing load, 
As down the rough declivity he trod, 
And gain’d the unknown vale; there, all distrest,69.
Prone on the road himself he cursing cast. 
And while the north in ceaseless rigour blew, 
And lightning, mingling with the tempest flew, 
Amid the dismal gloom he raging spurn’d 
His load, and thus his mis’ry mourn’d.74.
“O mighty heavens! and am I forced to bear 
The scourge of fate, eternally severe? 
On me alone shall all thy fury roar? 
Shall this determin’d vengeance ne’er be o’er? 
Wretch that I am! while ev’ry village Hind,79.
Sits, in soft peace or downy sleep reclin’d, 
Here, hopeless here, in grim despair I lie, 
Lash’d by the fierce, the growling midnight sky; 
Far from the reach of any human aid, 
Here, sunk in clay, my shivering limbs are laid;84.
And here my Cares for ever will I close; 
This night shall finish my long train of woes, 
And some lone Trav’ller, struck with dread remorse, 
Start at the sight of my pale stiffen’d Cor’se.” 
So said, he stretch’d him in the plashy clay,89.
Clos’d his fix’d eyes, and bade adieu to day. 

“And dy’d he?” No! Fate curs’d him still with breath,91.
And ev’n withheld that gloomy blessing, Death. 
He groan’d–and thrice, in agonizing strife,93.
Unlock’d his eyes, but found he still had Life. 
Mean-time along the road, in swift approach, 
Sudden advanc’d a furious rattling coach; 
The neighing steeds, before the lashing whip, 
Loud clattering, flew adown the rapid steep.98.
Our Hero heard, and starting all aghast, 
Aside himself, and trailing Budget cast, 
While harsh, the huge Machine shot loud re-thundering past. 

Then raising up his load, in sullen state,102.
Resolved no more to curse resisting Fate; 
A distant light appear’d from some lone Cot,104.
And thither joy’d, his way he plodding sought; 
Was kindly welcom’d to their lonely fare; 
Hung o’er the hearth, and talk’d away his care. 

From this, my friend, one maxim you may glean,108.
Ne’er of misfortunes grudgingly complain; 
Boldly to struggle, shows a courage bright,110.
For none but cowards sink beneath the weight, 
And those who gain Fame, Fortune, or the Fair, 
Rise o’er Despondence, and contemn Despair. *  

[Second] Epistle To Mr. James Dobie
Edinburgh––

While rains are blattrin’ * frae the south,1.
An’ down the lozens* seepin’; 
An’ Hens in mony a caul’ closs-mouth,3.
Wi’ hingin, tails are dreepin’, 
The Muse an’ me, 
Wi’ frien’ly glee, 
Hae laid our heads thegither, *  
Some rhyme to pen,8.
Syne bauldly * sen’
, * blether. 

Auld Reekie, for this month an’ mair,11.
Has held me in her bosom; 
Her streets a’ streamin’ like a fair,13.
Wi’ mony a beauteous blossom; 
Their bosoms whilk, 
Seen through the silk, 
Heav’d up sae blest uneven, 
Maist gars* me swear,18.
To tempt us here 
Jove drapt them down frae heav’n. 

Here, strutting wi’ their glitt’rin’ boots,21.
An’ flutterin’ a’ wi’ ruffles, 
The Coxcomb keen, to rax his koots, * 23.
Alang the planestanes * shuffles: 
Wi’ sweet perfumes, 
Like apple blooms, 
He fills the air aroun’; 
His hale * employ,28.
How to enjoy 
The pleasures of the town. 

Fair as the gay enrapt’ring Nine,31.
That tread the fam’d Parnassus, 
And rang’d in mony a glorious line,33.
Appear the bouncin’ lasses; 
Whase shape, adzooks! *  
An’ killing looks, 
An’ claes * like e’ening cluds, *  
Wad Hermits fire38.
Wi’ fond desire, 
To leave their caves an’ woods. 

Here mony a wight, frae mony a place,41.
At mony an occupation, 
Exhibits mony a groosome face,43.
In hurrying consternation; 
Some shakin’ bells, 
Some hammerin’ stells, *  
Some coblin’ shoon* in cloysters* ; 
Here coaches whirlin’,48.
There fish-wives skirlin’, *  
“Whay’l buy my cauler * oysters?” 

But, see! yon dismal form that louts, * 51.
Black crawlin’ owre a midding, *  
Thrang scartin’ * cin’ers up, an’ clouts, * 53.
That i’the awse lie hidden; 
While round her lugs, *  
Poor starvin’ dogs, 
Glowre fierce, wi’ hungry gurle * ; 
She wi’ a clash58.
O’ dirt or awse, 
Begins a horrid quarrel. 

Sic creatures dauner, * auld an’ clung, * 61.
Whan morning rises gawsey; *  
An’ mony a hutch o’ human dung63.
Lies skinklin’ * owre the cawsey: *  
Out-through’t wat shod, 
I’ve aften trod, 
Wi’ heart maist like to scunner; *  
Oblidg’t to rin, * 68.
Least, like a lin, *  
Some tubfu’ down might thun’er. 

O shocking theme! but, Sir, to you71.
I leave the moralizing, 
Ye hae the pictures in your view73.
Mair orthodox than pleasing. 
Farewell a wee; 
Lang may ye be 
Wi’ fortune blest in season, 
Within your arms78.
To clasp the charms 
That kings wad joy to gaze on. 

Invocation

BRIGHT Phoebus had left his meridian height,81.
And downwards was stealing serene, 
The Meadows breath’d odour, and slowly the night83.
Was sadd’ning the midsummer scene; 

When down from his Garret, where many a long day85.
Hard poverty held the poor sinner, 
A pale, tatter’d Poet, pursu’d his lone way,87.
To lose thought of Care–and of dinner. 

The Lark high in air warbling out her sweet notes,89.
The Cuckoo was heard from the hill; 
Each thicket re-echo’d with musical throats,91.
And gay glanc’d the murmuring rill. 

Enrapt with the prospect, the Bard gaz’d around,93.
Where Flora her treasures had wasted; 
Thrice smote his full breast–rais’d his eyes from the ground,95.
And thus great Apollo requested: 

“O thou who o’er heaven’s empyrean height,97.
Swift whirls on the chariot of Day; 
Thou Father of music, thou fountain of light,99.
Propitiously hear while I pray. 

Let no surly clouds, I beseech thee, let none101.
The mild, lucid hemisphere rise in, 
Till down to the verge of old Ocean thou’rt gone,103.
And Thetis receives thee rejoicing. 

With bright’ning Ideas my fancy inspire,105.
To wing the Parnassian Mountain; 
Ye thrice sacred Nine, your kind aid I require,107.
To taste of the ravishing fountain. 

Breathe softer, kind Zephyrs, oh! pity my clothes109.
Nor rave so”–thus far flow’d his song, 
For low’ring and dismal, the horizon rose,111.
And clouds roll’d tumultuous along. 

The birds, all affrighted, shrunk mute from the spray,113.
Hoarse murm’rings were heard from the river; 
A black, horrid gloom overspread the sad day,115.
And made our poor Poet to shiver. 

Swift full in his face, the dread flaming ball flash’d,117.
Down rush’d a fierce torrent of rain; 
And loud o’er his head grumbling thunder-bolts crash’d,119.
Re-bellowing from earth back amain; 

Beneath an old hedging, for shelter he crawl’d,121.
And clung by a shooting of birch; 
Crash went the weak branch, and the wretch, while he bawl’d,123.
At once tumbled squash in the ditch. 

Half-drown’d with the deluge, and frozen with fear,125.
Apollo’s mad vot’ry thus splutter’d; 
“Thou deaf, saucy scoundrel! why did’st thou not hear127.
The kind invocation I utter’d? 
And you, ye curs’d Nine! I detest your each form, 
Rank cheats ye’re I know, nor shall hide it; 
For those who won’t shield a bare Bard from the storm, 
Can ne’er lend him wings to avoid it.”132.

So said–to the village he scamper’d along,133.
Poor wretch, with a petrified conscience; 
His prayers unanswer’d–his appetite strong,135.
And all his attempts gone to nonsense. 

To the Famishing Bard,
From a Brother Skeleton

Is there no Patron to protect the Muse,
And hedge for her Parnassus’ barren soil?
THOMSON*

ALOFT to high Parnassus’ hill,1.
I heard thy pray’r ascending swift; 
And are the Nine propitious still3.
To grant thy wish, and send the Gift? 
Has kind Apollo made a shift, 
To roll down from his kitchen high 
A sirloin huge–a smoking lift, 
To feed thy keen devouring eye?8.

If so, O much respected Swain!9.
Thou’rt surely Phoebus’ fav’rite Bard; 
Thy glitt’ring blade in fatness stain,11.
No more complain thy lot is hard; 
And while the juice besmears thy beard, 
And plumps thy meagre corse again, 
Think what’s their case who ne’er have shar’d 
Such bliss, but pray and yawn in vain.16.

Yet, if regardless of thy strains,17.
The Strumpets scorn to lend an ear– 
Bestow upon thy caput brains,19.
But stern refuse thy belly chear; 
If through thy hollow trunk thou hear, 
Oft as the steam of Dinner soars, 
Remurm’ring sounds of croaking fear, 
And melancholy quer’lous roars.24.

If oft on cheerless Winter’s morn,25.
Thou spends, with thought, the shiv’ring hour, 
In solitary state forlorn;27.
Like Cruickston, or the Stanly Tow’r, *  
While, from thy half-clad sides, the show’r 
Of lashing rain, or hail rebound, 
And free thy issuing toes explore 
Each miry creek, and kiss the ground–32.

If ills like these, for these are mine,33.
Attend thee like thy shadow close, 
Know, E–n, that the nymphs divine,35.
From whom our song continual flows, 
We call them blushing as the Rose, 
Endearing sweet, enrapt’ring fair; 
They scorn, for nought, to take the dose, 
So pay us back in Sterling air.40.

If thou must eat, ferocious Bard!41.
Elsewhere importune for a dinner; 
Long thou may pray here, nor be heard,43.
And praying makes thee but the thinner. 
Do like the lank, lean, ghostly sinner, 
That here presumes to give advice, 
Ne’er court the Muse for meat–to win her, 
E’en starve, and glory in the price.48.

Apollo knows that three long weeks,49.
And pale the prospect yet appears; 
On crusts of hard brown bread and leeks,51.
I’ve liv’d, and may for rolling years; 
Yet still the Muse most kindly chears 
Each craving day, and yawning night, 
Soft whisp’ring ever in my ears, 
“Be Fame thy belly’s chief delight.”56.

Through future ages, then thy name,57.
Th’immortal Goddess shall preserve; 
Be this thy dear, thy envy’d claim,59.
For this extend thy ev’ry nerve; 
And should that world thou strains to serve, 
A ling’ring carcase food refuse, 
Contemn their baseness, boldly starve, 
And die a martyr for the Muse.64.

More consolation I might pour,65.
But, hark! the tempest, how it blows! 
Th’inconstant blast, with thund’ring roar67.
O’er chimney-tops more furious grows. 
The wintry drop, prone from my nose, 
Hangs glist’ring in the candle’s beam, 
And Want and Sleep’s uniting throes, 
Here force me to forsake my theme. 72.

Epistle to Mr. Thomas Witherspoon *

FROM Fife’s rugged shore, where old Ocean loud bellows,1.
And lofty Weyms’ Castle * looks down o’er the main; 
From midst an old hut, of some poor fisher fellows,3.
Accept of these lines from the Pedlar again. 
For never again shall he chant through the bushes, 
That wave over Calder or Cartha’s pure stream, 
Despair and Distraction have murder’d his wishes, 
And all his fond hopes are dispers’d to a dream.8.

In vain o’er old Scotia, a stranger he travels,9.
The huge smoky City or amlet’s the same; 
Here Ignorance dozes, or proud Grandeur revels,11.
And poets may starve, and be damn’d, now for them. 
So, dear Tom, farewell! and each cheerful companion, 
With sorrow, I bid you a long sad adieu; 
Some far distant country, for life, I’ll remain on, 
Where mem’ry will weep while she hovers o’er you.16.

So kind you have been to the fortuneless Poet,17.
Through all the harsh stages of life he’s been in; 
That Gratitude throbs in his bosom to show it,19.
Yet where shall the Muse, to relate them, begin. 
When gloomy-brow’d Want, to attack my poor dwelling, 
With fury advanced and merciless glare, 
Your goodness dispatch’d the Fiend loudly yelling, 
And snatch’d me to Peace from the jaws of Despair?24.

When Fortune propitiously seem’d to assist me,25.
You leapt at the prospect and shar’d in my bliss; 
When all these evanish’d, and horror distress’d me,27.
You lull’d every passion and sooth’d me to peace. 
And shall I forget you? No, rave on, thou tempest! 
Misfortune! here pour all thy rage on my head; 
Though foaming with fury, around thou encampest, 
‘Tis friendship alone that shall force me to bleed.32.

Though joy from thy talk I will ne’er again borrow,33.
Though fond, on thy face, I shall never gaze more; 
Yet Heaven, one day, will relieve us from sorrow,35.
And join us again on a happier shore. 
Then, farewell, my friend, and my dearest companion, 
With tears I now bid you a final adieu; 
Some far distant country, for life, I’ll remain on, 
Where Mem’ry shall weep while she hovers o’er you. 40.

Happiness: An Ode

AH! dark and dreary low’rs the night,1.
The rocking blasts–the flashing light, 
Unusual horrors form!3.
Unhappy he, who nightly braves 
The fury of surrounding waves 
Amid this dreadful storm. 

And yet, though far remote from shore,7.
Though loud the threat’ning tempest roar, 
And heave the yawning deep,9.
Hope cheers each breast, that future winds, 
Shall waft them peaceful to their friends, 
To comfort those that weep. 

Not so with me! distrest, forlorn,13.
Still doom’d to weep, from night to morn, 
My life a chain of woes.15.
The Past, regret–the Present, care; 
The Future, black with grim Despair, 
Till earth shall o’er me close. 

How happy they, who blest with health,19.
And all the gen’rous joys that wealth, 
Unstain’d with sadness, give;21.
Enjoy the bliss that hourly flows, 
Nor hear their hapless groans and woes, 
Who struggle hard to live! 

O thou kind Pow’r! who hears my strain,25.
To whom I silently complain, 
And lift my eyes in grief,27.
‘Tis thine to bid the tempest roll, 
‘Tis thine to heal the struggling soul, 
And bring the wretch relief. 

Thus sung Alexis, lost to mirth,31.
While o’er the lonely joyless hearth 
His mournful visage hung.33.
A silence reign’d–when, soft, and meek, 
He, list’ning, heard these accents break 
From an immortal tongue. 

“Why droops thy head, unhappy youth?37.
Be calm, and hear the words of TRUTH, 
Nor righteous Heav’n accuse.39.
To man impartial gifts are giv’n, 
Themselves alone make them unev’n, 
By what their pride abuse. 

Thou strain’st at wealth–ah! blind to fate,43.
Thou seest not what distresses wait 
On him who claims the prize;45.
A snake, it cankers in his breast, 
Distorts his looks–devours his rest, 
And lures him from the skies. 

On wealth proportion’d cares attend,49.
Who much commands, hath much to spend, 
Or are his treasures great?51.
Intemp’rance o’er them raves aloud, 
They vanish, like a morning cloud, 
And leave their lord to fate. 

What though, by Poverty deprest,55.
Thou seeks a friend to soothe thy breast, 
But seeks, alas! in vain:57.
This bane becomes a bliss at last, 
For Wisdom from the miseries past, 
Corrects the present pain. 

Look closer, mark each seeming ill61.
That now with fear thy bosom fill, 
And weigh each envy’d joy:63.
Health is a cheat, but sickness lights, 
Through hopes and fears, to glorious heights, 
Where Saints their songs employ. 

Health, rosy as the crimson dawn,67.
Firm treads along the dewy lawn, 
O’er-wrapt with flow’ry joy:69.
No ills shake his Herculean breast, 
No deep-fetched groans of Pain distrest, 
His pleasures e’er annoy. 

While thus despising others’ woe73.
He courts each faithless shade below, 
And laughs at threaten’d hell!75.
Pale Sickness lifts her languid eye 
From earth, and fixes in the sky, 
Where all her comforts dwell. 

But view health gone, the wretch low laid,79.
By stern disease, past human aid, 
Rack’d on the hopeless couch:81.
His heaving breast, with anguish tore, 
His eyes deep sunk–his bloom no more, 
And Death in dread approach. 

Where now the boasted joys of earth?85.
Will these his riches, rank or birth, 
Calm the despairing soul?87.
Ah no, behold he groans, he cries: 
Tears choke his mingled moans and sighs; 
And terrors round him roll. 

Then, favour’d youth, be thine the task,91.
For real Happiness to ask, 
From Nature’s bounteous God;93.
Nor think, on earth to grasp the prize, 
She dwells aloft, beyond the skies, 
RELIGION IS THE ROAD.  

Death: A Poem

THY gloomy walks, O Death! replete with fears,1.
With ‘scutcheons hung, and wet with Widows’ tears, 
The groans of Anguish, and of deep remorse,3.
The gloomy Coffin, and extended Corse, 
Be now my theme–Hence, all ye idle dreams, 
Of flow’ry Meadows, and meand’ring streams, 
Of War’s arousing roar–since none are brave, 
Save those bold few, who triumph o’er the Grave.8.
O Thou, first Being! Thou, almighty Pow’r! 
Who metes out Life, a cent’ry, or an hour; 
At whose dread nod the Spectre wields his dart, 
Uprears his arm, and stabs the quiv’ring heart, 
Assist my feeble pen (since I and all13.
Must soon before that grisly Monarch fall) 
To mark his frowns, but learn alone to dread 
That awful stroke that tends to death indeed. 

When God descended first to form our earth,17.
And gave each plant and ev’ry creature birth, 
When trees arose, at his supreme command,19.
In order rang’d, or scatter’d o’er the land; 
Then the clear brook, in murm’ring measure, flow’d, 
The Zephyr whisper’d, and the cattle low’d; 
The voice of Music warbl’d through each grove, 
From morn to morn, and ev’ry song was love.24.
The Lamb and Tyger wanton’d o’er the green, 
The Stag and Lion join’d the mirthful scene; 
The Eagle thirsted not for streams of gore, 
And the swift Hawk had ne’er the Warbler tore; 
The meanest insect, starting from the ground,29.
At pleasure sallied to its mazy round, 
Return’d at night to its abode, a flow’r, 
Nor felt, nor fear’d, a mightier creature’s power: 
For all was peace, and harmony, and love, 
Through the deep ocean, and the tuneful grove.34.
Such was the world, ere Man, its sovereign lord, 
Or beauteous Woman, Paradise explor’d: 
Ah! hapless pair! too soon they broke the bounds, 
They sinn’d–they fell–and felt Sin’s deadly wounds. 
Then rush’d to being Death, and frowning dread39.
Stalk’d o’er the world, and heapt his way with dead. 
The herbage wither’d, in the sun and shade; 
Trees shook their leaves, and drooping flow’rs decay’d; 
Each creature felt his power; and, while they pin’d, 
Groan’d out their last, to the loud howling wind.44.
Yet still a following race did those succeed, 
And hoar Time glutted Death with piles of dead. 
Thus, for five thousand years, the world has roll’d, 
Rocks now are mould’ring, ev’n the heav’ns grow old; 
And soon that day shall come, when Time shall cease,49.
And usher in, eternal pain or peace. 
Yet how important is that awful day, 
That lays us breathless, pale, extended clay, 
When from our lips the ruddy glow shall fade, 
When the pulse ceases to emit its tide;54.
When, sadly, pond’ring o’er our lifeless corse, 
Our weeping friends regret Death’s cruel force; 
Then mounts the soul to God, and there receives 
Its fixed doom, and shouts for joy, or grieves 
Through all eternity; prolongs the strain59.
Of endless joy–or yells in endless pain. 

Death sometimes sends his cruel page, Disease,61.
To rob our nights of rest, our days of ease: 
Unwelcome guest! and yet he proves no foe,63.
He weans our passions from the trash below; 
Each pang of anguish urges to prepare, 
Ere death approach, with stern relentless glare; 
And, if unready, we are caught by Death, 
He throws us, howling to the gulph beneath.68.

With sudden steps sometimes the foe appears,69.
And calls to judgment in our shudd’ring ears. 
We start alarm’d–survey our guilty past;71.
Bend down to pray, and, bending, breathe our last. 
Then fix’d is fate, for as we fall, we lie; 
We live in Death, or sinking, doubly die. 
Should these sad scenes not rouse us to concern, 
Our state to weigh, and danger to discern,76.
Ere that dread period, when we leave this shore, 
And time, and means are given us here no more. 
Death’s stare may startle ev’n the purest Saint, 
And, at the change, his soul perhaps may faint; 
But in that hour, these chearing words he hears81.
And this sweet promise flows upon his ears, 
“I am thy friend, on me thy burden lay, 
And through death’s vale I’ll gently pave thy way.” 
Thrice welcome words! rejoic’d he spurns this earth, 
Where nought but sorrow reigns, and foolish mirth:86.
To life Saints usher, when on earth they die, 
And when they leave us, join the song on high. 

On Cartha’s banks, beside a sloping dale,89.
That gently open’d to the western gale, 
In homely Cot, of neat, inviting form,91.
Nigh where old Cruickston * braves the howling storm, 
Horatio liv’d–the gen’rous and the kind, 
The villain’s terror, but the poor man’s friend; 
Each neighbour’s joy he shar’d, and adverse growl, 
For heav’n-born pity dwelt within his soul:96.
Well knew the poor his house; for from his door 
None e’er return’d, but blest his bounteous store; 
Their sad complaints he heard–sigh’d when they griev’d; 
And scarce he heard them, till his hand reliev’d; 
Belov’d by all he liv’d, sedate, though gay;101.
Pray’r clos’d his night, and usher’d in his day. 

But nought exempts from death: pale he was laid,103.
His heaving breast by weeping friends survey’d, 
Beside his couch I sat–he, sighing, took105.
My hand in his, then spoke with dying look, 
His trembling hand, methinks I feel and spy, 
The drops that started in his swimming eye: 
“Farewell, my friend! for now the time is come, 
That solemn points me to my silent tomb.110.
Oh! were my life to spend, each breath I’d prize, 
For sins on sins now start before my eyes. 
Yet, He who is my hope– his chearing voice, 
Soft calls me hence, to share eternal joys– 
Oh! seek His gen’rous aid”–Here fail’d his breath,115.
He sigh’d, and slumber’d in the arms of death. 
Such was his end, and such the bliss of those 
Who taste the stream that from Immanuel flows. 
This chears the gloomy path, and opes the Gate 
Where endless joys their glorious entrance wait,120.
Through boundless heav’ns, amid his beams to rove, 
There swell the song of his redeeming love. 
What though misfortunes, in this life abound, 
Though ills on ills, and wants on wants surround; 
Though all we hold most dear on earth, are torn125.
Harsh, from our grasp, and to a distance borne; 
Tho’ friends forget us, tho’ our en’mies growl, 
And earth and hell affright the trembling soul: 
Lift up your heads, ye poor! the time draws nigh 
When all these mis’ries shall at distance fly;130.
When songs of praise shall be your blest employ, 
Your highest glory, your eternal joy; 
Triumphant treading an immortal shore, 
Where sin, and sorrow, shall assault no more.  

To Mr. ―
With A Satirical Poem

WHEN curst Oppression rears his brazen crest,1.
With-holds one half, and strains to seize the rest; 
When those in pow’r, disdaining shame or dread,3.
Half-starve those wretches they pretend to feed; 
Then should the Muse, with honest zeal inspir’d, 
With hate of guilt and vile injustice fir’d; 
Disclose their crimes, and to the world display 
The gloomy catalogue in deep array;8.
Till Vice confounded, hides her haggard head, 
And lovely Virtue rises in her stead. 

Receive th’ enclosed, nor blame the daring strains,11.
Since truth confirms each period it contains; 
And poor Experience, from the list’ning throng,13.
Sad shakes her head, and owns the honest song. 

Hard is their fate who must on knaves depend,15.
From whose base grip no laws can e’er defend: 
Plead we for justice, then their friendships o’er,17.
And, as we’re honest, we’re employed no more. 
Ah! were we blest now with a noble few, 
As just, kind, generous, and humane as you, 
Our trade might then maintain its former blaze, 
And Envy’s self be dumb, or whisper praise.22.

Sweet is the joy, the bliss that toils afford,23.
When love unites the servant and his lord; 
One common interest then the task appears,25.
And smiles, and looks, the longest labour chears. 

Cheats may deceive and growling Tyrants swear,27.
Those claim our scorn and these provoke our fear; 
But they who rise superior to such arts,29.
Possess, like you, our Friendship, and our Hearts.  

Apollo and the Pedlar: A Tale

DARK hangs the drowsy murm’ring moonless night;31.
Clouds wrap each twinkler from the useless sight; 
Hous’d is each swain, worn with the day’s long toil,33.
Wielding the flail, or turning o’er the soil; 
Lone now the fields, the banks, the meadows all, 
Save where frogs croak, or noisome lizards crawl. 

Seen from the hill, Edina’s turrets glow37.
With beaming lamps, in many a glittering row,  
That glad the sight; while slow-approaching near,39.
Mixt sounds and voices crowd upon the ear; 
Hoarse Pye-men bawl, and shake the ceaseless bell, 
Boys sport, dogs bark, and oyster wenches yell. 
See! yon black form plac’d at the well-worn porch, 
One arm sustains a tarry flaming torch;44.
With echoing voice and grim distorted looks, 
He hoarsely roars, “An auction here of books.” 
The trotting chairman, and the thund’ring coach, 
The blazing windows, and sly wh–’s approach, 
The justling passengers, that swarm each lane,49.
Form to a stranger a surprising scene. 
‘Twas at this time, with keen-tooth’d hunger pin’d, 
Plain Ralph, the Pedlar, wander’d in a wynd. 
This Ralph (’tis storied) bore a curious pack, 
With trinkets filled, and had a ready knack54.
At coining rhyme; o’er all the eastern plain 
Well was he known to ev’ry village swain. 
Where’er he lodg’d, on mountain, moor, or dale, 
The cottage fill’d to hear his wondrous tale. 
Oft, at the barn, they’d list, and hear poor Ralph,59.
In uncouth phrases, talking to himself; 
Or mark him wand’ring lone, ‘twixt late and soon, 
With mutt’ring voice, wild gazing to the moon, 
Drawn by the sight of certain skinny food, 
He sally’d down and often gazing stood.64.
And such blest visions here he did descry, 
That Want sat gnawing in his restless eye. 
Here tripe lay smoking on the loaded board, 
Piled high and thick, a most delicious hoard; 
The fragrant steam, in wavy columns rose,69.
And fed incessant his enraptur’d nose. 
No longer fit to bear the glorious sight, 
He buys, then scampers, with exulting flight, 
Resolv’d that night to soar his rank above, 
Gape o’er his spoil, and feast with nectar’d Jove.74.

Here let us leave him, while with soaring flight,75.
We gain Olympus and the plains of light: 
There, for his sons, see great Apollo’s care,77.
How low their station or how poor soe’er, 
Alike to him’s the Pedlar and the Peer. 

High on a throne of burnish’d gold, in state,80.
And awful pomp, the mighty Thund’rer sat. 
His flowing robe, in dazzling glory shone,82.
Inferior gods hung hov’ring round his throne; 
With rapt’rous songs the heav’ns resounding rung, 
Sweet Echo warbling, while the Seraphs sung. 
When, lo! approaching with green laurel’d brows, 
Before the throne, divine Apollo bows,87.
An anxious look his glorious face oppress’d, 
While, bending low, he thus the God address’d: 
“Almighty Potentate! All conquering Jove! 
Who form’d these heav’ns that boundless spread above, 
Yon distant earth, and all the worlds that roll92.
In circling dance, whose nod sustains the whole, 
Whose pow’rful arm swift hurls the tempest forth, 
Whose frown strikes terror through th’astonish’d earth, 
Bids yon vast sea, in swelling mountains, rise, 
And uproar horrid, foaming to the skies,97.
Then smiles, and smooth the glassy surface lies. 

“Oft hast thou lent me a propitious ear,99.
And made my sons thy most peculiar care. 
By thee inspir’d, they soar beyond the sun,101.
And sing the wonders that thy arm hath done. 
Now stoop, in pity, to the dang’rous state 
Of one poor bard, born to a hapless fate. 
Thou knows his danger: see, how swift he flies, 
Nor know’st the snare that for his ruin lies.106.
Soon will he reach his home; and, sad to tell, 
Glut the vile tripe, and revel o’er the smell: 
But still there’s time, still we may him retard, 
Here stand I ready to obey thy word.” 
Jove gave consent; when down the empyrean height,111.
The cheerful god directs his rapid flight; 
Swift past the stars, heav’n’s regions he forsook, 
Light flew behind, and darkness he o’ertook. 
The num’rous lamps Edina’s streets that line, 
He first espies in sparkling squadrons shine.116.
A moment, dubious, o’er the scene he stops, 
Then swift, unseen, in B––’s closs he drops, 
Assumes a Porter’s shape, conceals his wings, 
And through the closs, in hurrying fury, springs; 
Down hurls poor Ralph, crash went the shivered bowl,121.
And greasy streams, along the pavement roll. 
As when some Tyger, to his haunt from day, 
Returns, blood-foaming, with the slaughter’d prey, 
Grim pleas’d that there, with undisturbed roar, 
He’ll glut and revel o’er the reeking gore,126.
Glares in wild fury o’er the gloomy waste, 
Now growls terrific o’er its mangled breast; 
Now drags, relentless, down the rugged vale, 
And stains the forest with a bloody trail, 
When, lo! a champion of the savage race,131.
The shaggy Lion, rushes to the place, 
With roar tremendous seizes on the prey, 
Exasp’rate see! the Tyger springs away, 
Stops short, and maddens at the Monarch’s growl, 
And through his eyes darts all his furious soul,136.
Half-will’d, yet half afraid to dare a bound, 
He eyes his loss, and roars and tears the ground. 
So looked stern Ralphus o’er the flowing coast, 
To see his hopes, his tripe and labour lost. 
In rage he kick’d the fragments, when, behold!141.
Forth from the tripe a monstrous worm unroll’d 
Its lazy length, then snarling wild its crest, 
In accents shrill the shudd’ring youth addrest. 
“I am Disease; curs’d be the unknown he 
Who mark’d my purpose of destroying thee.146.
Had it succeeded, hear this, trembling hear, 
Next morn had seen thee floating on a bier.” 
It spoke, and grinn’d, when Ralph, with vengeful speed, 
A rock’s huge fragment dash’d down on its head. 
Deep groan’d the wretch in death, Ralph trembling stole151.
One backward glance, then fled th’accurs’d bowl.  

Evening: An Ode

NOW day departing in the west,1.
With gaudy splendor lures the eye; 
The sun, declining, sinks to rest,3.
And Ev’ning overshades the sky. 

And is the green extended lawn,5.
The waving grove–the flow’ry mead, 
The charms of hill and dale withdrawn,7.
And all their blooming beauties hid? 

They are–but lift aloft thine eye,9.
Where all these sparkling glories roll; 
Those mighty wonders of the sky,11.
That glad and elevate the soul. 

Day’s undisguis’d effulgent blaze13.
Adorns the Mead, or Mountain blue; 
But Night, amid her train, displays15.
Whole worlds revolving to the view. 

Lone Contemplation, musing deep,17.
This vast, stupendous vault explores; 
These rolling Orbs–the roads they keep,19.
And Night’s great Architect adores. 

Nor mourns the absent glare of day,21.
The glitt’ring mead, or warbler’s song; 
For what are birds, or meadows gay,23.
To all that dazzling, starry throng. 

So, when the Saint’s calm Eve draws nigh,25.
With joy the voice of death he hears; 
Heav’n opes upon his wond’ring eye,27.
And Earth’s poor vision disappears.  

Matty: A Song*

WHILE Phoebus reposes in Thetis’s bosom,1.
While, white thro’ the branches the moonlight is seen; 
Here, lonely, I rove, near the old Hawthorn’s blossom,3.
To meet with my Matty, and stray o’er the green. 

Nor hardship, nor care, now my bosom harasses,5.
My moments, from fame, and its nonsense are free; 
Ambition I leave to the folly of Asses,7.
For Matty is Fame and Ambition to me. 

The Great may exclaim, and with fury enclose me,9.
But fools, or the rabble, shall growl now in vain; 
Their madness, their malice shall ne’er discompose me,11.
Since Matty commends, and delights in my strain. 

And kind is the lovely, the charming young creature;13.
Sweet beauty and innocence smile in her cheek; 
In raptures I wander, and gaze o’er each feature,15.
My bosom unable its transports to speak. 

When lock’d arm in arm we retire from the City,17.
To stray through the meadow or shadowy grove, 
How oft do I wake her compassion and pity,19.
While telling some tale of unfortunate love. 

Her innocent answers delight me to hear them,21.
For art or dissembling to her are unknown; 
And false protestations she knows not to fear them,23.
But thinks that each heart is as kind as her own, 

And lives there a villain, who, born to dissemble,25.
Would dare an attempt to dishonour her fame, 
May blackest confusion, surrounding, assemble27.
And bury the wretch in distraction and shame. 

Ye Pow’rs! be my task to protect and behold her,29.
To wander delighted with her all the day; 
When sadness dejects, in my arms to enfold her,31.
And kiss, in soft raptures, her sorrows away. 

But, hush! who comes yonder? ’tis Matty my dearest,33.
The moon, how it brightens, while she treads the plain! 
I’ll welcome my beautiful nymph, by the nearest,35.
And pour my whole soul in her bosom again.  

Lochwinnoch, A Descriptive Poem *

(In a Letter to a Friend)

WHEN in the western main our Orb of light,1.
Sinks slowly down from the advancing night, 
Mute sadness hangs o’er all the lonely earth,3.
Old gloomy Night leads all her horrors forth; 
Wild howls the dreary waste, where furies roam, 
Harsh hated shrieks start from the ruin’d dome; 
Dread darkness reigns in melancholy state, 
And pensive Nature seems to mourn her fate.8.
Such was the gloom, dear Sir, that wrapt my soul, 
Such were the thoughts, and such the sighs that stole 
From this poor bosom, when, with tearful view, 
I bade Edina, and my friend, adieu; 
Bade him adieu, whose kind, engaging art,13.
Unbounded goodness, and inspiring heart, 
Has chear’d my Muse, and bid her joyous soar, 
While Want and Ruin thunder’d at the door. 

Long was the way, the weary way to tread,17.
Stern Fortune frown’d, and ev’ry hope had fled; 
How rush’d reflection on my tortur’d mind,19.
As slow I went, and sighing gaz’d behind. 
Our rural walks, while the gray eastern morn, 
Yet faintly breaking, deck’d the dewy thorn; 
Or when link’d arm in arm, we peaceful stray’d, 
The Meadows round, beneath yon leafy shade.24.
There oft the muse pursu’d her soaring flight, 
While day was sunk, and reign’d the starry night. 
Farewell, I cry’d; a long farewell to you; 
Fate, cruel urges, happy scenes adieu. 

But, blest be Heav’n! when two sad days were past,29.
I reach’d my peaceful native plains at last; 
Sweet smil’d the Muse to hear the Rustics sing,31.
And fond to rise, she stretch’d her ample wing. 
On ev’ry side the blooming landscape glow’d; 
Here shepherds whistled, there the cascade flow’d. 
Heav’ns! had I known what gay, delightful scenes, 
Of woods, and groves, adorn’d these happy plains,36.
Edina’s crowds and sooty turrets high, 
Should ne’er have cost me one regretting sigh. 

Though fair sweet Fortha’s banks, tho’ rich her plains,39.
Far nobler prospects claim the Muse’s strains. 
Fate now has led me to green-waving groves,41.
Blest scenes of innocence and rural loves; 
Where cloudy smoke ne’er darkens up the sky, 
Nor glaring buildings tire the sick’ning eye; 
But spreading meadows wave with flow’ry hay, 
And, drown’d in grass, the milky mothers stray;46.
While down each vale descends the glitt’ring rill, 
And bleating flocks swarm o’er each smiling hill. 
And woody vales, where deep retir’d from sight, 
Lone rivers brawl o’er many a horrid height. 

If scenes like these can please your roving mind,51.
Or lend one rapture to my dearest friend; 
All hail! ye sacred Nine, assist my flight,53.
To spread their beauties open to his sight. 

Low, at the foot of huge extended hills,55.
Whose cloudy tops pour down unnumber’d rills, 
And where loud Calder, rushing from the steep,57.
Roars to the Lake, with hoarse resistless sweep, 
LOCHWINNOCH stands, stretch’d on a rising groun’, 
In bulk, a Village, but in worth a Town. 
Here lives your friend, amid as cheerful swains 
As e’er trod o’er the fam’d Arcadian plains,62.
Far from the world retir’d, our only care 
In silken gauze to form the flow’rets fair, 
To bid beneath our hands, gay blossoms rise, 
In all the colours of the changing skies. 

Dispatch’d to foreign climes, our beauteous toil67.
Adorn the fair of many a distant Isle, 
Shield from the scorching heat, or shiv’ring storm,69.
And fairer deck out Nature’s fairest form. 

Such our sweet toils, when Peace, with glad’ning smile,71.
Wraps in her wings our little busy Isle; 
But when, loud bellowing, furious from afar,73.
Is heard the uproar of approaching War, 
Britannia rousing, when aspiring foes 
Call forth her vengeance and provoke her blows, 
Then, all the Hero, in their bosom burns; 
Their Country calls, and rage dull pleasure spurns.78.
Beneath the throng of many a glitt’ring spear 
In marshall’d lines the fearless youths appear, 
The drum resounds–they leave their native shore, 
On distant coasts to swell the Battle’s roar; 
There quell the furious foe, or see their homes no more.83.

But these are harsh extremes; rough labour now84.
Bathes each firm Youth, and hoary Parent’s brow; 
Nought shews, but brisk activity around,86.
The Plough-boy’s song, the tradesman’s hamm’ring sound. 
See! from yon Vale, in huge, enormous height, 
Glitt’ring with windows on th’ admiring sight, 
The Fabric * swells–within, ten thousand ways  
Ingenious BURNS his wondrous Art displays:91.
Wheels turning wheels, in mystic throngs appear, 
To twist the thread, or tortur’d Cotton tear, 
While toiling wenches’ songs delight the list’ning ear. 
 
At little distance, bord’ring on the Lake, 
Where blooming shrubs, from golden branches, shake 
Ambrosial sweets, midst shelt’ring coverts high, 
Fair CASTLE-SEMPLE* glitters on the eye: 98.
As when bright Phoebus bursts some gloomy shrowd, 
And glorious issues from the darksome cloud, 
Superbly enters on the empyrean blue, 
And shines, reveal’d, to the enraptur’d view; 
So, from the trees, the beauteous structure opes,103.
Shelter’d with hills, and many a deep’ning copse. 
The wond’ring stranger stops t’admire the scene; 
The dazzling Mansion, and the shaven green; 
The fir-top Mount, where brouze the bounding Deer, 
The Lake adjoining, stretching smooth and clear;108.
The long glass Hot-house, basking in the rays, 
Where nameless blossoms swell beneath the blaze; 
Where India’s clime, in full perfection glows, 
And fruits and flowers o’ercharge the bending boughs. 
These, and unnumber’d beauties, charm his sight,113.
And oft he turns, and gazes with delight. 

Ye lonely Walks! now sinking from the sight,115.
Now rising easy to the distant height, 
Where, o’er my head, the bending branches close,117.
And hang a solemn gloom–sedate repose! 
Now gen’rous opening, welcomes in the day, 
While o’er the road the shadowy branches play. 
Hail! happy spots of Quiet and of Peace, 
Dear fav’rite scenes, where all my sorrows cease!122.
Where calm retirement reigns in sober mood, 
Lull’d by the songsters of the neighb’ring wood. 

Here oft, beneath the shade, I lonely stray,125.
When Morning opes, or Evening shuts the day; 
Or when, more black than night, Fate stern appears,127.
With all his train of pale despairing fears. 
The winding walks, the solitary wood, 
The uncouth Grotto, melancholy rude; 
My refuge these, th’attending Muse to call, 
Or in Pope’s lofty page to lose them all.132.

But what, my friend, would all these scenes avail,133.
The walks meand’ring, or the stretching dale, 
The wood-clad Mountain, or the sounding streams,135.
The harvest waving in the glowing beams; 
What all the pomp of Nature or of Art, 
If Heav’n had harden’d the proud Owner’s heart? 
And is it so ye ask? Ah, no, my friend, 
Far other motives swell his generous mind.140.
He lives, he reigns, belov’d in every soul; 
Our wants and hardships through his bosom roll. 
Those he alleviates with a parent’s care, 
And these, by him spread forth, disperse in air. 

When late pale Trade, wrapt up in yellow weeds,145.
With languid looks, seem’d to forsake our Meads, 
When, for her sons, stern Paisley sole confin’d147.
The Web, to finish, or the woof to wind, 
Thro’ all the village desolation reign’d 
And deep distress each cheek with sorrow stain’d: 
Oh! may these eyes ne’er gaze on such a scene, 
Ne’er may I listen to such woes again.152.
Here mourn’d a Father, for his labour gone, 
Survey’d his Babes, and heav’d a bitter groan; 
The weeping maid, tho’ blest with blooming charms, 
Saw now her lover forced to quit her arms, 
While silence hung, and melancholy gloom,157.
Thro’ each lone Shop, and o’er each useless loom. 

Our mis’ries reached his ear; his manly breast159.
Felt for our woes, nor e’en the tear supprest. 
He bade us hope, nor were our hopes in vain;161.
Soon welcome news surpris’d each grateful swain. 
Hope smil’d propitious–ev’ry shop resum’d 
New heart, and soul, tho’ late to ruin doom’d. 
The sounding shuttle, sweeps from side to side, 
Swift o’er the beam the finish’d flow’rings glide;166.
Songs soothe our toil, and pour the grateful flame; 
And ev’ry tongue reveres the Patriot’s name. 

From scenes like these, let Pride disdainful turn,169.
And Malice hiss, and squinting Envy burn; 
Yet, when entomb’d the worthy Patriot lies,171.
And his rapt soul has gain’d her native skies, 
Such deeds as these shall aggrandize his name, 
While they lie buried in eternal shame. 

From Clyde’s fair river to the western shore,175.
Where smoky Saltcoats braves the surges’ roar, 
A range of Hills extend, from whose each side,177.
Unnumber’d streams, in headlong fury ride, 
Aloft in air their big blue backs are lost, 
Their distant shadows black’ning all the coast; 
High o’er their proudest peaks, oft hid in show’rs, 
The imperious MISTY-LAW superior tow’rs;182.
Spiry at top, o’erclad with purpling heath, 
Wide he looks round o’er Scotia’s plains beneath. 
The Atlantic main, that opens on the west, 
Spotted with Isles, that crowd its liquid breast; 
Hills heapt on hills, support the northern sky,187.
Far to the east the Ochills hugely lie. 
How vast around the boundless prospect spreads, 
Blue rivers rolling through their winding beds; 
Black waving Woods, Fields glowing on the eye, 
And hills, whose summits hide them in the sky.192.
Still farther would I gaze with rapture blest, 
But bending clouds hang down and hide the rest. 

Descending from the Hill’s o’erhanging head,195.
Bare moors below uncomfortably spread. 
Here stray the hardy sheep, in scatter’d flocks,197.
Nibbling thro’ furze, and grim projecting rocks, 
Strangers to shelter from bleak Winter’s form, 
His loudest blasts they brave, and bitterest storm; 
By human hands untouch’d save when the swain 
Drives to the crowded hut the bleating train,202.
Shears off the matted fleece, with gleeful haste, 
And sends them naked to the lonely waste. 

Here, as the shepherd ranges o’er the heath205.
The speckled Adder sweeps across his path, 
Or lies collected, in the sun’s bright beams,207.
Or wriggles forward to the distant streams; 
But sudden caught, in vain the felon flies, 
He feels the scourging crook, and stretch’d and gaping dies. 

Near the bleak border of these lonely moors,211.
Where o’er the brook the mossy margin low’rs, 
‘Midst clust’ring trees, and sweet surrounding dells,213.
In rural Cot, a rustic Poet dwells; 
Unknown to him, the dull, elab’rate rules, 
And mazy doctrines of pedantic schools: 
Yet Genius warms his breast with noble fire, 
And the rapt Muse seems eager to inspire.218.
High on the herby hill, while morning smiles, 
And shoots her beams along the distant isles, 
Chearful he sits, and gazing o’er the plain, 
In native language, pours his jocund strain; 
“How bonny Morning speels the eastlin lift,223.
An’ waukens Lads an’ Lassies to their thrift, 
Gars Lavrocks sing and canty lamies loup, 
And me mysel croon cheary on my doup:” 
Or oft, rejoic’d, he sings how best to rear 
Big swelling roots, the peasant’s homely chear,228.
When drown’d with milk, amid the pot they’re prest, 
Or mealy, bursting, fill his brawny fist; 
How the deep bog, or wat’ry marsh to drain, 
And bid bare hillocks groan with bending grain. 
These are the themes that oft engage his Muse,233.
Swell his full breast and stretch his wid’ning views; 
While wond’ring shepherds, as they round him throng, 
Survey the hoary Bard, and bless th’ instructing song. 

When harvest’s o’er, his last, his sweetest toil,237.
And ev’ry barn contains the rustling spoil; 
When winter growls along the frozen lakes,239.
And whit’ning snows descend in silent flakes; 
When all without is drear, and keen-blown frost 
Has each hard foot-step on the road embost, 
Led by the pale-faced moon, o’er drifted plains, 
From many a cottage trudge the neighb’ring swains,244.
To hear his tale, and, round his glowing hearth, 
To pass the night in innocence and mirth. 

Retired from Towns, from scenes of guilt and strife,247.
How blest, poor Shepherds your untroubled life! 
No deep black schemes employ your jocund hour,249.
Like birds of prey, each other to devour. 
The milky flocks throng nibbling o’er the steep, 
The tinkling brooks, that sweetly lull to sleep. 
The warbling Bank, the dewy Morn’s pale light, 
While mists rise slowly from each neighb’ring height,254.
The lark’s shrill song, the Blackbird’s wilder airs, 
These are your pleasures, these your happy cares. 

Down from this spreading moor, with gath’ring force,257.
Impetuous Calder leaves his marshy source, 
Through deep sunk vales and rude resisting rocks259.
His furious current raves, and thundering smokes, 
While swift he pours along in foamy pride, 
Huge massive bulwarks rise on either side; 
Rocks grimly low’ring o’er the darkened stream, 
Hollow’d with Caves, where ne’er peept Phoebus beam.264.
Here in red clusters, hang the juicy Rown,  
There sun-burnt nuts depress the hazel down; 
High on yon rock the luscious Berries swarm, 
Yet mock the efforts of the straining arm, 
So when some Poet wand’ring through the street,269.
If chance a sav’ry smell his nostrils meet, 
Sudden he stops–looks round on some Cook’s stall, 
And eager gazes–but a look’s his all. 

Wild scenes, my friend, now rush upon my sight,273.
Of woods hung branching from th’impending height; 
Of rude romantic clifs, where, high in air,275.
The fleet-wing’d Hawk protects her clam’rous care; 
Of Calder, winding through the deep-sunk vale, 
‘Midst trees embosom’d from the ruffling gale, 
Impatient now thro’ op’ning Banks to roam, 
Now rushing o’er the rock a stream of foam;280.
Now stealing deep, where stretch’d from side to side, 
The bellying Arch* reclin’d arrests the tide, 
While down the dizzy brink resistless fleet, 
The river rolls in one wide glitt’ring sheet. 

Adjoining this, midst bord’ring reeds and fens,285.
The lengthen’d Lake its glossy flood extends, 
Slow stealing on, with lazy silent pace,287.
The Peel * lone rising from its wat’ry face. 
Here stalks the Heron, gazing in the lake, 
The snowy Swan, and party-colour’d Drake; 
The Bittern lone, that shakes the solid ground, 
While thro’ still midnight groans the hollow sound;292.
The noisy Goose, the Teal, in black’ning trains, 
And long-bill’d Snipe, that knows approaching rains; 
Wild fowl, unnumber’d, here continual rove, 
Explore the deep, or sail the waves above. 

When Harvest loads the fields with shocks of grain,297.
And heaps of hay bestud the marshy plain, 
Then have I seen the clouds tumultuous rise,299.
Huge, from the South, grim dark’ning all the skies. 
Then howl’d the blust’ring wind, the lashing rain, 
In streaming torrents, pour’d along the plain, 
Down from the steep, swell’d brown from shore to shore, 
O’er rocks enormous with rethund’ring roar304.
Hoarse Calder dash’d–the Lake a sea appears, 
And down, at once, the bord’ring harvest bears; 
Wheat, hay, and oats, float o’er the boiling tide, 
And, lost for ever, down the current ride. 
Plung’d to the middle in the swelling waves,309.
See Swains, half-drown’d, drag out the dripping sheaves; 
While on the brink the farmer stands forlorn, 
And takes his last sad look of the departing corn. 

But hark! fierce Boreas blows, keen from the hills,313.
The frost severe enchains the trickling rills; 
Wide o’er the Lake a glossy pavement spreads,315.
Snow robes the fields, and heaps the mountain’s heads; 
Scarce o’er yon southern hill the sun appears, 
Feeble his rays, far from our sight he wears. 
How chill the air! how vehement the storm! 
Bleak Winter growls and shakes his hoary form.320.

Seasons like these, ne’er damp the glowing veins321.
Of rugged Scotia’s hardy native swains; 
Forth to the Ice our little Village pours,323.
In healthy sports to pass the shiv’ring hours. 
On fleeting Skates some skim its glitt’ring face, 
In swift excursion or meand’ring chace; 
While, in black crowds, the curlers throng around, 
Men, stones, and besoms, thund’ring up the sound.328.

Nor is our pleasure less when Spring appears,329.
And Sol again the changing landscape chears: 
With pausing step to trace the murm’ring brook,331.
And o’er the stream display the purling hook; 
While from each bush the feather’d warblers rove, 
And soothe the soul to sacred peace and love. 
Or as at sober silent eve we walk 
With the sweet fair, engag’d in harmless talk,336.
The raptur’d heart enjoys a conscious glow, 
Which care can’t damp or gaudy wealth bestow. 

Farewel, my friend! for me no more repine;340.
Peaceful I live, ah! were my bliss but thine. 
Through these wild banks together could we stray,342.
Or range the wood, to shun the sultry day, 
Nor care, nor pain could then my peace destroy, 
And thy dear Muse would double ev’ry joy: 
But since we’re doomed far sever’d to remain, 
Since murm’ring swells, but never soothes our pain;347.
Hence! ye vain wishes–Friendship, heav’nly glow, 
Best, choicest bliss bestow’d on Man below, 
Shall reign united, with triumphant pride, 
Tho’ kingdoms, seas, and half the world divide.  

To Delia,
On Her Insisting To Know Who Was The Subject Of A Certain Panegyric*

BEAUTEOUS maid! no more enquire on1.
Who thus warms my raptur’d strain; 
Here I’ll strive to paint the fair one,3.
Though, alas! I strive in vain. 

Tall and graceful is her stature;5.
Loose and dazzling is her dress; 
Cupids sport in every feature,7.
And in ev’ry jet-black tress. 

Mild she’s, as the dewy morning,9.
When exulting warblers sing; 
As the summer beams adorning,11.
Modest as the blushing spring. 

She talks–my soul is held in capture;13.
When she smiles, ’tis matchless bliss; 
She sings–and, oh! I’m all in rapture;15.
Gods! was ever joy like this? 

Were my treasures high as heaven,17.
Vast as earth, and deep as hell; 
Richest gems, from India riven,19.
All I’d give with her to dwell. 

Would you wish to see this Venus,21.
This most sweet of all that’s fair? 
Ne’er with guesses rack your genius;23.
Look your glass–you’ll see her there.  

An Expostulatory Address
To The Ragged Spectre, Poverty

HAGGARD harlot! why thus dare 
To wage with me eternal war. 
Shall I bear it? no, thou strumpet! 
Here I swear in voice like trumpet, 
Soon’s thou shows thy visage elf,5.
Meet thy fate and blame thyself. 
Did I e’er invite, or wrong thee? 
Did I vow e’er to belong t’thee? 
Do I welcome? do I nurse thee? 
No, thou ly’st–I hate, I curse thee;10.
Why then, black, presumpt’ous ghost, 
Why thus stern invade my coast? 
Some, thou throws but shadows o’er them, 
Fly’st thyself, and all adore them. 
Why thus partial? If the Muse15.
Deign, at times, to bliss my brows, 
I lift the pen–prepare for study, 
There thou stares, grim, ghastly, duddy, 
Shakes thy rags–begins thy grieving; 
Terrifies the Muse to heaven;20.
Then displays my pockets empty; 
Belly worse, and all to tempt me. 
Humour–rhyming–headlong scampers– 
Rotten stockings–soleless trampers– 
Nameless torments–crowds of evils25.
Grin around like real Devils. 

So disfigur’d, with thy scoffing, 
Need I wonder, why so often 
Friends go past, nae answer gi’ me, 
Look their Watch, and never see me. 

The Wasp’s Revenge:
A Fable

BESIDE a warbling, flow’ry grove,1.
By contemplation led, or love; 
Lone, in the summer noon-tide ray,3.
Young beauteous Jeanie basking lay. 
Her cheeks outvy’d the rose’s bloom, 
Her lips the cherry–breath, perfume, 
In silk apparel, loose array’d, 
She beauty’s ev’ry charm display’d.8.

As thus the sultry hour she spent,9.
With Phoebus’ beams unnerv’d and faint, 
Dull Morpheus silently did creep,11.
And ere she knew lull’d her asleep.  

A roving wasp, pert, gaudy squire,13.
Struck with the fragrance of the air, 
In raptur’d hurry on her lip,15.
The fancy’d rose-bud dew to sip, 
Soft perch’d–and, ah! what bliss he drew! 
Ne’er Wasp suck’d such mellifluous dew. 
With joy his little bag he stor’d, 
And ev’ry glittering creek explor’d:20.
But, cruel fate! the waking maid, 
Unknowing, snapt his hapless head 
With deadly crash–”Revenge,” he cry’d, 
Then deeply stung, and quiv’ring dy’d. 
Alarm’d, she started, with a bound,25.
And shook her robes–but, ah! the wound, 
Deep-rooted, gall’d with aching smart, 
And pining pierc’d her to the heart. 
She trembl’d–wept–but wept in vain; 
Huge rose her lip–extreme the pain;30.
Till o’er her chin, with venom stung, 
A monstrous sight it glist’ring hung.  

‘Twas then, gay, beauteous Jean, no more 
Unfit to speak, she shriek’d, she tore 
Her fluttering dress, and inward vow’d, 
If e’er her lip could be renew’d, 
No careless hour should see her laid,37.
Inglorious, in the sun, or shade.  

Ye flustering Beaus, and every Rake,39.
That read or list around, 
By this Wasp’s fate example take,41.
Nor lag on unknown ground, 
Else ye may come to mourn, too late, 
And stretch your mouths, and roar, 
And curse your bitter, pining fate 
When ye can sting no more. 46.

The Cruelty of Revenge:
A Tale

WHAT rising passions through my bosom range,1.
When beauteous Susan sings the Moor’s Revenge, 
Thus runs the tale–Far from the noisy court,3.
Midst lonely woods, was wealthy Don’s resort; 
A worthy Lady blest his gen’rous arms, 
And two young boys, with all their winning charms, 
Possessed of these, and of each other’s hearts, 
They scorn’d the world, and all its cheating arts.8.
Domestic cares, her lord, her smiling boys 
Were all her pride, the source of all her joys. 
His, thro’ wild woods, to hunt the Leopard fleet, 
Bear home the spoils, and lay them at her feet.  

When morning rose, equipt he cours’d the plain,13.
And sought the chase, a Moor his only train. 
Him, from dire chains, his master’s bounty freed,15.
Behind his lord to curb the stately steed. 
Indulg’d in sloth, the gloomy villain grew 
Each day more heedless, and more haughty too. 
He now ev’n dares his orders to deride; 
His lord rebuk’d him, and chastis’d his pride.20.
With madd’ning rage his sparkling eye-balls roll, 
And black revenge employs his furious soul.  

High on a rock, amid the gloomy wood,23.
Secure from foes, their ancient castle stood; 
A wide, deep moat, around the fabric soak’d,25.
And strong high walls the midnight robber mock’d; 
One path alone led to its dizzy height; 
By day a bridge, a bolted gate by night.  

One morn, as forth they took their early road,30.
And thro’ dark vales and deep’ning forests trod; 
Urg’d by revenge, the Moor back sudden springs,32.
Secures the gate, and forth the children brings. 
His lord alarm’d, spurs swiftly o’er the plain, 
Fast finds the gate, and views with shudd’ring pain 
His beauteous babes, from their fond mother tore, 
Dash’d down the rock, and reeking in their gore;37.
While his poor spouse, beneath a lifted knife, 
In loud lamentings, deep implor’d for life. 
“Thou fury, stop!” the raving husband cries;– 
“I scorn thy threats,” th’ infernal Moor replies; 
“A blow thou gave–now for thy rashness feel;”42.
Then in her breast he plung’d the deadly steel, 
And bounding headlong down the impervious rock, 
His mangled cor’se in bloody fragments broke.  

Epistle to James Brodie,
With Peter Pindar’s Poems*

WITH wond’rous delight I’ve now por’d o’er the pages,1.
Your goodness was pleas’d to remit me a while; 
Which, tho’ they have seen near a couple of ages,3.
Still flow in a simple, smooth beauty of style. 
Wit here and there flashes, the reader alarming, 
And Humour oft bends the pleas’d face to smile; 
How sweetly he sings of his Chloe so charming; 
How lofty of William’s dread conquests and spoil. 8.

And, oh! how the heart with soft passion is moved,9.
While Emma pours out her fond bosom in song; 
In tears I exclaim, Heav’ns! how the maid loved,11.
But ah! ’twas too cruel to try her so long. 
But quickly young Laughter extirpates my mourning, 
To hear the poor Doctor haranguing his wife, 
Who stretch’d upon bed, lies tumultuously turning, 
And pants to engage in sweet Venus’s strife. 16.

In short, my good friend, I esteem him a poet,17.
Whose mem’ry will live while the Luscious can charm; 
And Rochester sure had desisted to shew it,19.
If conscious that P[inda]r so keenly could warm. 
So nicely he paints it, he words it so modest, 
So swiftly he varies his flight in each line; 
Now soaring on high, in expressions the oddest, 
Now sinking, and deigning to grovel with swine. 24.

The Ladle, O raptures! what bard can exceed it?25.
“His modesty, sir, I admire him for that”– 
Hans Carvel most gloriously ends when you read it,27.
But Paulo Purganti–how flaming! how fat! 
Ten thousand kind thanks I return for your bounty; 
For troth I’m transported whenever I think 
How Fame will proclaim me aloud through each county, 
For singing like P[inda]r of ladles and stink. 32.

Lines Written on a Summer Evening

NOW day’s bright Orb has left our lonely sphere,33.
No more the flocks, no more the flowers appear; 
But still and slow descend the balmy dew,35.
And Earth’s dark surface with their moisture strew. 
Night comes apace, faint gleams the western day, 
Hoarse screams th’ Corn-craik from the dewy hay; 
Crawl’d, from yon ruins, where she shuns the light, 
The flutt’ring Bat begins her mazy flight.40.
All aether’s hush’d, no other sound I hear, 
Save some lone stream, slow-murm’ring on my ear. 
But, see! the moon, deep-flush’d, with paler light, 
Of clouds disrob’d, dispels the pitchy night, 
With rising splendor brightens to the view,45.
Gay, rolling onward through th’ olympian blue; 
The stars, surrounding, sparkle on the eye, 
And Night in solemn pomp o’erspreads the sky. 
My heart exults at such a scene as this, 
And feels emotions words can ne’er express. 50.

A Character

Whoe’er offends at some unlucky time,
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme;
Sacred to ridicule, his whole life long,
And the sad burden of some merry song.

AUSTERIO, an insipid senseless old wretch,1.
Who all the whole morn in his bed lies a-snoring, 
By cheating and lying has made himself rich,3.
And spends the whole night o’er his papers a poring.  

He tosses, he tumbles, and rolls in his bed,5.
Like a swine in her stye, or a door on its hinges; 
When his landlady calls him, he lifts up his head,7.
D[am]ns her haste–rubs his eyes, and most lazily whinges.  

Then groans out, “Bring here my warm’d breeches and shirts,”9.
And launches one dirty bare leg from the sheeting; 
Cleans his jaws from a deluge of ugly brown squirts,11.
Draws a chair, and prepares, gracious heaven! for eating.  

All day with a fist in each pocket he walks,13.
With the air of a goose, from one shop to another; 
Of caption and horning eternally talks,15.
For he’d d[am]n to a jail and starvation his brother.  

Some folk, ere they swear to the value or price,17.
Consult with their conscience, lest they prove uncivil; 
But ––, when he sells (for he ne’er was too nice)19.
Confers with his rev’rend old partner–the devil,  

If HORNS, with a grin, whisper into his ear,21.
“My boy, raise thy arm, or by Jove, they’ll us cozen; 
By the heav’ns, or earth, or by anything swear”–23.
He’ll swear oath for oath for a sixpence a dozen.  

Achtertool:
A Song* *

FROM the village of Lessly, with a heart full of glee,1.
And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free, 
Resolv’d that same ev’ning, as Luna was full,3.
To lodge ten miles distant, in old Achtertool.  

Thro’ many a lone cottage and farm-house I steer’d,5.
Took their money, and off with my budget I sheer’d; 
The road I explor’d out, without form or rule,7.
Still asking the nearest to old Achtertool.  

A clown I accosted, enquiring the road,9.
He stared like an ideot, then roar’d out, “Gude God! 
Gin ye’re ga’n there for quarters, ye’re surely a fool,11.
For there’s nought but starvation in auld Achtertool.”  

Unminding his nonsense, my march I pursu’d,13.
Till I came to a hill top, where joyful I view’d, 
Surrounded with mountains, and many a white pool,15.
The small smoky village of old Achtertool.  

At length I arriv’d at the edge of the town,17.
As Phoebus behind a high mountain went down; 
The clouds gather’d dreary, and weather blew foul,19.
And I hugg’d myself safe now in old Achtertool.  

An inn I enquir’d out, a lodging desir’d,21.
But the Landlady’s pertness seem’d instantly fir’d; 
For she saucy reply’d, as she sat carding wool,23.
“I ne’er kept sic lodgers in auld Achtertool.”  

With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride;25.
But, asking, was told, there was none else beside, 
Except an old Weaver, who now kept a school,27.
And these were the whole that were in Achtertool.  

To his mansion I scamper’d, and rapt at the door;29.
He op’d, but as soon as I dar’d to implore, 
He shut it like thunder, and utter’d a howl,31.
That rung through each corner of old Achertool.  

Provok’d now to fury, the Domini I curst,33.
And offer’d to cudgel the wretch, if he durst; 
But the door he fast bolted, though Boreas blew cool,35.
And left me all friendless in old Achtertool.  

Depriv’d of all shelter, thro’ darkness I trod,37.
Till I came to a ruin’d old house by the road; 
Here the night I will spend, and, inspir’d by the Owl,39.
I’ll send up some prayers for old Achtertool.  

The Group:

A Song* *

COME fill up the bowl, my brave boys!1.
And round let us circle the treasure; 
Huzza! my good fellows, rejoice!3.
For here is a fountain of pleasure. 
And while the big Bumper doth pass, 
Old Bacchus shall never confound me; 
I’ll drink, and, between every glass, 
Loud roar of the Wits that surround me,8.
And bring their each talent to view.  

Imprimis. Here sits by my side,10.
A hum’rous young son of the muses, 
Who lord o’er our passions can ride,12.
And wind them wherever he chooses. 
The terrible frown he can form, 
Look dismally holy thereafter, 
Then screw up his face to a storm, 
That nigh bursts the beholder with laughter,17.
And makes ev’ry mortal his friend.  

That little stout fellow in green,* 19.
Observe how accomplish’d and tight he’s; 
Good humour sits full in his mien,21.
And mirth his eternal delight is. 
When through the wild hornpipe he sweeps, 
We stare as we never had seen him, 
So nimbly he capers and leaps, 
You wou’d swear that some devil was in him,26.
To flourish his heels so expert.  

See! handing the glass to his friend,28.
Young Jamie, polite and endearing; *  
To please he is very inclin’d,30.
Tho’ sometimes harassingly jeering. 
So sweetly a sonnet he sings, 
He chats to the Ladies so clever, 
That Cupid should sure give him wings, 
And make him his Archer for ever,35.
To level the Beauties and Belles.  

And there sits the Genius of song, * 37.
Whose music so nobly can warm us, 
The Fife now arousingly strong,39.
Now waking the Viol to charm us: 
Yet sometimes he’s mournfully mute, 
And tho’ we implore while we’re able, 
He frowning refuses the Flute, 
And pensively leans on the table,44.
As if he were lull’d in a trance.  

With golden locks loose to the wind,46.
Here sits a swain, kind and free hearted, *  
To ev’ry one science inclin’d,48.
By every amusement diverted. 
Philosophy, Painting, and Song, 
Alternately gain his affection, 
But his bliss is to store up a throng 
Of Insects and Worms for dissection,53.
Of numberless sizes and kinds.  

Here Wilson and Poverty sits,55.
Perpetually boxing together, 
Till beat by good liquor she flits,57.
And leaves him as light as a feather. 
From two most unfortunate views, 
Proceeds his inconstant condition; 
His Joys are the smiles of the Muse, 
And his mis’ry the want of Ambition,62.
To climb to the notice of fools.  

But round with the Liquor, my boys!64.
‘Tis folly to languish repining; 
To swell up the tide of our joys,66.
This Brimmer was sent us so shining. 
Since Blockheads and Asses grow rich, 
And modesty murders the wearer; 
If Merit must cow’r in the ditch, 
May she still have a Bumper to chear her,71.
And raise her poor head to the skies.  

To the Author of a Piece Entitled

“The Sailor And Louse”

HAIL! Thou whose great aspiring soul1.
Can range, no doubt, from pole to pole, 
Creation’s ample house;3.
Yet deigns to memorate the name, 
And roll in the records of Fame, 
Thy bosom foe, a–Louse.  

Transporting Bard! how didst thou light7.
On such a Tale to fire thy sight, 
Such beauties to express?9.
How cou’dst thou, to our raptured view, 
Discover such a scene? so new!– 
Forgive me if I guess.  

Perhaps in some dark, dirty den,13.
Long had’st thou pin’d and chew’d thy pen, 
When (wond’rous inspiration!)15.
The grey inhabitants of hair, 
That itch’d thee ceaseless here and there, 
Claim’d all thy contemplation.  

Impatient to be found in verse,19.
Around thy hulk, thick-throng’d and fierce, 
The restless creatures hurry’d,21.
Till thou for want of nobler theme 
Was forc’d t’ immortalize their name, 
On pain of being worry’d.  

The Return of Spring: A Song*

COME, join with me, ye rural swains,1.
And wake the reed to cheerful strains; 
Since Winter now has fled our plains,3.
With all his rueful store: 
No more the furious [frowning], blust’ring sky, 
From Greenland’s dreary mountains high, 
(Where worlds of ice tumultuous lie) 
Extends the mighty roar. 8.

With dark’ning rage o’er yon rude Forth,9.
No more the chill, bleak-breathing North; 
Grim throws the fleecy tempest forth,11.
Thick thro’ the black’ning sky; 
Till o’er each hill and sullen vale, 
An universal white prevail, 
And deep beneath the snowy veil, 
The sad Creation lie. 16.

The hoary Tyrant now has fled,17.
Young blooming Spring our Fields o’erspread, 
Hope, Wealth, and Joy are by her led,19.
An all-enliv’ning train. 
Along yon dale, or daisied Mead, 
Soon as young morn uplifts her head, 
The Hind yokes in the willing steed, 
Blithe whistling o’er the lawn; 24.

The stately grove and thick’ning Wood,25.
That Winter’s frowning blasts withstood; 
Unfold the verdant leafy brood,27.
High-waving in the air. 
While o’er the Mountain’s grassy steep, 
Are heard the tender bleating sheep, 
Around the wanton lambkins leap, 
At once their joy and care. 32.

Amid the Bow’r, with wood-bines wove,33.
Throughout the flower-enamell’d grove, 
The humming bees unwearied rove,35.
Gay blooming sweets among; 
The chearful Birds, of varied hue, 
Their sweet meand’ring notes pursue; 
High soars the Lark, and lost to view, 
Pours forth his grateful song. 40.

The wand’ring brook–the glitt’ring rill,41.
The Cuckoo’s note heard from the hill, 
The warbling Thrush and Black-bird shrill,43.
Inspire with rapt’rous glee: 
Then join the Choir, each Nymph and Swain, 
Thro’ ev’ry grove, and flow’ry plain, 
‘Till hills resound the joyful strain, 
Harmonious to each Tree. 48.

Verses on the Death of a Favourite Spaniel, Maliciously Poisoned

HOW soon are blessings snatch’d away!1.
Our friends around us smile to-day, 
But oft ere morning’s early ray,3.
Salute the shore; 
We see them stretch’d, pale, lifeless clay, 
To please no more!  

Poor Cupid!–fondest friend I knew;7.
To me, how kind! how matchless true! 
Whose frolics oft my laughter drew,9.
Tho’ grief deprest, 
By Death’s envenomed steel pierc’d through, 
Has breath’d his last.  

But had the traitor, void of art,13.
Produc’d the death denouncing dart, 
And calmly aim’d it at his heart,15.
Still panting warm; 
One piteous look had staid the smart, 
And fix’d his arm.  

Yet, think not, since his debt is paid,19.
I mourn the dear departed shade; 
No–’neath yon apple-tree he’s laid,21.
To rise again; 
Nor shall the youth or infant maid, 
Escape his pain.  

Each year, when Spring her reign resumes,25.
Then Cupid, from his bed of glooms, 
Shall spread the scarlet-tinctur’d blooms,27.
In glorious view, 
While bees, amid the rich perfumes, 
Rove, murm’ring through.  

When Autumn comes, serene and slow,31.
And ruddy Berries, clustering, glow, 
When, with ripe fruit, the loaden’d bough,33.
Bends to the swaird; 
Then Cupid swells the lov’liest show, 
In JOHNNY’s yard.  

And though in Apples now he rise,37.
Yet swift and keen his arrow flies; 
For soon as e’er your ravish’d eyes39.
Gaze on his growth, 
The blushing cheek and wond’rous size, 
Wou’d bless your mouth.  

To A Sealed Letter

NOW, little folded pregnant leaf,1.
On thee for once my joy, my grief, 
My hopes, and fears await;3.
Now shall Misfortune cease to growl, 
Or black Despair assault my soul, 
And fix my hapless fate.  

Oh! may some Angel, (guardian aid!)7.
In robes celestial, sweet array’d, 
Unknown, unseen descend;9.
And while thou opens on his eyes, 
Soft whisper the poor poet’s sighs, 
And bid him be a friend. 

Then shall the Muse outstretch her wing,13.
And, fir’d with joy, exulting sing 
The bounty of the giver;15.
Yet if stern Fortune so ordain, 
That all my flatt’ring hopes are vain, 
Here, sorrow! dwell for ever.  

On a Departed Drunkard

BORIO lies beneath this table,1.
Bacchus, view the sight and weep; 
Spite of all thy art was able3.
Porter’s lulled him fast asleep.  

Silent now the tongue of thunder,5.
Dormant lies the arm of brass, 
Every sentence sunk our wonder,7.
Every action crown’d the Ass.  

Morpheus! curse on thy intruding,9.
Blest was he ere thou appear’d; 
Snuff in vain ‘gainst thy deluding,11.
All his fiery forces rear’d.  

See! he wakes–his eye-lids glimmer–13.
He struggles, faltering, to get free; 
Ah! he sinks–come, push the Brimmer,15.
Jolly god! ‘twixt thee and me.  

Verse Occasioned by Seeing Two Men Sawing Timber, in the Open Field,
in Defiance of a Furious Storm

MY friends, for God sake! quat yer wark,1.
Nor think to war a wind sae stark; 
Your Saw-pit stoops, like wans, * are shaking,3.
The vera planks and deals* are quaking; 
Ye’re tempin’ Providence, I swear, 
To raise your graith* sae madly here. 
Now, now ye’re gone!–Anither blast 
Like that, an’ a’ yer Sawing’s past!8.
Come down, ye Sinner!–grip the Saw 
Like death, or, trouth, ye’ll be awa’. 
Na, na, ye’ll saw, tho’ hail an’ sleet 
Wreathe owre your breast, an’ freeze yer feet. 
Hear how it roars, an’ rings the bells;13.
The Carts are tum’lin’ round themsels; 
The Tile an’ Thack, an’ Turf up whirls; 
See yon brick Lum! * –down, down it hurls.– 
But wha’s yon staggering owre the brae, 
Beneath a lade * o’ buttl’t strae;18.
Be wha he will, poor luckless b–h! 
His strae an’ him’s baith in the ditch.  

The sclates are hurling down in hun’res,21.
The dading * door an’ winnock * thun’ers.– 
But, ho! my hat, my hat’s awa’!23.
L–d help’s! the Saw-pit’s down an’ a’! 
Rax * me your hand–hech! how he granes,– 
I fear your legs are broken banes. 
I tauld you this; but deil-mak-matter! 
Ye thought it a’ but idle clatter;28.
Now see! ye misbelieving sinners!, 
Your bloody shins–your Saw in flinners; *  
An’ roun’ about your lugs* the ruin, 
That your demented folly drew on.  

Experience ne’er sae sicker tells us,33.
As when she lifts her rung an’ fells us.  

The Disconsolate Wren

Be not the Muse asham’d here to bemoan
Her brothers of the Grove.––

The morn was keekin’ * frae the east,1.
The lav’rocks shrill, wi’ dewy breast, 
Were tow’ring past my ken,3.
Alang a burnie’s * flow’ry side, 
That gurgl’d on, wi’ glancin’ glide, 
I gain’d a bushy Glen; 
The circling nets ilk Spider weaves 
Bent, wi’ clear dew-drops hung,8.
A’ roun’ amang the spreading leaves, 
The cheary natives sung; 
On’ts journey, the burnie,  
Fell dashing down some lins, *  
White foaming, and roaming,13.
In rage amang the stanes. *  

While on the gowan turf I sat,15.
And view’d this blissfu’ sylvan spat, 
Amid the joyous soun’;17.
Some mournfu’ chirps, methought, of wae 
Stole on my ear frae neath a brae * ; 
Whare, as I glinted down, 
I spy’d a bonnie wee bit Wren, 
Lone, on a fuggy* stane:22.
An’ aye she tore her breast, an’ than, 
Poor thing, pour’d out her mane, 
Sae faintive, sae plaintive; 
To hear her vent her strain 
Distrest me, an’ prest me27.
To ken * her cause o’ pain.  

Down frae a hingan* hazel root,29.
Wi’ easy wing, an’ sadly mute, 
A social Robin came;31.
Upon a trem’lin twig he perch’d, 
While owre his head the craig was arch’d, 
Near han’ the hapless dame; 
Awee he view’d her sad despair– 
Her bitter chirps of wae,36.
Brought frae his e’e the pearly tear, 
Whilk owre his breast did gae; 
Still eyeing, and spying, 
Nane near to gi’e relief; 
And drooping, and stooping,41.
He thus enquir’d her grief.  

What dolefu’ ill, alas! what woe43.
Gars * thee sit mourning here below, 
And rive * thy mirley * breast?45.
Has ony Whitret’s* direfu’ jaws, 
Or greedy Gled’s* fell squeezing claws, 
Made thy wee lord a feast? 
Or has some callans * frae the town, 
While roaring through the shaw,50.
Thy wee things, nest an’ a torn down, 
An’ borne them far awa? 
My Wrannie, I canna 
Rest till thy waes thou tell; 
For I yet may cry yet55.
Wi’ siccan griefs mysel.”  

“Och, Rab! my heart will brust * in twa–57.
Alas! I’m dizzy–O I’ll fa! 
My legs, my heart will fail–59.
But since ye speer sae kind, my frien’, 
An’ love like yours is seldom seen, 
I’se tell the dreadfu’ tale– 
Aneath yon hingin’ brae, as best, 
Soon as the leaves came out,64.
Ye ken we joyfu’ bug * our nest, 
And clos’t it a’ about. 
Fu’ cleanly an’ bienly, *  
We lin’d it a’ wi’ down; 
An’ neatly, an’ quietly,69.
We form’d it snug an’ soun’.  

“The brae hung owre, in bushy height,71.
And hade* it close frae ony’s sight 
That dauner’t* thro’ the glen;73.
Nane e’er observ’d us jink * within, 
Or ever there for nests did fin, 
‘Twas sic a lanely * den. 
An’ mony a day an’ night I sat, 
While my wee Tam did sing,78.
Till saxteen bonny things I gat, 
A’ hotching ‘neath each wing. 
What pleasure, this treasure 
Gied us, I needna’ tell: 
Sic pleasures, sic treasures,83.
Ye’ve aft enjoy’d yoursel.  

“Soon as the gladsome morning rose,85.
I left them row’t * in warm repose, 
An’ thro’ the warbling wood,87.
‘Mang aul’ tree-roots an’ prickly brier, 
My Tam an’ me, withouten fear, 
Rov’d for their wanted food; 
An’, oh! what transports swell’d my breast, 
At night, when I survey’d92.
A’ safe an’ weel about our nest, 
An’ them quiet feath’rin’ laid!– 
Och! Robin–this sobbin 
Forgie, * for to the scenes 
I draw now, that gnaw now,97.
My heart wi’ wringing pains.  

“This morn as soon as it grew light,99.
Baith thro’ the glen we took our flight, 
An’ soon my neb * I fill’d;101.
Some dreadfu’ hurling noise I heard, 
An’ pale forebodings made me fear’d, 
That a’ my hopes were kill’d. 
I flighter’t hame; but och! dread scene! 
Whose horror crush’d my breath:106.
The brae had fa’n * huge to the plain, 
An dash’d them a’ to death– 
Ye heavens, my grievings 
You might have ceas’d to flow, 
Me crashing, and dashing111.
With them to shades below. 

“Nae mair I’ll thro’ the valley flee, 
And gather worms wi’ blissfu’ glee, 
To feed my chirping young; 
Nae mair wi’ Tam himsel’ I’ll rove, 
Nor shall e’er joy, throughout the grove,117.
Flow frae my wretched tongue; 
But lanely, lanely, aye I’ll hap, 
‘Mang auld stane-dykes an’ braes; Till some ane roar down on my tap, 
An’ end my joyless days.” 
So, lowly, and slowly,122.
Araise the hapless Wren; 
While crying, and sighing, 
Remurmur’d through the Glen.  

[Second] Epistle To Mr. Andrew Clark

TIR’D wi’ tramping moors an’ mosses,1.
Speeling* stairs, an’ lifting snecks,*  
Daunering* down through lanes an’ closses, * 3.
Buskin’ * braw* the bonny sex.  

Hame,* at e’ening, late I scuded, 
Whare auld Reekie’s turrets tow’r, 
Mirk, the Lift was, drousy cluded, *  
An’ the starns begoud* to glow’r;  

In my nieve, * my honest Lucky, 
Soon’s I reek’t* her ingle cheek, *  
Ram’t yer lines–as daft’s* a bucky 
Was I when I heard you speak.  

Ben the room I ran wi’ hurry, 
Clos’d the door wi’ unco glee, 
Read, an’ leugh,* maist like to worry, 
Till my pow* grew haflins* ree.*  

Sonsy* fa’ your Muse, my laddie! 
She’s a wench can mount fu’ heigh, 
Tho’ her phraizing (far owre gaudie* ) 
Gars* me cock my tap fu’ skeigh.*  

Cartha’s banks, wi’ flow’rets hinging, 
Warbling birds, wi’ tow’ring wing; 
Rocks and hills, wi’ music ringing, 
Weel I like to hear you sing.  

These are scenes of health an’ quiet, 
Innocence and rural bliss; 
Solitude, tho’ others fly it, 
Towns to me are dull with this.  

Distant far frae ony living, 
Deep in lanely woodings* lost, 
Oft my Muse, wi’ ardour heaving, 
Sung her woes, by fortune crost.  

Stretch’d beside the bubbling burnie*  
Aften musing wou’d I lie, 
While glad Phoebus, on his journey, 
Stream’d wi’ gowd* the eastern sky.  

This, man, sets our brains a’ bizzing,*  
This can soothe our sorrowing breasts, 
Want and Care set afward whizzing, 
‘Till our jaded hobby reests.  

While ye spoke of notes enchanting, 
Dying o’er the distant plain, 
All my soul, tumultuous panting, 
Sprung to meet the friendly Swain.  

Oh! prolong the sweet description, 
Bid the Muse new-prune her wing; 
Sylvan gods shall, at thy diction, 
Dance around in airy ring.  

Shall the youth whose pow’rs surpassing, 
Melt our souls to sweet delight, 
All the soul of song arising 
Thro’ the silent list’ning night: 

Shall he, doom’d to dark oblivion, 
Languish, lost to joy or fame, 
Not a swain to soothe his grieving, 
Not a Muse to sing his name?  

Gods forbid! for yet he’ll blossom, 
In thy verses now he lives; 
Gladly could I paint his bosom, 
Gen’rous as the song he gives.  

But the cluds are black’ning dreary, 
Night is drawing owre her screen; 
Bodies hame are daunering weary, 
Dews are dribbling owre the green.  

Trust me, tho’ closèd in a cellar, 
Wantin’ huggars, * breeks, * or sark;*  
Prest wi’ debt, or blest wi’ siller.*  
I’m a frien’ to An’rew Clark.  

Rabby’s Mistake: A True Story

SHORT is the far’est fouk can see, 
Yet unco wary we shou’d be, 
To leuk * before we loup;*  
Nor e’er, in huth’ron* haste, advance, 
Or we’ll rin mony a narrow chance,5.
In black mistaks to coup.  

Ae ca’m, blae,* bitter frosty day, 
When deep the glisterin’ snaw-wreathes lay 
Aboon ilk moor an’ fiel’, 
An’ owre the Loch’s clear frozen face, 
On skytchers* thrang, in airy chace,11.
Flew mony a cheery chiel.  

Far aff the Curlers’ roaring rink, 
Re-echo’d loud, wi’ noisy clink, 
O’ stanes and besoms* rappin’; 
Doos* flighter’t thro’ amang the stacks, 
An’ craws upo’ the toll-road tracts,17.
In hungry mood were happin’.  

Sic was the day, whan san’-blin’ Rab, 
Arm’d wi’ a gun like ony stab, 
An’ pocks o’ lead an’ pouther, 
Set out in eager search for game, 
Resolv’d to bring a Maukin* hame,23.
In triumph, owre his shouther.  

Nae snifterin’ dog had he, I wat, 
To air’t him to the lanely spat 
Whare ony creature lay: 
Tho’ scarce twa tether-length his e’en 
Cou’d ken a midding by a green,29.
Yet on he push’d his way.  

Alangst the drifted crumpin’ knowes, 
A’ roun’ his glimmerin’ een he rowes, 
For Hares, or bits o’ burdies; 
Aft taking ilka stane* he saw, 
Bare rais’d aboon the glistering snaw,35.
For Pussey’s crouchin’ hurdies.*  

Down thro’ the Glen between twa trees, 
At length sly glowrin’ Rabby sees 
A Hare amang the bushes: 
He chaps the flint–leans on a stump, 
Aff gaed the shot wi’ thunerin’ thump,41.
An’ after’t Rabby rushes.  

But when he saw (guides! how he stood!) 
His ain Sow weltering in her blude, 
An’ sticks in anguish tearing! 
Her deean* squeels maist rung him deaf, 
He hung his head in silent grief,47.
And wander’d hamewards swearing.  

Callamphitre’s Elegy*

ATTEND, ye squads o’ Wabsters a’,1.
Whare’er may be your byding, 
Whether ye hing owre Muslins braw,3.
Or sonsier* Sacks, or Plaiding;  
Ye’ve lost a Patriarch an’ mair, 
Whase crown Death’s lang been cloorin’,*  
And I’se relate the haill* affair, 
Though baith my een* be pourin’8.
Wi’ grief this day.  

There liv’d a Carle near a glen,10.
Fouk CALLAMPHITRE ca’d him, 
Wha saw lang sinty year an’ ten,12.
Ere ever trouble ga’d him; 
He at the sowing-brod* was bred, 
An’ wrought gude Serge an’ Tyken, 
An’ mony an aul’ wife’s nest he clad 
Fu’ bra’ly to their liking,17.
An’ snug that day.  

Whare highlan’ hills, out thro’ the cluds,* 19.
Lift up their snawy rigging, 
Beside a glen, atween twa wuds,21.
Stood his bit lanely bigging:*  
Nae pridefu’ plaister’t bield,* wi’ staps 
Plann’d out wi’ square or tether; 
But stanes, rowt up in ithers’ taps, 
Co’ert owre wi’ hardy heather,26.
And turfs, that day.  

His loom, made o’ stout aiken* rungs,28.
Had sair’t* him saxty simmer, 
Though his lang Lay, wi’ fearfu’ fungs,* 30.
Shook a’ the roofing tim’er. 
As soon’s braw day-light cleart the lift, 
He raise, an’ waukent* Jennock, 
Laid owre his leg, an’ till’t like drift, 
Till moon-light thro’ his winnock* 35.
Shone late at night.  

His banes were like a horse’s strang,37.
His tusks like Bear’s or Shark; 
An’ foul* a brither o’ the gang,39.
Wad dung* him at his wark. 
He wad ha’e roar’d like ony Nowt, 
When he o’ pirns* grew scanty, 
Till ance the hirpling* pining gout 
Swall’t baith his legs unhaunty,44.
Like beams, that day.  

But, waes my heart! anither ill46.
On him spue’t out its venom, 
An’ a’ the Doctors’ drogs, or skill,48.
Nae ease, alake! cou’d len’ him; 
It wrung his vera soul, poor chiel! 
Wi’ grips beneath his navel, 
Whilk made him roar, an’ girn,* an’ squeel, 
As he had seen a devil,53.
Or Ghaist, that day. 

Alangst a sack, ha’f fu’ o’ strae,55.
Beneath an aul’ gray co’ering, 
Wi’ face grim pale, an’ lips right blae,57.
He lay, maist at the smo’ering. 
He fan* Death’s fearfu’ grapple-airns, *  
An’ that he cou’dna free them, 
Sae gasped out, “O bring my bairns,*  
That I for ance may see them,62.
This waefu’ day.”  

Wi’ yowlin’ clinch aul’ Jennock ran,64.
Wi’ sa’r like ony brock,*  
To bring that remnant o’ a man,66.
Her foistest* brither Jock. 
As soon’s she reekt the sooty bield, 
Whare labrod he sat cockin; 
“Come down,” she cryd, “you lump o’ eild, 
His vera guts he’s bockan* 71.
In blude, this day.”  

Down gaed the wark-looms–out he struts,73.
Wi’ dreadfu’ fright, a’ sweating, 
While Mirran, wi’ her shoelin’* cloots,75.
Ran, yellochan* an’ greeting. 
As soon’s they to the house came in, 
An’ saw that he was deean,*  
They stood a whyle baith deaf an’ blin’ 
While down the tears came fleean80.
In show’rs that day!  

At length aul’ Callam gied a glowre,82.
An’ said, “May God be wi’ ye! 
Death’s maunt* at last to ding me owre,84.
An’ I’ll soon ha’e to lea’ ye. 
Some sinfu’ clues, the laft aboon, 
Ye’ll fin’ row’t* in a blanket”– 
Syne gied a fearfu’ dreary croon, 
An’ aff for aye he shanket* 89.
Wi’ Death that day.  

O dool* ! whane’er they saw him gane,91.
They rais’d a lamentation; 
An’ yells, an’ sabs, and mony a grane,93.
Declar’d their deep vexation. 
“Lord help us a’! he’ll e’en be mist,” 
Quo’ Jock, as up they bore him. 
Sae a’ three streek’t* him on a kist,*  
An’ waefully did co’er him[.]98.
Wi’ a claith that day.  

O Mirran! dinna* rive* yer hair,100.
And wi’ sic vengeance yelp sae; 
My heart is for you a’ right sair,* 102.
But deed I canna help ye. 
Hech, see! they’ve borne him to yon brae, 
And aff the mortclaith* furl’d, 
And in a hole they’ve let him gae, 
Syne yird and stanes down hurl’d107.
Wi’ spades this day.  

Some said he was a camsheugh bool,* 109.
Nae yarn nor rapes could haud him, 
When he got on his fleesome* cowl,111.
But maybe they misca’d him. 
While Jennock tum’t* the winles’ blade 
An’ waft in lapfu’s left her, 
Frae’s nieves the spool, like light’ning fled, 
And raps cam thunerin’ after,116.
Like death that day.  

But now nae mair he’ll bless their bield,118.
Wi’ gabby cracks* an’ stories; 
He fell a prey to runkly* Eild,* 117.
And’s trampit aff afore us. 
Let ilka shop his praises roar, 
In melancholious metre, 
An’ at the hin’-er-en’ o’ ilk bore,*  
Mourn out, O CALLAMPHITRE!122.
Thou’rt dead this day!  

An Epistle To Mr. Ebenezer Picken*

O THOU wha ‘midst lang yellow ranks1.
O’ gowans,* on sweet Cartha’s banks, 
Row’t in a skinklan* plaid,3.
Souns loud the Scottish Muse’s horn, 
Aneath some spreadan eldren*  
An’ maks the herdies glad; 
While lads an’ laughin’ lasses free 
Chirt* in to hear thy sang,8.
Will EBEN let a chiel like me 
Join wi’ the chearfu’ thrang? 
A wee while, in auld stile, 
On Pegassus I’ll scrive, 
Sae tent* me, an’ canty* 13.
I soon sal tak my leave.  

This ha’f a year yer funny tales,15.
Owre mosses, mountains, seas an’ dales 
I’ve carried i’ my lingle;* 17.
An’ scores o’ times, in kintra* tafts,*  
They’ve gart* the fouk maist rive* their chafts, 
Whan owre a bra’ peat ingle, 
I loot* them hear droll Symon’s crack,*  
Wi’ Hodge, twa curious cronies,22.
How the queer carles sae camsheugh spake 
‘Bout pouther’t* cockernonies.*  
Young Jenny an’ Nannie, 
An’ Meg wad laught thegither,*  
Sly sneeran an’ swearan,27.
“Od, that’s just like our father.”  

Whan Aul’ Joanna i’ the Brae,29.
Or Bonny Bell, and mony mae 
They hear me try to tout;31.
Or when poor Brownie tells his tale, 
How he was maist kidnapped hale,*  
Blude drappan frae his snout: 
When Yon Spat’s fearfu’ fa’ ye mourn, 
In simple hammart* croon,36.
Nae mair to get a needfu’ turn 
Aneath it’s biggin’* doon: 
Lordd help me! they yelp me, 
Wi’ laughin’ near han’ deaf; 
While sweatin’ an’ greetin’41.
I turn the tither leaf.  

“Preserves!” says Jean, an’ stops her wheel,43.
“An’ do you really ken* the chiel! 
An’ whar-a’wa’s his dwallin?”* 45.
“I’d gang,” quo’ Meg, “a simmer* day 
To get ae glint o’m in my way, 
Tho’ I soud spen a shilling.” 
Out granes aul Grannie frae the neuk, 
Whare, at the rock she’s rivan,* 50.
“Vow sirs! an’ did he mak the beuk 
Just out his ain contrivin! 
Whare-e’er he’s I’m sure he’s 
A minister, or mair; 
Sic stories, sae curious,55.
Wad tak a man o’ lear.”*  

But, EBEN, thinkna’ this but clatter,57.
An’ that I tell’t for fau’t o’ matter, 
To lengthen out a crack,* 59.
It’s what I’ve heard a hun’er times 
The fouk exclaim, wha read your rhymes, 
Or may I burn my Pack. 
Wi’ chiels o’ taste an’ genius baith, 
I aften hae forgather’t;64.
An’ war I to relate their breath 
O’ you, ye’d say I blether’t. 
Wi’ leisure, an’ pleasure, 
I’ve seen them aft read owre, 
While strokes o’ wit, wi’ ready hit,69.
Gart,* aft the reader glowre.  

For me, when I begin to read71.
About aul’ honest Harry dead; 
Beneath the yird laid stieve in,73.
Or at the bauld brooze* o’ wasps an’ bees, 
Whilk had set Allan in a bleeze, ,*  
Had the auld bard been livin’; 
Or that which scorns the bounds o’ rhyme, 
Fate, sung in lofty strains,78.
Owre whulk I’ve grutten,* mony a time 
An’ blest ye for yer pains. 
Whan these an’ a thousan’ 
Mae beauties strike my e’e, 
Inspired, I’m fired83.
Wi’ won’rous thoughts o’ thee.  

Let senseless critics roun’ ye squeel,85.
An’ curl like ony empron* eel, 
Wi’ want o’ taste, or spite;87.
Nane e’er gat fame in’s native spat, 
The vera haly Beuk says that, 
But let them girn* an’ flyte.*  
While I can douk* in ink a quill 
An’ blether rhyme or prose;92.
While spoons an’ ladles help to fill 
My kyte,* wi’ kail* or brose,*  
Believe it, while I’m fit 
The right frae left to know it, 
I’ll reverence, while blest wi’ sense,97.
The Poems and the Poet.  

If ever Fortune, thrawart* bitch! 
Should kick me in misfortune’s ditch, 
A while to lie an’ warsle;*  
Gif I yer sangs hae in my fab, 
An’ whiles a glass to heat my gab,* 103.
An’ snuff to smart my girsle* ; 
Tho’ Beagles, Hornings, an’ sic graith,*  
Glowre roun’, they ne’er sal dread me: 
I’ll canty* chaunt aul Harry’s death, 
While up the stair they lead me,108.
I’ll roar than, I’ll soar than, 
Out thro’ the vera cluds;*  
Tho’ hung roun’, an’ clung roun’, 
Wi’ stenchers an’ wi’ duds.*  

Owre highlan’ hills I’ve rov’d this whyle,113.
Far to the north, whare mony a mile 
Ye’ll naething see but heather;115.
An’ now-an’-than a wee bit Cot, 
Bare, hunkerin’ on some lanely spot, 
Whare ither words they blether. 
Last owk there on a winnock-sole, *  
I fan some aul newspaper,120.
And tho’ ’twas riv’n in mony a hole, 
Yet, fegs, * it made me caper, 
When scanin’t, I fan in’t 
How nature ilk creature 
Maks canty, blythe, an’ bien. 125.

Ha, EBEN! hae I catcht ye here,126.
Quo’ I, in unco glee an’ chear, 
While their nainsels* a’ gapet,128.
And speer’t* right droll, gin she was mine, 
An’ whareabouts me did her tine? *  
(While aff the sang I clippet) 
Some bawbies bury’t a’ the plea, 
Though they afore war sweer* o’t;133.
Sae aff I came in clever key, 
Resolv’d to let you hear o’t; 
Now fareweel, my braw* chiel, 
Lang tune the reed wi’ spirit; 
Let asses spit clashes,138.
Fools canker aye at merit.  

Epigram Addressed To A Friend

IF cares can quench the Poet’s fire,1.
And damp each chearful-rising thought, 
Make Wilson drooping drop the Lyre,3.
Ere he perhaps a theme has sought;  

Sure if there liv’d a friendly swain,5.
Mild, merry, generous to the poet; 
Inspiring joy, expelling pain,7.
To please inclin’d, and kind to show it.  

Can words tell how my heart wou’d leap,9.
How throb to meet a swain so true! 
Exclaim you, with affection deep,11.
“Lives such a swain?”–he lives in you.  

[First] Epistle To Mr. William Mitchell*
Leadhills, April–

HAIL! kind, free, honest-hearted swain,1.
My ne’er forgotten frien’, 
Wha aft has made me, since wi’ pain3.
We parted, dight* my e’en; *  
Ance mair frae aff a lanely plain, 
Whare Warlocks wauk at e’en, 
An’ witches dance; I’ll raise my strain 
Till to your bield* bedeen* 8.
It sound this day.  

Wide muirs that spread wi’ purple sweep,10.
Beneath the sunny glowe; 
Hills swell’d vast here–there dark glens deep,12.
Whare brooks embosom’d rowe; *  
Cots hingin’ owre the woody steep, 
Bields reekin’ * frae the howe, *  
Wild scenes like these, a blissfu’ heap, 
Has driven’t in my powe17.
To write this day.  

Be this thy last, my Muse, and swear19.
By a’ that e’er thou sung, 
‘Till Mitchell’s chearfu’ song thou hear,21.
To chain thy tuneless tongue– 
It’s sworn! I saw her frowning rear 
Her arm, an’ while it hung 
Aloft in air, glens that lay near, 
An’ rocks re-echoing rung26.
Consent this day.  

Yet wha can, daunerin’ * up thir braes, * 28.
No fin’ his heart a’ dancin’, 
While herdies sing wi’ huggert taes,* 30.
An’ wanton lam’s are prancin’; 
Or down the spreadin’ vale to gaze, 
Whare glitt’rin’ burns* are glancin’, 
An’ sleepin’ lochs,* owre whase smooth face 
Wild fowl sport the expanse in,35.
Ilk bonny day.  

Here mountains raise their heath’ry backs,37.
Rang’d huge aboon the lift; 
In whase dark bowels, for lead tracts,39.
Swarm’d miners howk* an’ sift; 
High owre my head the sheep in packs, 
I see them mice-like skift; *  
The herd maist like ane’s finger, wauks 
Aboon yon fearfu’ clift44.
Scarce seen this day.  

Here mills rin* thrang, wi’ whilk in speed46.
They melt to bars the ore in; 
Nine score o’ fathoms shanks down lead,48.
To let the hammerin’ core in, 
Whare hun’ers for a bit o’ bread 
Continually are borin’; 
Glowre* down a pit, you’d think, wi’ dread, 
That gangs o’ deils war roarin’53.
Frae h– that way.  

Alangst the mountain’s barren side,55.
Wi’ holes an’ caverns digget, 
In lanely raws, withouten pride,57.
Their bits o’ huts are bigget; *  
Nae kecklin’ hens about the door, 
E’er glad their chearless Lucky; 
They pick the pyles o’ leaden ore, 
Whilk to poor heedless chucky* 62.
Is death that day. *  

A wimplan* burn atween the hills, 
Thro’ mony a glen rins trottin’, 
Amang the stanes an’ sunny rills 
Aft bits o’ gowd are gotten; 
Thought I “Three yeer thro’ closs* an’ trance,68.
An’ doors I’ve been decoy’t, 
Now fortune’s kussen* me up a chance, 
An’ fegs* I sal* employ’t 
Right thrang this day.”  

Sae up the burn, wi’ glee I gade,73.
An’ down aboon some heather, 
Saft on the brae my pack I laid,75.
Till twa-three lumps I’d gather; 
But wae-be-till’t, * had I forseen 
Things war to turn sae doolfu’, 
I ne’er had waded there sae keen, 
Tho’ sure to fin a shoolfu’ * 80.
An’ mair that day.  

As thro’ the stream, wi’ loutin’ * back, 
Thrang, stanes an’ sand I threw out; 
A Toop, who won’ert* at my pack, 
Cam down to take a view o’t; 
A tether-length he back did gae,86.
An’ cam wi’ sic a dash, 
That hale-sale* hurlan’ down the brae, 
It blatter’t wi’ a blash*  
I’the burn that day!  

Tho’ earthquakes, hail, an’ thun’er’s blaze 
Had a’ at ance surroundet, 
I wudna’ glowr’t* wi’ sic amaze, 
Nor been ha’f sae confoundet! 
Wi’ waefu’ heart, before it sank,95.
I haul’t it out a’ clashing, 
And now they’re bleaching on the bank, 
A melancholy washing 
To me this day.  

To Dr. Taylor, Paisley,

Written When Sick

WHEN dread Disease assaults our trembling breath,1.
Wrings every nerve, and paves the way for death, 
Raves through our vitals, merciless to save,3.
Boils in each vein, and points us to the grave; 
Rack’d with the pain, despairing at the view, 
We fly for help to pitying Heaven and you.  

Oft have I thought, while health flow’d in my breast,7.
Ere sleepless nights my weary heart opprest, 
That should pale sickness sternly me invade9.
I’d scorn her rage if Taylor lent his aid. 
Rous’d at the name, lo! disappointed Death, 
In vain wild-wrenching to dislodge the breath, 
Starts from the lonely couch–grasps up his dart, 
And sullen-shrinking owns thy healing art. 14.

Amid those numbers that implore your care,15.
That hope, by you, sweet health again to share, 
Here I unhappy stand, with sadness prest,17.
And pin’d by ills that bind my lab’ring breast; 
But should these woes that now I’m forc’d to bear, 
Fly from your touch, and with them ev’ry fear; 
Should your blest skill expunge this threat’ning pain, 
And I resume my former health again,22.
This grateful heart your goodness shall revere 
Next that almighty God, whose hand you are.  

The Rake:

An Epigram

THO’ Florio revell’d, subtile as a fox,1.
Thrice in six weeks poor Florio caught a pox; 
The next six weeks brought weeping to his door,3.
Three pregnant wenches and a brimstone whore. 
Mad at the sight, and tortur’d with the evil, 
He drove the black assembly to the devil. 
Well, here his griefs would end? Ah! piteous tale, 
Six following weeks beheld him in a Jail;8.
The next six saw him, e’er that time flew by, 
Roar, curse, blaspheme, pine, mortify and die. 
Blest hadst thou been, O Florio! blest indeed! 
Nor yet condemn’d among the common dead, 
Had Fate withheld (to lengthen out thy days)13.
Such fierce temptations from thy eager gaze, 
And gracious given thee, to grasp the trick, 
A longer patience?*  

Eusebus,

A Real Character*

I hate the man who builds his fame
On ruins of another’s name.––

EUSEBUS, fond a Patriot to commence,1.
With self-conceit supplies his want of sense. 
In Power an ideot, striving still to rise;3.
Tho’ void of wisdom, arrogantly wise. 
A slander fond from whispering lips to steal, 
And fonder still those whispers to reveal. 
Amid a group of tattling matrons set, 
How flows his eloquence! how beams his wit!8.
With dark suspicion struck, he shakes the head, 
Just hints what some folk were, what some folk did; 
For nought delights him more than others’ woe; 
To see them fall, or strive to lay them low.  

In wide extremes his judgment loves to dwell;13.
If not in heav’n, you’ll find it squat in hell: 
Though long each station seldom he can keep,15.
Yet, when he shifts, he does it at a leap. 
If Spring, more mild than usual, sweet appear, 
To wake the herbs, and bless the op’ning year, 
With words like these our ears eternal ring, 
“Did ever mortal see so blest a Spring!”20.
But when rude frost, or chearless rains descend, 
When light’nings flash and roaring thunders rend; 
He hears the storm, and pale with boding fear, 
Declares that great, tremendous period near, 
For storms like these no soul did ever hear. 25.

Thrice blest are they who gain him as their friend,26.
Their matchless fame shall far and near extend; 
They’re Saints, they’re Angels; but his friendship o’er,28.
They’re poor, curst, vile, a villain, or a whore.  

[Second] Epistle To Mr. James Kennedy
Crail, January––

Nae doubt ye’ll glowre whane’er ye leuk,* 1.
An’ see I’m maist at Scotland’s neuk, 
Whare owre the waves black swarms o’ deuk* 3.
Soom* far an’ near; 
And laden’t ships to try their luck, 
For Holland steer.  

And let them gang,* for me–nae mair7.
My luck I’ll try at selling ware, 
I’ve sworn by a’ aboon the air9.
To quat* the Pack, 
Or deed I doubt baith me an’ gear 
Wad gang to wrack. *  

Three years thro’ mairs an’ bogs I’ve squattert,* 13.
Wi’ duddy* claes* an’ huggars* tatter’t; 
Sleepit in barns, an’ lee’t* an’ clatter’t,* 15.
Thrang sellin’ claith,*  
An’ now wi’ storms I’ve maist been batter’t 
An’ smoor’t* to death.  

Nor think this droll, when sic a clash19.
O’ snaw an’ sleet, and sic caul’ trash, 
Ilk day I hae out thro’ to plash, 21.
Owre muir an’ brae, 
An’ ablins whyles but little cash, 
Whilk mak’s ane wae.  

‘Twas just yestreen,* as tir’d an’ slaw* 25.
I waded hame, through drifted snaw, 
Nae livin’ creature, house or ha’,27.
Perceiv’d I cheary, 
But muir an’ mountain, glen an’ shaw, 
War sad an’ dreary.  

Mirk fell the night, an’ frae the wast31.
Loud roar’t the bitter-biting blast, 
The blatterin’ hail, right fell an’ fast,33.
O’erscourg’d my face; 
While owre the drifted heaps I past 
Wi’ weary pace.  

As down a knowe* my way I hel’;37.
Nane wi’ me but my lanely* sel’, 
Whistlin’ fu’ blythe; trouth, sir, to tell39.
The mournfu’ truth, 
Down thro’ a wreathe o’ snaw I fell, 
Maist to the mouth.  

As soon’s I fan’* I yet was livin’,43.
I rais’d my e’en* wi’ doolfu’ grieving, 
Gude fegs!* I wish I’d yet been weavin’;45.
For deed I doubt, 
Sae deep I’m down an’ wedged sae stive in, 
I’ll ne’er win* out.  

But out at last I maunt* to speel,* 49.
Far mair than e’er I thought atweel, 
Roun’ for my pack I straight did feel,51.
But deil-be-licket*  
I fan’ or saw,–quo’ I, farewel, 
For death I’m pricket.*  

This is the last, the snellest* lick55.
That I’ll e’er get frae fortune’s stick; 
Now she may lift a stane, or brick,57.
An’ break my back, 
Since her an’ Cloots has plann’d this trick 
To steal my Pack!  

To keep you, Sir, nae mair uneasy,61.
I’ll tell ye what, may-hap, will please ye, 
I gat my Pack; quo’ I, I’se heeze* ye,63.
Frae out the snaw, 
Nae deil in a’ the pit sal seize ye, 
Till I’m awa’–– 

But I maun stop, for dull an’ dozin’,67.
The glimmerin’ wintry evening flows in, 
The short-liv’d day his reign is losin’69.
The scene to shift, 
An’ Nature’s winnock-brods* are closin’ 
Across the lift.  

Epitaph on Auld Janet

A Whore’s a pitfal, and a Scold’s a rod; 
An honest Wife’s a noble work of God!,*  
CLEAN dead an’ gane–beneath this stane 
Aul’ Janet lies, o’ Torry, *  
Life warm’d her blude, an’ hale* she stood5.
Till time saw her right hoary.  

Weel lo’ed by a’, she gaed* fu’ braw, *  
Clean, snod, * an’ wondrous gawsey; 
A sonsier* dame, or sappier* wame, 
Ne’er hotcht* alangst the cawsey.  

Her blythsome bield, * to ilka chield 
Wha bare a pack, was fenny, *  
Whare safe an’ soun’, they might lie down, 
Syne rise an’ pay their penny;  

Till spitefu’ Death clos’d up her breath, 
An’ a’ our daffin* hum’elt; *  
For, thro’ the head he shot her dead, 
An’ down poor Janet tum’elt.  

Ye pedlars now, O mournfu’ view!19.
This stane rear’d by a brither, 
And as ye pass, greet owre the grass21.
That co’ers your auld kind mither;  

For me (O deer! the waefu’ tear23.
Starts at the dismal story) 
I’ll gar ilk vale sad echoing wail,25.
That Janet’s dead o’ Torry. 

[Second] Epistle To Mr. William Mitchell

WHILE ye nod on the weaver’s thronie, * 1.
Porin’ wi’ sharp inspection, 
Or in a freak wi’ lasses bonny,3.
Skip round in supple action; 
Or maybe wi’ a bosom crony, 
Kick up a funny faction, 
Accept this as a testimony 
Of my sincere affection8.
For you this day. 

In fact, my frien’, I wad hae writ,10.
Lang ere this time wi’ pleasure, 
But something touch’d aye on my fit,12.
An’ bade me tak’ my leisure. 
Yon Callan’s sic a pawky* wit, 
Gif he but mak a seizure 
O’ ae daft* word, ye’ll get a skit 
Will wring your head, as bees war17.
In’t, thick this day. 

Sae aft the pen I laid aside,19.
Wi’ this bugbear reflection; 
As aft my heart wad fairly chide21.
Me for the harsh objection; 
Till just the day, within I staid, 
And band wi’ baul* affection, 
Tho’ ye sud* cut an’ ga’ my hide 
Wi’ critical dissection,26.
I’d write this day. 

Sae paper, pen, an’ ink I got,28.
An’ down to wark I set me, 
And soon a lengthen’d sang I wrote,30.
For mirth the lines did mete* me. 
I sey’d* anes to cast off my coat, 
The thoughts o’t hae sae het* me, 
But, as my brain was on the trot, 
The hurry wadna let me35.
Tak time this day. 

Aweel, whane’er I got it doon,37.
I took a canny view o’t; 
Where notes raise tow’rin’ to the moon,39.
That, troth, I scarcely knew it. 
‘Twas set to sic a skirlin’ * tune, 
I heartily did rue* it; 
And least ye sud e’en laugh owre soon, 
Dash i’ the fire I threw it44.
Wi’ rage that day. 

Yet still resolv’d something to sen’,46.
I didna stan’ to swither, *  
But duket* i’the ink my pen,48.
An’ so began anither. 
Nae poetry, but just the ken 
O’ Scotland, my auld mither, 
In hopes I wadna you offen’, 
By jinglin’ it thegither* 53.
In rhyme this day. 

Ye ken ye sung auld Harry’s fate,55.
An’ deed it was e’en curious, 
Whan at the fire he hunker’t* late,57.
An’ croon’d a Prayer spurious; 
As “Lord sen’ us aye garse* an’ meat, 
Till ance Thou skin an’ bury us;” 
Syne turn’d his fish, or sent a sklate*  
Out thro’ the winnock, * furious,62.
At chiels, that night. 

I ne’er cou’d gab prodigious pert,64.
An’ flatterin’ phrazing gi’e you, 
An’ laugh, an’ sing, an’ crack* sae smart,66.
Syne wi’ dame Fortune lea’ you. 
But cou’d you keek* into this heart, 
That jumps aye when I see you, 
Ye’d fin’ a saul* could gladly part 
It’s hinmaist* bannock* wi’ ye71.
On ony day. 

Blyth wad I be to shake your han’,73.
Gif matters wad allow me, 
But Fortune’s ta’en a slippery stan’,75.
An’ leuks* right sullen to me. 
Yet aftentimes the morning’s dawn, 
Hangs cloudy, dull and gloomy; 
Till Sol dispels the misty ban’, 
An’ shines bright, warm an’ roomy,80.
A bonny day. 

My compliments I’ll hope ye’ll gie82.
To garrulous Rab G––y; 
Tell him, I trust he bears the gree, * 84.
Aye dadlin’ poor an’ hearty; 
Altho’ I fear the barley bree, 
An’ roving blades sae quirty; *  
May gar* him speed his wings an’ flee, 
An’ lea’ his nest right dirty,89.
Like mae yon day. 

Now gi’es yer hand, and fare-ye-weel,91.
Kind, honest-hearted Willy! 
Aye whan I meet a canty* chiel,93.
It minds me o’ the billy, 
Wha aften us’d, wi’ heart fu’ leel, *  
To show his wondrous skillie, *  
An’ made our vera hearts to reel, 
Whan owre a pint or gillie, * 98.
For joy that day. 

Lang may thou weather’t out-an’-in100.
Without a drog* or plaister, *  
An’ may thou tune the violin,102.
Aye sweeter an’ aye faster; 
An’ swell an’ sink the notes sae keen, 
Wi’ gracefu’ air an’ gesture, 
Till An’rew lift his hands an’ een, *  
An’ own that Will’s his master107.
By night or day. 

To The Curious

WHAT Samson embrac’d, when revenge for his eyes, 
Provok’d the huge warrior to tumble down legions, 
What oft, thro’ the night, from some ruin’d church cries, 
Harsh-voiced as a native of Pluto’s pale regions; 
The Female whose folly all mankind impeach,5.
That e’er she was form’d to embitter enjoyment, 
The little emphatical main-spring of Speech, 
Whose pleasure is toil, and whose ease is employment; 
Pick out the initials of each of their names, 
Add his who destroy’d, and then bowed down to Witches;10.
Which done, a known title your notice then claims, 
Of a parcel of poor, insignificant wretches. 

[Third] Epistle To Mr. William Mitchell

DEAR Willy, now I’ve ta’en the pen, 
Wi’ lightsome heart, to let you ken*  
I’m livin’ yet and weel; 
Tho’ cuft and dauded* gayan sair, *  
Since last I left that luckless Ayr,5.
Thro’ mony a moor an’ fiel’. 
Misfortunes, on ilk ithers’ backs, 
Come roaring whyles aroun’ me; 
For comfort to the blue I rax, *  
Or ablins they might drown me.10.
What sights, man, what frights, man, 
Are pedlars doom’d to thole, *  
Aye chaunerin’ an’ daunerin’ *  
In eager search for cole* . 

But let us cease this heartless sang, 
An’, gin ye binna* unco thrang, 
I’ll here lay down my pack, 
Tho’ miles in scores atween us lie, 
An’ hills an’ seas, yet haith we’ll try19.
Out owre them a’ to crack. *  
Dame Fortune, thou may hing thy brow, 
An’ girn* wi’ threat’nin’ een; 
I carena* a’ thy spite, since now, 
At last, I’ve fun a frien’.24.
Let misers owre treasures, 
O’ goud* an’ siller* croon; 
A blessing like this ane 
Gangs* never, never doon. 

While youth and health inspires our blood, 
In innocent and sprightly mood, 
We’ll cheat the cares of life; 
By friendship sowthert* into ane, 
We’ll be as firm, as stark again,33.
To stan’ the warly strife; 
An’ when slee* Love’s endearing dart 
Inflames our glowan veins, 
We’ll thowe the bonny Lasses’ heart 
In saft complaining strains;38.
Nae sorrows, before us, 
Sal* drive us to despair, 
Tho’ carefu’, yet chearfu’, 
We’ll hug the smiling Fair. 

But, if alas! it hap that e’er 
A flaw in friendship shou’d appear, 
Thro’ Passion or mistake, 
Oh! never, never let us part, 
Wi’ hate or envy in our heart,47.
Curst, base revenge to take; 
But strive, wi’ kind relenting speech, 
Upo’ the very spot, 
To men’ the mournfu’ luckless breach, 
An’ firm the slacken’d knot:52.
Then langer, an’ stranger, 
Our friendship will remain, 
Aye dowin’ an’ glowin’ 
Without a crack or stain. 

An’ when frail eild (if e’er we see’t) 
Sal gi’e us stilts instead o’ feet, 
An’ shake our hingan pows, *  
We’ll hotch awa’ wi’ friendly grane, 
And soss* down on yon sinny* stane61.
Amang the broomy* knows; 
An’ soon’s our hechs* an’ heys are by, 
An’ baith our rungs* laid down, 
An’ we twa streekit, * beekin* lie, 
Auld, runkly-fac’d an’ brown,66.
The sporting, the courting, 
We had, when we war young, 
An’ wonders, in hunders, *  
Sal gallop frae our tongue. 

Perhaps Rab G––y’s auld gray pate, *  
Of dark unfathom’d sense the seat, 
May join the social gab; 
Nae common stilt maun fill his nieve, *  
But, by his honour’s size an’ leave,75.
I’d here propose a stab, 
His vera height, an’ on the hilt, 
A gawsy mason’s mell, *  
To puzzle fouk, whilk is the stilt, 
Or whilk is Rab himself,80.
The Carle, I’m sure he’ll 
No hae his tale to seek, 
Aye puffin, or stuffin, 
Wi’ ugsome chews, his cheek. 

An epitaph I ance had made, 
To put on Rab, whan he was dead, 
But war’t to do again, 
His pardon begging, for sic fun, 
This motto I’d hae neatly done,89.
Upon the waefu’ stane: 
“Here lies a corpse, that ance could say, 
(What seldom carcase can) 
Tho’ here I rot, pale stinking clay, 
I ance contain’d a man,94.
Sae stern-ey’d, sae learnèd, 
That Death’s arm switherin’ hung; 
Till chance by, he lanc’d my 
Hale* saul* frae out my tongue.” 

My frien’, tho’ fortune, partial slut!99.
Still holds you in a toilsome hut, 
Yet, if I don’t mistake,101.
Your modest merit will you raise, 
An’ Fortune smile yet in your face, 
Your tuneful pow’rs to wake. 
How often hae I at yer feet, 
In deepest silence lain;106.
While from the strings, harmonious sweet, 
You sent the warbling strain; 
Ev’n now man, I vow man, 
I think I hear you singing, 
The ferly, * sae rarely,111.
Sets baith my ears a ringing. 

Adieu, my kind, my wordy chield;113.
Lang may ye hae a cozie bield*  
To screen frae Winter’s cauld;115.
May time yet see ye wi’ a wame, *  
As fat as J––’s sonsy* dame, 
Till thretty* year thrice tauld; 
An’ gin we live to see that date, 
As, fegs, * I hope we will,120.
Tho’ ye to gang, hae tint* the gate, 
Yet we sal hae a gill. *  
Fu’ cheary, I’ll rear ye, 
And ‘neath my burden bend, 
And show fouk, without joke,125.
What its to hae a friend. 

Verses To A Stationer,

With An Empty Ink-Glass

A present, perhaps, you’ll conclude this to be, 
But open’t, and keek* down the brink– 
Surpris’d ye’re nae doubt at a message sae wee, 
A dorty* bit bottlie* for ink. 

Yet sma’ tho’ it seem, ’tis a manifest truth,5.
That castles frae out o’t hae risen, 
An’ claughins, * an’ mountains, maun start frae its mouth,7.
An’ Critics in mony a stern dozen. 

Then since sic a terrible squad’s to be drawn,9.
Sican thrangs o’ corruption an’ evil; 
Let the liquor, gude Sir, that ye sen’ owre the lawn,11.
Be as smooth an’ as black as the devil. 

Ode [“Loud roaring Winter now is o’er”]

Spring returns, but youth no more.–– ANON.
LOUD roaring Winter now is o’er, 
And Spring returns with fragrance sweet; 
The bee sips nectar from each flow’r, 
And frisking lambs on hillocks bleat; 

The little birds chant on each bough, 
And warbling Larks, ascending, sing, 
Chearful, amid the sun’s bright glow, 
They sweep around on sportive wing. 

How pleasant, now, abroad to rove, 
To view the fruit-trees as they bloom; 
To pluck the flow’rs that deck each grove, 
Or wander thro’ the yellow broom. 

Yet midst the pleasures we enjoy, 
What painful cares harass our breast, 
Ah! were we freed from this annoy, 
How peaceful calm our minds would rest. 

The shady bow’rs, the waving woods, 
With seeming joy we may explore, 
Stand listening to the falling floods, 
Yet still the weight increaseth more. 

Oh! when will come that happy day, 
When all-perplexing care will fly? 
Ne’er till we pass the narrow way, 
And dart triumphant thro’ the sky. 

Ode [“Now Night, her star-enamell’d robe”]

NOW Night, her star-enamell’d robe, 
O’er half the dreary, darken’d globe, 
In solemn state has hung; 
Lone now the distant murm’ring flood, 
And lone the thicket, grove and wood,5.
Where warblers lately sung. 

The distant town, behind yon steep, 
Now silent lies, and sunk in sleep, 
Dark, solitary, sad; 
No voice, no sound, can reach my ear, 
Save shepherd’s dogs, who haply hear11.
The Midnight traveller’s tread. 

Amid this calm, this silence deep, 
I wander forth to sigh, to weep, 
And breathe my hopeless flame; 
To rocks and woods I still complain, 
To woods and rocks, alas! in vain17.
I sigh Matilda’s name. *  

O Love! thou dear, distracting bliss, 
Assist my bosom to express 
Those pains, those joys I feel; 
Joy, that enraptures while I gaze, 
And pain, that tortures, while the blaze23.
Of love I must conceal. 

Sweet is her form, her features meek, 
And bright the crimson of her cheek 
Beyond the rose’s glow. 
Hers is the heart, with softness blest, 
And hers each worth that warms the breast29.
Of innocence below. 

But ah! for ever we must part! 
Forget her then, thou throbbing heart, 
Nor idly thus complain. 
Truth, prudence, reason, all can teach 
That, Happiness, which mocks our reach,35.
But aggravates our pain. 

The Suicide

–––– Dreadful attempt! 
Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage 
To rush into the presence of our Judge; 
As if we challeng’d him to do His worst, 
And matter’d not His wrath––5.
Blair*  

I.

YE hapless sons of misr’y and of woe, 
Whose days are spent with heart-distressing care, 
Who seem the sport of ruthless fate below, 
Still lab’ring hard, and still, as winter, bare; 
Tho’ rough the path, tho’ weighty be the share5.
Of nameless ills, that press you ever down; 
Oh! never, never yield to dire despair, 
Or think your griefs intolerable grown: 
Each has his secret load, and each must feel his own. 

II.

Is pale Disease, is Poverty your lot? 
Or, are you doom’d to some obscure employ? 
Does mankind rate your merits by your coat; 
Or burns your breast by Love’s distracting Boy? 
Yet still reflect what blessings you enjoy;14.
Returning health again may flush your face, 
Glad Plenty smile–your toils forget to cloy, 
And Celia blush amid your chaste embrace; 
Then men shall see you deck’d with every worth and grace. 

III.

Be wisely calm, and brave the adverse storm; 
Let Hope to happier times direct your sight; 
Tho’ mis’ries stare in many a threat’ning form, 
Hope slacks their jaws, and mitigates their bite: 
And though the present scene be black as night,23.
Trust me, your hopes shall not be long in vain; 
For oft, tho’ Pain put Pleasure to the flight, 
Yet Pleasure still dethrones the tyrant Pain, 
And soothes the weary soul to peace and joy again. 

IV.

Unhappy they whose each returning morn 
Is fill’d with sad complaints and curses dire; 
Fate ever frowns, and still they are forlorn, 
If each thing move not with their wild desire. 
‘Gainst righteous Heav’n, with furious looks of fire,32.
They rave, blaspheme, and roll in blackest sin, 
Till driv’n by mad Despair and hopeless ire, 
To poison, dagger, or th’engulphing lin, 
Unworthy heav’n or earth, hell yawns to take them in. 

V.

Lone Night had lull’d the drowsy world asleep, 
And cloudy darkness wrapt the midnight sky, 
Scarce thro’ the gloom the stars were seen to peep, 
This moment bright, then muffled from the eye; 
The distant Bittern’s solemn-sounding cry,41.
The breeze, that sigh’d along the rustling grove, 
The hasty brook, that ceaseless murmur’d by, 
Compos’d my thought, as forth I went to rove, 
To sing Matilda’s charms, and mourn my hopeless love. 

VI.

As near a thicket’s shade I pensive stood, 
The black trees waving solemnly around, 
Sudden I heard a rushing thro’ the wood, 
And near me pass’d, along the dew-wet ground, 
A human form; its head with white was bound,50.
While loose its ruffled hair flew in the breeze; 
A dagger fast it grasp’d; and, at each sound, 
Would start, and stop, then glide among the trees, 
While slow I trac’d its steps, tho’ trembl’d both my knees. 

VII.

Deep thro’ the turnings of a darksome vale, 
Where blasted trunks hung from th’impending steep, 
Where oft was heard the Owl’s wild dreary wail, 
Its course I follow’d, wrapt in silence deep. 
At length it paus’d; fear thro’ my frame did creep,59.
While still I look’d, and softly stealing near, 
Heard mournful groans, as if it seem’d to weep; 
And intervening sighs, and moaning drear, 
Till thro’ the night’s sad gloom these words broke on my ear. 

VIII.

“Curst be the hour that to existence brought 
Me, wretched me! to war with endless woe! 
Curst be the wretch! and curst the barb’rous thought 
That bade me stretch the bleeding beauty low! 
Still from her breast the purple torrents flow;68.
Still, still I hear her loud for mercy crave– 
See!–hark; she groans, alas! some pity shew! 
For love, for heav’n, for mercy’s sake! oh save! 
No; see her mangled corse floats o’er the midnight wave. 

IX.

“O earth! O darkness! hide her from my sight: 
Shall hell, shall furies rack me ere I die? 
No, this shall sink me in eternal night, 
To meet those torments that I ne’er can fly. 
Ye yelling fiends that now around me hie,77.
Exult and triumph in th’accursed deed; 
Soon in your flaming gulphs ye shall me spy, 
Despair! attend, the gloomy way to lead; 
For what I now endure no hell can e’er exceed.”  

X.

He said; and, gazing furiously around, 
Plung’d in his heart, the dagger’s deadly blade; 
Deep, deep he groan’d; and, reeling to the ground, 
I rush’d to rescue thro’ the entangling shade; 
Flat on the mossy sod I found him laid,86.
And oft I call’d, and wept, and trembl’d sore; 
But life was fled, too late all human aid: 
And while his grasp the shining dagger bore, 
His lifeless head lay sunk in blood and clotted gore. 

Hardyknute; or, The Battle Of Largs, *

Attempted In English Verse

ALONG the front of his high-wall’d abode, 
Deep-wrapt in thought, the stately Hero strode, 
Thro’ his bold breast revolving those alarms 
That oft had rous’d and rush’d him on to arms; 
That thro’ long seventy years would scarce allow5.
Seven years of peace, to calm his aged brow. 
In times he liv’d, when Briton’s breach of faith, 
Fill’d Scotia’s plains with tumult and with death; 
Nor fail’d his sword, still to their cost to show, 
He stood their deadly, their determin’d foe.10.

High on a hill’s steep top his Castle stood, 
Hung round with rocks, that frown’d above the wood, 
The spiry turrets tow’ring thro’ the sky; 
The glittering halls, that caught the distant eye, 
The wall’s huge strength, that war could ne’er annoy,15.
Foes view’d with terror, but each friend with joy; 
For oft, when night her murky shades o’ercast, 
And lash’d the rain, and roar’d the howling blast, 
The wand’ring Knight here found a welcome home, 
Forgot his woes, and blest the friendly dome.20.

Bold was the Chief, brave HARDYKNUTE his name, 
And kind and courteous his endearing dame. 
Peerless she shone, for chastity and charms, 
When favouring Fate first gave her to his arms. 
Round all our sea-beat coasts no Fair was seen,25.
To vie with her, save Emergard the Queen. 
Full thirteen sons their nuptial blessings crown’d, 
All heroes stout, for strength of arm renown’d; 
Rear’d to the field, how did their bosom glow, 
Thro’ War’s loud uproar, to pursue the foe;30.
Till arm’d with death, and raging o’er the plain, 
Nine nobly sunk amid th’illustrious slain. 
Four still remain–long may they fearless wield 
The burnish’d sword, and shake the glitt’ring shield. 
And since their names, from shore to shore extend,35.
Since high their might, and mighty their command, 
Still may their courage prove their bright reward, 
Their sov’reign’s glory, and their country’s guard. 

Tho’ warlike deeds employ’d their youthful care, 
Great was the love they bore to Fairly Fair. 
Their sister she; all softness, all delight; 
Mild as the morn, and beautiful as light. 
Her girdle, circling round her slender waist,43.
Reveal’d a shape with fair proportion blest. 
Adown her breast the golden ringlets stray’d, 
And every grace adorn’d the blooming maid. 
But, ah! what griefs her fatal beauty bred! 
What streams of tears have for these charms been shed.48.
To young and old, to ev’ry friend unbless’d, 
And sad as hist’ry’s page has e’er express’d. 

Bright summer now roll’d on in splendid blaze, 
And o’er the fields diffus’d his genial rays, 
When Norway’s King, stern, insolent, and vain, 
Proud of his pow’r, and haughty with disdain, 
Reach’d Scotia’s shores with many a hardy knight,55.
Resolv’d for war, and burning for the fight. 

The rumour spreading wide on wings of fame, 
Soon to our Sov’reign’s ear the tidings came, 
As round the sumpt’ous board, in regal state 
With noble Chiefs, in brave array, he sat, 
Circling, in glitt’ring cups, the wines’ deep red,61.
Red as the blood these heroes oft had shed, 
“To horse, to horse, my royal Liege! to horse! 
Your daring foes, led by th’ insulting Norse, 
Croud all the strand; full twenty thousand strong, 
Pointing their spears, in many a warlike throng.”66.
“Bring me my Mage, my dapple gray, in haste,” 
Exclaim’d our King, while starting from the feast, 
“A steed more trusty, ‘gainst attacks more steel’d, 
Ne’er bore Scot’s Chief, or Monarch, to the field.” 
And go, my Page, tell HARDYKNUTE, our prop,71.
Whose castle crowns yon rugged mountain’s top, 
To draw his sword, that sword foes dread to see, 
Call up his men, and haste and follow me.” 

Swift flew the little Page, fleet as the dart 
Flung from an arm to pierce some warrior’s heart, 
Till reach’d the ancient Dome’s surrounding walls, 
Loud from the gate thus to the Chief he calls: 
“Come down, great HARDYKNUTE! ’tis WAR I bring,79.
Come down, my lord, assist your injured king.” 

Fierce rose the warrior’s soul–a fiery glow 
O’erspread his cheeks, and dy’d his dark brown brow; 
And keen his looks, and stern his visage grew, 
As still they wont in dangers great to do. 
Loose from his side a grass-green horn he drew,85.
And five shrill sounds forth from its circle blew. 
Wild shook the woods, the startled herds stood still, 
And the loud echoes rang around each hill. 

In manly sports his sons had spent the morn, 
When in a vale, faint on the breezes borne, 
They heard their father’s war arousing horn. 
“That Horn,” they solemn said, “ne’er sounds in peace; 
Some nobler deeds demand our sports to cease.”93.
Then up the hill they sped, with hostile fire, 
Rush’d through the gate, and join’d their warlike sire. 
The hoary Chief survey’d each dauntless face, 
And thus address’d, with majesty and grace, 
“Last night, my sons, I hop’d that free from strife,98.
In peace and rest I’d close my eve of life. 
Well might my age this weary arm acquit 
From martial feats, for years like yours more fit. 
But now, since Norse, in haughty fury boasts 
T’ enslave our land, and dares t’insult our coasts,103.
Fame ne’er shall say, that HARDYKNUTE, at call, 
E’er feared to fight, or gloriously to fall. 

“Robin of Rothsay, bend thy trusty bow, 
Unerring still thy whistling arrows go; 
Full many a daring eye, and visage gay, 
They’ve shut in death, and chang’d to palest clay. 
Bold Thomas, take thy lance, no weapon more110.
Thy arm requires to swell the tide of gore. 
If thro’ the ranks its fury thou display, 
As on that great, that memorable day, 
When Westmoreland’s fierce heir thy rage did feel, 
And, trembling, own’d the terrors of thy steel.115.
Malcolm, dispatch! thy path thou canst pursue, 
Swift as the Stag, that flies the forest through; 
My fearless forces, summon to the field, 
Three thousand men, well train’d to sword and shield. 
Bring me my Courser, harnessing and blade;120.
(With dauntless look the aged Hero said) 
Knew foes the hand that bears it to the fight, 
Soon would the boldest seek inglorious flight. 
Farewell, my dame! for peerless good thou art; 
Farewell! he said, and prest her to his heart;125.
To me more fair, in age, you now appear 
Than maids whose beauty oft hath reach’d my ear. 
My youngest son shall with you here remain 
To guard our tow’rs, and ease your anxious pain; 
Each night to shut the silver bolts, that keep130.
Your painted rooms, and watch you while asleep.” 
So spake the Chief, and, mounting, seized the reins, 
While his broad army mov’d along the plains. 

O’erwhelmed with grief and sad foreboding woe, 
Stood his fair spouse, to see the Warrior go; 
The gushing tears, a melancholy scene! 
Bedew’d her comely cheeks and bodice green 
Fast streaming down, uncheck’d and unconfin’d;138.
Her silken cords, with glitt’ring silver twin’d, 
And apron sew’d with curious diceings rare, 
The beauteous work of her own Fairly Fair. 

Mean time his march th’ undaunted chief pursued, 
O’er moors and hills, thro’ vales and many a wood, 
Till to a grove he came, where, near the way, 
A wounded Knight in lonely sorrow lay, 
Stretched on the grass; forlorn he seem’d and faint,146.
And, moaning deep, thus pour’d his sad complaint: 
“Here must I lie, alas! here must I die 
By cruel treachery’s false beguiling eye. 
Fool that I was, a woman to believe, 
Whose faithless smiles were formed but to deceive.”151.

Him HARDYKNUTE surveying, thus addrest, 
(For pity still found shelter in his breast:) 
“Ah, hapless Knight! were you my hall within, 
On softer silk your weary head to lean, 
My Lady’s care would sooth that piteous moan;156.
For deadly hate was still to her unknown; 
With kind regard she’d watch you all the day, 
Her maids thro’ midnight would your grief allay, 
And Fairly Fair, with soft endearing art, 
Delight your eye, and chear your drooping heart.161.
Arise, young Knight, and mount your stately steed, 
The beauteous day beams bright o’er hill and mead. 
Choose whom you please, from midst my faithful train, 
To guide your steps along the pathless plain.” 
With languid look and cheeks in sorrow dy’d,166.
The wounded Knight thus mournfully reply’d: 
“Kind, generous Chieftain! your intent pursue, 
Here must I stay, here bid the world adieu. 
To me no future day, however bright, 
Can e’er be sweet, or fair the mildest night;171.
But soon, beneath some tree’s cold dropping shade, 
My cares in death for ever shall be laid.” 

In vain he sought to soothe the stranger’s wail,174.
With him nor tears, nor pleading cou’d prevail: 
With fairest words brave HARDYKNUTE to gain,176.
And reason strong strove courteously in vain. 

Onward again he march’d his hostile band,178.
Far o’er Lord Chattan’s wide extended land; 
When, fir’d by foes, to draw his deadly sword,180.
Immortal deeds still mark’d that worthy lord. 
Of Pictish race, by mother’s side, he came, 
A race long glorious in the lists of Fame, 
When Picts ruled Caledon, and sought his aid, 
Lord Chattan saved their crown and claimed the princely maid.185.

Now, with his fierce and formidable train,186.
A hill he reach’d that overlook’d the plain, 
Where wide encamped on the dale, for fight,188.
Norse’ glitt’ring army hugely lay in sight. 
“Yonder, my valiant sons! in haughty state, 
Those raging Robbers our arrival wait, 
On Scotia’s old, unconquer’d plains to try 
With us their fate–be victors now or die!193.
Implore that mighty Pow’r, with pious faith, 
Who on the Cross redeem’d our souls from death, 
Then bravely shew, amid the war’s fierce flood, 
Your veins still glow with Caledonian blood.” 
He said, and forth his shining broad-sword drew,198.
While thousands round unsheath’d in glorious view 
Blaz’d to the sun, a bright, refulgent throng, 
While loud, from wing to wing, war horns resounding rung. 

Adown the hill, in martial pomp array’d,202.
To meet his King, in haste his march he made. 

*

***************

A Midnight Adventure*

Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears1.
The sound of something purring at his heels–– 

MAN toils a Pilgrim through this weary wild,1.
This land of serpents, this abode of cares. 
And ah! what past, what future horrors dire,3.
In grim succession start upon his view! 
Ills, that surveyed by Fancy’s staring eye, 
Swell to a size enormous, while the soul, 
O’ercome and fainting at their dread approach, 
Shrinks from herself–anticipates their pangs,8.
And sinks beneath imaginary woes. 

Thrice happy he! beyond expression blest!10.
Who though by fate condemned to ceaseless toils, 
Beneath hard Fortune’s bleak inclement sky,12.
Feels but this moment’s pain! and tho’ he sees 
Advancing clouds of ills, yet still enjoys 
The present sunshine; hopeful that the storm, 
Though hung in blackest frowns, may soon disperse, 
Or roll, unbroken, o’er his peaceful head.17.

Late through a far extended lonely moor18.
(Whose gloomy sides and dark recesses, oft 
Had prov’d the haunt of midnight ruffians fierce)20.
Old Ralph, benighted, trod. A Pedlar he, 
Of honest fame; unlike those ragged swarms, 
That ceaseless pouring from a neighb’ring isle, 
On Scotia’s shores intrude with baggage, base 
And undeserving as the backs that bear them:25.
But sober he and grave, and large the load 
That lay unwieldy on his shoulders wide, 
And stoop’d him half to earth. A Goat’s rough skin 
Inwrapt the costly stores. Scissars and combs, 
And knives, and laces long; sharp-pointed awls,30.
And pins, arrang’d in many a glitt’ring row; 
Strong Shetland hose, and woollen night-caps warm; 
Clasps, bonnets, razors, spectacles and rings, 
With nameless more, that here the Muse forbears 
To crowd into her strain. But what avail’d35.
This world of wealth? That fail’d alas! to purchase 
A bed of straw, for its neglected owner. 
From farm to farm, from cot to cot he strays, 
Imploring shelter from th’approaching night, 
And black suspended storm. Full oft he vow’d to leave40.
Whole rows of pins, nor crave one scanty meal. 
Vain were his vows, and sad he trudg’d, till night 
Descending dreary o’er the dark’ning waste, 
Conceal’d each human dwelling from his view, 
Nor ought of sound assail’d his listening ear,45.
Save the wild shrieks of moor-cock from the hill; 
Or breeze that whistled mournful o’er the heath. 

The dreadful tales of Robbers’ bloody deeds,48.
That oft had swell’d his theme, while nightly stretch’d 
Beside the list’ning Peasant’s blazing hearth,50.
Now crowded on his mind in all their rage 
Of pistols, purses, stand! deliver! death! 
Trembling he stumbled on, and ever rolled 
His jealous eyes around. Each waving shrub 
Doubl’d his fears, till, horrible to thought!55.
The sound of hasty steps alarm’d his ear, 
Fast hurrying up behind. Sudden he stopt, 
And stooping, could discern, with terror struck, 
Between him and the welkin’s scanty light, 
A black gigantic form of human shape,60.
And formidably arm’d. Ah! who can tell 
The horrors dread that at this instant struck 
Ralph’s frozen frame. His few gray rev’rend hairs 
Rose bristling up, and from his aged scalp, 
Up-bore the affrighted bonnet. Down he dropt65.
Beneath th’oppressive load, but gath’ring soon 
A little strength, in desperation crawl’d 
To reach some neighb’ring shrubs’ concealing shade. 

So speeds the hurrying Crab, when eager boys69.
Uprear th’incumbent stone, and bare expose 
Himself and haunt unto the open day.71.

Approaching nearer to the bushes’ gloom,72.
Along the heath, upon his breast, he stole, 
With arms expanded, grasping for his hold:74.
As when to gain some Herb’s inviting leaf, 
The weary snail, supporting her own shell, 
And stretching forth her horns, with searching care 
Moves cautious on. Mean time, scarce had he reach’d 
The o’erhanging furze, when to his startled view79.
The stalking form advanc’d. Huge, huge it seem’d, 
And in its brawny grasp held something black; 
A bloody sword, no doubt, of dreadful size. 
Before the gloomy spot where Ralphus lay, 
Frowning it stood; and look’d, and stood, and look’d;84.
And look’d, and stood!–––––– 
As if it sought but one directing glance 
To thunder through his heart the deadly shot. 

With horror petrify’d the Pedlar lay,88.
Squat on the heath, and shook through every nerve, 
Till nature giving way, with one deep groan,90.
At once his senses sunk into a swoon. 
Happy for Ralph, I ween, that at this time 
The soul deserted her endanger’d clay, 
Ere mighty cries for mercy had reveal’d 
The spot he held, and forc’d him to resign95.
His purse, his budget, or his precious life. 

How long he lay entranc’d can ne’er be told97.
By human tongue; yet this we know, that life 
Again revisited his wan, cold corpse,99.
And trembled on his lip. The purple tide 
Resum’d its wonted course, and to the night 
Again he op’d his weary, languid eyes, 
While Recollection, settling on her throne, 
Inform’d him where he was. Around he threw104.
His fearful look upon the dreary waste, 
Where nought was seen to stir except the bent 
That idly bended on the sighing blast, 
While safe, and resting on his bruised back, 
The bulky budget press’d him to the earth.109.
“Good heav’n be praised!” with lifted eyes he said, 
“That here my budget lies, and I am safe!” 
So said, he rose, but with him also rose 
Some doubts about his safety. O’er the heath, 
With throbbing breast, he bent his pathless way,114.
And long he trod, and oft he gaz’d around, 
For some kind hut to shield him from the night. 
At length, descending a rough, rocky steep, 
A glimmering light from some lone cottage near, 
Beam’d on his gladdened view. Soon to the door119.
His way he found, and, entering, could perceive 
A group assembled round the ruddy hearth– 

Bent o’er the fire a hoary Rustic hung,122.
Wrinkled with age, and seemed as if he’d been 
The last survivor of the former age.124.
Upon the floor, engag’d in sportive play, 
Three prattling infants sat; while, wrapt in peace, 
Their frugal mother plyed the murm’ring wheel. 

To her Ralph straight apply’d, and wishing peace,128.
Besought the shelter of their humble roof, 
To rest till dawn of day his weary limbs,130.
For far, far distant from each friend he stray’d, 
And cold and dreary was the gloomy night. 

The jealous Matron for a while survey’d133.
His decent form, then, pointing to a chest, 
While kind Compassion melted in her eye–135.
“Repose (she said) your load, and freely share 
That fare and shelter we ourselves enjoy.” 

Scarce had poor Ralph obey’d, and scarce sat down,138.
To ponder pensive on the danger past, 
When noise announc’d some wanderer at the door,140.
Soft rose the latch, and instant usher’d in 
A feeble, shiv’ring, small, decrepid thing; 
One drooping hand sustain’d the pond’rous Goose, 
Whose level, burning basis, oft, alas! 
Unpitying, scorches the gray wand’ring brood145.
That, num’rous, lurk amid th’ enclosing seams. 
A rod the other grasp’d that serv’d to explore 
His darksome path along the midnight mud, 
Nor fail’d to act a useful part by day. 

A sound of joy now through the cottage rose;150.
Each laughing infant ran to meet his sire 
With shouts of joy. Aside the matron put152.
Her well-worn wheel, and anxiously enquir’d 
From him the cause of his unusual stay. 
A fear-betokening, wild, expressive look 
He just return’d the partner of his cares, 
When seated softly in his rev’rend chair,157.
With solemn voice, and sighing thus began: 
“If ever Satan visited this earth, 
This night, this dreadful night I have him seen.” 
“Heav’n be our guide!” exclaim’d the trembling wife, 
The children crowded nearer to the hearth162.
And while the hoary Swain star’d in his face, 
The ghostly Taylor thus his tale renew’d. 

“Dark was the night ere thro’ the rustling wood,165.
Groping my way, I gain’d the level moor; 
There, as I trod along, methought I heard167.
Some rumbling noise before me on the heath, 
As stones confin’d within a coffin make. 
Approaching nearer, plainly I beheld 
(If e’er these eyes were capable of sight) 
A monstrous rolling bulk, three times as large172.
As any ox that ever graz’d the hill; 
Within my view it kept, till vent’ring near, 
And stopping short to guess what it might be, 
With two deep groans it vanish’d from my sight. 

“Feeble as death I fled, and soon I reach’d 
The Cottage on the hill; but ere my tongue 
Could tell the sad disaster, flat I fell 
For dead upon the floor. With much kind care 
They brought me back to life; these last two hours181.
There pale I sat, my vigour to regain. 
But never, never, shall I e’er dispute 
The dread existence of those wandering fiends, 
This night these eyes have witnessed such horrors, 
As would have terrify’d, and put to flight186.
The Priest himself, and boldest man on earth.” 

He ceas’d, and Ralph, with looks that sparkl’d joy, 
Explain’d the mystery dread. A burst of mirth, 
In laughter loud, convuls’d their ev’ry nerve, 
Forth from his shaggy budget Ralphus drew, 
In gleesome mood, his pipes; the swelling bag192.
Awoke the warlike yell and sounding drone, 
The hoary swain sat smiling in his chair, 
Up sprung the host, and flung around the floor, 
The wondering yonksters laugh’d to see their sire, 
And mirth and music echoed thro’ the Cot.197.

Matilda: A Song [“Ye dark, rugged rocks, that recline o’er the deep”]
* *

YE dark, rugged rocks, that recline o’er the deep,1.
Ye breezes that sigh o’er the main, 
Here shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep,3.
And cease, while ye hear me complain; 
For distant, alas! from my native dear shores, 
And far from each friend now I be; 
And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars 
Between my Matilda and me.8.

How blest were the times when together we stray’d,9.
While Phoebe shone silent above; 
Or lean’d by the border of Cartha’s green side,11.
And talk’d the whole evening of love; 
Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace, 
No noise could our pleasures annoy, 
Save Cartha’s hoarse brawling, convey’d by the breeze, 
That sooth’d us to love and to joy.16.

If haply some youth had his passion exprest,17.
And prais’d the bright charms of her face, 
What horrors, unceasing, revolv’d thro’ my breast,19.
While sighing I stole from the place. 
For where is the eye that could view her alone, 
The ear that could list to her strain, 
Nor wish the adorable Nymph for his own, 
Nor double the pangs I sustain?24.

Thou moon! that now brightens those regions above,25.
How oft hast thou witness’d my bliss! 
While breathing my tender expressions of love,27.
I seal’d each kind vow with a kiss. 
Ah! then, how I joy’d, while I gaz’d on her charms! 
What transports flew swift through my heart! 
I press’d the dear beautiful maid in my arms, 
Nor dream’d that we ever would part.32.

But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid,33.
By Fortune unfeelingly torn; 
‘Midst strangers, who wonder to see me so sad,35.
In secret I wander forlorn; 
And oft when drear midnight assembles her shades, 
And silence pours sleep from her throne, 
Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal thro’ the glades, 
And sigh ‘midst the darkness my moan.40.

In vain to the town I retreat for relief;41.
In vain to the groves I complain; 
Belles, coxcombs, and uproar, can ne’er soothe my grief,43.
And solitude nurses my pain. 
Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best, 
I languish in mis’ry and care; 
Her presence could banish each woe from my breast, 
But her absence, alas! is despair.48.

Ye dark, rugged rocks, that recline o’er the deep;49.
Ye breezes that sigh o’er the main; 
Oh, shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep,51.
And cease, while ye hear me complain. 
For distant, alas! from my native dear shores, 
And far from each friend now I be; 
And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars 
Between my Matilda and me.56.

How blest were the times when together we stray’d,57.
While Phoebe shone silent above; 
Or lean’d by the border of Cartha’s green side,59.
And talk’d the whole evening of love; 
Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace, 
No noise could our pleasures annoy, 
Save Cartha’s hoarse brawling, convey’d by the breeze, 
That sooth’d us to love and to joy.64.

If haply some youth had his passion exprest,65.
And prais’d the bright charms of her face, 
What horrors, unceasing, revolv’d thro’ my breast,67.
While sighing I stole from the place. 
For where is the eye that could view her alone, 
The ear that could list to her strain, 
Nor wish the adorable Nymph for his own, 
Nor double the pangs I sustain?72.

Thou moon! that now brightens those regions above,73.
How oft hast thou witness’d my bliss! 
While breathing my tender expressions of love,75.
I seal’d each kind vow with a kiss. 
Ah! then, how I joy’d, while I gaz’d on her charms! 
What transports flew swift through my heart! 
I press’d the dear beautiful maid in my arms, 
Nor dream’d that we ever would part.80.

But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid,81.
By Fortune unfeelingly torn; 
‘Midst strangers, who wonder to see me so sad,83.
In secret I wander forlorn; 
And oft when drear midnight assembles her shades, 
And silence pours sleep from her throne, 
Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal thro’ the glades, 
And sigh ‘midst the darkness my moan.88.

In vain to the town I retreat for relief;89.
In vain to the groves I complain; 
Belles, coxcombs, and uproar, can ne’er soothe my grief,91.
And solitude nurses my pain. 
Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best, 
I languish in mis’ry and care; 
Her presence could banish each woe from my breast, 
But her absence, alas! is despair.96.

Ye dark, rugged rocks, that recline o’er the deep;97.
Ye breezes that sigh o’er the main; 
Oh, shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep,99.
And cease, while ye hear me complain. 
For distant, alas! from my native dear shores, 
And far from each friend now I be; 
And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars 
Between my Matilda and me.104.

Poems, Humorous, Satirical and Serious (1791)*

Ode on the Birthday of Our Immortal Scottish Poet
Set To Music by a Bacchanalian Club

YE sons of bright Phoebus, ye bards of the plough,1.
Shout aloud! and let gladness sublime every brow; 
See the young rosy morning rejoicing returns,3.
That blest our fair isle with the rare Robin Burns! 
Let the pure aquavitæ now inspire ev’ry soul, 

Since whisky can waft us at once to the pole;6.
Let us laugh down the priest and the devil by turns, 
And roar out the praise of the rare Robin Burns.8.

Hail blest “Ordination”! all hail “Holy Fair”!9.
Ye glorious effusions! ye thrice-sacred pair! 
Your pages the rake on his death-bed o;erturns,11.
And mixes a damn with “O rare Robin Burns!” 

By Babel no more let us languish forlorn,13.
Come twitch up the strings to great “John Barleycorn”; 
Be our friendship eternal, and laid in our urns,15.
If we roar let us roar with the rare Robin Burns. 

Ye nymphs of old Colia, who exult in his art,17.
And have felt the warm raptures glide home to your heart, 
Leave your raw, lifeless clodpoles, your cows and your churns,19.
And encore the great sportsman, “O rare Robin Burns!” 

Clear the road, ye dull churchmen! make way for our bard,21.
To whose tow;ring genius no task is too hard; 
Your glories, your precepts, your nonsense he spurns,23.
And Europe loud echoes, “O rare Robin Burns!” 

Rejoice ye Excisemen! resound the huzza!25.
Nor tremble, by piecemeal in brimstone to gnaw; 
Though horrors surround, he’s a coward that mourns,27.
All hell will befriend you for rare Robin Burns. 

Hark, hark! what an uproar! every ghost is afoot,29.
How they brandish their fire-brands ;mid darkness and soot! 
See legion on legion tumultuous adjourns,31.
To swell the loud strain of “O rare Robin Burns!” 

Ye “heav;n-taught” rhymers, ye bards of the plough,33.
Shout aloud! and let gladness sublime every brow; 
While the young rosy morning rejoicing returns,35.
That blest our fair isle with the rare Robin Burns. 

Elegy*

Lean not on Earth, ’twill pierce thee to the heart,1.
A broken reed at best, but oft a spear, 
On its sharp point Peace bleeds and Hope expires.3.

BENEATH a range of elms, whose branches throw1.
A gloomy shade upon the path below; 
There, scarcely shelter’d from the evening wind,3.
A youth, slow-wandering, pensively reclin’d; 
Sunk were his eyes, his visage deadly wan, 
Deep, deep, he groan’d, and thus in grief began: 

Blest were those times that now, alas! are fled,7.
When health and plenty wanton’d round my head; 
When all my griefs were sunk in downy rest,9.
And peace and pleasure dwelt within my breast; 
Then smiling swains assembled in my train, 
Hung on my arm, delighted with my strain; 
Prest, when I spoke, with eager warmth my hand, 
And begg’d the blessing but to be my friend,14.
Extoll’d my worth and pointed to a store 
Of wealth and joy when all my toils were o’er; 
My verse, they said, would cease not to inspire 
While time remain’d, or mortals to admire. 

Dear, dear to me were Friendship’s clasping arms,19.
But dearer far the young Lavinia’s charms. 
Friendship, if real, our distress may share,21.
But Love can soothe, can sweeten every care. 
Sweet were the hours that fann’d our mutual flame, 
And soft the strain that breath’d her charming name. 
Her face, her form as Beauty’s self were fair, 
For every grace and every charm were there.26.
Our thoughts were guileless, pure our growing flame, 
Our minds, our wishes, and our hearts the same. 
No fears could damp, no foes our hopes destroy, 
But each young moment brought an age of joy. 

These were the times that promis’d bliss in store,31.
But these, alas! will visit me no more. 
Ah, why should beings frail as bark can be,33.
Trust the smooth calm of Life’s uncertain sea, 
That, rising, roars around the helpless crew, 
And whelms their hopes for ever from their view. 
Death, whose dread frown can chill the boldest heart, 
Spread his cold horrors o’er my dearest part;38.
Thrice pale Lavinia, panting by my side, 
Moan’d out my name in accents faint, and dy’d! 
O where shall anguish fit expression find 
To paint the woes of my distracted mind, 
When all I lov’d, and all I wish’d to have,43.
Sunk from my arms into the yawning grave. 

Kind is the world and eager to befriend45.
While health and success on our steps attend; 
But let the tempest of Misfortune roar,47.
We hear its offers and its vows no more. 
‘Twas now, while ruin growl’d around my head, 
That all my worth and all my prospects fled; 
Health, comfort, peace, and with them every friend, 
Whose heart could soothe, or pity, or defend;52.
Ev’n hope itself, Fate calls me to forego, 
And nought remains but a whole world of woe. 

O Death! thou friend, thou sovereign cure indeed,55.
When wilt thou bid this bosom cease to bleed. 
To thee I look, to thee distrest and wan,57.
To seal those sorrows that thy arm began; 
Life wrings my soul with agonising care, 
And earth can give no comfort but despair. 

Here ceas’d he sad, and heav’d the deep-felt sigh,61.
While fast the tears stole down from either eye; 
Bleak blew the wind, the darkness blacker grew,63.
And slow the youth with feeble pace withdrew. 

Eppie And The Deil
A Tale

AULD Eppie was a thrifty wife,1.
An’ she had spun maist a’ her life, 
For threescore yeer row’t* in her cloak,3.
She sat, an’ rugged at the rock. 

As Eppie’s life had lang been single,5.
She whyles* span by a neibor’s ingle, 
An’ when the sin slade out o’ sight,7.
She dauner’t hamewards owre the height, 
Lamenting aft that poortith* caul’, 
For her to spin wha scarce could crawl. 

As Eppie wi’ her wheel gaed hame,11.
Toom* hunger crackin’ in her wame, *  
Made her regret wi’ mony a grane,13.
That she sae far a-fiel’ had gaen; 
The wind whyles whirlin’ roun’ the rock, 
Aft lent her on the lug a stroke; 
Right cankry to hersel’ she crackit, *  
“That wheel o’ mine—the devil take it—”18.
Nae sooner had she said the word 
Than Clootie, shapet like a burd, 
Flew down, as big’s a twomont ca’, 

An’ clinket Eppie’s wheel awa’,22.
Ha’f dead wi’ fright, up to the lift 
She glowr’t, an’ saw him spur like drift,24.
As fast as ony bleeze o’ pouther, *  
Out through the cluds wi’t owre his shouther. 

“Aye, aye,” quo Epps, “an’ so it’s you,27.
Ye aul’, confounded, thief-like sow! 
Nae doubt ye’re keen to try yer han’29.
Amang yer hairy, blackguard* ban’? 
Ye maybe think that spinning’s naething, 
An’ that it wastes na sap nor breathing? 
Ye’re new-fangl’t now, but wait a wee 
Till ance ye’ve spun as lang as me,34.
I’ll wad a dollar, Mr. Deil, 
Ye’ll gladly gie me back my wheel.” 

Cloots heard, and though he was the devil,37.
For ance he acted vera civil, 
For laughin’ at poor Eppie’s crack,* 39.
He threw the wheel down on her back. 

MORAL

Whan ill luck comes, be’t mair or less,41.
It’s aye best then to acquiesce, 
And rather laugh, though gear* sud lea’ us,43.
Than whinge* whene’er its harl’t* frae us. 
This taks the stang frae ilka cross, 
And gars* us rise aboon the loss; 
Gars Fortune whiles gie owre to hiss us, 
And smiling, turn about and bless us.48.

To The Hon. William M’Dowal, Of Garthland, On His Return From Parliament*

WELCOME once more, from scenes of pomp and noise,1.
To rural peace and undisturbèd joys; 
Welcome! the blessings of the poor to share,3.
That smiles and tears of gratitude declare. 
Smiles, from the soul that undissembled dart, 
And tears, warm-streaming from th’o’erflowing heart. 

Blest be the arm! when Famine from his den,7.
Led on by fools and deep-designing men, 
Advanc’d, grim-threat’ning, to deform those plains,9.
Where wealth and peace and boundless commerce reigns; 
Blest be the arm that scourg’d him from our shore, 
And bade our hopes to blossom as before. 

The warrior sheath’d in steel and drench’d in blood,13.
May scatter death where towns and hamlets stood; 
May see around the flaming horrors rise,15.
And hear, well-pleased, expiring wretches’ cries; 
These to his savage bosom may convey 
A short-liv’d joy that darkens with the day; 
But he, whose gracious and assisting hand 
Spreads wealth and pleasure o’er a smiling land;20.
Bids cities rise, internal troubles cease, 
And pours the balm of liberty and peace; 
To him the peasant, whistling o’er the soil; 
The yellow fields, the reapers’ rustling toil; 
The noisy bustling town, the crowded port,25.
Where mingling nations with their stores resort; 
These to his heart a tide of rapture roll, 
That warms, sublimes, and dignifies the soul. 

To you, M’Dowal, whose unbounded heart29.
Exults, to all those blessings to impart; 
To you each bosom heaves with grateful sighs,31.
For you the warmest of our wishes rise; 
That Heaven, indulgent, may for ever shed 
Health, peace, and pleasure round your honor’d head, 
Long, long, to rise amid your humble swains, 
The hope, the guard, and glory of our plains.36.

Epigram

I ASK’D a poor fav’rite of Phoebus t’other night,1.
Whom to see, I had toil’d seven proud stories’ height; 
If his wit could inform me what cause can be for it,3.
That poets incline so to live in a garret? 

‘There are many,’ quoth he, ‘don’t you know that sly reynard5.
When trac’d from the hen-roost, the fold or the vineyard, 
How by turnings and doubling he endeavors to fleece7.
Each hound of its aim, then repose him in peace? 
So we, (such you see are the terms of Apollo) 
Still in dread of the Bailiff or Dun’s horrid hollo; 
Mount, winding and circling through a labyrinth of stairs, 
To our own airy regions of hunger and cares.12.

‘Another, moreover, might likewise be given—13.
We’re nearer Apollo, the Muses, and Heaven; 
From whence, when the patch from its pane is unfurl’d,15.
We can spit with contempt on the rest of the world; 
And, living on air, sure ’tis well understood, 
That the higher the garret the purer the food.’ 

Despondence
A Pastoral Ode in the Manner of Shenstone

AH! where can the comfortless fly?1.
(Young Damon disconsolate said, 
The tears starting fast from his eye,3.
As reclining he sat in the shade.) 
Ah! where can the comfortless fly? 
To whom shall the wretched repair? 
Who hoping for happiness nigh, 
Are met by approaching despair!8.

I hop’d, but alas! ’twas in vain,9.
When forward through fate I explor’d, 
That Fame would take wing with my strain,11.
And Plenty still smile at my board: 
And oh! how my bosom did glow 
To see that my sorrows would end! 
That Fate would its blessings bestow, 
To gladden my fair one and friend!16.

O then, when the woods were all mute,17.
And groves by the evening embrown’d, 
How I’d wake the slow mellow-ton’d flute,19.
While shepherds stood list’ning around; 
They prais’d the soft ravishing air, 
That warbl’d so pleasing and free; 
But a smile or a look from my fair, 
Was more than their praises to me.24.

Blest prospects! far hence ye have fled,25.
And left me all friendless and poor; 
Stern Poverty stalks round my shed,27.
And Ruin glares grim at the door. 
Ah! where can the comfortless fly? 
To whom shall the wretched repair? 
Who hoping for happiness nigh, 
Are met by approaching despair!32.

Ossian’s Lament*

HARD by a rock that from the mountain rose,1.
Where aged trees hung o’er their withered boughs; 
Low on the moss, long lost to joy and peace,3.
Old Ossian sat, the last of Fingal’s race; 
Sightless his aged eyes, his visage pale, 
And white his beard flow’d in the waving gale; 
Silent he list’ned to the northern breeze 
That chearless whistled thro’ the leafless trees;8.
Grief in his soul began afresh to bleed, 
And thus he mourn’d in deepest woe the dead. 

“How, like the monarch of the waving wood,11.
Long beat by winds and lash’d by tempests rude; 
How hast thou fall’n before the roaring gust,13.
With all thy branches round thee in the dust! 
Where now is Fingal the renownèd king? 
Where Oscar brave, my son, young, fresh as Spring? 
Where all my race so fearless once and gay? 
All, all alas! lie mouldering in the clay.18.
Here as I sit, to wail their hapless doom, 
Around I grope and feel each warrior’s tomb; 
While, far below, the river’s rushing sweep 
Pours hoarsely roaring down each rocky steep. 

“Ah! while thy once-known currents past me roll,23.
What, O lone river! say’st thou to my soul? 
Back to my mind, worn with Misfortune’s blast,25.
Thou bring’st the sad remembrance of the past. 

“Rang’d on thy banks the race of Fingal stood,27.
Strong as the lofty, black, aspiring wood; 
Keen glanc’d their steely spears with fiery rage,29.
And bold was he who durst that wrath engage; 
Amid the chiefs great Fillan did appear, 
And Oscar! thou my noble son was there; 
There Fingal stood, unknown to trembling fears, 
Strong in the white, the hoary locks of years;34.
Full rose his sinewy limbs, firm fell his tread, 
And wide and fair his ample shoulders spread; 
Soon as the terrors of his wrath arose, 
Beneath his arm how sunk his dying foes! 

“Gaul, son of Morny, came forth from his place,39.
The tallest, hugest of the human race; 
High as an oak upon the hill he stood,41.
His voice loud-roaring like the roaring flood; 
‘Why reigns (he cries in proud contempt) alone 
The mighty Corval’s feeble, tim’rous son? 
Unfit is Fingal’s slender arm to save, 
He ne’er support to his poor people gave;46.
But here I stand enthron’d in terrors now, 
Fierce as a whirlwind on the mountain’s brow; 
Strong as a storm that roars amid the sea, 
Yield son of Corval, coward, yield to me!’ 

“Forth Oscar stood, his breast with rage did glow,51.
(My son, my noble son would meet the foe!) 
But Fingal came, high-moving thro’ the host,53.
And smil’d to hear the haughty vaunter’s boast; 
Around each other hard their arms they threw, 
And fierce the fight, and dread the combat grew; 
Madly they struggled o’er the trembling ground, 
And deep their heels plough’d up the earth around;58.
Loud crack’d their bones. As where white billows rave, 
The boat leaps light from dashing wave to wave; 
Long toil’d the chiefs the doubtful field to gain, 
And fell, with night upon the sounding plain. 

“Thus two huge oaks before the tempest’s sweep,63.
With mingled boughs, roll crashing down the steep; 
Bound was the son of Morny, mute with shame;65.
The hoary, agèd hero overcame. 

“Fair, with her golden locks of glossy show,67.
Her polish’d neck and rising breasts of snow; 
Fair, as the spirits of the hill appear69.
When from the cliffs they charm the list’ning ear; 
Or when to view, light as the morning’s breath, 
At silent noon they glide along the heath; 
Fair as the arch o’er heav’n’s wide dome displayed, 
So fair came Minvane the delightful maid.74.
‘Fingal,’ she softly said in accents sweet, 
Loose me my brother from his conqueror’s feet. 
Oh loose my Gaul,—-my race’s hope alone! 
For all but Fingal tremble at his frown.’ 

‘Shall I (reply’d the King) thy suit deny,79.
Thou lovely daughter of the mountain high? 
No, free thy brother take, and welcome go.81.
Sweet Minvane! fairer than the northern snow.’ 

“Such, Fingal, were thy words, sweet in my ear,83.
But now no more shall I these accents hear; 
To wail my friends, and mourn their hapless doom,85.
Here sit I, sightless, by the dreary tomb; 
Wild thro’ the wood I hear the tempest roar, 
But see my friends and hear their voice no more; 
Ceas’d is the cry of hunters from afar, 
And hush’d, for ever, the loud voice of War.”90.

The Laurel Disputed;
Or, The Merits Of Allan Ramsay And Robert Fergusson Contrasted*

To Merit’s brow this garland gives the Muse,1.
For who to Merit would a wreath deny?  
Tho’ base Neglect the due deserts refuse, 3.
Fair Fame forbids the poet’s name to die.  

*

BEFORE ye a’ hae done, I’d humbly crave,1.
To speak twa words or three amang the lave;*  
No for mysel’, but for an honest carl,3.
Wha’s seen right mony changes i’ the warl’, 
But is sae blate,* down here he durstna* come, 
Lest, as he said, his fears might ding* him dumb; 
And then he’s frail—-sae begg’d me to repeat 
His simple thoughts about this fell* debate;8.
He gied* me this lang* scroll; ’tis e’en right brown; 
I’se let you hear’t as he has’t set down. 

Last owk, * our Elpsa wi’ some creels* o’ eggs,11.
And three fat eerocks* fassent by the legs, 
Gaed down to Embrugh; caft* a new bane-kame,13.
An’ brought a warl’ o’ news and clashes hame: 
For she’s scarce out a day, an’ gets a text, 
But I’m dung* deaf wi’ clatter a’ the next; 
She’ll tell a’ what she heard frae en’ to en’, 
Her cracks to wives, wives cracks to her again;18.
Till wi’ quo’ I’s, quo’ she’s, an’ so’s, her skirle*  
Sets my twa lugs* a ringing like a gir’le. 

‘Mang ither ferlies* whilk my kimmer* saw,21.
Was your prent paper batter’t on the wa’; 
She said she kentna* rightly what it meant,23.
But saw some words o’ goud* an’ poets in’t! 
This gart* me glour; sae aff sets I my lane 
To Daniel Reid’s, an auld frien’ o’ my ain; 
He gets the News, and tauld me that ye’d hecht 
A dawd* o’ goud, on this same Fursday night,28.
To him wha’d show, in clinking verses drest, 
Gin Ramsay’s sangs or Fergusson’s war best. 

Trouth I was glad to hear ye war sae kind,31.
As keep our slee-tongu’d billies in your mind; 
An’ tho’ our Elpsa ca’d me mony a gouk, * 33.
To think to speak amang sae mony fouk; 
I gat my staff, pat on my bonnet braid, 
An’ best blue breeks, that war but fern-year made; 
A saxpence too, to let me in bedeen,*  
An’ thir auld spentacles to help my een;38.
Sae I’m come here, in houps ye’ll a’ agree, 
To hear a frank auld kintra* man like me. 

In days whan Dryden sang ilk bonny morn,41.
An’ Sandy Pope began to tune his horn; 
Whan chiels round Lon’on chanted a’ fu’ thrang,43.
But poor auld Scotlan’ sat without a sang; 
Droll Will Dunbar, frae Flyting than was freed, 
An’ Douglas too, an’ Kennedy were dead; 
And nane were left, in hamely* cracks to praise 
Our ain sweet lasses, or our ain green braes; * 48.
Far aff our gentles for their poets flew, 
An’ scorn’d to own that Lallan sangs they knew; 
Till Ramsay raise: O blythsome hearty days! 
Whan Allan tun’d his chaunter* on the braes! 
Auld Reekie than, frae blackest, darkest wa’s53.
To richest rooms resounded his applause; 
An’ whan the nights were dreary, lang an’ dark, 
The beasts a’ fothert, an’ the lads frae wark; 
The lasses’ wheels thrang birring round the ingle, *  
The ploughman, borin’ wi’ his brogs an’ lingel,58.
The herd’s wires clicking owr the ha’f-wrought hose, 
The auld gudeman’s een ha’flins like to close; 
The “Gentle Shepherd” frae the bole was ta’en,— 
Than sleep I trow was banished frae their een; 
The crankiest than was kittled up to daffin’, * 63.
An’ sides and chafts* maist riven* war wi’ laughin’. 

Sic war the joys his cracks cou’d eith afford65.
To peer an’ ploughman, barrowman, or lord; 
In ilka clachan, wife, man, wean, an’ callan,67.
Cracket an’ sang frae morn to e’en o’ Allan. 

Learn’d fouk, that lang in colleges an’ schools,69.
Hae sooket* learning to the vera hools, *  
An’ think that naething charms the heart sae weel’s71.
Lang cracks o’ gods, Greeks, Paradise, and deils; 
Their pows are cram’t* sae fu’ o’ lear an’ art, 
Plain simple nature canna reach their heart; 
But whare’s the rustic that can, readin’, see 
Sweet Peggy skiffin’ ow’r the dewy lee;76.
Or, wishfu’ stealing up the sunny howe*  
To gaze on Pate, laid sleeping on the knowe; *  
Or hear how Bauldy ventur’d to the deil, 
How thrawn auld carlines skelpit* him afiel’, 
How Jude wi’s hawk met Satan i’ the moss,81.
How Skin-flint grain’t his pocks o’ goud to loss; 
How bloody snouts an’ bloody beards war gi’en 
To smith’s and clowns at “Christ’s kirk on the Green;” 
How twa daft herds, wi’ little sense or havings, 
Din’d by the road, on honest Hawkie’s leavings;86.
How Hab maist brak the priest’s back wi’ a rung, *  
How deathless Addie died, an’ how he sung; 
Whae’er can thae (o’ mae I needna speak) 
Read tenty ow’r, at his ain ingle-cheek; 
An’ no fin’ something glowan thro’ his blood,91.
That gars his een glowr thro’ a siller* flood; 
May close the beuk, * poor coof! * and lift his spoon; 
His heart’s as hard’s the tackets* in his shoon. *  

Lang saxty years ha’e whiten’t ow’r this powe,95.
An’ mony a height I’ve seen, an’ mony a howe; 
But aye whan Elspa flate, * or things gaed wrang,97.
Next to my pipe was Allie’s sleekit* sang; 
I thought him blyther ilka time I read, 
An’ mony a time, wi’ unco glee I’ve said, 
That ne’er in Scotland, wad a chiel* appear, 
Sae droll, sae hearty, sae confoundet queer,102.
Sae glibly-gabbet, * or sae bauld* again,— 
I said, I swor’t—but deed I was mistaen: 
Up frae Auld Reekie Fergusson begoud, 
In fell auld phrase that pleases aye the crowd, 
To chear their hearts whiles wi’ an antrin* sang,107.
Whilk far an’ near round a’ the kintry rang. 

At first I thought the swankie* didna ill,109.
Again, I glowrt to hear him better still; 
Bauld, slee* and sweet, his lines mair glorious grew,111.
Glow’d round the heart, and glanc’d the soul out-thro; 
But whan I saw the freaks o’ Hallow Fair, 
Brought a’ to view as plain as I’d been there; 
An’ heard, wi’ teeth ‘maist chatterin i’ my head, 
Twa kirk-yard* ghaists rais’d goustly frae the dead;116.
Dais’d Sandy greetan* for his thriftless wife; 
How camscheuch Samy sud been fed in Fife; 
Poor Will an’ Geordy mourning for their frien’; 
The Farmer’s Ingle, an’ the cracks at e’en; 
My heart cry’d out, while tears war drappan fast,121.
O Ramsay, Ramsay, art thou beat at last? 

Ae night,—the lift was skinklan* a’ wi’ starns,— * 123.
I cross’d the burn* an’ dauner’t* thro’ the cairns, *  
Down to auld Andrew Ralston’s o’ Craig-neuk,125.
To hear his thoughts, as he had seen the beuk: 
(Andrew’s a gay droll haun—ye’ll aiblins ken him?— 
It maksna, * I had hecht some sangs to len’ him,) 
“Aweel,” quo’ I, as soon’s I reek’t the hallan, 
“What think ye now o’ our bit Embrugh callan?”130.
“Saf’s man,” quo’ Andrew, “yon’s an unco chiel! 
He surely has some dealings wi’ the deil! 
There’s no a turn that ony o’ us can work at, 
At hame, or yet a-fiel’, at kirk or market; 
But he describ’st as paukily* an’ fell, * 135.
As gin he’d been a kintra man himsel’. 
Yestreen I’m sure, beside our auld gudewife, 
I never leugh as meikle a’ my life, 
To read the King’s Birth-day’s fell hurry-burry, *  
How draigl’t pussey flies about like fury;140.
Faith, I ken that’s a fact.—The last birth-day, 
As I stood glouring up an’ down the way, 
A dead cat’s guts, before I cou’d suspect, 
Harl’t thro the dirt, cam clash about my neck; 
An’ while wi’ baith my hauns, frae ’bout I tok it,145.
Wi’ perfect stink, I thought I wad a bocket. *  

“His stories, too, are tell’t sae sleek an’ baul’,147.
Ilk oily word rins jinking thro’ the saul; 
What he describes, before your een* ye see’t,149.
As plain an’ lively as ye see that peat. 
It’s my opinion, John, that this young fallow, 
Excels them a’, an’ beats auld Allan hallow; 
An’ shows at twenty-twa, as great a giftie 
For painting just, as Allan did at fifty.”154.

You, Mr. President, ken weel yersel’,155.
Better by far than kintra-fouks can tell, 
That they wha reach the gleg, * auld-farrant art,157.
In verse to melt, an’ soothe, an’ mend the heart; 
To raise up joy, or rage, or courage keen, 
And gar* ilk passion sparkle in our een; 
Sic chiels (whare’er they hae their ha’ or hame), 
Are true blue-bards, and wordy o’ the name.162.
Sud ane o’ thae, by lang experience, man 
To spin out tales frae mony a pawky plan, 
An’ sets a’ laughing at his blauds o’ rhyme, 
Wi’ sangs aft polish’d by the haun o’ Time; 
And should some stripling, still mair light o’ heart,167.
A livelier humour to his cracks impart; 
Wi’ careless pencil draw, yet gar us stare 
To see our ain fire-sides and meadows there; 
To see our thoughts, our hearts, our follies drawn, 
And nature’s sel’ fresh starting frae his haun;172.
Wad mony words, or speeches lang, be needed 
To tell whase rhymes war best, wha clearest-headed? 

Sits there within the four wa’s o’ this house,175.
Ae chield* o’ taste, droll, reprobate, or douse; 
Whase blessed lugs hae heard young Rob himsel’,177.
(Light as the lamb that dances on the dell) 
Lay aff his auld Scots crack wi’ pawky glee, 
And seen the fire that darted frae his ee? 
O let him speak! O let him try t’impart 
The joys that than gush’d headlang on his heart,182.
Whan ilka line, and ilka lang-syne glowr, 
Set faes an’ friends and Pantheons in a roar! 
Did e’er auld Scotland fin’ a nobler pride 
Through a’ her veins, and glowan bosom glide, 
Than when her Muses’ dear young fav’rite bard,187.
Wi’ her hale strength o’ wit and fancy fir’d, 
Raise frae the thrang, and kin’ling at the sound, 
Spread mirth, conviction, truth and rapture round? 

To set Rob’s youth and inexperience by,—191.
His lines are sweeter, and his flights mair high; 
Allan, I own, may show far mair o’ art,193.
Rob pours at once his raptures on the heart; 
The first, by labour mans our breast to move, 
The last exalts to ecstasy and love; 
In Allan’s verse, sage sleeness we admire, 
In Rob’s, the glow of fancy and of fire,198.
And genius bauld, that nought but deep distress, 
And base neglect, and want, could e’er suppress. 

O hard, hard fate!—but cease, thou friendly tear,201.
I darna mourn my dear lo’ed Bardie here, 
Else I might tell how his great soul had soar’d,203.
And nameless ages wonder’d and ador’d; 
Had friends been kind, and had not his young breath 

And rising glory, been eclipsed by Death.206.

But lest owre lang I lengthen out my crack,207.
An’ Epps be wearying for my coming-back; 
Let ane an’ a’ here, vote as they incline,209.
Frae heart and saul Rob Fergusson has mine. 

Elegy
Addressed To A Young Lady*

THOU dearest object of my soul on earth,1.
Thou kind young sharer of my joys and woe, 
Forgive, while here I pour my sorrows forth,3.
Ere life’s last current from its fountain flow. 

The hour arrives with Heaven’s supreme behest,5.
Advancing death in awful pomp I see, 
Disease slow writhes within my troubled breast,7.
And past are all the joys of life with me. 

Farewell, ye pleasing scenes of fond delight;9.
Farewell, ye hopes that promised once so well, 
Ye charms that shot through my enraptur’d sight,11.
Ye days of peace, ye nights of bliss, farewell. 

No more with thee the drowsy town I’ll leave,13.
To tread the dews, and breathe the sweets of morn, 
Or fondly wish the dear return of eve,15.
To meet thee blushing near the lonely thorn. 

The eyes that gaz’d, unwearied, on thy charms,17.
The heart that wont, at sight of thee, to leap, 
A few sad hours will finish its alarms,19.
And seal their orbs in everlasting sleep. 

When this weak pulse hath number’d out its date,21.
When all my hopes, and all my fears are o’er; 
When each young friend shall pensive tell my fate,23.
And Death’s black train stand mournful at my door; 

Then, O Lavinia, while thou dost survey25.
The pale chang’d features once to thee well known, 
The limbs that flew thy dictates to obey,27.
The arms that oft enclasp’d thee as their own, 

Check not the tear that trembles in thine eye,29.
Nor stop the sigh that struggles from thy heart; 
These are the rites for which I’d rather die,31.
Than all the pomp of marble and of art. 

Lavinia! O thou dear, thou precious name,33.
That opes each wound, and tears my trembling heart, 
Wilt thou vouchsafe one poor request I claim,35.
To breathe one wish, one prayer ere we part. 

O round thy head may Heaven its blessings strew;37.
May angels waft each comfort to thy cell; 
Pure be thy peace; thy tears, thy troubles few;39.
Thou kindest, dearest, fondest friend, farewell! 

The Spouter*

———All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women only players;
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

INTRODUCTION

WHERE is the place that mair o’ life ye’ll learn,1.
Than ‘hint the scenes in some auld kintra barn, 
Where two-three hungry, ragged, Spouter blades,3.
—Wha’d better stuck through life to spools or spades,— 
Driven by stern want, the fell remorseless jaud; 
Mang kintra folk do ply their kittle trade? 

There ye may see a lang horn shottle chiel,7.
On whose pale face, hunger is painted weel, 
As Dick the Third shout for “a horse! a horse!”9.
To meet young Richmond, an’ the invading force: 
Or else some sniftering, snivelling, ill-clad loon, 
Wha wadna hae the heart a cat to droon; 
As stern Macbeth, rampauging through his part, 
An’ for his crown stab Duncan to the heart.14.
Anither chiel, wha ilk day thumps his wife, 
There, on the stage, acts Romeo to the life; 
While whimpering Juliet for a maid is ta’en, 
Although last week she bore a bastard wean, 
And couldna tell, though it wad saved her life,19.
Wha her a mother made before she was a wife. 

Or turn to Comedy: wha e’er wad think,21.
The chiels were hovering on starvation’s brink; 
Wha e’er wad think, to hear their ready joke,23.
That they were suffering ‘neath affliction’s stroke; 
Or wha wad think yon funny, tumbling clown, 
Wha raises laughter to the auld and young, 
Beneath the fun and humour o’ his part, 
Concealed crushed spirits, and a breaking heart:28.
Yet sae it is, for down his pen he laid, 
Fired by ambition for to try the trade, 
At whilk great Garrick had got sic a name, 
And whilk he thoucht wad lead even him to fame; 
But noo he tumbles, to a score or twa33.
O’ kintra bumpkins, in some aul’ barn wa’, 
And sees himsel’ gaun to an early grave, 
Fell want and dissipation’s ready slave. 

A’ that, and mair, hae I richt aften seen,37.
When through the kintra wi’ my pack I’ve been; 
But what has brought it now just to my min’,39.
Is an affair that happened here short-syne: 
Upo’ ae caul’, bleak, blustry winter-day, 
A Spouter blade, to our town took his way; 
A lang ill-leukin’ vagabond, I trow, 
Dressed in a ragged coat that had been blue;44.
And wi’ a bundle owre his shouther hung, 
Tied to the en’ o’ a thick knotty rung; 
While, by his side, trampèd a wee bit laddie, 
Whose claes were like his master’s, gyan duddie. 
And as they slowly trudged along the street,49.
Plashing through dirt an’ wat, wi’ ill-shod feet; 
Ilk aul’ wife left her wheel, to rin and see 
Wha that lang raggy ne’er-do-weel could be; 
And as in twas and threes they gathered roun’, 
Wonnerin’ what broucht sic gangrels to the town,54.
Some shook their heads, an’ said— “Eh! sirs, I fear 
It’s for nae guid, as we owre soon will hear.” 
While ithers said that— “We should thankfu’ be 
We ne’er had been broucht to sic misery; 
But aye had haen a shelter owre our head,59.
An’ ne’er could say that we hae wantit bread; 
While some puir creatures haena where to lay 
Their heads, nor yet as much as for a meal would pay.” 

After the Spouter had gaen out o’ sight,63.
An’ the auld wives had settled a’ things right, 
In a short time I had forgot him clean,65.
The same as if he never here had been; 
When, leukin’ frae the winnock, there I saw 
His raggy callan, batterin’ on the wa’ 
Big prentit bills—an’ rinnin’ out wi’ speed 
That I might his “announcement” quickly read,70.
I saw them headed “Wondrous novelty!” 
In twa-inch letters, an’ then “Come an’ see!” 
He then set forth his name was Mr. Main, 
An’ he had come direct frae Drury Lane, 
Where baith their Majesties, the king an’ queen,75.
Had aft wi’ his performance pleasèd been; 
And that he now was on his kintra tour, 
That he might show the warl’ his great power,— 
Whilk was allowèd in the acting line, 
By every ane, to be great an’ sublime.80.
He then on the “Nobility! ” did call, 
“Gentry” an’ “Public,” too, “in general;” 
To come that night to William Watson’s barn, 
(This was in writing) where that they would learn 
From certain pieces that he would recite85.
In the said barn, at eight o’clock that night, 
The various passions of the human mind; 
An’ that a’ those who might be sae inclined, 
Would likewise hear some sangs, divinely sung 
By Master Sprat; whase praises had been rung90.
Through a’ the lan’; (a great deal mair was said, 
Whilk noo has slippet clean out o’ my head:) 
Then ended wi’ “The charge is just a penny, 
So be in time, for the place wont hold many.” 

Ye wad hae thought the whole folk i’ the town,95.
By this time ’bout the bills were gathered roun’; 
An’ as in crowds, they stood, an’ at them read,97.
‘Twas odd to hear the droll remarks they made. 
Ane said he “wonnert the great Mr. Main, 
Should lea sae gran’ a place as Drury lane; 
That he, an’ a bit raggy chiel, thegither 
Might wanner through the lan’ in sic like weather:”102.
While an auld wife said, “Bairns, tak’ my advice, 
An’ gang na near the place, gif ye be wise; 
For I can tell you wha ere sets a fit, 
Within the barn, is bookit for the pit 
Whilk has nae boddam; whare the wicked’s soul,107.
‘Mang burning brumstane lies, to roar an’ howl,— 
As Reverend Mr. Thump-the-Deil did say 
In his discourse the tither Sabbath day. 
Ye needna giggle, callans, it’s as true 
As I’m this precious minute telling you;112.
An’ mair than that, ye’ll maybe hae heard tell 
What happened to a lad ca’d Andrew Bell, 
Wha ance to Glasgow, to the warehouse gaed 
(The chiel being a weaver to his trade). 
Weel, in that town I trow he saw a sicht117.
That filled him mony a day wi’ muckle fricht. 
Some freens had gat him to gae to the Play, 
In place o’ doucely in the house to stay; 
When in the nicht he waukent wi’ the smell 
O’ brumstane, as I’ve heard him aften tell;122.
An’ turnin’ roun’, what think ye that he saw? 
Just the black Devil stan’in’ at the wa’, 
Haudin’ out in his han’ a muckle book; 
On whilk puir Andro did nae sooner look, 
Than Clootie gied the puir lad a bit wink,127.
And pointed to his name—written wi’ red ink; 
As muckle as to say, “at last, my chiel, 
Ye hae been fairly gruppit by the Deil.” 
She then gaed on to tell us, that if we 
Gaed to the barn this nicht, we’d maybe see132.
Some o’ her words ere lang wad come to pass: 
An’ then she shook her head, an’ said— “Alas! 
Sic unbelievin’ times were never seen, 
They werena like the guid aul’ times that ance had been.” 

But, faith, to me her lecture was in vain,137.
It didna keep me back frae Mr. Main; 
For aff I set, an’ comin’ near the door,139.
There stood the Spouter, wha did loudly roar 
To “Be in time, an’ come right quickly in, 
For I am just a-going to begin; 
An’ if you do not soon secure your places, 
The door, ere long, will be shut in your faces.144.
An’ if ye miss this opportunity, 
The like of it ye ne’er again may see; 
For I can tell you, ’tis not every day 
Such a famed actor will a visit pay 
Unto your town, for—” here I stopped his speech149.
By haudin’ out a penny in his reach; 
An’, walkin’ in, sat down before a screen 
That in its day had ance a bed-mat been; 
Although wi’ dirt an’ patches ’twas sae covered, 
What it had been could scarcely be discovered.154.

As soon as I had cast aroun’ my een155.
I scarcely could believe what there was seen, 
For that whilk had been made for to appear,157.
When in the bill, a “brilliant chandelier,” 
Was just a girr, that frae the laft hung down 
Wi’ cannels here an’ there stuck on’t a’ roun’; 
An’ in place o’ the instrumental ban’, 
Whilk was to have been unequalled in the lan’,162.
Before the screen, wi’ a bit fiddle, sat 
His raggy laddie, ca’d Adolphus Sprat; 
An’ scruntit “Owre the hills an’ far awa,” 
In tones far waur than sharpenin’ a saw; 
An’ I but tell the truth, whan I allege,167.
Ere lang he had set a’ our teeth on edge. 
“Stop that damn’d fiddle! ” roared a kintra lout, 
“Or by the Lord! ye’ll hae to let me out; 
I never heard sic scraichin’ a’ my life, 
The soun’ gangs through an’ through ane, like a knife.”172.
“Up wi’ the hippen!” cried anither chap, 
An’ then wi’ feet and hands began to rap. 
“What are ye chirtin’ at?” anither cries, 
“I want you to sit up, ” the first replies; 
“Ye hae as muckle room as ony twa177.
In that place there—between you an’ the wa’.” 
But “Silence, silence,” ilka ane did roar 
As Mr. Main cam’ in, an’ shut the door; 
An’, loutin’ down, creeped in behind the screen, 
Whare he was hid frae the spectators’ een.182.

Ere lang the tingle o’ a bell was heard,183.
An’ when the screen was drawn up, there appeared 
The Spouter, wi’ his arms on his breast crossed,185.
As if in deep reflection he was lost. 
An’ coming forret, he made a low bow, 
Saying—’Gentlemen an’ ladies, I will now 
Begin the night’s performance with some rhymes 
Made on a circumstance of bye-past times;190.
Where an attempt is made, for once, to show 
What dire effects of misery an’ woe, 
Such bloody feuds oft brought upon the Land.” 
So saying, the Spouter rais’d up his hand; 
An’ while he towards the audience took a lamp,195.
Broucht down his richt foot wi’ an awfu’ stamp, 
And thus began:— 

THE SIEGE

“To horse! to horse! my merry men,1.
Why sit you feasting there? 
When, from within yon dungeon’s wall,3.
Your captive friends for vengeance call 
In accents of despair.” 

“What mean those words,” bold Stanley said;6.
“What mean those words I hear? 
What mean those words you now have said?8.
Where be those friends who call for aid, 
While we sit idling here?” 

“Within the cursed castle walls,11.
Of your fierce enemy; 
Full fifty of your bravest men,13.
Are lying—who this day were ta’en, 
And I alone got free.” 

Up started brave Lord Stanley then,16.
Saying, “By the blessed rood, 
He for this deed shall sorely pay,18.
Ere yonder sun has set to-day, 
With his heart’s dearest blood. 

“And now my friends, to arms! to arms;21.
And let us quick to horse;” 
And soon five hundred men amain,23.
Were hurrying onwards o’er the plain; 
In sooth a goodly force. 

And coming to the castle strong,26.
Lord Stanley loudly calls: 
“Deliver up to me those men28.
Which you took prisoners, and then 
Shut up within these walls.” 

The warder answered him with scorn:31.
“Your men you ne’er will see; 
For ere the sun has reached his height,33.
All those ta’en prisoners in the fight 
Their punishment shall dree.” 

“Archers, advance!” Lord Stanley cried;36.
And from each ready bow 
The arrows speedily were sent,38.
Rattling against the battlement, 
Then dropping down below. 

Those in the castle now began,41.
From loopholes in the wall, 
To shoot on the invading force;43.
And soon from off his gallant horse, 
Many a brave knight did fall. 

“Attack the gate!” again he cried,46.
And soon each willing hand 
Made the blows rattle thick as hail;48.
To force the gate they could not fail, 
Nought might such force withstand. 

When from the castle’s lofty top—51.
Oh! horrible to view!— 
The gory heads and mangled limbs53.
Of those who’d prisoners been within, 
Down on the foe they threw! 

Who, struck with horror at the sight,56.
Turned round, and fled away; 
And long and grievously did mourn58.
At their disconsolate return, 
And what they’d seen that day. 

As soon’s the Spouter had got through his piece,61.
Some cried hurra! an’ ithers hissed like geese. 
“Saves! that’s an awfu’ bluidy tale,” says ane,63.
“Do ye think ere sic cruelty was done?” 
“Aye was’t, man” said his neebour, “mony a time 
I’ve heard it tell’t though ne’er before in rhyme. 
It happened, man, no far frae whare we are: 
But guidsake! what’s the matter wi’ the girr,68.
That it’s gaun up an’ down at sic a rate? 
I see it’s that wee blastit sinner Pate. 
I say, Pate, keep yer fingers aff that string, 
An’ silence there, the callan’s gaun to sing.” 
As Master Sprat, began fu’ loud to roar,73.
A sang nane o’ us e’er had heard before, 
About “Young Jeannie,” when— “Oh! damn young Jeannie,” 
A fellow cried, “come gie us something funny;” 
Anither said, “Man, Jock, let him alane; 
I say, my laddie, just begin again,78.
An’ pick as short a ane, as e’er ye can; 
For I can tell ye what it is, my man, 
Gif that yer singing be ought like yer fiddling, 
The best that we can say o’t, is—it’s middling.” 

YOUNG JEANNIE: A SONG

Young Jeannie, when the owlets flew,1.
Oft went to meet her lover; 
Where bonnie flowers were bathed in dew,3.
And timorous cowered the plover. 

As roun’ gaed time, young Jeannie hied5.
To hear young Johnnie’s story; 
An’ aft her tender heart it sighed7.
O’er tales o’ love an’ glory. 

But far frae her young Johnnie’s gane,9.
Forsaking his young dearie; 
And now she wanders out alane—11.
Heartbroken, sad, an’ eerie. 
Ahint yon clouds the wan moon peeps, 
A-chasing o’ the gloamin’; 
An’ casts dark shadows o’er the steeps 
Where beauteous Jeannie’s roamin’.16.

When Master Sprat had squeakit owre his sang,17.
Wi’ cheers an’ ruffin’ the aul’ barn-wa’s rang. 
An’ down he sat, an’ up his fiddle took,19.
And—while he owre his shouther cast a look— 
Began “The Weaver’s March” wi’ a’ his micht; 
When some cried out—”Man! ye’re no playin’ richt, 
That’s near about as like ‘God Save the King,’ 
I’ll tak’ my aith, as ony ither thing.”24.
While ithers took his part, saying— “Stop yer bletherin’, 
The callan’s doing unco weel, considerin’; 
But, wheesht, ye bitches, there’s the Spouter’s bell! 
An’ let us hear what he’s now got to tell.” 
When, in he cam’, an’ screwin’ up his face29.
Began an’ tell’t the weaver’s waefu’ case; 
To be a warning to a’ love-born chiels 
Never to lea their wark to grunt amang the fiel’s:— 

THE FORLORN WEAVER

On Cartha’s fair banks, ‘neath a tree,1.
That threw its broad branches around, 
A weaver, most piteous to see,3.
Disconsolate lay on the ground: 
He sighed for his Sally so fair, 
Who off with another had gone, 
And left the poor swain in despair, 
At his cruel fortune to mourn.8.

“Ah, why should I live now!” he cried;9.
“Ah, what signifies life now to me! 
When she, who should have been my bride,11.
Is married to Willie M’Gee: 
I’m sure if the weather was hot, 
I would end all my woes in the Linn; 
So I’ll e’en muse upon my sad lot, 
Till ance that the summer comes in.16.

“Then down to the river I’ll go,17.
With my pockets well filled with old leads; 
And hurried on by my woe,19.
Soon lie a cold corse ‘mang the reeds. 
Then will the false fair one sad mourn 
That her cruelty drove me that road; 
And shed bitter tears, as I’m borne 
Along to be laid ‘neath the sod.”24.

So saying, he chanced to look round,25.
And, seeing his faither draw nigh, 
He raisèd himself from the ground,27.
And heaved up a heart-bursting sigh,— 
Saying, “Ah! he is bringing a stick 
To drive me away to the shop; 
So I’d better myself take off quick— 
‘Twould be folly here longer to stop.”32.

And then the poor swain said,—”Alas!”33.
And ran swiftly along Cartha’s side; 
When, stumbling among the long grass,35.
He fell headlong into the deep tide. 
When, in accents of horror, he cried— 
“Help! help! or I’ll quickly be drowned!” 
And hurrying down to the side 
We drew the poor mortal on ground.40.

Where—streaming with water—his head41.
He hung like a penitent thief; 
And, shaking and shivering, thus said43.
In a voice of deep sorrow and grief— 
“From this day, a promise I make 
That I’ll ne’er talk of drowning again;” 
And then, giving his head a guid shake, 
He scamperèd home o’er the plain.48.

While he was rantin’ owre the weaver’s woes,49.
Loud roars of laughter aftentimes arose: 
An’ when the waefu’ tale was a’ gane through,51.
An aul’ man near me said “Think ye that’s true?” 
“I dinna ken, what do you think yoursel’?” 
Said I, as down the screen before us fell. 
“I think it’s true,” quo’ he, “for weel I min’ 
Something gae like it, that I saw langsyne.56.
A tailor chiel (I’ll ca’ him Willie Goose, 
To tell his richt name wad be o’ no use) 
Had been sair slichted by a bonnie lass; 
An’ soon as e’er he heard o’t, the puir ass 
Baith said and swore that he wad tak’ his life,61.
Either by hanging, drowning, or a knife. 
Sae up he jumpit, on his bonnet pat, 
An’ hurried aff to a bit nice quait spat; 
Whare, neath some sauchs, the water ran fu’ deep, 
The banks at that place being gayen steep;66.
An’ jumpit in, thinkin’ he was his lane, 
But twa three o’ us after him had gane; 
Partly to see the fun, partly to save 
The silly callan frae a watery grave. 
Weel, soon as ever he had jumpit in71.
(I’m sure the water scarce had wat his skin), 
He roared for help as loud as he could shout, 
An’ struggled hard’s he could for to win out. 
An’ down we gaed, an’ made him promise fair 
That he wad do the like o’ that nae mair;76.
An’ then I helped to draw him out mysel’— 
But isna that the ringin’ o’ the bell? 
Sae I will tell you a’ the rest again,— 
We’ll stop an’ hearken, now, to Mr. Main.” 
Weel, up the screen was haurlet in a crack,81.
An’ in he cam’ an’ gied “Rabbie’s Mistak’.” 
An, Lord! sic laughin’ ran frae wa’ to wa’, 
To hear how Rabbie doitert through the snaw 
Armed wi’ a muckle gun, out ower his shouther, 
An’ loaded weel wi’ pocks o’ lead an’ pouther;86.
An’ how at last the puir unfort’nate tumphy, 
Wi’ a lead bullet, murdered his ain grumphy,— 
The bodie being sae blin’, he didna ken 
His ain sow frae a maukin in the glen. 
Then Master Sprat got up again to sing91.
Some verses made on the return o’ Spring; 
(An’ while he sang, he played upon the fiddle), 
But had to stop ere he got to the middle; 
For sic a hissing soon was raised at him— 
I ne’er in a’ my life heard sic a din.96.
Whistlin’ through fingers, yells, an’ awfu’ squeels, 
Maist made ane think they were a core o’ deils 
Let loose frae Hell, the laddie to torment,— 
Sae aff the stage by them he soon was sent. 
“A stage to let!” then out a fellow cried,101.
An’ in cam’ Mr. Main, wi’ warlike stride; 
As if he’d been some auld grim mail-clad knight, 
Ready to join his faes in deadly fight; 
An’ makin’ us a bow, began to gie 
This waefu’ tale o’ woe an’ cruelty:—106.

THE RIVALS

Lone, on the side of a high towering hill,1.
From whose mist-shrouded top pours many a rill; 
Near where fierce Calder, down the craggy steep,3.
Brawls to the Loch, with wild impetuous sweep; 
There, safely sheltered from the howling storm, 
Stood a neat cottage of inviting form; 
Where lived a soldier, home from war’s alarms, 
With his fair daughter, rich in beauty’s charms.8.

Round her fair form her golden ringlets strayed,9.
And every grace adorned this charming maid; 
But, oh! sad grief her matchless beauty bred,11.
And streams of blood in deadly strife was shed! 
For though she lived retired, her only care 
To please her father, and his love to share. 
Yet many a fierce encounter oft was fought 
By fiery rivals, who her hand had sought.16.

The Lord of Semple loved this blooming flower,17.
And oft had wished he had her in his power 
Safe in the Peel, his stronghold on the lake,19.
Where he would her his wife by force soon make,— 
Although he knew, she’d said she’d share the board 
Of Fulton, Authenbathie’s noble lord; 
Who oft in secret wooed the mountain maid, 
And of his hand, an offer oft had made.24.

One night, when the moon shone o’er hill and glade,25.
The Lord of Semple, in full pomp arrayed, 
Passed quickly round yon distant murmuring flood,27.
Intent to burn the cottage in the wood. 
And when he orders gave his men to burn 
The cot, he swiftly o’er the plain did spurn 
With the two bravest of his valiant men, 
And onwards hurrièd by Calder glen;32.

To where the maid her lover ofttimes met33.
When the bright sun far in the west had set; 
And there alone, retirèd in the shade,35.
He found her waiting, and thus to her said— 
“Oft have I stooped to woo thee for my bride, 
Yet thou my love and passion didst deride; 
But, now, I come to woo and win by force!” 
So saying, he bound her fast upon a horse:40.

And said—”My gallant men, the path is wide;41.
Be quick, and gain the river’s western side!” 
Quick flew the horses o’er the distant plain,43.
Then crossed the bridge, and the loch side they gain. 
There, from the beach a fisher’s boat they take. 
And speedily crossed the calm and placid lake; 
And in the Peel secure the maiden bound, 
Where nought but water did the place surround.48.

When Fulton came and found the cottage burned,49.
He swiftly o’er the plain his charger spurned; 
And, madly dashing past yon glittering rill,51.
Quickly attained the summit of the hill: 
When, looking to the Peel, there met his view 
His bride, and off in swift pursuit he flew,— 
And quickly found a boat, and crossed the lake, 
To conquer or to die for his love’s sake.56.

Young Fulton’s boat had scarcely crossed the flood57.
When Castle Semple’s lord before him stood, 
And drawing near him, in derision said—59.
“Come ye, young man, to claim yon beauteous maid?” 
Then forth he drew his sword, a glittering sight, 
And in a posture stood, prepared for fight; 
Then rose young Fulton’s wrath; a fiery glow 
O’er-spread his face, and crimson dyed his brow.64.

When from the Peel, a wild and dismal cry65.
Shot on their ears, and rung along the sky; 
Then swift as lightning, Fulton drew his blade,67.
And cried, “I come! I come unto thy aid!” 
Then fierce the warriors fought in deadly strife, 
Each in his turn aimed at his rival’s life; 
Till both their footing missed, and, with a shock, 
Plunged headlong o’er the black and rugged rock72.
Into the dark, deep, wide encircling flood, 
Dying the lake’s clear surface with their blood; 
The maid this seeing from the tower on high, 
Threw herself down as quick as arrows fly; 
For in dire madness, she had ta’en a leap77.
O’er the blood-stained rock, and rugged steep, 
Into the blood-dyed water of the lake: 
And thus she perished for her lover’s sake. 

To cheer us up, after this tale o’ wae,81.
Master Sprat cam’ an’ gied us “Hogmenae,”— 
A funny sang made on some cheery blades,83.
Wha for ae nicht had left their noisy trades 
To hae a spree, an’ drink the auld year out; 
An’ faith they had richt sport, ye needna doubt: 
For ane ca’d Brodie, cryin’ out “Nae clash,” 
Fell aff his seat wi’ a most awfu’ crash;88.
An’ ane ca’d Andrew sang wi’ a’ his micht 
“Hummle dum tweedle,” an’ “Blythe was the nicht,”— 
Till ilka ane, wi’ drink an’ fun grown weary, 
Gaed stauchrin’ hame, richt blithe an’ unco cheery. 

“Encore! encore!” then roun’ the auld barn rang93.
As soon as Master Sprat got owre his sang; 
An’ some began to cry for Mr. Main,95.
While ithers roared “Come, gie’s that sang again!” 
Till, forced wi’ cheers an’ ruffin’ to come back, 
He rattled owre this new sang in a crack:— 

OWRE STEEP ROCKY MOUNTAINS:
A SONG

Owre steep rocky mountains, bleak, barren, an’ wild,1.
Sae wearied, I dannert alane; 
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,3.
Conveyed me awa to her hame. 
Wi’ bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched, 
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor; 
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun’, 
An’ shaded the seat at her door.8.

We sat ourselves down to a rural repast,—9.
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,— 
While frae her black e’e sweet glances she cast,11.
Love slyly crept into my breast. 
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said, 
In accents both sweet and divine, 
“I hae rich anes rejected, an’ great anes denied, 
Yet tak’ me, dear laddie, I’m thine.”16.

Her air was sae modest, her voice was sae sweet,17.
An’ rural, yet sweet were her charms; 
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,19.
An’ clasped the dear maid in my arms. 
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep, 
By the side o’ yon clear wimplin’ stream; 
An’ resting on each other’s bosom we sleep, 
In cheerfu’ bless’d, happy, sweet dreams.24.

Together we stray owre yon green heathery braes,25.
An’ range through the wild grassy fen; 
Or rest by the side o’ some clear gushing rill,27.
That rins down to wild Calder glen. 
To pomp an’ great riches she ne’er was inclined, 
But is glad in her humble descent; 
So cheerfu’ we live in our ain rural cot, 
Bless’d, happy, an’ always content.32.

This second sang was scarcely at a close,33.
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose; 
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,35.
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek. 
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries. 
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies; 
“For, gi he dinna keep out o’ my licht, 
I’m damn’d, my man, but I’ll gie you a fricht.”40.
“Come, stop your bletherin’ there, ye graceless loon, 
For, see! the Spouter’s coming: quick, sit down!” 
The folk aroun’ them cried; as Mr. Main 
Cam’ walkin’ in, to gie a tale again. 

THE BENIGHTED PEDLAR:
A TALE

Cauld blew the blast, an’ on the plain1.
In torrents fell the blatterin’ rain, 
As a puir packman chiel,3.
Wha on the muir had tynt his road, 
Gaed trudgin’ ‘neath his heavy load, 
In search o’ some bit biel, 

Whare he micht shelter frae the wet,7.
Or aiblins a nicht’s lodgin’ get; 
For since the break o’ day,9.
Bendin’ aneath his heavy pack, 
He’d trampit on wi’ wearied back 
Alang his lanesome way. 

When, standing in a dreary spot,13.
An auld half-ruined shepherd’s cot 
The weary pedlar saw,15.
Whilk had fac’d mony a windy blast 
Since it had haen a traveller last 
Within its totterin’ wa’s. 

For aff its rugged rafters black,19.
Mony a fierce storm had tirred the thack 
An’ left them stanin’ bare;21.
While the auld, broken, shattered door, 
Torn aff its hinges, on the floor 
Kept out the blast nae mair. 

The wearied pedlar hurried in,25.
A’ wat an’ drookit to the skin, 
Syne threw his burden down;27.
An’ having quickly struck a licht, 
Ere lang a bleezin’ fire shone bricht, 
On the black wa’s a’ roun’. 

When having dried his dreepin’ claise,31.
The broken door he up did raise, 
Syne laid him down to rest;33.
When he fan’ something awfu’ caul, 
That seemed to freeze his verra saul, 
Pressin’ upo’ his breast. 

He started up in awfu’ fricht,37.
An’ by the fading fire’s dull licht, 
He saw near whare he lay:39.
A fleesome-looking spectre stan’, 
Haudin’ an ell-wan’ in his han’ 
Wi’ face a’ pale as clay. 

Its throat was cut frae ear to ear,43.
An’, as the pedlar glowered wi’ fear, 
It fixed on him its e’e;45.
Syne pointed to the cottage door; 
When out the frichted chiel did roar— 
“In Gude’s name, wha are ye?” 

It answered—”I’m a packman’s ghost.49.
I on this muir my road ance lost, 
An’ soucht a lodgin’ here;51.
When i’ the nicht, withouten dread, 
They took my life—a bloody deed!— 
That they micht get my gear. 

“Sae rise, my frien’, an’ fallow me,55.
An’ I will let you the place see 
Whare they my banes hae laid.”57.
“I’m much obliged to you, indeed; 
But I wad just as soon no heed,” 
The tremblin’ pedlar said: 

“For, sir, ye see I’m wearied sair61.
Wi’ trampin’ a’ day owre the muir, 
Carryin’ a heavy pack.”63.
But, seeing that the ghost looked glum, 
He added—”Weel a weel, I’ll come 
Gif ye’ll let me soon back.” 

The ghost then glided to the door,67.
An’ silently moved on before 
The frichted pedlar chap;69.
Wha trudged behin’, cursin’ his lot 
That had brought him to sic a spot, 
To meet wi’ this mishap. 

At length, they reach’d a rocky height,73.
‘Neath whilk the water, shining bright, 
Clear in the moonbeams lay;75.
When the ghost said—”Amang these stanes 
Down at the bottom, lye my banes, 
Jump down for them, I say.” 

“Lord!” quo’ the pedlar, turning round,79.
“If I did that I wad be drowned, 
I wad, I do declare.”81.
“What’s that to me!” the ghost replies; 
“Jump down this moment, damn your eyes! 
An’ don’t stan’ chatterin’ there. 

Do ye think I’ve nae mair ado,85.
Than stan’ a’ nicht listening to you, 
Ye thievish neer-do-weel?87.
I winna swear; but, by the Lord, 
Gif ye don’t jump down, tak’ my word, 
My vengeance ye will feel.” 

The pedlar then for mercy cried,91.
An’ then, to melt the ghost’s heart tried; 
But it was labour lost:93.
For liftin’ him up by the hair, 
He whirlèd him roun’ in the air; 
Syne in the hole him tossed. 

When he set up an awfu’ yell97.
As through the air he downward fell: 
An’ waukened wi’ a scream.99.
When he was lyin’ in the cot, 
For he had never left the spot: 
It had been but a dream. 

As soon as Mr. Main got through this tale103.
O’ dreams, an’ packman, an’ a spectre pale, 
Young Master Sprat got up again an’ sang,105.
And faith he routed at it loud an’ lang,— 
But what it was about I dinna min’, 
For twa three fellows had kicked up a shine, 
An’, wi’ their dinsome swearin’ loud an’ lang, 
No ane cou’d hear a word o’ the bit sang.110.

Then in the Spouter cam’ upo’ the board,111.
An’ in an instant, quietness was restored. 
When he soon gied us “Eppie an’ the Deil,”—113.
A tale about an auld wife an’ her wheel; 
Wha, ae nicht daunerin’ hame out owre the heicht, 
Gat frae aul’ Clootie a most awfu’ fricht: 
For, in her wrath, she said—”I wish the Deil 
Wou’d flee awa’ wi’ this aul’ cursèd wheel;”118.
And faith, nae sooner had she said the word, 
Than frae the clouds the Devil downwards spurred, 
An’ whuppit Eppie’s wheel awa wi’ speed, 
Whilk made the auld wife stan’ an’ stare wi’ dread: 
“Gie’s back my wheel!” she cried; and, as she spak’,123.
The Devil flung it down upo’ her back. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the Spouter said125.
When he an end o’ Eppie’s tale had made: 
“Allow me to express my gratitude127.
In a few words, before that I conclude; 
For the great kindness you have shown to me 
In coming my performances to see.” 
Ruffin’ an’ cheers now owre the audience rang 
As he continued,—”I will, with a song,132.
This night’s performance close, ere it be late; 
When Master Sprat, to heighten up the treat, 
Will sing the chorus.” He then made a bow, 
An’, turnin’ round to Master Sprat, said—”Now, 
We will begin.” Then Master Sprat upsprang,137.
An’ syne they both began the followin’ sang:— 

THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE’S SONG

I sport amidst the storm,1.
As o’er the lake it sweeps; 
And raise in glee my elfin form,3.
Frae the wide-spreading deeps; 
In mist and spray, 
At dawning day 
When the sun gives place to evening grey. 

Chorus.8.
Then hark! hark! hark! 
To my fairy song;10.
As I dart like a spark 
The clouds among; 
In sovereign sway, 
Till break of day 
Chanting with glee my wild war song.15.

I glory in the yelling breeze,16.
The lightning’s vivid light— 
As it darts among the rending trees18.
In the dark lonely night; 
In flashing fire, 
O’er tower and spire, 
Telling, with vengeance, Heaven’s dread ire. 

Then hark! hark! hark!23.
To my fairy song, &c. 

I dance upon the rainbow’s rim25.
As o’er the lake it hings; 
And sweep along in shadows dim,27.
Waking the echo’s rings; 
With my wild song, 
In numbers strong, 
As it rings through the valley so loud and long. 

Then hark! hark! hark!32.
To my fairy song, &c. 

In fearless speed, I cleave the sky34.
In wild majestic liberty, 
And, in freedom, I spring on high36.
A thing of dread and mystery; 
Who, when is seen, 
Is like a dream, 
Or a passing breeze o’er a valley green! 

Then hark! hark! hark!41.
To my fairy song, &c. 

When Luna sheds her silver light43.
Over yon rugged steep; 
‘Tis then I take my airy flight,45.
And o’er the valley sweep; 
And spring on high 
With cheery cry, 
Till I the dark blue ocean spy. 

Then hark! hark! hark!50.
To my fairy song, &c. 

Oh! when the thunders ring along,52.
And lightnings fierce descend; 
‘Tis then, with glee, I raise my song,54.
As the forest trees loud rend; 
And mount on high 
‘Midst the revelry, 
And fly with glee through the dark’ning sky! 

Then hark! hark! hark!59.
To my fairy song, &c. 

O! how I love to hear!—but hark!61.
What’s that towers o’er yon height? 
I see! see! ’tis the early lark63.
Hailing the morning’s light; 
So I cannot stay, 
But must hie away, 
For see! how fast comes the sun’s bright ray! 

Then hark! hark! hark!68.
To my fairy song, &c. 

As soon as they had finishèd the sang,70.
We a’ got up, an’ hurried aff fu’ thrang; 
An’ as we trudged alang, many a remark72.
Ane to anither made ’bout the night’s wark. 
Some said they thocht that it was gyen queer 
To hear a dead man’s ghost baith curse and swear; 
And that they didna think that it was fair 
To lift the frichted packman by the hair,77.
An’ syne to fling him o’er into the stream. 
“Hoot!” quo’ anither, “wasna it a dream? 
An’ weel ye ken that, aftimes i’ the nicht, 
Folk dream o’ things that whyles gie them a fricht; 
‘Twas but the tither nicht I dreamed mysel’82.
The Deevil haurlet me awa to hell.” 
This raised a laugh; an’ ilk took his ain way, 
Determined for to hear a full account next day. 

CONCLUSION

Next day arrived; but ah! the nest had flown,1.
For Mr. Main and Sprat had left the town, 
An’ (in their hurry) had forgot to pay3.
The debt they had contracted yesterday. 
An’ Willie Watson swore like any Turk 
That it had been a thievish piece o’ wark; 
An’ if he could the Spouter get, that he 
The inside o’ a jail wad let him see.8.
Although puir Willie said to us,— “I trow, 
To sic a rascal ‘twad be nothing new; 
For weel-a-wat it isna his first trick, 
Nor yet the first time he has ‘cut his stick.’ 
But aff o’ this, there’s ae thing that I’ll learn,13.
An’ that’s I’ll ken again wha gets my barn; 
An’ mak’ them always pay the cash before 
They ever set a nose in at the door.” 
An’ then poor Will began an’ swore again, 
What he wad do when he got Mr. Main;18.
When some auld wives said, “Man, ye should think shame, 
For ye hae nae ane but yersel to blame, 
For they wha mak’ an’ meddle wi’ sic crew, 
Aye meet with something they hae cause to rue. “ 
An’ Willie clawed his head an’ said, “Atweel,23.
They wad need a lang spoon wha sup kail wi’ the deil.” 

Uncollected Scottish Poems

Indenture Verse*

Be’t kent to a’ the warld, in rhyme,1.
That wi’ right meikle wark an’ toil, 
For three lang years I’ve ser’t my time.3.
Whiles feasted wi’ the hazel oil. 

A Song*

A lad wha ne’er made love to ane,1.
Had spent lang weary nights his lane, 
Had rowth o’ gear, and house o’s ain,3.
And beef laid in an a’, 
Lived at his ease, quite free from strife, 
Yet, tired to live a single life, 
Resolved at last to get a wife 
To sleep wi’m, niest the wa’.8.

Ale-cap wi’ lass he ne’er had kis’t,9.
Nor road ere t’her mou’ had mis’t, 
Nae blackfoot he sought to assist11.
To let him ken the way. 
Yet hoo to seek, or whar to gang 
To be soon ser’d, and no gang wrang, 
Took up his thoughts; he thoughtna lang— 
He had nae time to stay.16.

Sae down he sits wi’ pen and ink,17.
And twenty names writes in a blink, 
The best aye first, as he did think;19.
Then aff gaes wi’ his list 
T’ the first; then tells his story o’er.— 
Says he, I hae got names a score, 
And your’s is placed them a’ before, 
Say, will you mak’ me blest?24.

Giff ye’ll agree to be my nain,25.
I’ll risk wi’ you my purse and fame; 
Gin ye refuse, out through your name27.
My pen gaes wi’ a dash. 
But first I’ll hae your “No” or “I,” 
Some ane o’ the score will not deny; 
Will ye accept, or sall I try? 
Quo’ she—”Ye needna fash!”32.

Epitaph on John Allan*

BELOW this stane John Allen rests;1.
An honest soul, though plain; 
He sought hale Sabbath days for nests,3.
But always sought in vain! 

Rab And Ringan:
A Tale*

INTRODUCTION

1.
Hech! but ’tis awfu’-like to rise up here, 
* Where sic a sight o’ learn’d folks’ pows* appear! 
Sae mony piercing een a’ fix’d on ane, 
Is maist enough to freeze me to a stane!5.
But ’tis a mercy—mony thanks to Fate, 
Pedlars are poor, but unco seldom blate. *  

(Speaking to the President.)8.
This question, Sir, has been right weel disputet, 
And meikle, weel-a-wat’s been said about it;10.
Chiels, that precisely to the point can speak, 
And gallop o’er lang blauds of kittle* Greek; 
Ha’e sent frae ilka side their sharp opinion, 
And peeled it up as ane wad peel an ingon. *  

I winna plague you lang wi’ my poor spale, * 15.
But only crave your patience to a Tale; 
By which ye’ll ken on whatna side I’m stinnin’,* 17.
As I perceive your hindmost minute’s rinnin’. 

THE TALE

19.
There liv’d in Fife, an auld, stout, warldly chiel, 
Wha’s stomach kend* nae fare but milk and meal;21.
A wife he had, I think they ca’d her Bell, 
And twa big sons, amaist as heigh’s himsel’: 
Rab was a gleg,* smart cock, with powder’d pash:*  
Ringan, a slow, fear’d, bashfu’, simple hash. 

Baith to the College gaed. At first spruce Rab,26.
At Greek and Latin, grew a very dab; 
He beat a’ round about him, fair and clean,28.
And ilk ane courted him to be their frien’; 
Frae house to house they harl’d* him to dinner, 
But curs’d poor Ringan for a hum-drum sinner. 

Rab talkèd now in sic a lofty strain,32.
As tho’ braid Scotland had been a’ his ain; 
He ca’d the Kirk the Church, the Yirth the Globe,34.
And chang’d his name, forsooth, frae Rab to Bob; 
Whare’er ye met him, flourishing his rung, 
The haill discourse was murder’d wi’ his tongue; 
On friends and faes wi’ impudence he set, 
And ramm’d his nose in ev’ry thing he met.39.

The College now, to Rab, grew douf and dull,40.
He scorn’d wi’ books to stupify his skull; 
But whirl’d to Plays and Balls, and sic like places,42.
And roar’d awa’ at Fairs and Kintra Races; 
Sent hame for siller frae his mother Bell, 
And caft* a horse, and rade a race himsel’; 
Drank night and day, and syne, when mortal fu’, 
Row’d on the floor, and snor’d like ony sow;47.
Lost a’ his siller wi’ some gambling sparks, 
And pawn’d, for punch, his Bible and his sarks* ; 
Till, driven at last to own he had eneugh, 
Gaed hame a’ rags to haud his father’s pleugh. 

Poor hum-drum Ringan play’d anither part,52.
For Ringan wanted neither wit nor art; 
Of mony a far-aff place he kent the gate;54.
Was deep, deep learn’d, but unco unco blate; 
He kend how mony mile ’twas to the moon, 
How mony rake wad lave the ocean toom; *  
Where a’ the swallows gaed in time of snaw, 
What gars* the thunders roar, and tempests blaw;59.
Where lumps o’ siller grow aneath the grun’, 
How a’ this yirth rows round about the sun; 
In short, on books sae meikle time he spent, 
Ye cou’dna speak o’ aught, but Ringan kent. 

Sae meikle learning wi’ sae little pride,64.
Soon gain’d the love o’ a’ the kintra side;*  
And Death, at that time, happ’ning to nip aff66.
The Parish Minister—-a poor dull ca’f,—- 
Ringan was sought; he cou’dna’ say them Nay, 
And there he’s preaching at this very day. 

MORAL

Now, Mr. President, I think ’tis plain,70.
That youthfu’ diffidence is certain gain; 
Instead of blocking up the road to Knowledge,72.
It guides alike, in Commerce or at College; 
Struggles the bursts of passion to controul; 
Feeds all the finer feelings of the soul; 
Defies the deep-laid stratagems of guile, 
And gives even Innocence a sweeter smile;77.
Ennobles all the little worth we have, 
And shields our virtue even to the grave. 

How vast the diff’rence, then, between the twain!80.
Since Pleasure ever is pursu’d by Pain. 
Pleasure’s a syren, with inviting arms,82.
Sweet is her voice, and powerful are her charms; 
Lur’d by her call we tread her flow’ry ground, 
Joy wings our steps and music warbles round; 
Lull’d in her arms we lose the flying hours, 
And lie embosom’d ‘midst her blooming bow’rs,87.
Till—arm’d with death, she watches our undoing, 
Stabs while she sings, and triumphs in our ruin. 

The Hollander; or, Light Weight*

— Unheard of tortures1.
Must be reserv’d for such: these herd together; 
The common damn’d shun their society,3.
And look upon themselves as fiends less foul.  

ATTEND a’ ye wha on the loom,1.
Survey the shuttle jinkin’,*  
Whase purse has aft been sucket toom* 3.
While Willy’s scales war clinkin. 
A’ ye that for some luckless hole 
Ha’e pay’t (though right unwilling) 
To satisfy his hungry soul, 
A saxpence or a shilling8.
For fine some day. 

Shall black Injustice lift its head,10.
An’ cheat us like the devil, 
Without a man to stop its speed,12.
Or crush the growin’ evil? 
No;—here am I, wi’ vengeance big, 
Resolved to ca’m his clashing; 
Nor shall his cheeps,* or pouther’t* wig, 
Protect him frae a lashing17.
Right keen this day. 

See! cross his nose he lays the Spec’s19.
And owre the claith* he glimmers, 
Ilk wee bit triflin’ fau’t* detects,21.
And cheeps and dolefu’ yaummers.*  
“Dear man! that wark ‘ill never do; 
See that: ye’ll no tak’ telling”; 
Syne knavish chirts* his fingers through, 
An’ libels down a shilling26.
For holes that day. 

Perhaps the fellow’s needin’ clink, * 28.
To ca’m some threatnin’ beagle, 
Whilk mak’s him at sic baseness wink,30.
And for some siller* wheedle.*  
In greetan,* herse,* ungracious croon, 
Aul’ Willy granes, “I hear ye, 
But weel-a-wat our siller’s doon, 
We really canna spare ye35.
Ae doyt* this day.” 

Health to the brave Hibernian boy,37.
Who when by Willy cheated, 
Cock’d up his hat, without annoy,39.
An’ spoke by passion heated: 
“Upon my shoul I have a mind, 
Ye old deceiving devil, 
To toss your wig up to the wind, 
And teach you to be shivil,44.
To me this day.” 

But see! anither curtain’s drawn;46.
Some chiel his web has finish’d, 
An’ Willy on the tither han’,48.
The price o’t has diminish’d. 
But brought before the awfu’ Judge, 
To pay the regulation, 
Will. lifts his arm without a grudge, 
And swears by his salvation53.
He’s right that day. 

Anither’s been upo’ the push,55.
To get his keel* in claith, 
In certain hopes to be soon flush57.
O’ notes an’ siller baith. 
Returnin’ for his count at night, 
The poor impos’d-on mortal, 
Maun pay for puns* o’ clean light weight, 
Though he’s maist at the portal62.
O’ Want that day. 

In vain he pleads—Appeals to God,64.
That scarce he lost an ounce; 
The holy watcher o’ the brod* 66.
Cheeps out that he’s a dunce. 
Out frae the door he een maun come, 
Right thankfu’ gin* he get 
Some counterfeits, a scanty sum, 
Brought frae the Aul’ Kirk yett71.
Yon preaching day. 

O sirs! what conscience he contains,73.
What curse maun he be dreein’!*  
Whase ev’ry day is mark’d wi’ stains75.
O’ cheating and o’ leein! 
M’K****l, H*b, or throuther O*r, 
May swear and seem to fash* us, 
But Justice dignifies their door, 
And gen’rously, they clash us80.
The clink each day. 

Our Hollander (gude help his saul)82.
Kens better ways o’ working; 
For Jock an’ him has aft a sprawl84.
Wha’ll bring the biggest dark in. 
“Weel, Jock, what hast thou skrewt the day?” 
“Deed father I’se no crack o’t, 
Nine holes, sax ounce, or thereaway, 
Is a’ that I cou’d mak o’t89.
This live lang day.” 

When darkness hides their logic,91.
Like Milton’s Deil, an’ Sin, they trace 
For some new winning project.93.
Daft though they be, and unco gloyts, 
Yet they can count like scholars, 
How farthings multipli’d by doits, 
Grow up to pounds an’ dollars, 
Some after day.98.

Forby* (to gie the deil his due),99.
That nane can sell their goods like you, 
Or swear them up a hun’er.101.
Lang hacknied in the paths o’ vice, 
Thy conscience nought can scar her; 
And tens, and twals,* can in a trice, 
Jump up twa hun’er far’er, 
On ony day.106.

What town can thrive wi’ sic a crew,107.
Within its entrails crawlin’! 
To see or hear them squalin’.109.
Down on your knees, man, wife and wean, 
For ance implore the devil, 
To harle to himself his ain, 
An’ free us frae sic evil, 
This vera day.114.

Hab’s Door,
or, The Temple Of Terror*

OH a’ ye Nine wha wing the lift,1.
Or trip Parnassus’ green; 
Or through droll bardies’ noddles skift,* 3.
And mak’ them bauld* and bien;*  
Attend me while a scene I lift, 
An awfu’ waefu’ screen; 
That aft maist sent my saul* adrift, 
Out at my vera een.8.
On mony a day. 

Now draw the string—hail weel kent* part,10.
Ye doors and firms—black gear; 
But cease, thou flighterin’ thuddin’ heart,12.
Thou naething hast to fear; 
The Muses deign thus low to dart, 
To guard thy footsteps here; 
Then cock thy bonnet brisk and smart, 
The ferlies* see and hear,17.
This waefu’ day. 

See how they’re scuddin’ up the stair,19.
A’ breathless, and a’ pechin’* — 
“Wha cam’ last?” “Me,” cries some ane there—21.
Still up their comin’ stechin’;*  
Some oxtering* pocks* o’ silken ware, 
Some lapfus hov’t like kechan;*  
An’ aft the sigh, and hum, and stare, 
E’en frichtet* like they’re hechin’,* 26.
Sad, sad, this day. 

“Is this the dolefu’ jougs,* gudewife,28.
Or black stool o’ repentance? 
Or are ye try’t ‘tween death and life,30.
And waiting for your sentence? 
Ye leuk to be a dismal corps 
O’ desolate acquaintance!” 
“Whisht,”* quo’ the wife, “ye maunna roar, 
Or lad ye’ll soon be sent hence,35.
By Hab this day.” 

Now twiggle twiggle goes the door,37.
In steps the foremost comer; 
Tak’s aff his cowl,* pu’s out his store,39.
A’ shakin’, tells the num’er. 
The ready scales, a clinkin’ corps 
O’ weights, amaist a hun’er;*  
Lets Andrew ken what down to score, 
Syne heaves it out like lum’er,* 44.
In’s neive this day. 

Now, now, you wretch, prepare, prepare,46.
And tak’ a snuff to cheer ye; 
See how he spreads your lizures* bare—48.
Hech, but they’re black and dreary. 
“Lord, sirrah,” Hab roars like a bear, 
“What stops me but I tear ye? 
Such lizures!—damn your blood, ye stare— 
By God, ye dog, I’ll swear ye53.
To hell this day.” 

The poor soul granes aneath the rod,55.
As burning in a fever, 
His knees to ane anither nod,57.
And hand, and lip pale, quiver. 
The tiger stamps, with fury shod, 
“Confound your blasted liver, 
Bring hame the beating, and by God 
Ye may be damned for ever,62.
For ought I care.” 

Now swelled to madness, round the room64.
Hab like a fury prances; 
While each successive comer’s doom66.
Is fixt to hell as chance is. 
His agents a’, wi’ sullen gloom 
Mute, measure, as he dances 
With horrid rage, damning the loom, 
And weavers; soon he scances* 71.
Their claith* this day. 

His fate met out, awa’ wi’ speed73.
The plackless sinner trudges; 
Glad to escape the killing dread75.
O’ sic unfeeling judges. 
His greetin’ weans mourn out for bread, 
The hopeless wife now grudges; 
And ruin gathers round his head, 
In many a shape that huge is,80.
And grim this day. 

And now, ye pridefu’ wabster* chiels,82.
How dare ye stand afore him, 
And say he aften gi’es to deils,84.
Men that’s by far before him; 
Ye mock his skill o’ claith and keels,*  
And frae douce* christians score him, 
But haith gin he kens this as weel, 
To coin oaths I’se encore him89.
Aloud this day. 

Go on—great, glorious Hab, go on—91.
Rave owre the trembling wretches; 
Mind neither music, sex, nor one,93.
But curse them a’ for bitches; 
While echo answers every groan, 
That their deep murmur fetches; 
Damn every poor man’s worth, and moan, 
For that exalts like riches,98.
Bright souls as thine. 

But when that serious day or night100.
That sure to come draws near; 
When thy ain wab,* a dismal sight,102.
Maun to be judged appear. 
Ha, Hab! I doubt thy weight owre light, 
Will gar* thee girn* and swear; 
An’ thou’lt gang down the brimstane height, 
Weel guarded flank and rear,107.
To hell that day. 

The Loss Of The Pack*

A True Tale

(Recited in the character of a poor Pedlar)

‘BOUT-GATES* I hate, quo’ girning* Maggy Pringle;1.
Syne, harl’d Watty, greeting, thro the ingle. 
Since this fell question seems sae lang to hing on,3.
In twa-three words I’ll gie ye my opinion. 

I wha stand here, in this bare scoury coat,5.
Was ance a packman, wordy* mony a groat; 
I’ve carried packs as big’s your meikle table,7.
I’ve scarted pats,* and sleepet in a stable; 
Sax pounds I wadna’ for my pack ance ta’en, 
And I could bauldly brag ’twas a’ mine ain. 

Ay! thae were days indeed, that gart me hope,11.
Aeblins, thro’ time, to warsle* up a shop; 
And as a wife aye in my noddle* ran,13.
I kend my Kate wad grapple at me than. 
O Kate was past compare! sic cheeks! sic een!*  
Sic smiling looks were never, never seen. 
Dear, dear I lo’ed her, and whane’er we met, 
Pleaded to have the bridal-day but set;18.
Stappèd her pouches fu’ o’ prins and laces, 
And thought mysel’ weel paid wi’ twa three kisses; 
Yet still she put it aff frae day to day, 
And aften kindly in my lug* wad say, 
‘Ae half year langer is nae unco stop,23.
We’ll marry, then, and syne set up a shop.” 

O, Sir, but lasses’ words are saft and fair,25.
They soothe our griefs, and banish ilka care; 
Wha wadna toil to please the lass he lo’es?27.
A lover true minds this in a’ he does. 
Finding her mind was thus sae firmly bent, 
And that I cou’dna get her to relent, 
There was nought left, but quietly to resign, 
To heeze* my pack for ae lang hard campaign;32.
And as the Highlands was the place for meat, 
I ventur’d there in spite of wind and weet.*  

Cauld now the Winter blew, and deep the sna’35.
For three haill days incessantly did fa’; 
Far in a muir, amang the whirling drift,37.
Whar nought was seen but mountains and the lift; 
I lost my road, and wander’d mony a mile, 
Maist dead wi’ hunger, cauld, and fright, and toil: 
Thus wand’ring, east or west, I kend na’* where, 
My mind o’ercome wi’ gloom and black despair;42.
Wi’ a fell ringe,* I plung’d at ance, forsooth, 
Down thro’ a wreath o’ snaw, up to my mouth. 
Clean o’er my head my precious wallet flew, 
But whar it gaed, Lord kens! I never knew. 

What great misfortunes are pour’d down on some!47.
I thought my fearfu’ hinderen’ was come; 
Wi’ grief and sorrow was my soul o’ercast,49.
Ilk breath I drew was like to be my last; 
For aye the mair I warsl’d* roun’ and roun’, 
I fand mysel’ aye stick the deeper down; 
Till ance, at length, wi’ a prodigious pull, 
I drew my poor auld carcase frae the hole.54.

Lang, lang I sought, and grapèd for my pack,55.
Till night and hunger forc’d me to come back; 
For three lang hours I wander’d up and down,57.
Till chance, at last convey’d me to a town; 
There, wi’ a trembling hand, I wrote my Kate 
A sad account of a’ my luckless fate; 
But bade her aye be kind, and no despair;— 
Since life was left, I soon wad gather mair;62.
Wi’ whilk, I hop’d, within a towmond’s date,*  
To be at hame, and share it a’ wi’ Kate. 

Fool that I was, how little did I think65.
That love would soon be lost for fa’t o’ clink. 
The loss of fair won wealth, though hard to bear,67.
Afore this, ne’er had power to force a tear. 
I trusted time wad bring things round again, 
And Kate, dear Kate, wad then be a’ mine ain; 
Consol’d my mind, in hopes o’ better luck,— 
But, O! what sad reverse!—-how thunderstruck!72.
When ae black day brought word frae Rab my brither, 
That Kate was cried, and married on anither! 

Tho’ a’ my friends, and ilka comrade sweet,75.
At ance, had drappèd cauld dead at my feet; 
Or, tho’ I’d heard the Last Day’s dreadfu’ ca’,77.
Nae deeper horror on my heart could fa’; 
I curs’d mysel’, I curs’d my luckless fate, 
I grat* —and, sobbing, cried—O Kate! O Kate! 

Frae that day forth, I never mair did weel,81.
But drank, and ran headforemost to the deel;*  
My siller* vanish’d, far frae hame I pin’d,83.
But Kate for ever ran across my mind; 
In her were a’ my hopes—-these hopes were vain, 
And now—I’ll never see her like again. 

‘Twas this, Sir President, that gart me start,87.
Wi’ meikle grief and sorrow at my heart, 
To gi’e my vote, frae sad experience, here,89.

That disappointed love is waur* to bear90.
Ten thousand times, than loss o’ warld’s gear.*  

The Insulted Pedlar:
A Poetical Tale Related By Himself*

Honi Soit Qui Mal y Pense*

O YE, my poor sca’t brethren a’,1.
Wha mony a time wi’ hungry maw, 
Implore the beild* o’ some barn wa’,3.
Wi’ hurdies* sair* ; 
Now to the deil your boxes blaw, 
And beg nae mair. 

I’ve seen the day, but faith it’s gane,7.
When roun’ farm-towns, frae ane to ane, 
The shortest route we might have ta’en,9.
Nor been molested; 
But now wi’ stabs, an’ lime, an’ stane, 
We’re vext an’ pested. 

The deil a fit ye owre dare set,13.
But trudge lang twa mile to the yett,*  
Or by the Lord ye’ll aiblins get15.
Your legs in chains; 
Or skelpit back wi’ haffits het, 
And broken banes. 

Ae nicht short syne as hame I trampit,19.
Beneath my pack, wi’ banes sair crampit, 
But owre a wee bit dyke I lampit,* 21.
And trottin burn; 
There to do for my ain bethankit, 
A needfu’ turn. 

Aweel, I scarcely had begun25.
To ope the evacuating gun, 
I’ll swear they hadna reached the grun,* 27.
When frae the wud 
A bellied gent, steps owre the run, 
Wi’ “Dem your blood! 

“By whose authority or order31.
Came ye upon this corn-rig border, 
To rowe* your filth and reeking ordour33.
On me a Bailie? 
Hence wi’ your dirt, else by the Lord, or 
Lang, I’ll jail ye.” 

I gloweret a wee, syne fetched a grane,37.
“Deed sir, through mony a lane I’ve gane, 
An’ gin ye raise me frae this stane,39.
Ne’er laird or lady 
Attempted such a job their lane, 
Till I was ready. 

“Gin ye can prove, by pen or tongue,43.
That lan’ ne’er profited by dung, 
That by its influence corn ne’er sprung,45.
Though I should lumple,* ] 
I’se thole* a thump o’ that hard rung,*  
Out owre my rumple. 

“My order, sir, was Nature’s laws,49.
That was the reason, and because 
Necessity’s demands and ca’s51.
War very gleg, 
I hunkered down ‘mang thir hard wa’s 
To lay my egg. 

“And sir, I’m seeking naething frae ye;55.
My offering here I freely lea you, 
Sic presents ilka ane wont gie you,57.
Tak’ ye my word, 
Ye’re richer since I first did see you, 
That reeking turd.” 

Scarce had I spoke, when owre he sprung,61.
And rais’t a yellow knotted rung, 
And aim’t at me a dreadfu’ fung,* 63.
Wi’ foaming spite; 
But owre my head it suchin swung, 
Dash on the dyke. 

I started up and lap* the dyke,67.
“Now, curse ye, sir, come when you like, 
I’ll send this stick, armed wi’ a pike,69.
Amang your painches;*  
Ye ugly, greasy, girnin’ tyke,*  
Now guard your hainches.” 

He roared a most tremendous oath,73.
That Satan’s sell wi’ shame wad loath, 
While frae his devilish mouth the froth75.
Flew aff wi’ squatter;*  
Then raised a stane, as dead’s a moth 
My brains to batter. 

When at this instant o’ the faught,79.
A gentleman came belly-flaught, 
And in his arms the tiger caught,81.
Wi’ frighted tone; 
Exclaiming, “Lord’s sake, Mr. L— 
What has he done?” 

Here I stood forth to bring’t to a bearing,85.
“Please, sir, to grant a patient hearing, 
An’ I’ll unravel what your speering,* 87.
To your contentment; 
Let go the bitch, don’t think I’m fearing 
The fool’s resentment.” 

Sae I related a’ the matter,91.
That raised between us sic a clatter; 
At which he laughed till fairly water93.
Reliev’d his e’en; 
While the grim wretches baith did clatter 
Wi’ malice keen. 

“Now, sir, compose yoursel’ a wee;97.
Tak’ aff your hat an’ join wi’ me, 
While for this sinner black I gie99.
My earnest prayer; 
Whilk frae my very saul* on hie 
I here uprear. 

“Great Jove! before Thee here is seen,103.
A human bear, a speaking swine, 
Wha wi’ dread oaths, and fiery e’en,105.
And devilish feature, 
Has dared to curse a work o’ Thine 
For easing nature. 

“On him pour plagues without restraint,109.
Wi’ restless buneuchs* him torment, 
Till through fierce purgin’ he be spent111.
As tume’s a blether; 
And that big wame* that’s now sae bent, 
Be a’ lowse leather. 

“And when he limps wi’ gout and spavie,115.
Through jaunering crowds, held as a knave aye, 
There may’t attack him, while a privie117.
In vain he seeks, 
Till he be forc’d to blow’t the gravie 
Just in his breeks!*  

“Whene’er he drinks to raise the flame,121.
Syne hurries hame to Venus’ game, 
May cauld yill* clankin’ in his wame123.
Wi’ hurlin’ rum’le, 
Aft force him to forsake the dame 
Wi’ spoulin’ whum’le.*  

“Then may he rue (although owre late127.
To stop the yellin’ roarin’ spate) 
That e’er he curst, or vicious flate* 129.
On pedlar Sawney; 
And e’en envy his blessed fate 
Wha sat sae canny. 

“And Lord! an answer soon sen’ back,133.
And let him see Thy han’s na slack. 
Amen, amen,—put on your hat,135.
And haud the bear in.” 
So up I swung my verdant pack, 
And left him swearin’. 

The Shark;
Or Lang Mills Detected *

Yes, while I live, no rude or sordid knave1.
Shall walk the world in credit to his grave. 

YE weaver blades!* ye noble chiels!1.
Wha fill our land wi’ plenty, 
And mak our vera barest fiels3.
To waive wi’ ilka dainty; 
Defend yoursels, tak sicker* heed, 
I warn you as a brither; 
Or Shark’s resolved, wi’ hellish greed, 
To gorge us a’ thegither,* 8.
At ance this day. 

In Gude’s-name will we ne’er get free10.
O’ thieves and persecution! 
Will Satan never let abee12.
To plot our dissolution! 
Ae scoun’rel sinks us to the pit, 
Wi’ his eternal curses, 
Anither granes,—and prays,—and yet 
Contrives to toom* our purses,17.
Maist every day. 

A higher aim gars* Willy think,19.
And deeper schemes he’s brewin’; 
Ten thousan’ fouk at ance to sink21.
To poverty and ruin! 
Hail mighty patriot! Noble soul! 
Sae generous, and sae civil, 
Sic vast designs deserve the whole 
Applauses of the devil26.
On ony day. 

In vain we’ve toiled wi’ head and heart,28.
And constant deep inspection, 
For years on years, to bring this art30.
So nearly to perfection; 
The mair that art and skill deserve, 
The greedier Will advances; 
And saws and barrels only serve 
To heighten our expenses35.
And wrath this day. 

But know, to thy immortal shame,37.
While stands a paper-spot, 
So long, great Squeeze-the-poor! thy fame,39.
Thy blasted fame shall rot; 
And as a brick or limestane kiln 
Wi’ sooty reek* advances; 
So grateful shall thy mem’ry still 
Be to our bitter senses,44.
By night or day. 

Lang Willy Shark wi’ greedy snout46.
Had sneaked about the C—n—l, 
To eat his beef and booze about,48.
Nor proved at drinking punch ill; 
Till, Judas-like, he got the bag, 
And squeezed it to a jelly; 
Thae* war the days for Will to brag, 
And blest times for the belly53.
Ilk ither day. 

The mair we get by heuk and cruk55.
We aften grow the greedier; 
Shark raiket now through every neuk57.
To harl* till him speedier; 
His ghastly conscience, pale and spent, 
Was summoned up, right clever; 
Syne, wi’ an execration sent 
Aff, henceforth and for ever,62.
Frae him that day. 

This done, trade snoovt awa wi’ skill64.
And wonderfu’ extention; 
And widen’t soon was every mill,66.
(A dexterous invention!) 
Groat after groat, was clippet aff, 
Frae ae thing and anither; 
Till fouk began to think on draff, 
To help to haud* thegither71.
Their banes that day. 

Now round frae cork* to cork he trots73.
Wi’ eagerness and rigour, 
And “Rump the petticoats and spots!”75.
His Sharkship roared wi’ vigour; 
But, whan his harnishes cam in 
In dizens in a morning; 
And a’ grew desolate and grim, 
His rapture changed to mourning,80.
And rage that day. 

Thus Haman, in the days of yore,82.
Pufft up wi’ spitefu’ evil, 
Amang his blackguard, wicked core,84.
Contrived to play the devil; 
High stood the gibbet’s dismal cape, 
But little thought the sinner 
That he had caft* the vera rape 
Wad* rax* his neck, e’er dinner89.
Was owre that day. 

Wha cou’d believe a chiel sae trig* 91.
Wad cheat us o’ a bodle?*  
Or that sae fair a gowden wig93.
Contained sae black a noddle?*  
But Shark beneath a sleekit* smile 
Conceals his fiercest girning; 
And, like his neighbours of the Nile, 
Devours wi’ little warning98.
By night or day. 

O happy is that man and blest100.
Wha in the C—n—l gets him! 
Soon may he cram his greedy kist* 102.
And dare a soul to touch him. 
But should some poor auld wife, by force 
O’ poortith* scrimp her measure, 
Her cursed reels at P—y Corse, 
Wad bleeze* wi’ meikle pleasure107.
To them that day. 

Whiles, in my sleep, methinks I see109.
Thee marching through the city, 
And Hangman Jock, wi’ girnan glee,111.
Proceeding to his duty. 
I see thy dismal phiz and back, 
While Jock, his stroke to strengthen, 
Brings down his brows at every swack,*  
“I’ll learn your frien’ to lengthen,116.
Your mills the day.” 

Poor wretch! in sic a dreadfu’ hour118.
O’ blude and dirt and hurry, 
What wad thy saftest luke* or sour120.
Avail to stap their fury? 
Lang Mills, wad rise around thy lugs*  
In mony a horrid volley; 
And thou be kicket to the dugs,*  
To think upo’ thy folly125.
Ilk after day. 

Ye Senators! whase wisdom deep127.
Keeps a’ our matters even, 
If sic a wretch ye dare to keep,129.
How can ye hope for heaven? 
Kick out the scoun’rel to his shift,*  
We’ll pay him for his sporting, 
And sen’ his mills and him adrift 
At ance to try their fortune134.
Down Cart this day. 

Think, thou unconscionable Shark!136.
For heaven’s sake bethink thee! 
To what a depth of horrors dark138.
Sic wark will surely sink thee— 
Repent of sic enormous sins, 
And drap thy curst intention; 
Or faith I fear, wi’ brislt shins, 
Thou’lt mind this reprehension143.
Some future day. 

Watty And Meg, Or The Wife Reformed *

“We dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.” *

KEEN the frosty winds were blawin’,1.
Deep the snaw* had wreath’d the plews; 
Watty, wearied a’ day sawin’,3.
Daunert down to Mungo Blews. *  

Dryster Jock was sitting cracky* 5.
Wi’ Pate Tamson o’ the hill; 
“Come awa!” co Johnny, “Watty!7.
Haith we’se hae anither gill.” 

Watty glad to see Jock Jabos9.
And sae mony nibours* roun’, 
Kicket* frae his shoon* the snawba’s,11.
Syne beyont the fire sat down. 

Owre a board, wi’ bannocks heapet,13.
Cheese and stoups and glasses stood, 
Some war roarin’, ithers sleepet;15.
Ithers quietly chewt their cude. 

Jock was sellin Pate some tallow;17.
A’ the rest a racket hel’; 
A’ but Watty, wha, poor fallow!19.
Sat and smoket by himsel’. 

Mungo fill’d him up a toothfu’,21.
Drank his health and Megs in ane; 
Watty, puffen out a mouthfu’,23.
Pledg’d him wi’ a dreary grane. 

“What’s the matter Watty wi’ you!25.
Trouth your chafts are fa’n in! 
Something’s wrang?—I’m vext to see you—27.
Gudsake but ye’re desp’rate thin!” 

“Aye,” co Watty “things are alter’d—29.
But its past redemption now. 
O I wish I had been halter’d* 31.
When I marry’d Maggy Hoo! 

“I’ve been poor, and vext, and raggy,* 33.
Try’d wi troubles no that sma;*  
Them I bare, but, marrying Maggy,35.
Laid the capestane o’ them a. 

“Night and day she’s ever yelpin;37.
With the weans* she ne’er can gree; 
When she’s tir’d wi perfect skelpin,39.
Then she flees like fire on me. 

“See ye Mungo! when she’ll clash on41.
Wi her everlasting clack,*  
Whiles I’ve had my nieve, * in passion,43.
Liftet up to break her back!” 

“O for gudesake keep frae cuffets!”* 45.
Mungo shook his head and said, 
“Weel I ken what sort a life its—47.
Ken ye, Watty, how I did? 

“After Bess and I war kippelt,* 49.
Fact she grew like ony bear! 
Brack my shins, and, when I tippelt,51.
Harlt out my vera hair. 

“For a wee I quietly knuckelt;* 53.
But, when naething wad prevail, 
Up my claes* and cash I buckelt,55.
Bess! Forever, fare you weel! 

“Then her din grew less and less, ay,57.
Haith I made her change her tune! 
Now a better wife than Bessy59.
Never stept in leather shoon. 

“Try this Watty! When ye see her61.
Ragin like a roarin flude, 
Swear, that moment, that ye’ll lea* her;63.
That’s the way to keep her gude.” 

Laughing sangs and lasses’ skirls* 65.
Echo’d now out-thro’ the roof; 
“Done!” co Pate; and syne his erls67.
Nailt the Drystker’s wauket* loof.*  

In the thrang o’ stories tellin’,69.
Shaking hauns, and ither cheer, 
Swith a chap comes on the hallan,* 71.
“Mungo, is our Watty here?” 

Maggy’s well kent tongue and hurry,73.
Darted thro’ him like a knife; 
Up the door flew—like a fury75.
In came Watty’s scawlin wife; 

“Nasty, gude-for-naething being!77.
O ye snuffy drucken soo! 
Bringan wife and weans to ruin,79.
Drinking here wi sic a crew! 

“Devil nor your legs were broken!81.
Sic a life nae flesh endures— 
Toilan like a slave to sloken* 83.
You, ye dyvor! * and your h——. 

“Rise ye druken beast o’ Bethel!85.
Drink’s your night and day’s desire; 
Rise this precious hour! or faith I’ll87.
Fling your whiskey i’ the fire!” 

Watty, heard her tongue unhallowt;89.
Pay’t his groat wi little din; 
Left the house, while Maggy fallowt,91.
Flytin a’ the road behin. 

Fowk frae every door came lampin,93.
Maggy curst them ane and a’; 
Clappit wi her hauns,* and stampin,95.
Lost her bachles in the snaw. 

Hame, at length, she turnt the gavel,97.
Wi a face as white’s a cloot; 
Ragin like a vera devil;99.
Kickan stools and chairs about. 

“Ye’ll sit wi your limmers* round you!101.
Hang you, sir, I’ll be your death! 
Little hauds my hauns, confound you!103.
But I cleave you to the teeth.” 

Watty, wha midst this oration105.
Ey’d her whiles, but durstna* speak, 
Sat, like patient Resignation,107.
Tremlan by the ingle cheek. 

Sad his wee drap brose* he sippet;109.
Maggy’s tongue gade like a bell; 
Quietly to his bed he slippet,111.
Sighing aften to himself. 

“Nane are free frae some vexation;113.
Ilk ane has his ills to dree; 
But through a’ the hale creation115.
Is a mortal vexed like me!” 

A’ night lang he rowt* and gantet;* 117.
Sleep or rest he cou’dna’ tak; 
Maggy aft, wi horror hauntet,119.
Mumlan, startet at his back. 

Soon as e’er the morning peepit,121.
Up raise Watty, waefu’ chiel! 
Kisst his weanies while they sleepit,123.
Waukent Meg, and sought fareweel. 

“Farewell Meg!—And O may heaven,125.
Keep you aye within its care! 
Watty’s heart ye’ve lang been grieving;127.
Now he’ll never fash* you mair. 

“Happy cou’d I been beside you—129.
Happy baith at morn and een— 
A’ the ills did e’er betide you131.
Watty ay turnt out your frien. 

“But you ever lik’d to see me133.
Vext and sighing, late and air— 
Fareweel Meg!—I’ve sworn to lea thee!135.
So thou’ll never see me mair!” 

Maggy, sabban sair* to lose him,137.
Sic a change had never wist, 
Held his hand close to her bosom,139.
While her heart was like to burst. 

“Oh my Watty! will ye lea’ me?141.
Frienless! Helpless! to despair! 
Oh for this ae time forgie me,143.
Never will I vex you mair.” 

“Aye ye’ve aft said that; and broken145.
A’ your vows ten times a week; 
No no, Meg; see! here’s a token,147.
Glittering on my bonnet cheek! 

“Owre the seas I march this morning,149.
Listed, tested, sworn and a’ 
Forc’d by your confounded girning:151.
Fareweel, Meg! for I’m awa.” 

Then poor Maggy’s tears and clamour153.
Gusht afresh and louder grew; 
While the weans, wi mournfu yammer,155.
Round their sabbing mother flew. 

“Thro’ the yirth* I’ll waunner wi you!157.
Stay, Oh Watty! stay at hame! 
Here, upo my knees I’ll gie you159.
Ony aith* ye like to name. 

“See your poor young lammies pleading!161.
Will ye gang* and break our heart? 
No a house to put our head in!163.
No a frien to tak our part!” 

Ilka word came like a bullet;165.
Watty’s heart begoud to shake; 
On a kist he laid his wallet,167.
Dightet baith his een and spake. 

“If ance mair, I could, by writing,169.
Lea’ the sogers* and stay still, 
Wad you swear to drap your flyting?”* 171.
“Yes, O Watty! yes I will.” 

“Weel,” co Watty, “mind, be honest,173.
Ay to keep your temper strive; 
Gin ye break this dreadfu’ promise175.
Never mair expect to thrive: 

“Marget Hoo! This hour ye, solemn177.
Swear by everything that’s gude, 
Ne’er again your spouse to scaul him,179.
While life warms your heart and blude!” 

“That ye’ll ne’er in Mungo’s seek me?181.
Ne’er put DRUKEN to my name? 
Never out at e’ening steek me?183.
Never gloom* when I come hame? 

“That ye’ll ne’er, like Bessy Miller,185.
Kick my shins, or rug* my hair? 
Lastly—I’M TO KEEP THE SILLER;* 187.
This upo your saul ye swear?” 

“Oh!”——co’ Meg,——”A weel,” co Watty,189.
“Fareweel! Faith I’ll try the seas.” 
“Oh stand still!” co Meg, “and grat ay,191.
Ony, ony way ye please.” 

Maggy syne, because he prest her,193.
Swore to a’ thing owre again; 
Watty lap, and danc’d, and kist her;195.
WOW! but he was won’rous fain! 

Down he threw his staff, victorious;197.
Aff gaed bonnet, claes* and shoon; 
Syne below the blankets, glorious,199.
Held anither hinny moon.*  

Address to the Synod of Glasgow and Ayr*

YE very reverend haly* dads,1.
Wha fill the black gown dously,*  
And deal divinity in blauds,* 3.
Amang the vulgar crously;*  
And when in Synod ye do sit, 
There to fill up your station; 
Ye fleech* the king and Willy Pitt, 
And roose the Proclamation8.
Wi’ pith this day. 

I hae a word or twa to gie,* 10.
Ye’ll maybe think it’s flyting;*  
Gin ye wad lend your lugs* a wee,12.
Ye’ll get it het and piping; 
An overture, that ne’er cam’ through 
Presbyt’ry or Session; 
And to your reverences now 
It comes without digression17.
In lumps this day. 

Ye wad do weel to feed your flocks,19.
And read your buiks mair tenty;*  
Then ye wad better raise your stocks,21.
And fill your ha’s wi’ plenty. 
Morality and common sense, 
And reason ye should doat on; 
For then ye’re sure of recompense 
Frae ladies and your patron26.
On sic a day. 

Ye think to get your wages up28.
For sic a lang oration; 
But aiblins ye may get the slip—30.
Ye’ve cankered half the nation. 
Though P——s be a funny soul, 
And fu’ o’ craft and learning; 
He’ll hardly get a siller* bowl 
Worth forty shillings sterling,35.
For thanks yon day. 

Sic things are but ill taen thir days,37.
When Liberty’s sae raging; 
And in her leel* and noble cause39.
Ten thousands are engaging: 
The Kirk should a’ your time mortgage, 
For weel she pays the cost; 
And royalty and patronage 
Eternally’s your toast,44.
Baith night and day. 

O Patronage! ye cunning baud,46.
Ye should be sairly* thumpit; 
Deil blaw ye south, ye cruel jade,48.
Ye ne’er-do-weel like strumpet. 
For under your infamous wing, 
The clergy sits sae paughty;*  
And slyly hums the foolish king, 
Wi’ cracks that are fell* daughty,53.
For clink* this day. 

The ‘Rights of Man’ is now weel kenned,* 55.
And read by mony a hunder;*  
For Tammy Paine the buik has penned,57.
And lent the Courts a lounder;*  
It’s like a keeking-glass* to see 
The craft of Kirk and statesmen; 
And wi’ a bauld and easy glee, 
Guid faith the birky* beats them62.
Aff hand this day. 

Though Geordy be deluded now,64.
And kens na what’s a-doing; 
Yet aiblins he may find it true66.
There is a blast a-brewing. 
For British boys are in a fiz,*  
Their heads like bees are humming; 
And for their rights and liberties 
They’re mad upon reforming71.
The Court this day. 

But gin the proclamation should73.
Be put in execution, 
Then brethren ye may chew your cud,75.
And fear a revolution. 
For fegs* ye’ve led the Kirk a dance, 
Her tail is now in danger; 
For of the liberties in France 
Nae Scotsman is a stranger80.
At hame this day. 

But deil may care for a’ your thanks,82.
And prayers that did confirm it; 
Like Lewis in his royal branks,* 84.
The king and you may girn yet. 
There’s mony a chiel of noble stuff, 
‘Tween Johnny Groats and Dover, 
That starkly may gie him a cuff, 
And send him to Hanover,89.
Wi’ speed some day. 

Ye think yoursels sae safe and snug,91.
That ne’er a ane dare strike ye; 
But for your thanks, I’ll lay my lug,* 93.
Few patriots will like ye: 
The Kirk is now on her last legs, 
And to the pot she’s tumbling; 
And troth my lads ye’re aff your eggs, 
For a’ your gratefu’ mumbling,98.
On sic a day. 

It’s true indeed she’s lang stood out100.
Against Dissenting nostrums; 
Although she’s gotten many a clout102.
Frae their despis’d rostrums. 
The State has long kept at her side, 
And firmly did support her; 
But Liberty wi’ furious tide, 
Is like to come athwart her107.
Pell mell this day. 

The power of clergy, wylie tykes,* 109.
Is unco fast declining; 
And courtiers’ craft, like snaw aff dykes,111.
Melts when the sun is shining; 
Auld Monarchy, wi’ cruel paw, 
Her dying pains is gnawing; 
While Democracy, trig* and braw,*  
Is through a’ Europe crawing116.
Fu’ crouse* this day. 

But lest the Muse exaggerate,118.
Come, here’s for a conclusion, 
On every true blue Democrate120.
I ken ye’ll pray confusion. 
But frae your dark and deep designs 
Fair Liberty will hide us; 
Frae Glasgow and frae Ayr divines 
We pray good Lord to guide us125.
On ilka day. 

Hogmenae*

ON Hogmenae* night, as ye’ll hear,1.
Our noble good masters being willing 
To help us to haud the New Year,3.
Sent up twenty hogs and a shilling: 
The table in Mitchell’s was laid, 
That reach’d frae ae end to the tither; 
A claith* white as snaw o’er’t was spread, 
And knives, plates, and forks, a’ the gither.8.

There waur Dempster, and Brodie, and Dott,9.
The Landlord, and wee Danie Murray, 
Geordie Kemp, wi’ a spark in his throat,11.
And Andrew, wha’s ne’er in a hurry. 
Saunders Wright, Murray, Sandy, and Knox, 
And Mitchell, and Wilson, and Miller, 
A core o’ as good hearty cocks 
As e’er spent a saxpence o’ siller.* 16.

At seven, the hour that was set,17.
By ane and ane inward they drapped, 
Till ance maist a dizen had met,19.
And syne for some porter we rapped. 
At length by a chiel ’twas propos’d, 
Wha lang’d to devour like a glutton, 
That gin we were a’ sae dispos’d, 
We might send for the roast beef and mutton.24.

So Dempster and Brodie, in Co.25.
Like lamplighters ran to the Baker’s, 
We drank in the meantime as slow,27.
And dowse, as a meeting of Quakers. 
At length the twa carriers appear’d, 
The ne’er a ane then had the spavy; 
And Brodie soon slairy’d his beard 
Wi’ bra’ creeshie* platefu’s of gravy.32.

Sic clashing of knives, plates, and forks,33.
Was hardly e’er heard at a weddin’, 
The bottles were cleared o’ their corks,35.
And plate after platefu’ was laid in. 
Slow Andrew drank brue like a fish, 
For beef he had no meikle share in’t, 
And Brodie’s chin glittered with creesh,*  
Till some swore they saw theirmsel’s fair in’t.40.

Now ilka ane, swell’d like a drum,41.
With roast beef, potatoes, and mutton, 
Right steeve grew the stomachs of some,43.
While button was lows’d after button. 
The banes a’ thegither were got, 
And plates and a’ clear’d frae the table, 
And the landlord desired, by a vote, 
For a stoupfu’ as quick’s he was able.48.

The board was now lifted awa’,49.
And round gaed a mutchkin* o’ brandy, 
The chairs were set round in a raw,51.
For ilka ane thought it mair handy. 
A chairman was also judg’d right, 
To clear up a’ difficult cases; 
So by vote ’twas declared, “That this night 
John Brodie is chairman and preses.”56.

This bus’ness was hardly got o’er,57.
When up started President Brodie, 
“I order” (quo’ he, with a glow’r)59.
That they bring in a bowlfu’ o’ toddy.” 
The liquor was brought in a blink, 
Six glasses soon glanc’d on the table; 
“Here’s—May all our enemies sink, 
Or swing through the air in a cable.”64.

“Success to Montgomerie and Co.”65.
“May our trade flourish brighter and brighter,” 
“May our purses aye weightier grow,67.
“Our cares and our troubles aye lighter.” 
“May we ever be grateful for gude”— 
“May ne’er ony waur be among us”— 
“May courage aye warm up our blude*  
“To cudgel* the scoundrels that wrang* us.”72.

Now some fall to singing of sangs,73.
And others to roaring and bleth’ring; 
They rapped like fire with the tangs,* 75.
“Our bowl’s toom,* come bring us anither in.” 
“Silence,” (quo’ Brodie) “nae clash 
I say.” But to ilka ane’s wonder, 
Down hurl’d the form with a crash, 
And levell’d the preses like thunder.80.

It’s past a’ description to tell81.
How Toddy inspir’d ev’ry bosom, 
How often our president fell,83.
How aft it was mov’d to depose him; 
How Andrew sang “Blythe was the night,” 
And, “Hummle, dum tweedle, dum tweedle;” 
How ev’ry ane’s wit grew as bright 
And as sharp as the point of a needle.88.

With laughing, and roaring, and drink,89.
At last we grew doited* and weary; 
Auld Saunders begoud for to wink,91.
Syne couped* as sound as a peerie. 
Ae shilling was now to the fore,*  
We bury’d it soon in our stomachs; 
Syne grouping to find out the door, 
Gaed* swaggering a’ hame to our hammocks.96.

Hymns*

Hymn I. COMMON METRE.

WHERE’ER I turn my weary eye1.
Surrounding sorrows wait; 
For vain are all the passing joys,3.
And fairest smiles of Fate. 

II.

Full oft, thro’ Life’s perplexing maze, 
We chace some distant gain; 
Death comes—we leave the mad pursuit, 
And sigh—that all is vain. 

III.

And is all vanity below?—— 
Religion mild replies, 
“No other joys, save those I give, 
Can make thee good or wise.” 

Hymn II. SHORT METRE.

YE dazzling stars above,1.
That deck the midnight sky, 
Say, whence the mighty pow’r that thus3.
Suspended you on high? 

II.

Wide o’er the vast expanse 
Your glitt’ring numbers roll;6.
And thus, methinks, in solemn strains, 
You whisper to the soul. 

III.

“For THEE, from age to age, 
Here silently we shine, 
To lift thy thoughts from things below, 
And lead them to divine.” 

Hymn III. LONG METRE.

GLAD Morning now unfolds her wing,1.
And shakes the dews of night away, 
The birds, from airy branches, sing,3.
To hail the near approach of day. 

II.

How sad to them when Sol retires! 
How welcome his returning rays! 
When love their every breast inspires, 
To chant the great Creator’s praise. 

III.

Come then, my soul! that Pow’r adore, 
While light, and life, and time remain; 
Soon will my day of life be o’er, 
And death’s descending darkness reign. 

Hymn IV. CXXIV PSALM.

SLOW sinks the Sun1.
Amid the ruddy main, 
While silence seals3.
Each closing eye to rest; 
The weary bird 
Steals softly to its nest, 
While, from the town, 
The sounds of labour cease,8.
And all around 
Is universal peace. 

Now, while the Moon11.
Begins her nightly course, 
While mild the air,13.
And silent sleeps the breeze; 
And shadows stretch 
Beneath the branching trees, 
There musing deep, 
Let Contemplation stray,18.
Far from the noise 
And discontents of day. 

Hymn V. CXLIII PSALM.

WHY fails my courage now?1.
Why tremble I at death? 
Why sweats my throbbing brow,3.
To yield that trifle—breath? 
Alas! some pow’r within 
Incessant seems to say; 
That I, in deepest sin 
Have trifled life away.8.
Oh! save me from the deep, 
That life I may renew; 
Suspend the blow, but keep 
Death ever in my view. 

Hymn VI. CXXXVI PSALM.

AGAIN the fading fields1.
Announce wild Winter nigh; 
Each shed the harvest shields3.
From the inclement sky. 

Low low’r the clouds,5.
And o’er the plain 
Fast pours the rain,7.
And swells the floods. 

Loud o’er the lonely height9.
The lashing tempest howls; 
And, through the tedious night11.
Wild scream the wailing owls; 

While round the shores13.
Of Albion wide, 
In foaming pride,15.
Old Ocean roars. 

Hymn VII. COMMON METRE.

TO Him who bids the tempest roll,1.
Or lulls the noontide blaze, 
In joyful anthems let your soul3.
Proclaim His boundless praise. 

II.

Where’er yon glorious orb of day 
Dispels the dreary night;6.
Where’er his bright refulgent ray 
Dispenses life and light. 

III.

In one triumphant chorus high, 
Let all unite around,10.
Till loud along the vaulted sky, 
The lofty song resound. 

Easter Hymn

SONS of Men your voices raise, Hallelujah.1.
To the great Creator’s praise, Hal. 
While the solemn swelling song, Hal.3.
Rises from the joyful throng, Hal. 

At the cheerful dawn of day, Hal.5.
Nature joins the grateful lay, Hal. 
And when Evening brings the Night, Hal.7.
Silence muses on his might, Hal. 

Let us then our voices raise, Hal.9.
To his high unbounded praise, Hal. 
While all nature’s busy throng, Hal.11.
Joins the universal Song, Hal. 

The Tears of Britain*

Princes and Peers may flourish or may fade;1.
A breath can make them, as a breath hath made; 
But a bold peasantry, their Country’s pride,3.
When once destroy’d can never be supply’d. 

ALOFT ON THE VERGE OF THE WIDE STORMY FLOOD,1.
The genius of Britain disconsolate stood, 
Fast heav’d her sad heart, while she gaz’d down beneath,3.
On armies, and navies, and victims of death; 
Her best sons departing beneath ev’ry sail, 
And War’s loud’ning shrieks rising fast on the gale; 
Joy chear’d not her bosom, Hope sooth’d her no more, 
And thus in deep grief she was heard to deplore.8.

“Far fled from my country, where woes never cease,9.
Far fled are the comforts and presence of Peace! 
Slow, mournfully rising, with tears in her eye,11.
I saw the sweet goddess ascending on high; 
Hope, Commerce, and Wealth, follow’d sad in her train, 
And Pity, that soothes the deep sorrows of pain, 
All fled from the heart-sinking battle’s loud roar, 
And lost, amid horrors, I saw them no more.16.

“O why from my shores were they forc’d to depart?17.
What arm can the scourge of Destruction avert? 
‘Midst famine, and slaughter, must Britons still mourn?19.
Will Peace, precious Peace, to our Isle ne’er return? 
Alas! when the madness of party is past, 
When we with our country lie murder’d and waste, 
She then, when the dread devastation is o’er, 
May come—but will smile on the prospect no more.24.

“Blest Peace! best companion of mortals below!25.
Fair daughter of Heav’n! sweet soother of woe! 
Thou kind nurse of Science! Art’s glory and boast,27.
O how art thou banish’d, neglected and lost! 
No ray left of hope to point out thy return; 
No comfort, but long thy departure to mourn; 
While Want is wild heard round each dwelling to growl, 
And dark hopeless Mis’ry sinks deep o’er each soul.32.

“What eye without tears can the ruin survey,33.
That wide o’er my country fast urges its way! 
The huge domes of industry, rear’d in such haste,35.
Unfinish’d, and useless, lie dreary and waste. 
Sore harass’d and worn with despondence and care, 
The poor Manufacturer yields to despair; 
Discharges his workmen, in mis’ry to wail, 
And sinks ‘mid the comfortless glooms of a jail.40.

“Down yonder rough beach, where the vessels attend,41.
I see the sad emigrants slowly descend, 
Compell’d by the weight of oppression and woe,43.
Their kindred, and native, and friends to forego. 
In these drooping crowds that depart every day, 
I see the true strength of the State glide away; 
While countries, that hail the glad strangers to shore, 
Shall flourish when Britain’s proud pomp is no more.48.

“Her towns are unpeopl’d—her commerce decay’d,49.
And shut up are all her resources of trade; 
The starving mechanic, bereav’d of each hope,51.
Steals pensively home from his desolate shop; 
Surveys with an anguish words ne’er can express, 
The pale sighing partner of all his distress, 
While round them, imploring, their little ones meet, 
And crave from their mama a morsel to eat.56.

“From weeping relations, regardlessly torn,57.
Her unthinking youths to the battle are borne, 
There, train’d amid slaughter and ruin to wade,59.
They toil in the heart-steeling, barbarous trade. 
What crowds, hurried on by the terrible call, 
Pale, ghastly, and blood-covered carcases fall! 
Earth heaves with the heaps, still resigning their breath, 
And friends, foes, and kindred, lie wallowing in death.64.

“Ah! were they but doom’d to one misery to yield!65.
But nameless, alas! are the deaths of the field! 
Grim hollow-ey’d Famine bereaves them of bread,67.
And scarce can the living deposite their dead. 
By hardships, disease, and an inclement sky, 
In thousands they sicken, and languish, and die, 
Unpitied, and cast amid heaps of the brave, 
With scarce one companion to sigh o’er their grave.72.

“Old ocean, that bore home her treasures from far,73.
Now growls with the thunder and horrors of War; 
There Plunderers, licens’d to murder and prey,75.
Bear half of our riches, unquestion’d, away; 
While tow’ring in terrible pomp o’er the main, 
The bulwarks of Britain are roaving in vain, 
In search of acquirements that (justly to rate) 
But serve to depress, and embarass the State.80.

“From India’s wide-spreading, remote, sultry shore,81.
The long absent seaman steers homeward once more; 
Encounters, unwearied, the waves and the gale,83.
His dear smiling wife, and his children to hail. 
But never, alas! shall the poor friendless train 
Behold their belov’d Benefactor again. 
In sight of his country he’s dragg’d forth anew, 
And England for ever recedes from his view.88.

“These woes, horrid War! thou unmerciful fiend!89.
These woes are the shades that thy footsteps attend. 
Arous’d by the call of Ambition and Pride,91.
Thou wakes, and the earth with destruction is dy’d. 
The red blazing city enlight’ning the air, 
The shrieks of distraction—the groans of despair— 
Remorseless as hell thou behold’st with delight, 
While Pity, far distant, turns pale at the sight.96.

“Shall then such a monster, a fiend so accurs’d,97.
By Britons be welcom’d, embosom’d, and nurs’d! 
Shall they, on whose prudence and mercy we rest,99.
Be deaf to the cries of a nation distrest! 
Yes!—scorn’d for a while my poor children may mourn, 
Contemn’d and neglected, depress’d and forlorn, 
Till bursting the bands of oppression, they soar 
Aloft from the dust, to be trampled no more.104.

“High o’er Valenciennes, engulph’d amid flame,105.
(The glory of Gallia, of Despots the shame) 
The wide-waving flag of Germania may flow,107.
And Tyranny shout o’er the horrors below; 
But Liberty, radiant, immortal! looks down 
On millions of heroes, whose hearts are her own; 
Who, sworn her defenders, will stand to their trust, 
When Towns, yet unconquer’d, are sunk in the dust.112.

“When rights are insulted, and justice deny’d,113.
When his country is threaten’d—his courage defy’d; 
When Tyrants denounce, and each vassal prepares,115.
‘Tis then that the soul of the Briton appears; 
Appears in the stern resolution reveal’d, 
To rescue his country, or sink in the field; 
Indignant he burns the proud foe to pursue, 
And conquest or death are the objects in view.120.

“Were these then the causes that rous’d us to wrath,121.
To fury and madness, to uproar and death? 
Was Britain insulted—was justice refus’d,123.
Her honour, her quiet, or interest abus’d?— 
Thou Being Supreme! who, in spite of each art, 
Canst mark undisguis’d ev’ry thought of the heart, 
Thou know’st the dark motives that urg’d them full well, 
Thou know’st, and the ghosts of the murder’d will tell.128.

“O scheme most accurs’d! pale Want and Distress129.
Call’d up, the resources of truth to repress! 
A country laid prostrate—starv’d—butcher’d each day,131.
That vultures, unscar’d, on its vitals may prey! 
Heaven frowns on such madness, that, rising divine, 
Aloft the great Sun of fair Freedom may shine, 
Bright, blazing, and boundless, till loud every shore 
Resound, that the reign of Corruption is o’er.136.

“Soon, soon will the tempest that thunders around,137.
This unshielded bosom most fatally wound, 
And soon may the mighty promoters of woe139.
Desist, in the dust of submission laid low: 
But, ah! what submission, repentance, or pain— 
What treaties can call up the souls of the slain? 
Can comfort Affliction, or soothe the sad cares 
Of parents, and widows, and orphans in tears?144.

“These shouts that I hear from yon wide western plains,145.
Where distant Hibernia lies panting in chains; 
Those pale bleeding corpses, thick strew’d o’er the ground,147.
Those law-sanctioned heroes triumphing around; 
These speak in the voice of the loud roaring flood, 
And write this stern lesson in letters of blood: 
Oppression may persecute—Force bend the knee, 
But free is that nation that wills to be free.152.

“Ye then who imperiously hold it at will,153.
The blood and the treasures of Britons to spill, 
While Mis’ry implores—while such dangers impend,155.
While all is at stake, oh! in mercy attend! 
Let War, the sad source of these sorrows, soon cease, 
And bless a poor land with the comforts of Peace: 
Her commerce, and credit, to heal and restore, 
Or Britain will fade, to reflourish no more.”160.

She ceas’d; the sad tribute of tears follow’d fast,161.
While bleak low’r’d the Heavens, and loud rose the blast; 
Ascending in flashes the steep eastern sky,163.
The deep-rolling horrors of battle drew nigh; 
A thick gloomy darkness, of mis’ry and dread, 
Fell dismal, and Britain’s lone regions o’erspread, 
And nought could be seen but the lightning’s pale glow, 
Or heard, but the shrieks and the wailings of woe.168.

Connel And Flora*

DARK lowers the night o’er the wide stormy main,1.
Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again; 
Alas! morn returns to revisit our shore;3.
But Connel returns to his Flora no more! 

For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death5.
O’er Connel’s lone cottage, lies low on the heath; 
While bloody and pale, on a far distant shore,7.
He lies, to return to his Flora no more! 

Ye light fleeting spirits that glide o’er yon steep,9.
O would ye but waft me across the wild deep, 
There fearless I’d mix in the battle’s loud roar,11.
I’d die with my Connel, and leave him no more! 

American Poetry

Farewell to Virginia*

Farewell to Virginia, to Berkley adieu,1.
Where, like Jacob, our days have been evil and few! 
So few—they seemed really but one lengthened curse;3.
And so bad—that the Devil only could have sent worse. 

Poetical Letter To William Duncan, His Nephew,
Seneca County, New York State*

HERE LEFT O’ER BOOKS AND FIGUR’D SLATES TO PORE,1.
While you the wilds of Northern woods explore; 
How wide remov’d from social converse sweet!3.
How parted! haply never more to meet. 
Yet, though detain’d by fate’s superior will, 
My faithful following heart, attends you still, 
And, borne on Fancy’s wings to Northern lakes, 
In all your toils, and all your joys partakes.8.
I saw, when full equipt with knapsack load, 
You and your fellow-pilgrim took the road, 
A road immense—yet promis’d joys so dear, 
That toils, and doubts, and dangers disappear. 
I saw you then, Hope sparkling in your eye,13.
Pierce the deep wood, and scale the mountain high, 
Pass where the Lelu rolls her silver tide, 
Cross nameless brooks and streams, and rivers wide; 
Now down through dismal swamps pursue your way, 
Where pine and hemlocks thick obscure the day,18.
Whose mingled tops, an hundred feet in air, 
The clustering nest of swarming pigeons bear; 
Thence climb the rugged mountain’s barren ride[sic], 
Where snorting bears through rustling forests glide; 
Where Wilkesbarre’s fertile plains extend in view,23.
And far in front the Allegany blue, 
Immensely stretch’d. While in the vale below 
The painted cots and colour’d meadows glow. 
Beyond this little town, ‘midst fields of grass, 
With thoughtful hearts the fatal field you pass,28.
Where Indian force prevail’d, by murder fir’d, 
And warriors brave, by savage hordes expir’d. 
Advancing still, the river’s course you keep, 
And pass the rugged, narrow, dangerous steep. 
Thence vales and mountains rude promiscuous lie,33.
And wretched huts disgust the passing eye; 
Sure sign of sloth within, that will not toil, 
But starves in rags upon the richest soil. 
Through Wilhalvossing now your steps you bend, 
Where numerous herbs and pastures rich extend;38.
But hens and sheep, here lucklessly decay, 
To wolves and foxes sly, a nightly prey. 
High on the steep that near Tioga soars, 
Where deep below the parted river roars, 
With cautious steps and throbbing hearts you go,43.
And eye the gulph profound that yawns below, 
Or from the height sublime, around descry 
One waste of woods encircling earth and sky; 
Now, sunk in hoary woods, you scour along, 
Rousing the echoes with your jovial song,48.
Through scenes where late the sculking Indian trod, 
Adorn’d with scalps, and smear’d with infants’ blood. 
See Nature’s rudest scenes around you rise, 
Observe some ancient trees stupendous size, 
Gaze while the startled deer shoots bounding by,53.
And wish the deadly rifle at your eye; 
Or stop some settler’s fertile fields to see, 
And say, so our own fields shall shortly be. 
Ten days of tedious toil and marching past, 
The long-expected scenes appear at last,58.
The lake thro’ chequering trees, extended blue 
Huzza! Huzza! Old Seneca’s in view! 
With flying hat you hail the glorious spot, 
And every toil and every care’s forgot. 

So when of late we ploughed the Atlantic waves,63.
And left a land of despots and their slaves, 
With hearts o’erjoy’d Columbia’s shores we spy’d,65.
And gave our cares and sorrows to the tide. 

Still with success may all your toils be blest,67.
And this new enterprise crown all the rest. 
Soon may your glittering axe, with strength applied,69.
The circling bark from mossy trunks divide; 
Or, wheel’d in air, while the deep woods resound, 
Bring crashing forests, thund’ring to the ground. 
Soon may your fires in flaming piles ascend, 
And girdled trees their wintry limbs extend.74.
Soon may your oxen clear the root away, 
And give the deep black surface to the clay; 
While fields of richest grain, and pasture good, 
Shall wave where Indians stray’d, and forests stood; 
And as you sweat, the rustling sheaves among,79.
Th’ adjoining woods shall echo to your song. 

These are the scenes of purest joy below,81.
From these, health, peace, and independence flow. 
Blest with the purest air and richest soil,83.
What generous harvests recompence your toil. 
Here no proud Lordling lifts his haughty crest, 
No scoundrel landlord tramples the opprest, 
No thief in black demands his tenth in sheaves, 
But man from God abundantly receives.88.
In rustic dress you cheerful range the woods, 
Health makes you gay, and simple manners good. 
Society’s whole joys your bosoms know, 
And Plenty’s smiling bliss, without its woe. 

Farewell, dear Bill, thy hardy toils pursue;93.
Keep independence constantly in view; 
Fear not success.—If one attempt should fail,95.
Fate yields when strength and constancy assail. 
Store up thy harvests, sow thy winter grain, 
Prepare thy troughs the maple’s juice to drain, 
Then, when the wintry North outrageous blows, 
And nought is seen but one wide waste of snows,100.
Ascend the fleeting height, and, like the wind, 
Sweep o’er the snows, and leave the woods behind; 
Along the rugged swamp and mountain high, 
‘Mid rocks and narrows, make thy horses fly; 
Shoot o’er the Susquehanna’s frozen face,105.
And bleak Wioming’s lofty hills retrace, 
Nor let the hunter’s hut, or ven’sons stale, 
Or his lov’d bottle, or his wondrous tale 
Of bears, and deer, thy lingering steps detain, 
But swift descend, and seek the southern plain.110.
Here where the clouds of Philadelphia rise, 
And little Milestown’s scattered village lies; 
Where, o’er the road the pointed eagle waves, 
And Ralph’s good grog the shivering sinner saves. 
Here shall thy faithful friend, with choicest store115.
Of wine and roast-beef, welcome thee once more, 
And Friendship’s social joys shall crown the whole, 
“The feast of reason, and the flow of soul.” 

Washington: Dirge *

HE’S GONE! FOR EVER GONE AND LOST,1.
Our country’s glory, pride, and boast; 
In vain we weep—in vain deplore,3.
Our Washington is now no more.— 
That guiding star, whose radiant form, 
In triumph led us thro’ the storm, 
While blackest clouds did round us roar, 
Is set—to gild our sphere no more.8.

O’er regions far remote and nigh,9.
The fatal tidings swiftly fly, 
Each startled bosom heaves with woe,11.
And tears of deepest sorrow flow. 
The young, the aged, wise, and brave, 
Approach in solemn grief his grave, 
In silent anguish to bemoan, 
Their hero, friend, and father gone.16.

Jefferson and Liberty*

A Patriotic Song for the Glorious 4th March, 1801

THE gloomy night before us flies,1.
The reign of Terror now is o’er; 
Its Gags, Inquisitors and Spies,3.
Its herds of harpies are no more! 

Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, rejoice!5.
To tyrants never bend the knee, 
But join with heart and soul and voice7.
For Jefferson and Liberty. 

O’er vast Columbia’s varied clime,9.
Her cities, forests, shores, and dales; 
In rising majesty, sublime,11.
Immortal liberty prevails. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons rejoice, &c. 

Hail! long expected glorious day,14.
Illustrious, memorable Morn! 
That Freedom’s fabric from decay16.
Rebuilds—for millions yet unborn. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, rejoice, &c. 

His Country’s glory, hope and stay,19.
In virtue and in talents try’d 
Now rises to assume the sway,21.
O’er Freedom’s Temple to preside: 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

Within its hallow’d walls, immense,24.
No hireling bands shall e’er arise, 
Arrayed in tyranny’s defence,26.
To curb an injur’d people’s cries. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

No lordling here with gorging jaws29.
Shall wring from industry her food, 
Nor fiery Bigot’s holy laws,31.
Lay waste our fields and streets in blood. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

Here strangers from a thousand shores,34.
Compelled by tyranny to roam, 
Still find amidst abundant stores36.
A nobler and a happier home, 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

Here art shall lift her laurell’d head,39.
Wealth, industry and peace divine, 
And where unbounded forests spread,41.
Rich fields and lofty cities shine. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

From Europe’s wants and woes remote,44.
A friendly waste of waves between, 
Here plenty cheers the humblest cot,46.
And smiles on every village green. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

Here free as air’s expanded space,49.
To every soul and sect shall be, 
That sacred privilege of our race,51.
The worship of the Deity. 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

These gifts great Liberty are thine,54.
Ten thousand more we owe to thee; 
Immortal may their memories shine,56.
Who fought and dy’d for liberty, 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

What heart but hails a scene so bright,59.
What soul, but inspiration draws, 
Who would not guard so dear a right,61.
Or die in such a glorious cause. 
Rejoice Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

Let foes to freedom dread the name,64.
But should they touch this sacred tree, 
Thrice fifty thousand swords shall flame,66.
For Jefferson and Liberty, 
Rejoice! Columbia’s Sons, &c. 

From Georgia to Lake Champlain,69.
From Seas to Mississippi’s shore, 
Ye sons of Freedom loud proclaim,71.
The Reign of Terror is no more. 

Rejoice! Columbia’s sons, rejoice!73.
To tyrants never bend the knee, 
But join with heart and soul and voice,75.
For Jefferson and liberty. 

The Aristocrat’s War-Whoop,
Addressed To All Despairing Tories*

DEAR chop-fallen feds, don’t hang down your heads,1.
Rouse up and prepare,—the election approaches; 
Tho’ Freedom prevail, let’s never turn tail,3.
But snivel out curses, and groans, and reproaches. 
No scheming or swearing you know we have stuck at, 
And show them to-day 
From the Hook to Cape May 
That we’re still something more than a drop in the bucket.8.

Hypocrisy’s gown, let it wrap us around,9.
Sometimes looking mild as a lamb or a pigeon: 
With holy grimace, and a sanctified face,11.
Denouncing the deists and groaning religion; 
Declaring aloud that the Democrat crowd, 
If Jefferson is not deposed from his station, 
Will grow in his fangs, like the orang-outangs, 
Bereft of all senses and civilization.16.

To keep up the veil, let’s drop the old tale17.
Of order, good government—rig’rous and martial; 
But whine and lament in the new Tory cant19.
Of soldiers dismissed, and appointments so partial; 
Let’s swear to a man, that the whole is a plan 
To grab to themselves all the loaves and the fishes,— 
That curst sans-culottes may cut all our throats, 
Or spare us, in mercy, to lick all their dishes.24.

As Heav’n’s my judge, I owe them a grudge,25.
And vengeance and hate in my heart is a-hovering; 
To think that such wretches, escap’d from the clutches27.
Of George, our most gracious, omnipotent Sovereign,— 
To see his dominions, by Paine’s curst opinions, 
Cut up and controul’d by mechanics and farmers; 
Without noble blood, and bespattered with mud,— 
It drives me to madness, and well may alarm us.32.

O, England! thou glory and pride of a Tory!33.
Blest country, where riches and rank have the pref’rence; 
Where crowds at the sound of “My Lord” kiss the ground,35.
Or sink, in his presence, with honour and rev’rence. 
Where are you now, rabble, that dare not to babble, 
Are ty’d neck and heels at the nod of their judges; 
For all without riches are ignorant wretches, 
Ordained to believe, and submit to be drudges.40.

But here, gracious heav’n! what insults are given!41.
Birth, title, and blood, they compare to diseases; 
At lordship or grace they’ll laugh in your face,—43.
Each claims to believe, read, and speak, as he pleases. 
No chance, here, of starving the crowd undeserving 
Of carpenters, shoemakers, printers, and binders; 
Each saucy-fac’d cur bellows—”How d’ye do, sir;” 
I answer— “———,” and show them my grinders.48.

From courts and elections let’s sweep the whole faction;49.
There’s nought can be done while these lynxes are watching; 
They prowl so for prey, that scarcely a day51.
But some thief of a Tory they’re eternally catching. 
Of honest Tom Pickering what squalling and bickering, 
Some few tons of Joes all the breach of his trust is: 
For scarce half-a-million to call a man villain!— 
O tempora mores! what monstrous injustice!56.

Confound Johnny Adams, his X Y and madams,57.
His tubs and alarms, and his itch to be doing; 
Like Endor’s old hag let the cat out the bag,59.
And raised up a spirit that threatens our ruin. 
Henceforth, let us try to be cautious and sly, 
And screw ourselves in again smoothly and civil; 
Then each in his place, with one coup-de-grace 
Let’s send each Democrat dog to the Devil.64.

Lavinia *

Softly through the check’ring trees,1.
Cynthia pours her mellow light; 
While the gently-whisp’ring breeze,3.
Moves the genius of the night. 

Spring-born May has spread her flow’rs,5.
Flora laughs in every grove; 
Lightly dance the sportive hours,7.
And Nature’s pulse beats high to love. 

List! the ev’ning warbler’s throat,9.
Yonder by the tinkling rill; 
Sweet she trills her vesper note,11.
And echo answers, “whip-poor-will!” 

Come, my fair, enjoy the scene,13.
Down the green walk let us stray; 
Duller soul may doze within,15.
Come, Lavinia, come away! 

How sweet at such an hour as this,17.
The zest of social bliss to prove; 
To snatch unblam’d the melting kiss,19.
Warm from the conscious lip of love! 

Epistle To Charles Orr *

From Milestown’s fertile fields and meadows clear1.
I hail my worthy friend with heart sincere 
And welcome—nay, most pressingly implore3.
One friendly visit to my Cot once more 
The fairest scenes that ever blest the year 
Now Sir our lawns and woods and meads appear 
The richest Harvests choak each loaded field 
The fairest fruits our growing orchards yield8.
In green and gold and Purple hues arrayed, 
The sweetest songsters chant from every shade 
Such boundless plenty such luxurious stores 
The Busy hand of nature round us pours 
That every living tribe their powers employ13.
From morn to e’en to testify their joy 
And pour from meadow, field and air above 
One general song of gratitude and love 
Even now emerging from their Caverns deep 
Wak’d from their seventeen years of drowsy sleep18.
In countless millions to our wond’ring eyes 
The long remember’d Locusts glad arise 
Burst their enclosing tombs at Nature’s call 
And join in praise to the Great God of all 
Come then, Dear Orr, the noisy town forsake23.
With me a while these Rural joys partake 
Forget your books, your pens, your studious cares 
Come see the gifts that God for man prepares 
Here, as with me at morn you range the Wood 
Or headlong plunge amid the sparkling flood28.
More vig’rous life your firmer limbs shall brace 
A ruddier glow shall wanton on your face 
A brighter glance reanimate your eye 
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly 
For here through glades and every rustling grove33.
Sweet peace and Rosy health for ever rove 
For you my Vines their clustring fruit suspend 
My pinks and Roses, blow but for my friend 
For him who joins with elegance and art 
The brightest talents to the warmest Heart38.
Come then, O, come, your burning streets forego 
Your lanes and wharves where winds infectious blow 
For deep majestic woods and opening glades 
And shining pools and awe-inspiring shades 
Where fragrant flowers perfume the air around43.
And bending orchards Kiss the flow’ry ground 
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove 
And golden cherries stud the boughs above 
Amidst these various sweets your rustic friend 
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend48.
His noontide walks, his Vine entwisted bowers 
The old associates of his lonely hours 
While friendship’s converse generous and sincere 
That mingles joy with joy and tear with tear 
Shall fill each heart and give to memory’s eye53.
Those native shores where fond relations sigh 
Where war accursed and haggard famine howl 
And Royal Dogs on prostrate millions growl 
While ever alas! these mournful sounds retrace 
In climes of plenty, liberty, and Peace58.
A mingled flood of joy and grief shall flow 
For this so free, and that so full of woe. 
Thus in celestial bowers the Heavenly train 
Elate from Earth’s dark ills and all its pain 
—[ ] our scenes of suffering here below63.
And drop a tear of pity for our woe— 

Bloomfield*

Hurra, for sweet Bloomfield, that village […..]1.
Our church like a palace—our […..] 
Sound the horn in its praises […..]3.
Our priest’s house a palace […..] 
Here bull-headed Ignorance gapes and is courted, 
And pale Superstition with visage distorted. 
Sweet Science and Truth, while these monsters they cherish, 
Like the Babes of the Wood are abandoned to perish.8.

Here ten times a day they are singing and praying,9.
And “Glory to God,” most abundantly paying; 
Apply for your cash—-that’s a quite different story;11.
They lock up the clink, but to God give the glory. 
Here old, withered witches crawl round every cabin, 
And butter from churn are eternally grabbing; 
Ghosts, wizards, seventh sons to cure the King’s Evil— 
One touch of their hand and ’tis gone to the Devil.16.

Sweet Venus ne’er lent to our females their graces—17.
Like ducks in their gait—like pumpkins their faces; 
No heart-winning looks to ensnare or to charm us—19.
Their teeth like corruption, their breath—O enormous! 
Here Slander, vile hag, is from house to house sweeping, 
Still stabbing, and skulking, or whispering and peeping: 
From Gibb’s honest-heart with abhorrence discarded, 
But lov’d by sweet Bloomfield, caress’d and regarded.24.

Here old Rosinantes, their bare bones uprearing,25.
Move past us as if Death’s horrid steed were appearing; 
Dogs snuff; turkey buzzards swarm round for a picking;27.
And tanners look out, and prepare for a sticking. 
Here’s the one-handed plough, like an old crooked rafter, 
The Genius of farming surveys it with laughter. 
Wo! Haw! hallows Hodge, as he’s zig-zags a-shooting, 
While travellers cry, “Lord, how those hogs have been rooting!”32.

There’s the grim Man of God, with a voice like a trumpet,33.
His pulpit each Sunday, bestampt and bethumpit; 
On all but his own pours damnation and ruin,35.
And heaves them to Satan for roasting and stewing. 
Hail Bloomfield! sweet Bloomfield, what village […..] 
Our church like a palace—our school like […..] 
Sound the horn in its praises […..] 
The priest’s house a palace […..]40.

Deacon Grumbo The Miller
A New Song*

Hark! Grumbo’s mill’s a-going,1.
A-rattling and a-creaking, 
While folks to church are flowing,3.
Yet Grumbo is a Deacon. 
The stones are flying, 
Grumbo’s plying 
Round the dusty hoppers: 
This holy day,8.
That makes us pray, 
To him brings in the coppers. 

And yet old Grumbo still groans11.
Like some poor wretch in Limbo, 
And prays, “Lord, dry up their millponds,13.
That none may grind but Grumbo.” 
Then night and day, 
I’ll sing and pray, 
Nor ever more be grumbling; 
At meeting snore,18.
And praises roar, 
To hear my mill a-rumbling. 

I am for size and much sense,21.
Set up a great example, 
With rattling box I catch pence23.
Within thy holy temple— 
The reprobate 
May sneer and prate, 
And say, I worship Mammon, 
But godly folks28.
Must fill their box, 
And learn to save their Gammon. 

‘Tis true I grind one Lord’s Day,31.
My Dutchman, Hans, the other; 
His creed accords with mine aye,33.
Grab all you can together. 
But when grim Death 
Shall come in wrath, 
And we like pigs are squeaking, 
Let Satan clutch38.
The dirty Dutch, 
But, Lord, take Thou the Deacon.” 

My Landlady’s Nose *

O’ER the evils of life ’tis a folly to fret,1.
Despondence and grief never lessen’d them yet: 
Then a fig for the world—let it come as it goes,3.
I’ll sing to the praise of my Landlady’s Nose. 

My Landlady’s Nose is in noble condition,5.
For longitude, latitude, shape and position; 
‘Tis as round as a horn, and as red as a rose;7.
Success to the hulk of my Landlady’s Nose. 

To Jeweller’s shops let your ladies repair,9.
For trinkets and nick-nacks to give them an air; 
Here living curbuncles, a score of’em glows,11.
On the big massy sides of my Landlady’s Nose. 

Old Patrick M’Dougherty when on the fuddle,13.
Pulls out a segar, and looks up to her noddle; 
For Dougherty swears, when he swigs a good dose,15.
By Marjory’s Firebrand, my Landlady’s Nose. 

Ye wishy-wash butter-milk drinkers so cold,17.
Come here and the virtues of brandy behold; 
Here’s red burning Ætna; a mountain of snows,19.
Would roar down in streams from my Landlady’s Nose. 

Each cavern profound of this snuff-loving snout,21.
Is furnish’d within sir, as well as without; 
O’er the brown upper lip such a cordial flows—23.
O the cordial brown drops of my Landlady’s Nose. 

But gods! when this trunk with an uplifted arm,25.
She grasps in the dish clout to blow an alarm; 
Horns, trumpets, and conchs are but screaming of crows,27.
To the loud thund’ring twang of my Landlady’s Nose. 

My Landlady’s Nose unto me is a treasure,29.
A care-killing nostrum—a fountain of pleasure; 
If I want for a laugh to discard all my woes,31.
I only look up to my Landlady’s Nose. 

Prayer, Addressed to Jove, the God of Thunder, During the Late Hot Weather*

GOD of thunders! Clouds and Rain!1.
Hear! nor let us pray in vain; 
In this sultry hot September,3.
Jove, thy worms of earth remember, 
See us panting, blowing, sweating, 
Chok’d with dust, fatigu’d and fretting, 
Roasted up, as brown’d potatoes, 
Stung by flies, and curst musquetoes;8.
Sleepless nights—for ever turning, 
Drench’d in sweat from night to morning; 
Drinking grog to quench the fire, 
Still the more we drink, the dryer. 

See our meadows, fields and pastures,13.
Bare and brown as blist’ring plasters; 
See our melons, pears, and peaches,15.
Shrivel’d up like skins of witches: 
Streams and ponds, and creeks a-drying, 
Millers groaning—Fishes dying; 
Frogs extended stiff as pokers, 
Dead, alas! are all the croakers,20.
Tenor, treble, bass and chorus, 
Blood and wounds himself no more is. 

See the clouds of dust ascending23.
O’er the burning road contending; 
There, the wet and foaming steed,25.
Panting lash’d to cruel speed; 
Feels in ev’ry vein the fires, 
Staggers, tumbles, and expires. 

See these strangers faint and sweating,29.
Landed from the shores of Britain, 
(Blessed shores! where temp’rate gales,31.
Health and verdure never fails; 
Round whose airy cliffs sea-driv’n, 
Sweeps the purest breath of heaven: 
Blest by thee, thee our bounteous Parent, 
Curs’d—laid waste, by Pitt the tyrant;)* 36.
See them clad in coats of woollen, 
Panting for some shade to cool in; 
Looking round with restless gaze, 
Thro’ the sultry, sick’ning blaze; 
On each parched field they meet,41.
With’ring in the torrid heat, 
With a sigh—that fate should lead ’em 
To such burning shores of freedom. 
See our Cits with tun-like bellies, 
Melted down almost to jellies;46.
See our Mowers—Mason-tenders, 
See our Smiths like Salamanders, 
See—but gracious pow’r forgive us, 
Thou see’st all, and can’st relieve us; 
God of Thunders, Clouds, and Rain,51.
Hear! nor let us pray in vain, 
From the wat’ry western regions, 
Call thy Clouds in gloomy legions, 
Tow’ring, thick’ning, moving horrid, 
O’er the day’s affrighted forehead,56.
Swift athwart the low’ring deep, 
Sudden let the light’ning sweep, 
Loud the bursting thunders roar, 
Flashes blaze and torrents pour, 
Dark’ning—blazing—roaring—pouring—61.
Till this earth has got a scouring, 
Till each stream, and creek and current, 
Swells and roars a raging torrent, 
Till each freshen’d field, and every 
Hill and Dale, wear nature’s livery,66.
And cool buxom breezes winnow, 
Bracing ev’ry nerve and sinew. 

God of Thunders! Clouds, and Rain!69.
Hear! nor let us pray in vain; 
And till age has made us hoary,71.
Thine shall be the praise and glory. 

The Beechen Bower *

O dear to my heart in this deep shaded Bower1.
This snug little seat and this smooth Beechen Tree 
These old hoary Cliffs through the bushes that tower3.
And bend o’er the pool their resemblance to see 
The fountains the Grotto the Laurels sweet blossom 
The streamlet that warbles so soothing and free 
Green solitude! dear to the Maid of my bosom 
And so for her sake ever charming to me.8.
Here seated with Anna what bliss so transporting 
I wish every moment an age were to be 
Her taste so exalted—her humour so sporting 
Her heart full of tenderness virtue and glee 
Each evening sweet Bow’r round thy cliffs will I hover13.
In hopes her fair form thro’ the foliage to see 
Heav’n only can witness how dearly I love her 
How sweet Beechen Bower thy shades are to me. 

The Solitary Tutor*

WHOE’ER across the Schuylkill’s winding tide,1.
Beyond Gray’s Ferry half a mile, has been, 
Down at a bridge-built hollow must have spy’d3.
A neat stone school-house on a sloping green: 
There tufted cedars scatter’d round are seen, 
And stripling poplars planted in a row; 
Some old gray white oaks overhang the scene, 
Pleas’d to look down upon the youths below,8.
Whose noisy noontide sports no care or sorrow know. 

On this hand rise the woods in deep’ning shade,10.
Resounding with the sounds of warblers sweet, 
And there a waving sign-board hangs display’d12.
From mansion fair, the thirsty soul’s retreat: 
There way-worn pilgrims rest their weary feet, 
When noontide heats, or evening shades prevail: 
The widow’s fare, still plentiful and neat, 
Can nicest guest deliciously regale,17.
And make his heart rejoice the sorrel horse to hail. 

Adjoining this, old Vulcan’s shop is seen,19.
Where winds, and fires, and thumping hammers roar, 
White-wash’d without, but black enough within?.21.
Emblem of modern patriots many a score. 
The restive steed impatient at the door, 
Starts at his thundering voice and brawny arm, 
While yellow Jem with horse-tail fans him o’er, 
Drawing aloof, the ever-buzzing swarm,26.
Whose shrill blood-sucking pipes his restless fears alarm. 

An ever-varying scene the road displays,28.
With horsemen, thundering stage, and stately team, 
Now burning with the sun’s resplendent rays,30.
Now lost in clouds of dust the travellers seem, 
And now a lengthen’d pond or miry stream 
Deep sink the wheels, and slow they drag along, 
Journeying to town, with butter, apples, cream, 
Fowls, eggs, and fruit, in many a motley throng,35.
Coop’d in their little carts their various truck among. 

And yonder, nestled in enclust’ring trees,37.
Where many a rose-bush round the green yard glows, 
Wall’d from the road, with seats for shade and ease,39.
A yellow-fronted cottage sweetly shows: 
The towering poplars rise in spiry rows, 
And green catalphas, white with branchy flowers; 
Her matron arms, a weeping willow throws 
Wide o’er the dark green grass, and pensive lours,44.
Midst plumb trees, pillar’d hops, and honey-suckle bowers. 

Here dwells the guardian of these younglings gay,46.
A strange, recluse, and solitary wight, 
In Britain’s isle, on Scottish mountains gray,48.
His infant eyes first open’d to the light. 
His parents saw with partial fond delight, 
Unfolding genius crown their fostering care, 
And talk’d with tears of that enrapturing sight, 
When, clad in sable gown, with solemn air,53.
The walls of God’s own house should echo back his pray’r. 

Dear smiling Hope! to thy enchanting hand,55.
What cheering joys, what extasies we owe! 
Touch’d by the magic of thy fairy wand,57.
Before us spread, what heavenly prospects glow! 
Thro’ Life’s rough thorny wild we lab’ring go, 
And, though a thousand disappointments grieve, 
Ev’n from the grave’s dark verge we forward throw 
Our straining, wishful eyes on those we leave,62.
And with their future fame our sinking hearts relieve. 

But soon, too soon, these fond illusions fled!64.
In vain they pointed out that pious height; 
By Nature’s strong resistless impulse led,66.
These dull dry doctrines ever would he slight. 
Wild Fancy form’d him for fantastic flight; 
He lov’d the steep’s high summit to explore, 
To watch the splendour of the orient bright, 
The dark deep forest, and the sea-beat shore,71.
Where thro’ resounding rocks the liquid mountains roar. 

When gath’ring clouds the vaults of Heav’n o’erspread,73.
And op’ning streams of livid lightning flew, 
From some o’erhanging cliff, the uproar dread,75.
Transfix’d in rapt’rous wonder, he would view. 
When the red torrent big and bigger grew, 
Or deep’ning snows for days obscur’d the air, 
Still with the storm his transports would renew, 
Roar, pour away! was still his eager pray’r,80.
While shiv’ring swains around were sinking in despair. 

That worldly gift which misers merit call,82.
But wise men cunning and the art of trade, 
That scheming foresight how to scrape up all,84.
How pence may groats, and shillings pounds be made, 
As little knew he, as the moorland maid 
Who ne’er beheld a cottage but her own: 
Sour Parsimony’s words he seldom weigh’d, 
His heart’s warm impulse was the guide alone,89.
When suffering friendship sigh’d, or weeping wretch did moan. 

Dear, dear to him, Affection’s ardent glow,91.
Alas! from all he lov’d for ever torn, 
E’en now, as Memory’s sad reflections flow,93.
Deep grief o’erwhelms him, and he weeps forlorn; 
By hopeless thought, by wasting sorrow worn. 
Around on Nature’s scenes he turns his eye, 
Charm’d with her peaceful eve, her fragrant morn, 
Her green magnificence, her gloomiest sky,98.
That fill th’ exulting soul with admiration high. 

One charming nymph with transport he adores,100.
Fair Science, crown’d with many a figur’d sign; 
Her smiles, her sweet society implores,102.
And mixes jocund with th’ encircling nine; 
While mathematics solves his dark design, 
Sweet Music soothes him with her syren strains, 
Seraphic Poetry with warmth divine, 
Exalts him far above terrestrial plains,107.
And Painting’s fairy hand his mimic pencil trains. 

Adown each side of his sequester’d cot,109.
Two bubbling streamlets wind their rocky way, 
And mingling, as they leave this rural spot,111.
Down thro’ a woody vale meand’ring stray, 
Round many a moss-grown rock they dimpling play, 
Where laurel thickets clothe the steeps around, 
And oaks thick towering quite shut out the day, 
And spread a venerable gloom profound,116.
Made still more sweetly solemn by the riv’let’s sound, 

Where down smooth glistering rocks it rambling pours,118.
Till in a pool its silent waters sleep. 
A dark brown cliff o’ertopt with fern and flowers,120.
Hangs grimly frowning o’er the glassy deep; 
Above thro’ ev’ry chink the woodbines creep, 
And smooth-bark’d beeches spread their arms around, 
Whose roots cling twisted round the rocky steep: 
A more sequester’d scene is no where found,125.
For contemplation deep, and silent thought profound. 

Here many a tour the lonely tutor takes,127.
Long known to Solitude, his partner dear, 
For rustling woods his empty School forsakes,129.
At morn, still noon, and silent evening clear. 
Wild Nature’s scenes amuse his wand’rings here; 
The old gray rocks that overhang the stream, 
The nodding flow’rs that on their peaks appear, 
Plants, birds, and insects are a feast to him,134.
Howe’er obscure, deform’d, minute, or huge they seem. 

Sweet rural scenes! unknown to poet’s song,136.
Where Nature’s charms in rich profusion lie, 
Birds, fruits, and flowers, an ever pleasing throng,138.
Deny’d to Britain’s bleak and northern sky. 
Here Freedom smiles serene with dauntless eye, 
And leads the exil’d stranger thro’ her groves, 
Assists to sweep the forest from on high, 
And gives to man the fruitful field he loves,143.
Where proud imperious lord, or tyrant, never roves. 

In these green solitudes one fav’rite spot145.
Still draws his lone slow meanderings that way, 
A mossy cliff beside a little grot,147.
Where two clear springs burst out upon the day. 
There overhead the beechen branches play, 
And from the rock the cluster’d columbine, 
While deep below the brook is seen to stray, 
O’erhung with alders, briar, and mantling vine,152.
While on th’ adjacent banks the glossy laurels shine. 

Here Milton’s heav’nly themes delight his soul,154.
Or Goldsmith’s simple heart-bewitching lays; 
Now drives with Cook around the frozen pole,156.
Or follows Bruce, with marvel and amaze: 
Perhaps Rome’s splendour sadly he surveys, 
Or Britain’s scenes of cruelty and kings; 
Thro’ Georgia’s groves with gentle Bartram’s strays, 
Or mounts with Newton on archangels’ wings,161.
With manly Smollet laughs, with jovial Dibdin sings. 

The air serene, and breathing odours sweet,163.
The sound of falling streams, and humming bees, 
Wild choirs of songsters round his rural seat,165.
To souls like his, have ev’ry pow’r to please. 
The shades of night with rising sigh he sees 
Obscure the sweet and leafy scene around, 
And homeward bending thro’ the moonlight trees, 
The owl salutes him with her trem’lous sound,170.
And many a flutt’ring bat pursues its mazy round. 

Thus peaceful pass his lonely hours away;172.
Thus, in retirement from his school affairs, 
He tastes a bliss unknown to worldings gay,174.
A soothing antidote for all his cares. 
Adoring Nature’s God, he joyous shares, 
With happy millions Freedom’s fairest scene; 
His ev’ning hymn, some plaintive Scottish airs, 
Breath’d from the flute or melting violin,179.
With life inspiring reels and wanton jigs between. 

The Invitation,
Addressed To Mr. Charles Orr*

How blest is he who crowns in shades like these1.
A youth of labour with an age of ease; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,3.
And, since he cannot conquer, learns to fly. 

FROM Schuylkill’s rural banks, o’erlooking wide1.
The glitt’ring pomp of Philadelphia’s pride, 
From laurel groves that bloom for ever here,3.
I hail my dearest friend with heart sincere, 
And fondly ask, nay ardently implore, 
One kind excursion to my cot once more. 
The fairest scenes that ever blest the year 
Now o’er our vales and yellow plains appear;8.
The richest harvests choke each loaded field, 
The ruddiest fruit our glowing orchards yield. 
In green, and gold, and purple plumes array’d, 
The gayest songsters chant in ev’ry shade. 
O could the Muse but faithfully pourtray13.
The various pipes that hymn our rising day, 
Whose thrilling melody can banish care, 
Cheer the lone heart, and almost soothe despair, 
My grateful verse should with their praises glow, 
And distant shores our charming warblers know;18.
And you, dear sir, their harmony to hear, 
Would bless the strain that led your footsteps here. 

When morning dawns, and the bright sun again21.
Leaves the flat forests of the Jersey main, 
Then through our woodbines, wet with glitt’ring dews23.
The flow’r-fed humming-bird his round pursues, 
Sips with inserted tube the honey’d blooms, 
And chirps his gratitude, as round he roams; 
While richest roses, though in crimson drest, 
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast.28.
What heav’nly tints in mingling radiance fly! 
Each rapid movement gives a diff’rent dye; 
Like scales of burnish’d gold they dazzling show; 
Now sink to shade, now furnace-bright they glow. 

High on the waving top of some tall tree,33.
Sweet sings the Thrush to morning and to me; 
While round its skirts, ‘midst pendant boughs of green,35.
The orange Baltimore is busy seen. 
Prone from the points his netted nest is hung, 
With hempen cordage, curiously strung; 
Here his young nestlings safe from danger lie, 
Their craving wants the teeming boughs supply.40.
Gay chants their guardian, as for food he goes, 
And waving breezes rock them to repose. 
The white-wing’d woodpecker with crimson crest, 
Who digs from solid trunks his curious nest, 
Sees the long black snake stealing to his brood,45.
And, screaming, stains the branches with its blood. 

Here o’er the woods the tyrant kingbird sails,47.
Spreads his long wings, and every foe assails, 
Snaps the returning bee with all her sweets,49.
Pursues the crow, the diving hawk defeats, 
Darts on the eagle downwards from afar, 
And ‘midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war. 
Deep in the thickest shade, with cadence sweet, 
Soft as the tones that heaven-bound pilgrims greet,54.
Sings the wood-robin close retir’d from sight, 
And swells his solo ‘mid the shades of night. 
Here sports the mocking-bird with matchless strain, 
Returning back each warbler’s notes again; 
Now chants a robin, now o’er all the throng,59.
Pours out in strains sublime the thrush’s song, 
Barks like the squirrel, like the cat-bird squalls, 
Now “Whip-poor-will,” and now “Bob White” he calls. 
The lonely red-bird too adorns the scene, 
In brightest scarlet through the foliage green.64.
With many a warbler more, a vocal throng, 
That shelter’d here their joyous notes prolong, 
From the first dawn of dewy morning grey, 
In sweet confusion till the close of day. 
Ev’n when still night descends serene and cool,69.
Ten thousand pipes awake from yonder pool; 
Owls, crickets, tree-frogs, kitty-dids resound, 
And flashing fire-flies sparkle all around. 
Such boundless plenty, such abundant stores 
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours,74.
That every living tribe their powers employ, 
From morn to eve, to testify their joy, 
And pour from meadow, field, and boughs above, 
One general song of gratitude and love. 
Even now, emerging from their prisons deep,79.
Wak’d from their seventeen years of tedious sleep, 
In countless millions, to our wondering eyes 
The long-remember’d locusts glad arise, 
Burst their enclosing shells, at Nature’s call, 
And join in praise to the great God of all.84.

Come then, dear sir, the noisy town forsake,85.
With me awhile these rural joys partake; 
Come, leave your books, your pens, your studious cares,87.
Come, see the bliss that God for man prepares. 
My shelt’ring bow’rs, with honeysuckles white, 
My fishy pools, my cataracts invite; 
My vines for you their clusters thick suspend, 
My juicy peaches swell but for my friend;92.
For him who joins with elegance and art, 
The brightest talents to the warmest heart. 
Here as with me at morn you range the wood, 
Or headlong plunge amid the crystal flood, 
More vig’rous life your firmer nerves shall brace,97.
A ruddier glow shall wanton o’er your face, 
A livelier glance re-animate your eye, 
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly, 
For here, through every field and rustling grove, 
Sweet Peace and rosy Health for ever rove.102.

Come, then, O come! your burning streets forego,103.
Your lanes and wharves, where winds infectious blow, 
Where sweeps and oystermen eternal growl,105.
Carts, crowds, and coaches harrow up the soul, 
For deep, majestic woods, and op’ning glades, 
And shining pools, and awe-inspiring shades; 
Where fragrant shrubs perfume the air around, 
And bending orchards kiss the flow’ry ground;110.
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove, 
And golden cherries studd the boughs above; 
Amid these various sweets thy rustic friend 
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend, 
His solitary walks, his noontide bowers,115.
The old associates of his lonely hours; 
While Friendship’s converse, gen’rous and sincere, 
Exchanging every joy and every tear, 
Shall warm each heart with such an ardent glow, 
As wealth’s whole pageantry could ne’er bestow.120.

Perhaps (for who can Nature’s ties forget?)121.
As underneath the flowery shade we sit, 
In this rich western world remotely plac’d,123.
Our thoughts may roam beyond the wat’ry waste, 
And see, with sadden’d hearts, in memory’s eye, 
Those native shores, where dear-lov’d kindred sigh: 
Where War and ghastly Want in horror reign, 
And dying babes to fainting sires complain.128.
While we, alas! these mournful scenes retrace, 
In climes of plenty, liberty, and peace, 
Our tears shall flow, our ardent pray’rs arise, 
That Heaven would wipe all sorrow from their eyes. 

Thus, in celestial climes the heavenly train,133.
Escap’d from earth’s dark ills, and all its pain, 
Sigh o’er the scenes of suffering man below,135.
And drop a tear in tribute to our woe. 

A Rural Walk,
The Scenery Drawn from Nature*

THE summer sun was riding high,1.
The woods in deepest verdure drest, 
From care and clouds of dust to fly,3.
Across yon bubbling brook I past; 

And up the hill, with cedars spread,5.
Where vines through spice-wood thickets roam, 
I took the woodland path, that led7.
To Bartram’s hospitable dome. 

Thick tow’ring oaks around me rose,9.
Tough hiccories tall, and walnuts wide, 
Hard dog-wood, chinkopin, and sloes11.
Were cluster’d round on every side. 

Ten thousand busy hums were heard,13.
From leafy bough, and herb, and flower; 
The squirrel chipp’d, the tree-frog whirr’d,15.
The dove bemoan’d in shadiest bow’r. 

The thrush pour’d out his varying song,17.
The robin’s artless notes unite, 
And loud o’er all the tuneful throng19.
Was heard, in mellow tones, “Bob White.”*  

My swelling heart with joy o’erflow’d,21.
To hear those happy millions raise 
To Nature’s universal God23.
Such voluntary songs of praise. 

Whate’er mistaken Zeal may teach,25.
Or gloomy Melancholy spy, 
Or vision-seeing prophets preach,27.
Or Superstition’s fears supply, 

Where’er I view this vast design,29.
On earth, air, ocean, field, or flood, 
All, all proclaim the truth divine,31.
That God is bountiful and good. 

Thus musing on, I past the rill,33.
That steals down moss-grown rocks so slow, 
And wander’d up the woodland hill,35.
Thick-spreading chestnut boughs below. 

In yellow coat of mail encas’d,37.
With head erect, and watchful eye, 
The tortoise, at his mushroom feast,39.
Shrunk tim’rous as I loiter’d by. 

Along the dark sequester’d path,41.
Where cedars form an arching shade, 
I marked the cat-bird’s squalling wrath,43.
The jay in shining blue array’d. 

And now, emerging on the day,45.
New prospects caught my ravish’d eye, 
Below—a thousand colours gay,47.
Above—a blue o’er-arching sky. 

Rich waving fields of yellow grain,49.
Green pastures, shelter’d cots and farms, 
Gay, glittering domes bestrew’d the plain,51.
A noble group of rural charms. 

A wide extended waste of wood53.
Beyond in distant prospect lay, 
Where Delaware’s majestic flood55.
Shone like the radiant orb of day. 

Down to the left was seen afar57.
The whiten’d spire of sacred name,*  
And ars’nal, where the god of war59.
Has hung his spears of bloody fame. 

The city’s painted skirts were seen,61.
Through clouds of smoke ascending high, 
While on the Schuylkill’s glassy scene63.
Canoes and sloops were heard to ply. 

There upward where it gently bends,65.
And Say’s red fortress* tow’rs in view, 
The floating bridge its length extends,67.
A living scene for ever new. 

There market maids, in lively rows,69.
With wallets white were riding home, 
And thundering gigs, with powder’d beauxs,71.
Through Gray’s green festive shades to roam. 

There Bacchus fills his flowing cup,73.
There Venus’ lovely train are seen, 
There lovers sigh, and gluttons sup,75.
By shrubb’ry walk, in arbours green. 

But dearer pleasures warm my heart,77.
And fairer scenes salute my eye, 
As thro’ these cherry-rows I dart79.
Where Bartram’s fairy landscapes lie. 

Sweet flows the Schuylkill’s winding tide,81.
By Bartram’s green emblossom’d bow’rs, 
Where Nature sports, in all her pride83.
Of choicest plants, and fruits, and flow’rs. 

These sheltering pines that shade the path,85.
That tow’ring cypress moving slow, 
Survey a thousand sweets beneath,87.
And smile upon the groves below. 

O happy he who slowly strays,89.
On Summer’s eve, these shades among, 
While Phoebus sheds his yellow rays,91.
And thrushes pipe their evening song. 

From pathless woods, from Indian plains,93.
From shores where exil’d Britons rove;*  
Arabia’s rich luxuriant scene,95.
And Otaheite’s ambrosial grove. 

Unnumber’d plants and shrubb’ry sweet,97.
Adorning still the circling year, 
Whose names the muse can ne’er repeat,99.
Display their mingling blossoms here. 

Here broad catalpas rear their head,101.
And pour their purple blooms profuse, 
Here rich magnolias whitening spread,103.
And drop with balm-distilling dews. 

The crown imperial here behold,105.
Its orange circlet topp’d with green, 
Not gain’d by slaughter or by gold,107.
Nor drop of blood, nor thorn within. 

The downy peach, and clustering vine,109.
And yellow pears, a bending load, 
In mingling groups around entwine111.
And strew with fruit the pebbly road. 

Here tulips rise in dazzling glow,113.
Whose tints arrest the ravish’d eye, 
Here laurels bloom, and roses blow,115.
And pinks in rich profusion lie. 

The genius of this charming scene,117.
From early dawn till close of day, 
Still busy here and there is seen,119.
To plant, remove, or prune away. 

To science, peace, and virtue dear,121.
And dear to all their noble friends, 
Tho’ hid in low retirement here,123.
His generous heart for all expands. 

No little herb, or bush, or flower,125.
That spreads its foliage to the day, 
From snow-drops born in wintry hour,127.
Through Flora’s whole creation gay 

But well to him they all are known,129.
Their names, their character, and race, 
Their virtues when each bloom is gone,131.
Their fav’rite home, their native place. 

For them thro’ Georgia’s sultry clime,133.
And Florida’s sequester’d shore, 
Their streams, dark woods, and cliffs sublime,135.
His dangerous way he did explore.*  

And here their blooming tribes he tends,137.
And tho’ revolving winters reign, 
Still Spring returns him back his friends,139.
His shades and blossom’d bowers again. 

One flower, one sweet and faithful flower,141.
Worth all the blossom’d wilds can give, 
Forsakes him not tho’ seasons lour,143.
Tho’ winter’s roaring tempests rave; 

But still with gentlest look and air,145.
Befriends his now declining years, 
By every kind officious care,147.
That virtue’s lovely self endears. 

When Science calls, or books invite,149.
Her eyes the waste of age supply, 
Detail their pages with delight,151.
Her dearest uncle list’ning by. 

When sorrows press, for who are free?153.
Her generous heart the load sustains, 
In sickness none so kind as she,155.
To soothe and to assuage his pains. 

Thus twines the honeysuckle sweet,157.
Around some trunk decay’d and bare, 
Thus angels on the pious wait,159.
To banish each distressing care. 

O, happy he who slowly strays,161.
On summer’s eve, these shades among, 
While Phoebus sheds his yellow rays,163.
And thrushes pipe their evening song. 

But happier he, supremely blest!165.
Beyond what proudest peers have known, 
Who finds a friend in Anna’s breast,167.
And calls that lovely plant his own. 

The angry storms of awful fate169.
Around my little bark may roar; 
May drive me from this dear retreat,171.
A wanderer on a distant shore; 

But while remembrance’ power remains,173.
Their rosy bowers shall bless my view, 
Sweet shades of peace! on foreign plains,175.
I’ll sigh and shed a tear for you. 

To Bartram*

Clouds, from eastern regions driven,1.
Still obscure the gloomy skies; 
Let us yield, since angry Heaven3.
Frowns upon our enterprise. 

Haply some unseen disaster5.
Hung impending o’er our way, 
Which our kind Almighty Master7.
Saw, and sought us thus to stay. 

By and by, when fair Aurora9.
Bids the drowsy fogs to fly, 
And the glorious god of Flora11.
Rises in a cloudless sky, 

Then, in whirling chariot seated,13.
With my friend I’ll gladly go: 
With his converse richly treated—15.
Happy to be honored so. 

On Seeing The Portrait Of Robert Burns,
Addressed to the Artist *

YES, it is he! the hapless, well-known Burns;1.
His look, his air, his very soul exprest; 
That heaven-taught bard whom weeping Genius mourns,3.
For cold in earth his silent relics rest. 

Through tears that ease the anguish of my heart5.
I view this faithful image of my friend, 
And vainly wish, dear Lawson, that thy art7.
Could life once more to these lov’d features lend. 

Who sees not here, in this expressive eye,9.
The independent soul, the ardent mind, 
The boundless fancy, Pity’s generous sigh,11.
The heart to all but its possessor kind. 

Alas! I knew him when his country’s pride,13.
Yet left dark Poverty’s cold winds to brave; 
And those who then the friendly hand deny’d,15.
Now strew with flowers his green unconscious grave. 

The dear remember’d scenes we oft have seen,17.
The burnies, haughs, and knows of yellow broom, 
The hazel glen, the birk-surrounded linn,19.
The blossom’d heather, and the hawthorn’s bloom. 

The simple tales of Scotia’s hardy swains,21.
The loves and sports their circling seasons bring; 
Who now will celebrate in equal strains?23.
What bard like Burns will ever, ever sing? 

O he was Nature’s genuine warbler born;25.
Too early lost, from pensive Scotia tore; 
Death snatch’d him from us in life’s early dawn,27.
Ere half the raptures of his song was o’er. 

Thus soars the thrilling lark at dawn of day,29.
Sweet to each list’ning swain her warblings flow, 
And thus the hawk sweeps down upon his prey,31.
And leaves the world in solitude below. 

National Song
Freedom and Peace; or, the Voice of America *

I.

WHILE Europe’s mad powers o’er creation are ranging,1.
Regardless of right, with their bloodhounds of war: 
Their kingdoms—their empires, distracted and changing;3.
Their murders and ruins resounding afar: 
Lo! Freedom and Peace, fair descendants of Heaven! 
Of all our companions the noblest and best, 
From dark eastern regions by anarchy driven, 
Have found a retreat in the climes of the West.8.

Chorus—Then Freedom and Peace we will cherish together.9.
Nor ever resign up the one or the other, 
For all that ambition’s proud pomp can impart.11.

II.

Here dwell best cherubs so dear to our wishes! 
Here thron’d in our hearts, they inspire all our themes: 
They sport round each cottage with smiles and with blushes, 
They glide through our cities—they fail on our streams; 
The shades of our heroes, immortal, delighted,16.
Look down from the radient mansions of day, 
“Be firm!” they exclaim, “Be forever united! 
And nations may threaten: but cannot dismay!” 
Chorus—But Freedom and Peace, &c. 

III.

The demons of discord are roaming the ocean, 
Their insult and rapine and murder are law! 
From scenes so atrocious of blood and commotion, 
‘Tis great—it is godlike awhile to withdraw! 
Perhaps when the hand that hath fed is suspended.25.
When famine’s pale specters their steps overtake, 
The firm voice of truth may at last be attended, 
And justice and reason once more re-awake. 
Chorus—But Freedom, &c. 

IV.

AWAY! With the vultures of war and ambition, 
That headlong to rearing of NAVIES would run, 
Those cancers of nations—those pits of perdition, 
Where Britain and France will alike be undone, 
Far nobler the ARTS of our country to nourish,34.
Its true independence and powers to increase, 
And while our resources of industry flourish, 
To hail the glad blessings of FREEDOM and PEACE. 
Chorus—Then Freedom, &c. 

V.

The storm we defy—it may roar at a distance, 
Unmov’d and impregnable here we remain; 
We ask not of Europe for gifts or assistance: 
But justice, good faith, and the rights of the main, 
Should these be refus’d. in ourselves we’re a world!43.
And those who may dare its domains to invade, 
To death and destruction at once shall be hurl’d, 
For Freedom hath sworn it and shall be obey’d! 
Chorus—Then Freedom, &c. 

VI.

We want neither Emperor, King, Prince, nor Marshal, 
No navies to plunder—nor Indies to fleece; 
Our honest decrees are, “to all be impartial;” 
Our orders of council are Freedom and Peace, 
But commerce assailed by each vile depredator,52.
Our country has will’d for a while restarin, 
And infamy light on the head of the traitor 
Who tramples her laws for ambition or gain. 
Chorus—Then Freedom, &c. 

VII.

Look round on your country, Columbians undaunted, 
From Georgia to Main—from the lakes to the sea: 
Is one human blessing of luxury wanted, 
That flows among us unmeasur’d and free? 
Our harvests sustain half the wide eastern world;61.
Our mines and our forests exhaustless remain; 
What sails on our great fishing banks are unfurl’d 
What shoals till our streams from the depths of the main! 
Chorus—Then Freedom, &c. 

VIII.

The fruits of our country, our flocks and fleeces; 
The treasures immence in our mountains that lie, 
While discord is tearing old Europe to pieces, 
Shall amply the wants of our people supply; 
New roads and canals, on their bosoms conveying,70.
Refinement and wealth, through our forests shall roam; 
And millions of Freemen with rapture surveying, 
Shall shout out O LIBERTY! this is thy home!” 
Chorus—Then Freedom, &c. 

IX.

Great shades of our Fathers! unconquered, victorious! 
To whom under heaven our freedom we owe, 
Bear witness that peace we revere still as glorious— 
For peace every gain for awhile we forego; 
But should the great son of ambition and plunder—79.
Should ocean’s proud scourges our liberty claim— 
Your spirits shalt ride in the roar of our thunder, 
That sweeps to the gulf of perdition their name. 
Chorus—For Freedom, &c. 

X.

Our strength and resources defy base aggression—84.
Our courage—our enterprize—both have been try’d 
Our nation, unstain’d with the crimes of oppression,86.
Hath Heaven’s own thunder—bolts all on its side; 
Then henceforth let freeman and freeman be brother, 
Our peace and our liberty both to assert, 
Nor ever resign up the one nor the other, 
For all that ambition’s proud pomp can impart.91.

Chorus—Then Freedom and Peace we will cherish together,92.
We’ll guard them with valour—we’ll crown them with art: 
Nor ever resign up the one or the other.94.
For all that ambition’s proud pomp can impart 

The Domini*

Of all professions that this world hath known,—1.
From humble cobblers upwards to the throne, 
From the great architects of Greece and Rome3.
Down to the maker of a farthing broom,— 
The worst for care and undeserved abuse, 
The first in real dignity and use 
(If kind to teach, and diligent to rule), 
Is the learned Master of a little school.8.
Not he who guides the legs, or fits the clown 
To square his fists and knock his fellow down; 
Not he whose arm displays the murd’rous art 
To parry thrusts, and pierce the unguarded heart: 
For that good man, who, faithful to his charge,13.
Still toils the op’ning Reason to enlarge, 
And leads the growing mind through every stage, 
From humble A B C to God’s own page,— 
From black rough pot hooks, horrid to the sight, 
To fairest lines that float o’er purest white;18.
From Numeration through an op’ning way, 
Till dark Annuities seem clear as day; 
Pours o’er the soul a flood of mental light, 
Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight, 
Till Earth’s remotest bounds, and Heaven’s bright train,23.
Are trac’d, weigh’d, measur’d, pictur’d, and explain’d. 

If such his toils, sure honor and regard,25.
And wealth of fame, will be his sweet reward; 
Sure, every mouth will open in his praise,27.
And blessings gild the evening of his days! 
Yes! blest, indeed, with cold ungrateful scorn, 
With study pale, by daily crosses worn; 
Despised by those who to his labour owe 
All that they read, and almost all they know;32.
Condemned each tedious day, such cares to bear 
As well might drive even patience to despair. 
The partial parents taunt the Idler dull, 
The Blockhead’s dark, impenetrable skull; 
The endless sound of A B C’s dull train,37.
Repeated o’er ten thousand times in vain. 
Placed on a point, the object of each sneer, 
His faults enlarge—his merits disappear. 
If mild—”Our lazy Master loves his ease, 
He let’s his boys do anything they please:”42.
If rigid—”He’s stern, hard-hearted wretch, 
He drives the children stupid with his birch; 
My child, with gentleness, will mind a breath, 
But frowns and floggings frighten him to death.” 
Do as he will, his conduct is arraigned,47.
And dear the little that he gets is gained; 
E’en that is given him on the Quarter-Day, 
With looks that call it money thrown away. 

Great God! who knows the unremitting care51.
And deep solicitude that Teachers share, 
If such our fate by Thy divine control,53.
O give us health and fortitude of soul, 
Such that disdain the murd’ring tongue of Fame, 
And strength to make the sturdiest of them tame! 
Grant this, O God! to Dominie’s distrest; 
Our sharp-tailed Hickories will do the rest.58.

The Foresters: A Poem,
Descriptive of a Pedestrian Journey to the Falls of Niagara
in the Autumn of 1803*

SONS of the city! ye whom crowds and noise* 1.
Bereave of peace and Nature’s rural joys, 
And ye who love through woods and wilds to range,3.
Who see new charms in each successive change; 
Come roam with me Columbia’s forests through, 
Where scenes sublime shall meet your wandering view: 
Deep shades magnificent, immensely spread; 
Lakes, sky-encircled, vast as ocean’s bed;8.
Lone hermit streams that wind through savage woods; 
Enormous cataracts swoln with thund’ring floods; 
The settler’s* farm with blazing fires o’erspread; 
The hunter’s cabin and the Indian’s shed; 
The log-built hamlet, deep in wilds embraced;13.
The awful silence of th’ unpeopled waste: 
These are the scenes the Muse shall now explore, 
Scenes new to song, and paths untrod before. 
To Europe’s shores renowned in deathless song, 
Must all the honours of the bard belong?18.
And rural Poetry’s enchanting strain 
Be only heard beyond th’ Atlantic main? 
What though profuse in many a patriot’s praise, 
We boast a Barlow’s soul-exalting lays; 
An Humphreys, blessed with Homer’s nervous glow;23.
And Freedom’s friend and champion in Freneau;*  
Yet Nature‘s charms that bloom so lovely here, 
Unhailed arrive, unheeded disappear; 
While bare bleak heaths and brooks of half a mile 
Can rouse the thousand bards of Britain’s isle.28.
There scarce a stream creeps down its narrow bed, 
There scarce a hillock lifts its little head, 
Or humble hamlet peeps their glades among 
But lives and murmurs in immortal song. 
Our western world, with all its matchless floods,33.
Our vast transparent lakes and boundless woods, 
Stamped with the traits of majesty sublime, 
Unhonoured weep the silent lapse of time, 
Spread their wild grandeur to th’ unconscious sky, 
In sweetest seasons pass unheeded by;38.
While scarce one Muse returns the songs they gave; 
Or seeks to snatch their glories from the grave. 

The sultry heats of summer’s sun were o’er,41.
And ruddy orchards poured their ripened store; 
Stripped of their leaves the cherry av’nues stood,43.
While sage October ting’d the yellow wood, 
Bestrewed with leaves and nuts the woodland path, 
And roused the Katydid* in chattering wrath; 
The corn stood topped, there punkins strewed the ground, 
And driving clouds of blackbirds wheeled around,48.
Far to the south our warblers had withdrawn; 
Slow sailed the thistle-down along the lawn; 
High on the hedge-rows, pendant over head, 
Th’ embow’ring vines their purple clusters spread. 
The buckwheat flails reechoed from the hill,53.
The creaking cider-press was busier still; 
Red through the smoky air the wading sun 
Sunk into fog ere half the day was done; 
The air was mild, the roads embrown’d and dry, 
Soft, meek-eyed Indian summer* ruled the sky.58.
Such was the season when equipt we stood 
On the green banks of Schuylkill’s winding flood, 
Bound on a tour wide northern forests through, 
And bade our parting friends a short adieu; 
Three cheerful partners, Duncan was the guide,63.
Young, gay, and active, to the forest tried; 
A stick and knapsack all his little store, 
With these, whole regions Duncan could explore, 
Could trace the path to other eyes unseen, 
Tell where the panther, deer, or bear had been,68.
The long dull day through swamp and forest roam, 
Strike up his fire and find himself at home; 
Untie his wallet, taste his frugal store, 
And under shelbury bark profoundly snore, 
And, soon as morning cheered the forest scene,73.
Resume his knapsack and his path again. 
Next Leech advanced, with youthful sails unfurled, 
Fresh on his maiden cruise to see the world; 
Red o’er his cheek the glow of health was spread, 
An oilskin covering glittering round his head;78.
His light fusil across his shoulder thrown, 
His neat-slung knapsack full and glistening shone; 
Though unknown regions wide before him lay, 
He scorned all fear while Wilson shared the way. 
He next appeared, with glittering arms supplied,83.
A double gun, a deadly dirk beside, 
A knapsack, crammed by Friendship’s generous care, 
With cakes and cordials, drams, and dainty fare; 
Flasks filled with powder, leathern belts with shot, 
Clothes, colours, paper, pencils—and what not.88.
With hope elate, and ardour in his eye, 
He viewed the varying scenes approaching nigh, 
Prepared and watchful (heedless of repose) 
To catch the living manners as they rose; 
Th’ exploits, fatigues, and wonders to rehearse,93.
In no inglorious or enfeebled verse; 
Nor scene nor character to bring to view 
Save what fair Truth from living Nature drew. 
Thus each equipt beneath his separate load, 
We, fellow-pilgrims, gayly took the road;98.
A road immense; yet promised joys so dear, 
That toils, and doubts, and dangers, disappear. 
Behind us soon the lessening city flies, 
New vallies sink and other hills arise, 
Till through old Germantown we lightly trod,103.
That skirts for three long miles the narrow road; 
And rising Chesnut-Hill around surveyed, 
Wide woods below in vast extent displayed. 
Studded with glitt’ring farms; the distant view 
Died into mingling clouds and mountains blue;108.
The road was good, the passing scenery gay, 
Mile after mile passed unperceived away, 
Till in the west the day began to close, 
And Spring-house tavern furnished us repose. 
Here two long rows of market folks were seen,113.
Ranged front to front, the table placed between, 
Where bags of meat and bones, and crusts of bread, 
And hunks of bacon all around were spread; 
One pint of beer from lip to lip went round, 
And scarce a crumb the hungry house-dog found;118.
Torrents of Dutch from every quarter came, 
Pigs, calves, and saur-craut the important theme; 
While we, on future plans revolving deep, 
Discharged our bill, and straight retired to sleep. 
The morning star shone early on our bed,123.
Again our march the vigorous Duncan led, 
The vault of heaven with constellations hung, 
Their myriads twinkling as he cheerly sung, 
Beguiling the lone hours. Thus half the day, 
O’er hill and dale our stretching journey lay,128.
Through fertile Bucks,* where lofty barns abound, 
For wheat, fair Quakers, eggs, and fruit renowned; 
Full fields, snug tenements, and fences neat, 
Wide-spreading walnuts drooping o’er each gate; 
The spring-house peeping from enclustering trees,133.
Gay gardens filled with herbs, and roots and bees, 
Where quinces, pears, and clustering grapes were seen, 
With pond’rous calabashes hung between; 
While orchards, loaded, bending o’er the grass, 
Invite to taste and cheer us as we pass.138.
But these too soon give place to prospects drear, 
As o’er Northampton’s* barren heights we steer; 
Bleak land of stones, deep swamps, and pigmy woods 
Where the poor Swabian o’er his drudgery broods; 
Toils hard; and when the heats of harvest burn143.
Gleans from the rocks his pittance in return. 
Yet though so cursed his soil, his sheaves so few, 
All-conquering Industry still bears him through; 
Averse to change, pleased patiently to plod 
The same dull round his honest father trod.148.
Below his low-roofed hut on yonder green! 
There no gay front or proud piazza’s seen: 
Let wealthy fools their precious hoards disburse, 
No whim can tempt him to untie his purse. 
A moss-grown penthouse shades his narrow door,153.
One window joins with patches covered o’er; 
Around the garden numerous hives are ranged, 
And pendent gourds to fading yellow changed. 
Sheds, smoke-house, hog-pens, crowd the miry yard, 
Where endless yells from growling pigs are heard.158.
Approach this humble hut: look in, nor fear; 
Say, could Ambition find one comfort here? 
Yet sweet Content e’en here is sometimes found, 
Turning the wheel, or slumb’ring by its sound. 
No mirrors dazzle, no rich beds appear,163.
Wide wasting Fashion never entered here. 
Those plates of pewter, ranged along the frame, 
In ancient days from distant Teuchland came. 
That oaken table, so uncouth and low, 
Stood where it stands some sixty years ago.168.
In this arm-chair where Hans delights to snore, 
His great-grandfather nodded long before. 
Thus glows his greasy stove throughout the year, 
The torrid zone for ever rages here. 
Here, when the shades of weary evening fall,173.
Sits Hans, the lord and sovereign of all; 
Das Neue Callender* from the nail unhooks, 
His dark brows solemn, and morose his looks, 
Beside the lamp, with spectacles on nose, 
To-morrow’s weather seeks, its rains or snows,178.
The moon’s eventful signs, th’ auspicious hour 
To plant the downward root or rising flower; 
Of witch-confounding doctors tells the tale, 
Sips his metheglin, or his cider stale. 
All other joys for which he ever sighs183.
His dear-loved saur-craut or his pipe supplies. 
Abroad at toil ere yet the morning breaks, 
Each rugged task his hardy frau partakes; 
With brawny arms the struggling ploughshare guides; 
Whips up her nags and o’er the furrow strides;188.
Awakes the echoes with her clamorous tongue, 
And lends e’en Hans a clout when things go wrong, 
Sweeps round her head the loud-resounding flail, 
And sweats the sturdiest mower in the vale. 
Light beat our hearts with changing prospects gay,193.
As down through Durham vale we bend our way, 
And pause, its furnace curious to explore, 
Where flames and bellows lately wont to roar, 
Now waste and roofless: as its walls we pass 
The massive shells lie rusting in the grass.198.
There let them rust, fell messengers of death! 
Till injured Liberty be roused to wrath, 
In whose right hand may they, though hosts oppose, 
Be blasting thunderbolts to all her foes. 
The setting sun was sinking in the west,203.
And brightly burnishing the mountain’s breast, 
When from afar, as down the steep we hie, 
The glittering roofs of Easton caught the eye: 
Low in the shelter’d vale, while rude around 
Hills piled on hills the dreary prospect bound.208.
Around the mountain’s base, in winding pride, 
The rapid Lehigh rolls his amber tide, 
To meet old Delaware who moves serene, 
While Easton rises on the plains between. 
Tired with the day’s long toil we gladly greet213.
The snug stone buildings, and the pavements neat; 
The busy townsmen, jabbering Dutch aloud, 
The court-house, ferry, hanging signs, and crowd; 
At length one waving sign enchained our view, 
‘Twas Pat’s split-crow, a filthy raven too.218.
Thither for rest and shelter we repair, 
And home’s kind decencies, that ne’er were there. 
Here might the Muse with justice due record 
The wretched fare its scurvy walls afford; 
The black wet bread, with rancid butter spread;223.
The beastly drunkards who beside us fed; 
The beds with fleas and bugs accursed stored, 
Where every seam its tens of thousands poured; 
The host’s grim sulkiness, his eager look, 
When from our purse his glittering god we took;228.
But nobler themes invite: be these repressed, 
The eagle preys not on the carrion’s breast. 

Long ere the morn had show’d its opening sweets,* 231.
We clubbed our arms and pass’d the silent streets; 
Slow o’er the pavement limpingly we tread,233.
But soon recovering, every ailment fled. 
Forward we march, o’er mountains rude and bare, 
No decent farm, and even a cabin rare; 
Thick wastes of ground oak* o’er the country spread, 
While haggard pines sigh distant overhead.238.
Lo! the Blue Mountain now in front appears, 
And high o’er all its lengthen’d ridge uprears; 
Th’ inspiring sight redoubled vigour lends, 
And soon its steeps each traveller ascends; 
Panting we wind aloft, begloom’d in shade,243.
Mid rocks and mouldering logs tumultuous laid 
In wild confusion; till the startled eye 
Through the cleft mountain meets the pale blue sky 
And distant forests; while, sublimely wild, 
Tow’rs each tall cliff to heaven’s own portals pil’d.248.
Enormous gap! if Indian tales be true, 
Here ancient Delaware once thunder’d through, 
And rolled for ages; till some earthquake dread, 
Or huge convulsion, shook him from his bed.*  
Here under rocks, at distance from the road,253.
Our pond’rous knapsacks cautiously we stow’d, 
The mountain’s top determin’d to explore, 
And view the tracks already travelled o’er; 
As nimble tars the hanging shrouds ascend, 
While hands and feet their joint assistance lend;258.
So we, from rock to rock, from steep to steep, 
Scal’d these rude piles, suspended o’er the deep, 
Through low dwarf underwood with chesnuts crown’d, 
Whose crooked limbs with trailing moss were bound. 
Eager we brush th’ impending bushes through,263.
Panting for breath and wet with dashing dew; 
Cliff after cliff triumphant we attain, 
And high at last its loftiest summits gain; 
But such a prospect!—such a glorious show! 
The world, in boundless landscape, lay below:268.
Vast colour’d forests, to our wandering eyes, 
Seem’d soften’d gardens of a thousand dyes. 
Long lakes appear’d; but at the increase of day 
Assum’d new forms, and roll’d in mist away.*  
Scoop’d from the woods unnumber’d spots were seen273.
Embrown’d with culture, or with pasture green; 
Some cottage smoke mov’d slow, and dimly white; 
But ev’ry hut had dwindled from the sight. 
In long trail’d fogs, that all its windings show’d, 
For many a league the distant Delaware flow’d;278.
And all beyond seemed to the ravished eye, 
One waste of woods, encircling earth and sky! 
We gaz’d delighted——then, with short delay, 
Descending fix’d our loads and march’d away. 
From this rough mountain, northward as we bend,283.
Below us, wide, the woody hills extend; 
The same ground-oak o’er all the country lies, 
The same burnt pines in lonely prospect rise, 
Mute and untenanted; save where the jay 
Set up his shrill alarm, and bore away.288.
One solitary hawk that sail’d serene, 
Secure, and eying the expanded scene, 
High from his zenith, midst the bursting roar, 
Dropt at our feet, and flutter’d in his gore; 
“Thus falls,” said Duncan, “many a son of pride,293.
While buoy’d in thought o’er all the world beside.” 
From these dull woods, emerging into day, 
We pass where farms their opening fields display; 
Barns, fences, cottages, and lawns appear’d, 
Where various sounds of human toil were heard;298.
There, round a hut, upon a sloping green, 
Gay laughing bands of playful boys were seen; 
Soon Books! Aloud, is thunder’d from the door, 
And balls and hoops must charm the hours no more; 
But frequent tears the blotted leaves assail,303.
And sighs for dear-lov’d liberty prevail. 
Thither, by long yet fond remembrance led, 
With awe we enter this sequester’d shed; 
All eyes are turn’d the strangers to survey, 
One tap is heard!—and all the hint obey;308.
Then grave and courteous, rising from his seat, 
The decent Master bows with meekness meet, 
Invites to sit—looks round with watchful eyes, 
And bids, by signs, alternate classes rise; 
Hears, reads, instructs, with solemn voice and slow,313.
Deep, busy silence muffling all below; 
Slates, pens, and copy-books in order pass, 
And peace and industry pervade each class. 
Dear to the Muse, to Truth, to Science dear, 
Be he who humbly toils and teaches here!318.
His worth, his labours, shall not sleep forgot, 
And thus the Muse records them as she ought. 
Of all professions that this world has known, 
From clowns and cobblers upwards to the throne; 
From the grave architect of Greece and Rome,323.
Down to the framer of a farthing broom; 
The worst for care and undeserv’d abuse, 
The first in real dignity and use, 
(If skill’d to teach, and diligent to rule) 
Is the learn’d master of a little school.328.
Not he who guides the legs, or skills the clown 
To square his fists, and knock his fellow down; 
Not he who shows the still more barbarous art 
To parry thrusts and pierce the unguarded heart; 
But that good man, who, faithful to his charge,333.
Still toils, the opening reason to enlarge; 
And leads the growing mind, through every stage, 
From humble A, B, C, to God’s own page; 
From black, rough pothooks, horrid to the sight, 
To fairest lines that float o’er purest white;338.
From numeration, through an opening way, 
Till dark annuities seem clear as day; 
Pours o’er the mind a flood of mental light, 
Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight, 
Till Earth’s remotest bound, and heaven’s bright train343.
He trace, weigh, measure, picture, and explain. 
If such his toils, sure honour and regard, 
And wealth and fame shall be his dear reward; 
Sure every tongue shall utter forth his praise, 
And blessings gild the evening of his days?348.
Yes!—Blest indeed, by cold ungrateful scorn, 
With study pale, by daily crosses worn, 
Despis’d by those who to his labour owe 
All that they read, and almost all they know; 
Condemn’d, each tedious day, such cares to bear353.
As well might drive e’en Patience to despair; 
The partial parent’s taunt—the idler dull— 
The blockhead’s dark, impenetrable scull— 
The endless round of A, B, C’s whole train, 
Repeated o’er ten thousand times in vain.358.
Plac’d on a point, the object of each sneer, 
His faults enlarge, his merits disappear; 
If mild—”Our lazy master loves his ease, 
The boys, at school, do anything they please.“ 
If rigid—”He’s a cross, hard-hearted wretch,363.
He drives the children stupid with his birch; 
My child, with gentle means, will mind a breath; 
But frowns and floggings frighten him to death.“ 
Do as he will, his conduct is arraign’d, 
And dear the little that he gets is gain’d;368.
Ev’n that is given him, on the quarter day, 
With looks that call it—money thrown away. 
Just Heav’n! who knows the unremitting care 
And deep solicitude that teachers share, 
If such their fate, by Thy divine control,373.
O give them health and fortitude of soul! 
Souls that disdain the murderous tongue of Fame, 
And strength, to make the sturdiest of them tame; 
Grant this, ye powers! to Dominies distrest, 
Their sharp-tail’d hickories will do the rest.378.
Again the shades of sober eve appear’d, 
Up the dark windings of a Creek we steer’d, 
Where, glad to rest, and each in hungry plight, 
In Marewine’s humble hut we spent the night. 
Our social host piles up a jovial fire,383.
Brings his best cider, still as we desire, 
Inspects our arms, with nice inquiring gaze, 
And while we eat, his hunting spoils displays: 
The skins of wolves and bears, a panther’s jaws,*  
His horrid tusks and life-destroying claws;388.
Recounts the toils and terrors of the chase; 
And gave us fiddling too, by way of grace; 
All which, when bed-time warn’d us to lie down, 
We fully paid him for with half a crown. 
Refresh’d with sleep, before the peep of day,393.
O’er rising Pocano* we scour away, 
Beyond whose top the dismal swamp extends, 
Where Tobihanna’s savage stream descends. 
Here prostrate woods, in one direction strew’d, 
Point out the path the loud tornado rode,398.
When from the black north-east it gathered strong, 
Creating ruin as it roar’d along, 
Crashing outrageous.* Still with awe-struck mien, 
The pilgrim stops, and gazes on the scene. 
Huge pines that tower’d for centuries on high,403.
Crush’d by each others ruins prostrate lie, 
Black with devouring flames, of branches bare, 
Their ragged roots high tilted frown in air; 
While shiver’d trunks, like monuments of wrath, 
Add deeper horror to the wreck beneath.408.
Cut through this chaos rude, the narrow road, 
Alone by solitary traveller trod, 
Winds through the wilds of this forlorn domain 
Where ruin drear and desolation reign. 
Here as we loiter’d on, with restless gaze,413.
Absorb’d in silence, musing and amaze, 
The rustling bushes and the snorting sound,  
Of startled bruin fix’d us to the ground!*  
With levelled guns we momentary stood— 
He’s gone! loud crashing through the distant wood;418.
Sad disappointment throbs in every breast, 
And vengeance dire is threaten’d on the rest. 
And now each passing stump, and bush, and nook, 
Is eyed with eager and suspicious look; 
But one deep solitude around prevails,423.
And scarce a cricket, eye or ear assails. 
Thus many a tedious mile we travell’d o’er,*  
Each passing scene more rueful than before; 
Till night’s dun glooms descending o’er our path, 
We took up lodgings at the Shades of Death.* 428.
The blazing fire, where logs on logs were laid, 
Through the red hut a cheerful radiance spread; 
Large horns of deer the owner’s sports reveal; 
The active housewife turns her buzzing wheel; 
Prone on the hearth, and basking in the blaze,433.
Three plump but ragged children loitering gaze; 
And all our landlord’s odd inquiries o’er, 
He dealt out tales and anecdotes in store; 
Of panthers trapp’d* —of wounded bears enrag’d, 
The wolves and wildcats* he had oft engaged,438.
The noble bucks his rifle had brought down— 
How living rattle-snakes he took to town. 
His dog’s exploits—the glory of his kind! 
Now gash’d by bears, and lame, and almost blind, 
Display’d his hat, with bullet-holes o’errun,443.
To prove the many matches he had won. 
On powder, rifles, locks and balls enlarg’d, 
And a whole broadside on his art discharg’d. 
The mother spun, the children snor’d around, 
And Sox the landlord still fresh stories found;448.
Our nodding heads the power of sleep confest, 
And the kind hunter led us to our rest. 

Once more the dawn arous’d us to the road:* 451.
Our fare discharg’d, we left this lone abode, 
And down, through deepening swamps, pursued our way,453.
Where pines and hemlocks quite shut out the day; 
Majestic solitudes! all dead and deep! 
The green moss matted o’er each mouldering heap; 
On every side with watchful looks we spy, 
Each rustling leaf attracts our eager eye;458.
Sudden the whirring tribe before us rise! 
The woods resound—the fluttering partridge* dies; 
Light floating feathers hover on the gale, 
And the blue smoke rolls slowly through the vale. 
Again, slow stealing o’er the shaded road,463.
Trailing their broad barr’d tails, two pheasants* strode; 
The levell’d tube its fiery thunders pour’d, 
And deep around the hollow forest roar’d; 
Low in the dust the mangled victims lie, 
And conscious triumph fills each traveller’s eye.468.
Now thickening rains begin to cloud the air, 
Our guns we muffle up—our only care; 
Darker and heavier now the tempest lower’d, 
And on the rattling leaves incessant pour’d; 
The groaning trees in hollow murmurs wav’d;473.
And wild around the rising tempest rav’d. 
Below dark, dropping pines we onward tread, 
Where Bear Creek grumbles down his gloomy bed, 
Through darksome gulfs; where bats for ever skim, 
The haunts of howling wolves and panthers grim.478.
At length two hovels through the pines appear, 
And from the pelting storm we shelter here. 
Two lank, lean dogs pace o’er the loosened floor; 
A pouch and rifle hung behind the door; 
Shrill through the logs the whistling tempest beats,483.
And the rough woodsman welcomes us to seats. 
Before the blazing pile we smoking stand, 
Our musquets glittering in the hunter’s hand; 
Now pois’d, now levell’d to his curious eye; 
Then in the chimney-corner set to dry.488.
Our clear, green powder-flasks were next admired; 
Our powder tasted, handled, rubbed, and fir’d; 
Touch’d by the spark, lo! sudden blazes soar, 
And leave the paper spotless as before. 
From foaming Brandywine’s rough shores it came,493.
To sportsmen dear its merit and its name; 
Dupont’s* best Eagle, matchless for its power, 
Strong, swift, and fatal as the bird it bore. 
Like Jove’s dread thunderbolts it with us went, 
To pour destruction wheresoever sent.498.
These, as they glisten’d careless by our side, 
With many a wishful look the woodsman ey’d. 
Thus Bears on beech-nuts, hungry steeds on maize, 
Or cats on mice, or hawks on squirrels gaze. 
His proffer’d skins of all the forest train,503.
His looks, and empty horn, implored in vain; 
Till to a family’s wants we freely gave 
What cold, hard-hearted Prudence bade us save. 
And now, this treasure on our host bestow’d, 
His sun-burn’d visage at the present glow’d;508.
New-moulded bullets quickly he prepar’d, 
Survey’d the glistening grain with fix’d regard, 
Then charg’d his rifle with the precious store, 
And threw the horn his brawny shoulders o’er, 
Secured his punk, his matches, purse and steel,513.
The dogs in transport barking at his heel; 
Then, in his blanket, bade his wife good-bye, 
For three long nights in dreary woods to lie. 
Our morsel ended, through the pouring rain, 
O’er barren mountains we proceed again;518.
And now Wiomi opened on our view, 
And, far beyond, the Alleghany blue, 
Immensely stretch’d; upon the plain below, 
The painted roofs with gaudy colours glow, 
And Susquehanna’s glittering stream is seen523.
Winding in stately pomp through valleys green. 
Hail, charming river! pure transparent flood! 
Unstain’d by noxious swamps or choaking mud; 
Thundering through broken rocks in whirling foam; 
Or pleas’d o’er beds of glittering sand to roam;528.
Green be thy banks, sweet forest-wandering stream! 
Still may thy waves with finny treasures teem; 
The silvery shad and salmon crowd thy shores, 
Thy tall woods echoing to the sounding oars; 
On thy swol’n bosom floating piles appear,533.
Fill’d with the harvest of our rich frontier: 
The pine-brown’d cliffs, thy deep romantic vales, 
Where wolves now wander, and the panther wails, 
Where, at long intervals, the hut forlorn 
Peeps from the verdure of embowering corn,538.
In future times (nor distant far the day) 
Shall glow from crowded towns and villas gay; 
Unnumber’d keels thy deepen’d course divide; 
And airy arches pompously bestride; 
The domes of Science and Religion rise,543.
And millions swarm where now a forest lies. 
Now up green banks, through level fields of grass, 
With heavy hearts the fatal spot we pass, 
Where Indian rage prevailed, by murder fir’d, 
And warriors brave by savage hands expir’d;548.
Where bloody Butler’s iron-hearted crew 
Doom’d to the flames the weak submitting few; 
While screams of horror pierc’d the midnight wood, 
And the dire axe drank deep of human blood.*  
Obscur’d with mud, and drench’d with soaking rain,553.
Through pools of splashing mire we drove amain; 
Night darkening round us; when, in lucky hour, 
Led by its light we reach’d a cottage door: 
There welcom’d in, we bless’d our happy lot, 
And all the drudgery of the day forgot.558.
A noble fire its blazing front display’d, 
Clean shelves of dazzling pewter round array’d, 
Where rows of ruddy apples, rang’d with care, 
With grateful fragrance fill’d the balmy air; 
Our bard (chief orator in times like these),563.
Though frank, yet diffident, and fond to please, 
In broken German jok’d with all around, 
Told who we were, from whence, and whither bound; 
The cottage group a ready opening made, 
And “welcome friends,” the little Dutchman said.568.
Well pleas’d our guns and knapsacks we resign’d, 
Th’adjoining pump or running stream to find, 
There wash’d our boots, and, entering, took our seat, 
Stript to the trowsers in the glowing heat. 
The mindful matron spread her table near,573.
Smoking with meat, and fill’d with plenteous cheer; 
And, supper o’er, brought forth and handed round, 
A massy bowl with mellow apples crown’d; 
For all our wants a mother’s care express’d, 
And press’d us oft, and pick’d us out the best,578.
But Duncan smil’d, and slyly seemed to seek 
More tempting fruit in Susan’s glowing cheek, 
Where such sweet innocence and meekness lay 
As fairly stole our pilot’s heart away: 
He tried each art the evening to prolong,583.
And cheer’d the passing moments with a song, 
So sadly tender, with such feelings rais’d, 
That all but Susan with profusion prais’d; 
She from his glance oft turned her glistening eye, 
And paid in tears and many a stifled sigh.588.
Thus pass’d the evening charmingly away, 
Each pleased and pleasing, innocent and gay, 
Till early bed-time summon’d us to part, 
And Susan’s glances spoke her captive heart. 
Swift flew the night, in soundest sleep enjoyed,593.
By dawn we start and find all hands employed, 
The wheel, the cards, by fire-light buzzing go; 
The careful mother kneads her massy dough; 
Even little Mary at her needle sits, 
And while she nurses pussy, nicely knits.598.
Our generous friends, their courtesy bestow’d, 
Refus’d all price and pointed out the road; 
With kindest wishes bade us all farewell; 
What Susan felt, the rising tear could tell. 
Blest Hospitality! the poor man’s pride,603.
The stranger’s guardian, comforter, and guide, 
Whose cheering voice and sympathetic eye, 
Even Angels honour, as they hover nigh; 
Confined (in mercy to our wandering race) 
To no one country, people, age, or place;608.
But for the homeless and the exil’d lives, 
And smiles the sweeter still the more she gives; 
O if on earth one spot I e’er can claim, 
One humble dwelling, even without a name, 
Do thou, blest Spirit! be my partner there,613.
With sons of wo our little all to share; 
Beside our fire the pilgrim’s looks to see, 
That swim in moisture as he looks on thee; 
To hear his tales of wild woods wandering through; 
His ardent blessings as he bids adieu;618.
Then let the selfish hug their gold divine, 
Ten thousand dearer pleasures shall be mine. 
The morning fogs that o’er the country lay, 
Dispersing, promised a delightful day, 
Clear, warm, serene; the sun’s resplendent beams,623.
Plays on the rocks, and from the river gleams, 
The cheerful robins* chattering round us fly, 
And crested wood-cocks* hammer from on high. 
Poor Duncan’s sober looks, and glistening eye, 
His broken sentences, and half-fetch’d sigh,628.
His frequent backward gaze, and anxious mien, 
While Susan’s sheltered cottage could be seen, 
Betray’d the thoughts that hover’d through his breast, 
The fruitful source of many a rallying jest; 
At length his song the echoing forest hail’d,633.
And laughing Comus over Love prevailed. 
By Susquehanna’s shores we journey on, 
Hemmed in by mountains over mountains thrown, 
Whose vast declivities rich scenes display 
Of green pines mix’d with yellow foliage gay;638.
Each gradual winding opening to the sight 
New towering heaps of more majestic height, 
Grey with projecting rocks; along whose steeps 
The sailing eagle* many a circle sweeps. 
Few huts appear’d; the wretched few we spied643.
Seem’d caves where Sloth and Poverty reside; 
The ragged owners happier far to hear 
Men, boys, and dogs arouse the bounding deer; 
In fluttering rags, with scarce a hat or shoe, 
Down the rough steep the roaring chase pursue.648.
To tree the bear; the midnight wolf to watch; 
Minx, otters, possums, or racoons to catch; 
The bloodly panther boldly to destroy, 
Their highest glory and their greatest joy. 
While round each hut the richest soil is seen,653.
Bleak squalid wretchedness is found within, 
Filth, want, and ignorance from sire to son, 
The sad attendants of the dog and gun; 
As sage Experience long ago has said, 
A good amusement, but a wretched trade.658.
‘Twas now deep noon, the winding pathway led 
Beneath tall maples near the river’s bed, 
Where moss-grown logs in mouldering ruins lay, 
And spice and dogwood fring’d the narrow way; 
The scarlet berries clustering hung around,663.
And mix’d with yellow leaves bestrew’d the ground; 
There glistening lay, extended o’er the path, 
With steadfast, piercing eye, and gathering wrath, 
A large grim rattle-snake, of monstrous size, 
Three times three feet his length enormous lies;668.
His pointed scales in regular rows engraved; 
His yellow sides with wreaths of dusky waved; 
Fix’d to the spot, with staring eyes, we stood! 
He, slowly moving, sought th’ adjoining wood; 
Conscious of deadly power, he seemed to say,673.
“Pass on; in peace let each pursue his way.” 
But when th’ uplifted musket met his view, 
Sudden in sounding coils his form he threw! 
Fierce from the centre rose his flatten’d head, 
With quivering tongue and eyes of fiery red,678.
And jaws extended vast, where threatening lay 
The fangs of death in horrible array; 
While pois’d above, invisible to view, 
His whizzing tail in swift vibration flew. 
Back sprung our bard! and, aiming to let fly,683.
Glanc’d o’er the deadly tube his vengeful eye; 
And now destruction seem’d at once decreed; 
But Duncan’s pleading check’d the barbarous deed; 
“O spare the brave!” our generous pilot cried, 
“Let Mercy, sir! let Justice now decide;688.
This noble foe, so terrible to sight, 
Though armed with death, yet ne’er provokes the fight; 
Stern, yet magnanimous, he forms his den 
Far from the noisy, dangerous haunts of men. 
Th’ unconscious foot that presses him he spares,693.
And what was harmless meant forgiving bears; 
But dare his life—Behold, he rises brave, 
To guard that being bounteous Nature gave. 
We are th’ aggressors here; the Hero he; 
Honour the brave defence of one to three!”698.
He spoke. Three cheers the voice of Mercy hail’d; 
And heav’n’s most glorious attribute prevail’d. 

Here, in deep glens, we groves of shellbarks found,* 701.
And brought their thousands rattling to the ground. 
Here clustering grapes on bending saplings grew,703.
And down the loaded vines we labouring drew; 
The luscious fruit our vigorous toil repaid, 
And Bacchus’ honours crown’d us in the shade. 
Now Keeler’s Ferry heartily we hail, 
And o’er the clear expanse serenely sail;708.
High up th’ adjacent banks again we go, 
The lessen’d river winding deep below; 
Here rocky masses from the cliffs we tore, 
And down the mountain made them bounding roar 
Through tops of crashing pines, with whistling sound,713.
Dashing the thundering waves in foam around. 
Now night drew on, dull owls began to scream, 
We cross’d Tunkhannoc’s slow and silent stream; 
Lodg’d at a famish’d inn that near it stood, 
Of all things destitute save fire and wood;718.
Old Squares, the owner, indolent and poor, 
His house unshingled and without a door; 
No meat, or drink, or bread, or liquor there, 
As Afric’s wilds, of every comfort bare; 
But Duncan’s load across his cudgel cast,723.
Fruits, birds, and beasts, bespeak a rich repast; 
While Leech’s knapsac loaves of bread supplied, 
And mine a cordial for the heart beside; 
So, sans delay, all hands at once begin, 
Some pick the pheasants, some the squirrels skin,728.
Soon o’er the fire our crackling nostrums brawl, 
And soon like hungry wolves to work we fall, 
Hew down the wheaten loaf, o’er whose thick side 
The ample sheets of yellow butter glide 
While piles of bones, like polish’d ivory, rise,733.
And the starv’d boors look on with wild surprise. 
Such bless’d comforts health and hunger bring, 
The hunter feasts more nobly than the king, 
Whose sated appetite, by luxury cloy’d, 
Even the richest sauces satiate unenjoy’d.738.
The table clear’d, our Journal we survey, 
And minute down the wanderings of the day; 
For fresh materials at our host inquire, 
Who broil’d his brawny limbs before the fire. 
“What Township’s this, old daddy?” “Why—hm—well;743.
Township? The dickens, sir, if I can tell; 
Its Pennsylvania though. Right, daddy Squares. 
Who are your nearest neighbours?” Why, the bears. 
“No mill or school-house near you?” Yes, we’ve one 
Beyond the church a piece, on Panther’s Run.748.
“Is church far distant, daddy?” Why—hm—no; 
Down Susquehanna, twenty miles or so. 
“You go to preaching, then?” Besure, that’s clear; 
We go to mill and meeting twice a-year. 
“No curiosities about?” Why—yes,753.
You’ve brought a few of them yourselves, I guess. 
“What, dollars?” Aye, and fippennybits I swear 
Are downright rarities among us here. 
Thus pass’d the evening, till the time of bed, 
When to a kennel we at last were led;758.
There, slumbering, shivered till the dawn of day, 
Then curs’d this scurvy cave and march’d away. 
Before us now in huge extension rise 
Dark wood-clad mountains of enormous size; 
Surrounding fogs their towering summits hide,763.
And sailing clouds, in silent grandeur, glide 
Around their airy cliffs. These we survey 
As dull forebodings of a cheerless day. 
Up steeps immense with labouring steps we bend, 
Then down in hollow gulfs for miles descend,768.
Buried in depth of woods, obscure and dark, 
Where pheasants drum, and angry squirrels bark; 
With these (though rain in streaming torrents pour’d) 
Our pilot’s pack abundantly we stor’d; 
And when, at length, the driving tempest clear’d,773.
And through the woods a distant hut appeared, 
There, though the sour inhospitable clown 
Returned our smiles with many a surly frown, 
Compelled by Hunger, that imperious lord, 
We cooked our game and shar’d our little hoard;778.
And left the savage boor, whose looks convey’d 
Dark hate and murder every move they made. 
Still through rude wilds with silent steps we steer, 
Intent on game, all eager eye and ear; 
Each opening turn, each dark recess survey,783.
Each mouldering heap that round tumultuous lay, 
As o’er those Alpine steeps we slowly past; 
But all was silent, solitary, vast! 
No sound of distant farm assail’d the ear; 
No rising smoke; no opening fields appear;788.
But each high summit gain’d, the eye was shown 
Hills pil’d on hills in dreary prospect thrown. 
So, from the mast, when boisterous tempests roar, 
And the tost vessel labours far from shore, 
The toil-worn sailor all around him spies793.
One sea of mountains mingling with the skies. 
At length with vast descent we winding go, 
And see the river gliding deep below; 
And up the vale, suspended o’er the path, 
A sign-board waving o’er the hut beneath;798.
The straggling characters, with soot portrayed, 
Defy’d awhile all efforts that we made; 
At length we spelt this precious piece of lore, 
Pat Dougherty’s Hotel and Drygood store. 
Blest tidings! welcome to the wandering wight,803.
As shelter’d harbours in a stormy night; 
And thou, sweet Muse! in lofty numbers tell 
The matchless comforts of this log hotel. 
Here streams of smoke the entering stranger greet; 
Here man and beast with equal honors meet;808.
The cow loud bawling fills the spatter’d door; 
The sow and pigs grunt social round the floor; 
Dogs, cats, and ducks in mingling groups appear, 
And all that Filth can boast of, riots here. 
Happy the hungry souls who hither speed!813.
Here, like cameleons, they may freely feed; 
Here champ, with vigorous jaws, the empty air, 
Without a bottom find one broken chair; 
On dirty benches snore the night away, 
And rise like thieves upon their judgment day.818.
Ye threadbare pilgrims! halt as ye pass by, 
This gorgeous store will all your wants supply; 
Three long tobacco-pipes the shelf adorns; 
Two rusty penknives fit to saw your corns; 
One rag of calico in musty folds;823.
A stick of liquorice-ball for coughs and colds; 
And one half keg of brandy, glorious cheer! 
Arrives from Philadelphia once a year. 
What boundless wealth! what can they wish for more 
Who such a tavern meet, and such a store?828.
To crown the whole—defil’d from ear to ear, 
Behold the majesty of clouts appear! 
The ragged lord of all this costly scene, 
Whose hands and face old ocean scarce could clean; 
Whose sun-burnt legs and arms and shoulders bore833.
What once was coat and trowsers—such no more! 
But shapeless fragments, gash’d with holes profound, 
And rag-form’d fringes dangling all around. 
Bent o’er a tub that once tobacco knew, 
And still from whence the dear effluvia flew,838.
Pat grumbling stood; and while he eager view’d 
Each nook and seam, the scanty gleanings chew’d; 
His busy mouth such savoury joys exprest 
That scarce our stifled laughter we supprest. 
On this foul mass of misery as we gaz’d,843.
The man of rags his brandy loudly prais’d; 
Leech sought the door, disgusted with the scene, 
And Duncan follow’d, grasping hard his cane; 
Our Bard alone, with pleasure in his face, 
Silent surveyed the wonders of the place,848.
In whose vile groups he but a picture saw, 
That all might marvel at; but few could draw. 
Though long and rough the road before us rose, 
And toil and evening urged us to repose, 
Yet were the forest glooms at once prefer’d853.
To this vile Hottentot’s most beastly herd. 
So thence, up towering steeps again we scale, 
And trace the depths of many a darksome vale; 
While oft some oak’s huge, antiquated form, 
That through long ages had defy’d the storm;858.
Whose hollow trunk had lodg’d the skulking bear, 
While owls and possums found concealment there, 
Rose, like the ruins of some reverend pile, 
While moss and lichens its hoar arms defile; 
Great in distress it mouldering drops away,863.
Time’s mournful monitor of life’s decay. 
Night’s shades at last descend—the stars appear— 
Dull, barking dogs proclaim the village near; 
Soon Wihaloosing round us we survey, 
And finish’d here the labours of the day.868.
The inn was silent, not a mortal there, 
Before the fire each plants his crazy chair, 
When slow downstairs a cautious step was heard, 
And Job, the landlord, soberly appear’d; 
Begg’d our excuse—bewail’d his luckless lot,873.
Wife in the straw, and every thing forgot; 
So finding honest Job so hard bestead, 
We skinned our squirrels, supp’d, and went to bed. 
The morning dawn’d, again we took the road, 
Each musquet shoulder’d o’er the lighten’d load,878.
Through Wihaloosing’s plains we gaily pass, 
Midst matted fields of rank luxuriant grass. 
Here Nature bounteous to excess has been; 
Yet loitering hunters scarce a living glean; 
Blest with a soil that, even in winter gay,883.
Would all their toils a hundred-fold repay, 
Few cultur’d fields of yellow grain appear; 
Rich fenceless pastures, rot unheeded here. 
Huge from the vale the towering walnuts grow, 
And wave o’er wretched huts that lie below.888.
No blossom’d orchards scent their opening May; 
No bleating flocks upon their pastures play; 
The wolves, say they, would soon our flocks destroy; 
And planting orchards is a poor employ. 
The hungry traveller, dining on this plain,893.
May ask for fowls, and wish for eggs in vain; 
And while he dines upon a flitch of bear, 
To wolves and foxes leave more gentle fare. 
Now down through hoary woods we scour along, 
Rousing the echoes with our jovial song,898.
Through paths where late the skulking Indian trod, 
Smear’d with the infant’s and the mother’s blood. 
Their haunts no more; far to the setting day 
In western woods their prowling parties stray, 
Where vast Superior laves his drifted shores;903.
Or loud Niagara’s thundering torrent roars; 
Gaul’s exil’d royalists. a pensive train, 
Here raise the hut and clear the rough domain; 
The wayworn pilgrim to their fires receive, 
Supply his wants; but at his tidings grieve;908.
Afflicting news! forever on the wing, 
A ruined country and a murdered king! 
Peace to their lone retreats, while sheltered here; 
May these deep shades to them be doubly dear; 
And Power’s proud worshippers, wherever placed,913.
Who saw such grandeur ruined and defaced, 
By deeds of virtue to themselves secure 
Those inborn joys, that, spite of kings, endure, 
Though thrones and states from their foundations part; 
The precious balsam of a blameless heart.918.

All day up winding solitudes we past,* 919.
Steep hung o’er steep, as if at random cast; 
Through every opening, towering groups were seen921.
Pil’d to the clouds, with horrid gulfs between; 
Thus (as the bard of old creation sings, 
‘Mongst other marvellous scenes and mighty things), 
When squabbling angels rais’d in heav’n a rout, 
And hills, uprooted, flew like hail about,926.
Thus look’d, in those tremendous days of yore, 
Their field of battle when the fight was o’er, 
Impending cliffs, with ruin’d woods o’ergrown, 
And mountains headlong over mountains thrown. 
One vast pre-eminent ascent we scal’d,931.
And high at last its level summit hail’d, 
There, as we trod along fatigued and slow, 
Through parting woods the clouds appear’d below, 
And lo! at once before our ravish’d view, 
A scene appear’d astonishing and new.936.
Close on the brink of an abyss we stood, 
Conceal’d till now by the impending wood, 
Below, at dreadful depth, the river lay, 
Shrunk to a brook ‘midst little fields of hay; 
From right to left, where’er the prospect led,941.
The reddening forest like a carpet spread, 
Beyond, immense, to the horizon’s close, 
Huge amphitheatres of mountains rose. 
Charm’d with this spot, our knapsacs we resign’d, 
And here, like gods, in airy regions din’d;946.
Like gods of old the cordial cup we quaff’d, 
Sung songs to Liberty, and jok’d and laugh’d; 
Huzza’d aloud—then listening from on high 
If haply slumbering Echo would reply, 
A long dead pause ensued——at once the sound951.
In tenfold shouts from distant hills rebound; 
Not Polyphemus’ self e’er louder roar’d, 
When burning goads his monstrous visage gor’d. 
Huzza, huzza! the echoing mountains cry; 
Huzza, huzza! more distant hills reply;956.
And still more distant, till the faint huzza, 
In lessening shouts, successive, died away. 
Surpriz’d, astonish’d! heedless of our meal 
We seiz’d our muskets for a nobler peal; 
Fill’d their dark bowels with the glistening grain,961.
And, facing, pointed to the extended scene; 
Then at the word their fiery thunders pour’d, 
That through the wide expanse impetuous roar’d. 
Deep silence hung———The loud returning roar 
From bellowing mountains thunders o’er and o’er;966.
Peal after peal successive bursts away, 
And rolls tremendous o’er the face of day; 
From hill to hill the loud responses fly, 
And in the vast horizon lessening die.*  
Thus from Olympus, o’er a prostrate world,971.
The fabl’d Jove his bolts imperious hurl’d; 
Earth heard, and echoed back the peals profound, 
And heaven’s exalted regions shook around. 
With deep reluctance, ne’er to be forgot, 
And many a lingering look, we left this spot,976.
Since call’d Olympus, worthier of the name 
Than that so blazon’d by the trump of fame. 
Ye souls! whom Nature’s glorious works delight, 
Who chance to pass o’er this stupendous height, 
Here turn aside; and if serene the day,981.
This cliff sublime will all your toils repay, 
Here regions wide your ravish’d eye will meet, 
Hills, rivers, forests, lying at your feet: 
Here to Columbia make your muskets roar, 
While heaven’s artillery thunders back encore.986.
‘Twas now dull twilight, trudging on we keep, 
Where giddy Breakneck nods above the steep; 
And down the darkening forest slowly steer, 
Where woods, receding, show’d a dwelling near, 
A painted frame, tall barracks filled with hay,991.
Clean white-wash’d railings rais’d along the way, 
Young poplars, mix’d with weeping willows green, 
Rose o’er the gate, and fring’d the walk within; 
An air of neatness, gracing all around, 
Bespoke that courtesy we quickly found;996.
The aged Judge, in grave apparel dress’d, 
To cushion’d chairs invites each weary guest; 
O’er the rich carpet bids the table rise, 
With all the sweets that India’s clime supplies; 
And supper served with elegance, the glass1001.
In sober circuit was allowed to pass. 
The reverend sire, with sons and grandsons round, 
Ruddy as health, by summer suns embrown’d, 
Inquires our road and news with modest mien, 
Tells of the countries he himself had seen;1006.
His Indian battles, midnight ambuscades; 
Wounds and captivity in forest glades, 
And with such winning, interesting store, 
Of wild-wood tales and literary lore, 
Beguiled the evening and engaged each heart,1011.
That though sleep summoned, we were loth to part; 
And ev’n in bed reposed, the listening ear 
Seem’d still the accents of the sage to hear. 
The morning came; ye gods! how quickly hies 
To weary folks the hour when they must rise!1016.
Groping around we fix our various load, 
And full equipp’d forth issue to the road; 
Inured to toil, the woods slide swiftly past; 
O’er many an opening farm our eyes we cast. 
Here rich flat meadows most luxuriant lie,1021.
Some glowing orchards gladly we espy, 
Full-loaded peach trees drooping hung around, 
Their mellow fruit thick scatter’d o’er the ground; 
Six cents procured us a sufficient store, 
Our napkins crammed and pockets running o’er;1026.
Delicious fare! Nor did we prize them less 
Than Jews did manna in the wilderness. 
Still journeying on, the river’s brink we keep, 
And pass the Narrow‘s high and dangerous steep, 
That to the clouds like towering Atlas soars1031.
While deep below the parted river roars, 
Beyond its eastern stream, on level lands, 
There Athens (once Tioga) straggling stands; 
Unlike that Athens known in days of old, 
Where Learning found more worshippers than gold,1036.
Here waste, unfinished, their sole school-house lies, 
While pompous taverns all around it rise. 
Now to the left the ranging mountains bend, 
And level plains before us wide extend, 
Where rising lone, old Spanish-Hill,* appears,1041.
The post of war in ancient unknown years; 
Its steep and rounding sides with woods embrowned, 
Its level top with old entrenchments crowned; 
Five hundred paces thrice we measure o’er 
Ere all their circling boundaries we explore;1046.
Now overgrown with woods, alone it stands, 
And looks abroad o’er open fertile lands. 
Here on the works we ruminating lay, 
Till sudden darkness muffled up the day; 
The threatening storm soon drove us to the plain,1051.
And on we wandered through the woods again. 
For many a mile through forests deep we pass’d, 
Till girdled trees rose to the view at last; 
The fence and field successively appear, 
And jumbling cow-bells speak some cottage near;1056.
Anon the sounding axe, the yelping dogs, 
The ploughman’s voice, the sight of snorting hogs, 
And sudden opening on the ravish’d eye, 
Green fields, green meadows, gardens, orchards, lie 
In rich profusion round the cottage neat,1061.
Log-built; but Peace and Industry’s retreat. 
Here down green glades, the glittering streams descend; 
Here loaded peach trees o’er the fences bend; 
Deep flow’ry pastures clothe the steeps around, 
Where herds repose, and playful coursers bound.1066.
The groaning cider-press is busy heard, 
The fowls loud cackling swarm about the yard, 
The snowy geese harangue their numerous brood, 
The flapping flail re-echoes through the wood, 
And all around that meets the eye or ear,1071.
Proclaims the power that spreads its influence here. 
Hail Rural Industry! man’s sturdiest friend, 
To thee each virtue must with reverence bend, 
To thee what heart denies spontaneous praise, 
From gloomy woods such glorious scenes to raise!1076.
Great giver of God’s gifts to man below! 
Through whose rough hand all human blessings flow, 
Here, as in ancient and illustrious Rome, 
May chiefs and heroes cheer thy humble home; 
The wise, the brave, from public broils retreat,1081.
To walk with heaven and thee through arbours sweet, 
To share thy toils; thy little plans inspire, 
And joke at night around thy glowing fire. 
Still, near thy hut, upon the flowery green, 
May Temperance, Hope, and Cheerfulness be seen;1086.
Health, Plenty, Innocence, thy temples crown, 
And Peace each night embosom thee in down, 
And still, where’er thy humble roofs arise, 
In northern climes, or under burning skies, 
May guardian Liberty thy fields enclose,1091.
Befriend thy friends, and baffle all thy foes. 
Cheered with the rural sweets on every side, 
Slow through this charming vale we gaily glide, 
Delightful spot! from stormy winds secured, 
By mountains sheltered and in wilds immured;1096.
Still as we pass rich level fields appear, 
Chemung’s huge barns and fertile farms draw near, 
How changed those scenes from what so late they were! 
Ere Freedom’s banners waved triumphant here! 
While o’er our coasts a powerful foe prevailed,1101.
Here from behind the savages assailed; 
In bloody bands ransacked our weak frontier, 
Fire, rapine, murder, marked their fell career. 
Amid his corn the gasping planter fell, 
Deep sunk the axe, and direful rose the yell;1106.
The midnight cottage, wrapt in sweet repose, 
In flaming ruins with the morning rose; 
There slaughtered corses, babes and fathers lay, 
The naked mothers driven mid fiends away. 
To thee, brave Sullivan! who scourged this crew,1111.
Thy country’s gratitude shall still be due; 
And future ages on these summits rear 
Honours to him who planted freedom here. 
We pause to mark amid this valley green 
How changed the tenant, how improved the scene!1116.
Where wretched wigwams late like kennels stood, 
Where bark-canoes stole skulking o’er the flood, 
Where mangled prisoners groaned, and hatchets glared, 
And blood-stained savages the fire prepar’d, 
There glittering towns and villages extend,1121.
There floating granaries in fleets descend, 
There ploughmen chant, and mowers sweep the soil, 
And taverns shine, and rosy damsels smile; 
Thanks to the brave, who through these forests bore 
Columbia’s vengeance on the sons of gore;1126.
Who drove them howling through th’ affrighted waste, 
Till British regions sheltered them at last. 
Here, on the heights, where, suddenly array’d, 
These hordes their last despairing effort made, 
Where still the mould’ring breastwork meets the view,1131.
From whose defence as suddenly they flew,*  
Here, on th’ approach of night, we lodgings found, 
And buried all our toils in sleep profound. 

The lingering night still hung in drowsy gloom,* 1135.
Must’ring our loads, we pace the darken’d room, 
With tedious groping, find at last the door,1137.
And down the narrow stair our way explore; 
Dull fogs and darkness o’er the country lay; 
But guiding fences pointed out the way. 
In cheerful chat we march’d along, till morn, 
On dewy wings from eastern regions borne,1142.
Rose on the world, and, o’er the landscape gay, 
‘Midst songs of joyous birds, led on the day. 
Two whirring pheasants swept across our path, 
And swift as lightning flew the fiery death. 
A cloud of quails in rising tumult soar;1147.
Destruction follows with resounding roar. 
From bough to bough the scampering squirrels bound; 
But soon, in smoky thunders, bite the ground; 
Life’s gushing streams, their sable furs defile, 
And Duncan’s stick sustains the bloody spoil.1152.
Thus up Tioga’s side we thundering steer’d, 
Till Newton, glittering on its banks, appear’d; 
Where opening hills, retiring, wide display, 
On level plains a city rising gay; 
Rang’d on the northern bank, so smooth and green,1157.
Rich busy stores and waving signs are seen; 
With crowding boats that here for freight attend, 
And deeply loaded to the sea descend. 
Here, when soft Spring dissolves the wastes of snows, 
And wide, and deep, the roaring river flows,1162.
Huge loaded arks* rush down the boiling tide, 
And winding through wild woods triumphant ride, 
Hills, towering steeps and precipices high, 
Rich plains and hanging rocks behind them fly; 
The watchful pilot every eddy eyes,1167.
As down the torrent’s foaming course he flies; 
Views with stern look, the frightful falls disclose, 
And down th’ outrageous breakers headlong goes; 
A thousand toils, a thousand dangers past, 
Columbia’s* harbour shelters them at last.1172.
With lingering steps the busy streets we trace, 
Pleas’d with the prospect of this growing place; 
Though now so gay, scarce fifteen years have flown 
Since two log huts were all that it could own; 
Since waving reeds and scrubby ground-oak grew1177.
Where stores and taverns now arrest the view. 
Around the tree where panthers lurk’d for prey, 
Now evening groups of laughing children play; 
And churches neat, their pious crowds enclose 
Where Indian fires and midnight yells arose.1182.
So wonder-working is the hand of Toil, 
When Heav’n has blest and Freedom guards the soil, 
And streams so vast their powerful aid bestow 
To float down plenty wheresoe’er they flow. 
Now to the North, through open plains, we wind,1187.
And leave the river’s bending course behind; 
And now, where level lengthening meadows spread, 
Through hazel thickets rapidly we tread, 
Here, when descending rain in torrents pour, 
And the broad meadows float from shore to shore,1192.
In two wide routes their waters seek the main; 
Part through St.Lawrence meets the sea again, 
Part to the south pursues its wandering way, 
And rolls to Chesapeake’s capacious Bay.*  
Now dark before us gulfs of pines are seen,1197.
That bear the name still of their Indian queen; 
Great Catharine’s Swamps, that deepening round extend, 
Down whose dun glooms we awfully descend; 
Around us thick the crowding pillars soar, 
Surpassing all we ever view’d before,1202.
So straight, so tall, so tow’ring, side by side, 
Each, in itself, appears the forest’s pride, 
A thousand fleets, with twice ten thousand more, 
May here find masts in everlasting store. 
Here melancholy monks might moping dwell,1207.
Nor ray of sunshine ever reach their cell 
Through the dead twilight, reigning horrid here, 
In holy groans their relics sad revere. 
Great solitary shades! so still and deep, 
Even passing sighs in hollow murmurs creep!1212.
The silence deep, the solemn gloom profound, 
The venerable piles that rise around 
Such awe impress, that as we upward gaze, 
In whispers low we murmur our amaze! 
Here to the god,* whose keen voracious brood1217.
Pursue the pilgrim ravenous for food, 
With stump of pine, an altar we uprear, 
And round its mouldering roots arrang’d appear; 
There bread, cheese, meat, with liberal hand we laid, 
And, like true priests, devour’d the offering made:1222.
The power appeas’d, in silence soon withdrew, 
And left us brac’d with vigorous life anew. 
All day through this deep swamp, in splatter’d plight, 
Begulf’d in mire we labour’d on till night, 
When lo, emerging from the opening wood,1227.
‘Midst narrow fields a little cottage stood! 
A mill hard by in clattering murmur play’d; 
Before the door a rapid rivulet stray’d, 
Trees round the garden bent with apples hung, 
And cows and sheep their twinkling music rung.1232.
Sacred to peace it seem’d, and sweet repose, 
And here, well pleas’d, our night’s retreat we chose; 
Approach’d the door, presenting our request, 
The dame’s kind looks already bade us rest; 
And soon the landlord, entering with his train,1237.
Confirm’d her kindness o’er and o’er again; 
And now the table show’d its welcome head, 
With cheering fare, and rural dainties spread; 
Green sparkling tea, obscur’d with floating cream; 
Delicious salmon from the neighbouring stream;1242.
Nice cakes of wheaten flour, so crisp and good, 
And piles of honeycomb, ambrosial food! 
While in the cheerful looks of all around 
A still more pleasing, grateful treat we found. 
Our host, intelligent, and fond of news,1247.
Long tales of trade and politics pursues; 
The State’s enlarging bounds, so mighty grown, 
That even the bare extent remains unknown; 
Of Europe’s wars, and Bonapartè’s glories, 
Wolves, rifles, Louisiana, whigs and tories;1252.
Of bears and wildcats, many a tale relates, 
With every circumstance of day and dates; 
Till leaden sleep our weary eyes assail’d, 
And spite of eloquence at length prevail’d. 
The following morning, found us on the way,1257.
Through woods of wallnut trees conversing gay, 
Whose limbs enormous spread sublime around, 
Their huge forefathers mouldering on the ground; 
The soil with leaves and showers of nuts was spread, 
While millions more hung yellow overhead.1262.
Here maples tow’r’d with little troughs below, 
From whose gash’d sides nectarious juices flow; 
The half-burnt logs, and stakes erected near,  
Show’d that the sugar-camp once flourish’d here.*  
Ye generous woodsmen! let this bounteous tree,1267.
For ever sacred from your axes be; 
O let not mangling wounds its life destroy! 
But the nice augre for the axe employ; 
So shall these trees for ages lift their head, 
And green and fresh their thickening foliage spread;1272.
And each returning Spring their tribute pour, 
More rich, and more abundant than before. 
Now opening woods, in circuit wide, display, 
A level vale with lawns and pastures gay, 
Where music hail’d us from a numerous brood,1277.
The lone bells jumbling through the sounding wood, 
Sheep, oxen, cows, in busy parties stray’d, 
While snorting steeds our passing steps survey’d; 
Surrounding hills this peaceful place inclose, 
And form a scene of shelter’d sweet repose.* 1282.
Ah! melancholy scene, (though once so dear) 
To the poor Indian haply wandering here, 
Whose eye forlorn amid the gushing flood, 
Beholds the spot where once his wigwam stood, 
Where warriors’ huts, in smoky pride were seen,1287.
His nation’s residence! his native green! 
Methinks, even now, where yon red maples play, 
The black-hair’d wanderer slowly bends his way, 
And pensive stops, and heaves the stifled sigh, 
As well-known objects meet his rueful eye;1292.
No words escape him, but, while memory grieves, 
These gloomy thoughts his burden’d heart relieves: 
“O happy days! for ever, ever gone! 
When these deep woods to white men were unknown; 
Then the Great Spirit gave us from on high,1297.
A plain broad path, and an unclouded sky; 
Then herds of deer in every thicket lay; 
Peace blest our nights, and Plenty crown’d our day; 
But now dark clouds around our nation roar, 
The path is lost! we see the sun no more;1302.
A poor lone wanderer here unhappy raves, 
Return’d once more to see his fathers’ graves; 
Where all he sees bereaves his heart of rest, 
And sink like poison’d arrows in his breast. 
“Here stood the tree, beneath whose awful shade,1307.
Our aged chiefs the nation’s welfare weigh’d; 
In these sweet woods my early days I spent, 
There through the hare the quivering arrow sent; 
Or, stealing wary by that creek so clear, 
Transfix’d the struggling salmon with my spear.1312.
Here rose our fires in many a towering flame, 
When the young hunters found abundant game; 
The feast, the dance, whole days and nights employ, 
These hills resounding with our screams of joy. 
There, on that bank our painted warriors stood,1317.
Their keen knives redden’d with the white men’s blood; 
Now all is lost! and sacrilege is spread! 
Curst ploughs profane the mansions of the dead; 
Our warriors wander on a distant shore, 
And strangers triumph where they begg’d before.”1322.
Indignant sorrow rushes on his soul, 
And in wild agony his eyeballs roll; 
Wrapt in his rug, the forest he regains, 
A homeless exile on his native plains. 
Howe’er stern Prejudice these woes may view,1327.
A tear to Nature’s tawny sons is due; 
The same false virtue and ambitious fire, 
Which nations idolize, and kings admire, 
Provoke the white man to the bloody strife, 
And bid the Indian draw his deadly knife;1332.
The glory ours, in victory to save, 
His, still to glut with every foe the grave; 
Nor age nor sex his country’s foe avails, 
So strong this passion o’er the rest prevails; 
And equal woes must wring his manly heart,1337.
From native shades for ever forc’d to part. 

Through this sweet vale, that wooded hills enclose,* 1339.
A clear deep stream in glassy silence flows;*  
There sportive trout disturb the dimpling tide,1341.
And shoals of salmon, pike and suckers glide; 
Thick vines and sycamores in rich array, 
Bend o’er its banks, and mark its winding way; 
Gigantic walnuts, bare and blasted, rise, 
And stretch their bleach’d arms midway to the skies;* 1346.
There sits the hawk,* inured to feasts of blood, 
Watching the scaly tenants of the flood; 
Or listening pensive to the distant roar 
Of yon white falls that down the mountain pour; 
Thence to the Lake, broad level marshes spread,1351.
Where close rank weeds conceal the Muskrat’s bed; 
Above, around, in numerous flocks are seen 
Long lines of ducks o’er this their fav’rite scene; 
Some to the Lake in wedg’d divisions bend; 
Some o’er the creek in lengthening showers descend.1356.
Ah, how could sportsman such a sight survey 
Nor seek to share the pleasures of the day! 
Do well-drest beauties shun theatric walls? 
Or sleeps the swain when his own sweetheart calls? 
A skiff and paddles o’er the landing lay,1361.
Two striplings proffer’d to conduct my way, 
Fix’d in the bow for slaughter I prepare, 
The deadly barrels, ready pois’d in air; 
Slow round an opening point we softly steal, 
Where four large ducks in playful circles wheel;1366.
The far-fam’d canvass-backs* at once we know, 
Their broad flat bodies wrapt in pencill’d snow; 
The burnish’d chesnut o’er their necks that shone, 
Spread deepening round each breast a sable zone; 
Wary they gaze——our boat in silence glides,1371.
The slow-mov’d paddles steal along the sides; 
Quick flashing thunders roar along the flood, 
And three lie prostrate vomiting their blood! 
The fourth aloft on whistling pinions soar’d, 
One fatal glance the fiery thunders pour’d,1376.
Prone drops the bird amid the dashing waves, 
And the clear stream his glossy plumage laves. 
Now all around us rising trains appear, 
Wild whistling wings on every hand we hear! 
Th’ alarm of death amid their legions spread,1381.
In files immense they winnow overhead; 
Hoarse heavy geese scream up the distant sky, 
And all the thunders of our boat defy; 
Close under rustling vines, we skulking glide, 
Till the loud uproar and alarm subside;1386.
Here grapes delicious, clustering, hung around, 
The mother vine through bending birches wound; 
Not richer ripen on Vesuvius’ side, 
Than here spontaneous nodded o’er the tide. 
Now all again is silent and serene,1391.
Slow glides our skiff along the glassy scene, 
O’er the flat marsh we mark the plovers* sweep, 
And clust’ring close, their wheeling courses keep, 
Till, like a tempest, as they past us roar, 
Whole crowds descend, to rise again no more;1396.
Prone on the sand, the snowy tribe are spread, 
Then hove on board, and pil’d among the dead. 
Beyond a point, just opening to the view, 
A fleet of ducks* collect their scatter’d crew, 
Part, soon alarm’d, with sudden splattering soar,1401.
The rest remaining seek the farther shore; 
There, cross a neck, conceal’d by sheltering vines, 
Down the smooth tide I view their floating lines, 
With sudden glance the smoky vengeance pour, 
And death and ruin spread along the shore!1406.
The dead and dying mingling, float around, 
And loud the shoutings of my guides resound. 
But now the Lake* wide opening spreads below, 
Bright o’er its smooth expanse the sun-beams glow, 
There downward skies in concave vast appear,1411.
And circling wide complete one boundless sphere; 
Far spreading forests from its shores ascend, 
And tow’ring headlands o’er the flood impend; 
These, deep below, in soften’d tints are seen, 
Where Nature smiles upon herself serene.1416.
O lovely scenes! in ecstasy I cry’d, 
That sink to nothing all the works of pride! 
What are the piles that puny mortals rear, 
Their temples, towers, however great or fair, 
Their mirrors, carpets, tapestry and state,1421.
The nameless toys that Fashion’s fools create, 
To this resplendent dome of earth and sky, 
Immensely stretch’d! immeasurably high! 
Those yellow forests, ting’d with glowing red, 
So rich around in solemn grandeur spread,1426.
Where, here and there, in lazy columns rise, 
The woodman’s smoke, like incense to the skies! 
This heaven-reflecting Lake, smooth, clear, profound, 
And that primæval peace that reigns around! 
As well may worms compare with souls divine1431.
As Art, O Nature! match her works with thine. 
Now high in heaven the hastening sun had sped, 
My comrades, too, were trudging far ahead, 
Pil’d at my feet enough of carnage lay, 
So slow to shore we cut our liquid way,1436.
There, where a hill the level marsh confines, 
Lifts its rough front, and o’er the Lake reclines, 
Where glittering through the trees that rise below, 
A brawling cataract falls in sheets of snow, 
Prone from the precipice; and steals unseen,1441.
Through birchen thickets to the Lake serene, 
While soften’d echoes join in cadence sweet, 
And sheltering scenery form a blest retreat; 
There, on the slaty shore, my spoils I spread, 
Ducks, plover, teal, the dying and the dead;1446.
Two snow-white storks,* a crane of tawny hue 
Stretch’d their long necks amid the slaughter’d crew. 
A hawk,* whose claws, white tail, and dappl’d breast, 
And eye, his royal pedigree confest, 
Snipes, splendid summer-ducks,* and divers wild,1451.
In one high heap, triumphantly I pil’d; 
Then joining heads that ne’er were join’d before, 
Across my gun the feathery burden bore; 
Sought out the path that scal’d the mountain’s side, 
Farewell! “Goodbye!” the smiling younkers cry’d;1456.
Up through th’ incumbent shades I took my way, 
They to their boat with glittering dollar gay. 
The day was hot, the load of ponderous size, 
To heav’n’s own gates the mountain seem’d to rise; 
Large ruin’d logs the winding labyrinth crost,1461.
And soon the path in tangling brush was lost. 
Up these rough steeps I bore my plunder through, 
That still more priz’d and more oppressive grew, 
Till, drench’d with sweat, I gain’d the mountain’s head, 
And steer’d as chance or blind conjecture led;1466.
Fill’d the deep forest with the shouts I made, 
That dy’d, unanswer’d, through the distant shade; 
While startl’d squirrels, mounting in affright, 
Look’d down, and chatter’d, at th’ alarming sight. 
At length two guns, that made the mountain roar,1471.
Produc’d an answering peal from those before; 
And ten long miles in doubt and drudgery past, 
I reach’d my comrades and the road at last; 
Where peals of mirth succeeding their amaze, 
They shar’d my load, and loaded me with praise.1476.

Beyond the woods where Erie’s waves extend,* 1477.
Behold, once more, the setting sun descend; 
Lone chirping crickets, hail the coming night,1479.
And bats around us wheel their giddy flight; 
The drumming pheasant vibrates on the ear; 
The distant forests dimly disappear. 
Slow sinks the day; and through th’ impending woods, 
Night spreads her wings, and deepening darkness broods.1484.
A death-like silence reigns the forest through; 
At last the path evanishes from view. 
Here as we stoop, our dubious course to steer, 
Inhuman screams at once assail our ear; 
The hollow, quivering, loud-repeated howl,1489.
Full overhead, betrays the haggard owl; 
Who, well for her, in muffling darkness past, 
Else this heart-sinking scream had been her last. 
Thus through the forest, wrapt in deepest shade, 
Beneath black arms of tow’ring oaks we stray’d;1494.
At solemn intervals the peace profound 
Disturb’d by rattling nuts that dropt around. 
Shrill, wildly issuing from a neighbouring height, 
The wolf’s deep howlings pierce the ear of night; 
From the dark swamp he calls his skulking crew,1499.
Their nightly scenes of slaughter to renew; 
Their mingling yells, sad, savage woes express, 
And echo dreary through the dark recess. 
Steady along through swamps and pools we went; 
The way-worn foresters fatigu’d and faint,1504.
Scrambling o’er fallen logs that fractur’d lay, 
Or stunn’d by viewless boughs, that cross’d our way; 
While glaring round, through roots and stumps decay’d, 
Phosphoric lights their pallid gleams display’d. 
Sudden a horrid human shriek we hear,1509.
That shot its terrors through our startled ear; 
“Ha! are you there!” the watchful Duncan cry’d, 
“Halt! fix your bayonets, and look out ahead!” 
A second scream announc’d the panther nigh, 
The dark woods echoing back the rueful cry;1514.
Still as the grave, suspending every breath, 
Steady we stood to mark its passing path, 
Prepar’d, and eager for one deadly aim, 
To pour destruction through its tawny frame; 
But vain our listening; nothing seem’d awake,1519.
Save the lone murmur of the neighbouring lake; 
All else lay dead and silent as before; 
And even the distant wolf was heard no more. 
Amidst this deep Egyptian darkness lost, 
Our faithful pilot ne’er forsook his post;1524.
But knew or seem’d to know, each swamp and pond, 
And kept his steady course unerring on. 
Behold! in front, a spreading radiance gleams! 
Wide, glowing, ruddy, and immense it seems, 
Such as the rising moon’s broad orb bestows,1529.
When up night’s starry vault she solemn goes, 
Each moment brightening, lo! to our amaze, 
The woods on fire in ardent fury blaze; 
Dark trees before us, of gigantic size, 
In deeper shades and gloomy pomp arise;1534.
The flames beyond, ascending, with them bear 
Thick clouds of sparkling smoke that fill the air. 
Approaching near, it opes in dread display, 
Diffusing round th’ effulgency of day; 
Where, glad to view each other’s looks again,1539.
We stand contemplating this furious scene: 
Here piles of logs like furnaces appear, 
The rows of underbrush rage far and near; 
Huge tow’ring oaks amid this sea of fire, 
Descend in thunders, and in flames expire;1544.
Or, blazing high, with burning gaps imprest, 
Rain showers of fire infectious on the rest, 
Loud roar the flames, the crackling branches fly, 
And black behind the smoky ruins lie. 
Thus some fair city, pride of many an age,1549.
Gleams with the light of war’s devouring rage, 
Through its high domes the flaming torrents pour, 
And naked turrets o’er the burnings lour; 
The midnight sky reflects the dreadful blaze, 
The foe, at distance, with enjoyment gaze,1554.
Exult to find their vengeance well employ’d, 
The work of ages in one night destroy’d. 
So look’d the woodman, who behind us stood, 
Begrimm’d with soot, in tatter’d garments rude, 
On pitchfork leaning, hail’d with “How d’ye do?“1559.
And look’d like Lucifer just risen to view; 
At Duncan’s voice, advancing, stood amaz’d, 
And each on other for a moment gaz’d, 
“What, Johnny!” “Duncan!” “Bless my heart, so near! 
How glad our folks will be to see you here!“1564.
Kind invitations now, were not forgot, 
And through corn-fields we followed to his cot, 
Their “O‘s!” and “Dears!” and salutations o’er, 
The ponderous knapsacks sunk upon the floor; 
Seats, quickly rang’d, our weary limbs invite,1569.
And kind inquiries all our toils requite; 
And while our meal a young brunnette prepar’d, 
The ancient father’s humorous jokes we shar’d; 
Though ninety years had silver’d o’er his head, 
Yet life’s green vigour seem’d but little fled;1574.
The burning woods, that late before us blaz’d, 
His axe had levell’d, and his handspike rais’d; 
None laugh’d more hearty, sung with livelier glee, 
Or jok’d, or told a merrier tale than he; 
Kind, cheerful, frank; in youth a sailor brave,1579.
“Now bound for brighter worlds beyond the grave.” 
Two favourite sons, obliging, open, mild, 
With wild wood anecdotes the hours beguil’d; 
Produc’d their rifles, sedulous to please, 
Describ’d their farm, their horses, harvest, bees,1584.
While a whole hive, the crowded garden’s boast, 
Crown’d our repast, and spoke the generous host. 
To Johnny’s joke succeeded William’s tale, 
Sweet Mary serv’d with many a witching smile, 
And thou, Devotion, wert a kindred guest,1589.
Of all our joys the noblest and the best; 
Around, conven’d with David’s holy lays, 
In solemn strains awoke our evening praise; 
The kneeling father’s fervent prayers ascend, 
“O be the strangers’ comfort, guide and friend;1594.
Their trust, their guardian, wheresoe’er they go, 
To view thy greatness in thy works below; 
O leave them not! but their Director be, 
To that last stage that leads them home to Thee!” 
Such pious goodness, aged worth so dear,1599.
The trembling voice that spoke the soul sincere, 
With thoughts unspeakable my mind opprest, 
Till tears reliev’d the tumult of my breast: 
And all to rest retir’d, and silence deep, 
To lose the hardships of the day in sleep.1604.
By bawling calves and jumbling bells awoke; 
We start amaz’d to see the morning, broke, 
Such blest oblivion balmy sleep bestows 
Where toil-worn Industry and Peace repose. 
Geese, turkeys, ducks, a noisy numerous brood,1609.
Mingle their gabblings with the echoing wood, 
Through whose tall pillar’d trees, extending blue, 
The lake Cayuga* caught our ravish’d view. 
Soon on its oak-crown’d banks sublime we stood, 
And view’d from right to left, its lengthen’d flood,1614.
Of vast extent, pure, glassy, and serene, 
Th’ adjacent shores and skirting huts were seen, 
The eye could mark the whiten’d frames, the ear 
Faint sounds of barking dogs remotely hear. 
Hither, before, our liberal friends had sent1619.
Whate’er of stores we voyagers might want, 
Fill’d all our wallets, prest us to take more, 
And side by side convey’d us to the shore; 
There the good father grasp’d each traveller’s hand, 
His sons and family mingling o’er the strand,1624.
“Farewell!” “Goodbye!” “God bless you!” was the cry, 
The tears of friendship swelling in each eye. 
Charm’d with a love so free, so nobly shown, 
His clubb’d fuzee across his shoulder thrown, 
Our pilgrim bard the parting group address’d,1629.
And thus his gratitude and ours express’d. 
“For all your goodness, hospitable friends! 
We gladly would, but cannot make amends. 
All that we can we humbly offer here, 
Our dearest wishes, ardent and sincere,1634.
Long with success may all your toils be blest, 
And each rich harvest rival all that’s past; 
Long may your glittering axe, with strength apply’d, 
The circling bark from massy trunks divide, 
Or wheel’d in air, while the wide woods resound,1639.
Bring crashing forests thundering to the ground; 
Long may your fires in flaming piles ascend, 
And girdled trees their wintry arms extend; 
Your mighty oxen drag the logs away, 
And give the long-hid surface to the day,1644.
While fields of richest grain, and pasture good, 
Shall wave where Indians stray’d, and forests stood; 
And as you sweat the rustling sheaves among, 
Th’ adjoining woods shall echo to your song. 
These are the scenes of truest joys below,1649.
From these, health, peace, and independence flow; 
Blest with the purest air, and richest soil, 
What generous harvests recompense your toil! 
Here no proud lordling lifts his haughty crest; 
No tinsel’d scoundrel tramples the distrest;1654.
No thief in black, demands his tenth in sheaves; 
But man from God abundantly receives. 
In rustic dress you range the echoing wood, 
Health makes you gay, and simple manners good; 
Society’s best joys your bosoms know,1659.
And Plenty’s smiling cup, without its wo. 
Farewell, good friends! be virtue still your guide, 
Still scorn injustice, cruelty and pride, 
Whate’er be your pursuits, whate’er your care, 
Let temperance, peace and industry be there;1664.
From these want, pain, and care and ruin fly, 
And half the ills that teach mankind to sigh. 
Fear not success! though one attempt should fail, 
Fate yields when strength and constancy assail; 
Store up your harvests, sow your winter grain,1669.
Prepare your troughs the maple’s juice to drain, 
Then, when the wintry north outrageous blows, 
And nought is seen but one wide waste of snows, 
Ascend the fleeting sleigh, and like the wind, 
Scour o’er the hills and leave the woods behind,1674.
Along the drifted swamps and mountains high, 
O’er rocks and narrows* make your horses fly, 
Shoot o’er the Susquehannah’s frozen face, 
And bleak Wyoming’s lofty hills retrace; 
Nor let the hunter’s hut, or venison stale,1679.
Or his lov’d bottle, or his wond’rous tale, 
Of deer and bear your lingering steeds detain; 
But swift descend, and seek the southern plain; 
There where the clouds of Philadelphia rise, 
And Gray’s flat bridge across the Schuylkill lies;1684.
There shall your grateful friends with choicest store, 
And hearts o’erflowing welcome you once more; 
There friendship’s purest joys will crown the whole, 
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.” 
Our boat now ready and our baggage stor’d,1689.
Provisions, mast, and oars and sails aboard, 
With three loud cheers that echo’d from the steep, 
We launch’d our skiff Niagara to the deep; 
The shores recede—the oars resounding play, 
Fleet through the unruffled flood we scour away;1694.
Till Evening sweet suspends her starry veil, 
And all around her sparkling orbs prevail. 
There, high in front, the Bear’s bright splendours glow, 
His answering glories gild the deep below. 
Profound and vast, and, as we onward glide,1699.
Dance on the bosom of the dimpling tide. 
Lone Night and listening Silence seem to sleep 
On the smooth surface of the glistening deep; 
Save where the ducks in rising thousands soar, 
Leaving the dark expanse with lengthen’d roar,1704.
That like a cataract bursts from legions near, 
And dies in distance on the vacant ear. 
Meantime young Duncan, as the oar he plies, 
With voice melodious bids the song arise, 
The theme Columbia, her sublime increase,1709.
“Blest land of freedom, happiness and peace, 
Far, far, remov’d from Europe’s murderous scene, 
A wide, a friendly waste of waves between, 
Where strangers driv’n by tyranny to roam, 
Still find a nobler and a happier home.1714.
Hail, blest asylum! happy country hail! 
O’er thee may truth; but never foe, prevail.” 
From neighbouring shores, and cliffs that o’er them rise, 
The listening spirit of the lake replies, 
And in responses sweet, and accents plain,1719.
Repeats each period of th’ inspiring strain. 
Now like dull stars the lighted bridge* appears, 
Beneath it soon our little vessel steers, 
Where, snugly moor’d, we pass’d away the night, 
And weigh’d next morning by the peep of light.1724.
Here the clear lake contracts its straighten’d floods, 
And winds, a deepen’d stream, through level woods; 
In vain our tow’ring mast for soundings tries, 
Beyond its utmost depths the bottom lies; 
Yet, so transparent its pure waters flow,1729.
We mark’d the smallest leaf that lay below. 
Ducks, whistling past, like meteors fill the air, 
Our fatal guns pursue them deadly there, 
Glanc’d from the eye the thundering tubes rebound, 
Fluttering they fall, and flap, and scream around.1734.
Here from the shore, low marshes wide expand, 
Where bare and bleak the little salt-works* stand, 
There numerous pits their briny treasures yield, 
And pumps and tunnels checker all the field; 
Whether old Neptune these blest springs supplies,1739.
Or deep below the massy substance lies, 
Let idlers guess; while nobler souls revere 
The all-providing Power who rais’d them here. 
Beneath mild sunshine as we onward glide, 
Flat moss-clad forests rise on either side;1744.
High ‘midst the leafless multitude is seen 
The dark majestic pine in deepest green; 
The snow-white sycamores that love to drink 
The passing stream, and skirt the river’s brink, 
Wide o’er the flood their arms, capacious, throw,1749.
To meet their soften’d forms that lie below. 
Still files of ducks in streaming thousands pour, 
At every bend their rising torrents roar, 
Till, near Musquito Point their flocks decrease, 
Where night o’ertook us and we moor’d in peace.1754.
High rose its banks, and on its rugged height, 
A small log-hovel shone with glimmering light, 
Here one lone woman and a boy we found, 
The trapper absent on his usual round, 
On board his skiff had sail’d, six days ago,1759.
To try his luck some twenty miles below. 
This solitary hut, small, cheerless, rude, 
Amidst vast swamps and wildernesses stood, 
Where nightly horrors banish’d oft repose, 
Such savage cries from wolves and panthers rose;1764.
Even round the bolted door, the woman said, 
At midnight frequent she could hear their tread. 
The fire blaz’d bright; around us we survey’d 
The pendent furs with which it was array’d; 
A sacred horse-shoe, guardian of the whole,1769.
Terror of spirits prophane, and witches foul, 
Dread, powerful talisman, ‘gainst imps unknown! 
Nail’d o’er the door in silent mystery shone. 
Just as the dame her glowing hearth had clear’d, 
The ragged owner of the hut appear’d,1774.
Laden with skins, his traps around him slung, 
Two dead rackoons across his shoulders hung; 
Muskrats and ‘possums in each hand he bore; 
A large brown otter trail’d along the floor; 
And as he sous’d them down with surly gloom,1779.
The skunk’s abhorr’d effluvia fill’d the room.*  
“Friends, how d’ye do?” “Well, wife, how come you on? 
How fare the calves?” “Why, three of them are gone!” 
“Three!….Damn these wolves! they’ll eat up house and hall! 
And have they kill’d the sheep?” “They have.” “What, all?“1784.
“Yes, all.” . . “I thought it would be so. 
Well,—now they’re at the devil, let them go.” 
So said, he whets his knife to skin his store, 
While heaps of red raw carrion fill the floor. 
As morning dawn’d, our little skiff we trimm’d,1789.
And through the misty flood with vigour skimm’d; 
Now, gliding smooth, we hail with songs the morn; 
Now, down white boiling breakers headlong borne, 
Again, enclos’d, the gray woods round us rise, 
We pass where Cross Lake green and stagnant lies,1794.
And mark the snakes, amid their watery way, 
With heads erect our dipping oars survey. 
Dead lie the lonely woods, and silent shore, 
As Nature slept, and mankind were no more. 
How drear! how desolate to ear and eye!1799.
What awful solitudes around us lie! 
Sad were his fate, too dreadfully severe, 
For life condemn’d to linger hopeless here; 
From such lone thoughts of gloomy exil’d wo, 
All human ties for ever to forego;1804.
The heart shrinks back, dejected and dismay’d, 
And owns that man for social joy was made. 
Yet still, whate’er our doubtful hearts may say, 
Even Nature’s self to habit will give way, 
And these vast solitudes, so deep and drear,1809.
As more frequented might become more dear. 
On yonder island, opening by degrees, 
Behold the blue smoke mounting through the trees! 
There, by his fire, ‘mid sheltering brush obscur’d, 
His bark-canoe along the margin moor’d,1814.
With lank jet locks that half his face conceal, 
The Indian hunter eats his morning meal. 
Stakes rudely rear’d his little pot suspend, 
Amid the smoke his busy partners bend, 
Beyond, sly peeping, fearful to be seen,1819.
Two copper chubs their favourite shell-barks glean. 
Another night another hut supplies, 
In half an hour the crazy fabrics rise; 
The roof with bark, the floor with spruce bespread, 
The stakes around with skins and venison clad;1824.
At our approach suspicion lours his eye, 
That scarce regards us gliding swiftly by. 
His life how simple, and his wants how few! 
A blanket, leggins, rifle, and canoe, 
Knife, hatchet, mockasins,—not much beside,1829.
And all beyond to him is empty pride. 

O’er these lone swamps the Muse impatient flies,* 1831.
Where mightier scenes and nobler prospects rise, 
Nor stoops, in dull rehearsal to detail1833.
Each roaring rapid and each adverse gale, 
What vagrant tribes, what islands met our view; 
How down Oswego’s foaming Falls we flew, 
Now plunging in our sinking bark to save, 
Now headlong hurried down th’ outrageous wave;1838.
How through the clear still flood, with sounding oars, 
We swept, and hail’d with songs the echoing shores. 
These had their pleasures, and perhaps their fears; 
But terrors fly when daring courage steers. 
A thousand toils, a thousand dangers past,1843.
The long-expected Lake appears at last, 
Seen through the trees, like Ocean’s boundless blue, 
Huzza! huzza! Ontario is in view! 
With flying hats we hail the glorious spot, 
And every care and every fear’s forgot.1848.
So, when of old, we cross’d th’ Atlantic waves, 
And left a land of despots and of slaves, 
With equal joy Columbia’s shores we spy’d, 
And gave our cares and sorrows to the tide. 
Here, ere we launch the boundless deep along,1853.
Surrounding scenes demand their share of song. 
Mark yon bleak hill, where rolling billows break, 
Just where the river joins the spacious lake, 
High on its brow, deserted and forlorn, 
Its bastions levelled, and its buildings torn,1858.
Stands Fort Oswego;* there the winds that blow 
Howl to the restless surge that groans below; 
There, the lone sentry walk’d his round; or stood, 
To view the sea-fowl coursing o’er the flood; 
Midst night’s deep gloom shrunk at the panther’s howl1863.
And heard a foe in every whooping owl. 
Blest times for soldiers! times, alas, not near, 
When foes like these are all they have to fear; 
When man to man will mutual justice yield, 
And wolves and panthers only stain the field.1868.
Those straggling huts that on the left appear, 
Where boats and ships their crowded masts uprear, 
Where fence, or field, or cultured garden green, 
Or bless’d plough, or spade were never seen, 
Is old Oswego; once renowned in trade,1873.
Where numerous tribes their annual visits paid; 
From distant wilds, the beaver’s rich retreat, 
For one whole moon they trudg’d with weary feet; 
Pil’d their rich furs within the crowded store, 
Replaced their packs, and plodded back for more.1878.
But time and war have banish’d all their trains, 
And nought but potash, salt, and rum remains. 
The boisterous boatman, drunk but twice a day, 
Begs of the landlord; but forgets to pay; 
Pledges his salt, a cask for every quart,1883.
Pleas’d thus for poison with his pay to part. 
From morn to night here noise and riot reign; 
From night to morn ’tis noise and roar again. 
Around us now Ontario’s ocean lay, 
Rough rose its billows, crown’d with foaming spray,1888.
The grim north-east in roaring fury blew, 
And our frail bark, deep-dashing, labour’d through; 
Our blanket sail, and feeble sapling mast 
Drank the rough waves, and quivered in the blast; 
A friendly sloop for Queenstown* harbour bound,1893.
While night’s foul hurricanes were gathering round, 
Beheld our danger, saw our numbers few, 
And, for our boat, received its willing crew; 
Both safe on board, they trim their thundering sail, 
The boom and main-sheet bending to the gale.1898.
Hard by the helm th’ experienced master stood, 
And, far to windward, eyed the whitening flood; 
Saw in the east the coming tempest lour, 
On night’s black wings impetuous to devour.*  
Her roaring bow the boiling spray divides,1903.
Two foaming torrents sweep along the sides, 
Reef after reef retrench the straining sail, 
And the rack’d vessel staggers in the gale; 
Now up th’ outrageous waves’ high steep we go, 
Now plunge down headlong in the gulf below,1908.
Slow rising, shivering through tempestuous clouds, 
That howl’d like demons in the whizzing shrouds. 
Down in the cabin by the uproar driven, 
Heedless of all the warring winds of heaven, 
Sick, groaning, speechless, and unfit to pray,1913.
Our three pale foresters inglorious lay; 
Groan answered groan; while at each desperate throe, 
The deep bilgewater churn’d and roar’d below. 
Sad night of sickness, tumult, fears, and hopes, 
Of roaring surges, and of rattling ropes,1918.
Heart-rending retchings, tossings to and fro, 
And all the horrors land-born lubbers know. 
At length the morn arose—the storm withdrew, 
And fair the breeze with steady vigour blew. 
First upon deck, our bard, uncheer’d with sleep,1923.
Gaz’d silent round upon the shoreless deep; 
From whose vast bosom, where the orient glows, 
The glorious sun in reddening pomp arose. 
The cold camboose with blazing faggots filled, 
And, though in culinary lore unskilled,1928.
Fry’d the nice venison, well with onions stored, 
And summoned Leech and Duncan to the board, 
Slow from the cabin mount the staggering pair, 
Pale their chang’d cheeks, and wild their haggard air, 
So look two ghosts that Tyburn’s tree attend,1933.
When the last signal calls them to ascend. 
Soon as the sav’ry steams their nostrils gain, 
They sicken, heave, and stagger down again. 
Bold-hearted Duncan! who’d have dreamt to see 
This pale Sea-spectre fix her fangs on thee?1938.
On thee, who dauntless down the torrent’s course, 
Midst rocks and foam, defied its roaring force; 
Still first the dangers of the chase to share, 
To pierce the panther, or o’erwhelm the bear; 
And at the joyous feast that crowned the whole,1943.
With mirth and songs to elevate each soul. 
“Cheer, comrades, cheer! deliverance is at hand! 
Lo! on the lea-bow lies the hazy land!” 
Loud hailed the bard. At once, in cheerful mood, 
Firm upon deck the active Duncan stood;1948.
The wide expanse with freshen’d looks he eyed, 
And “Who’s afraid?” in sportive humour cried. 
Meantime the gale our flying vessel bore, 
On wings of wind, full thirteen knots an hour; 
And just as day its closing light withdrew,* 1953.
Niagara’s lighthouse opened on our view, 
Its star-like radiance shone with steady ray, 
Like Venus lingering in the rear of day. 
By slow degrees the sinking breezes die, 
And on the smooth still flood we logging lie.1958.
Roused by the morning, and the neighbouring drum, 
Swift upon deck with eager eyes we come, 
There, high in air, (the fortress full in view)*  
Our star-crowned stripes in waving triumph flew, 
Hail, sacred flag! To sons of Freedom dear,1963.
Thy country’s valour reared thine honours here; 
Eternal blessings crown her rich increase, 
Her Bands of Union and her Stars of Peace. 
Before us now the opening river pours, 
Through gradual windings and projecting shores;1968.
Smooth slopes the green where Newark’s village lies, 
There, o’er their fort,* the British ensign flies. 
From whence?” they hail; we shout with trumpet’s sound 
From Fort Oswego; up to Queenstown bound.“ 
What news?” “The Speedy’s pump on board we bear,1973.
The sole found fragment of that sad affair.“ 
Th’ increasing distance drowns their faint reply, 
And up the adverse stream we foaming fly. 
Now full in front the Ridge* its height uprears,  
Its high, grim gap, like some vast cave appears;1978.
Thick wheel strong eddies, marked with whirling foam, 
As from this gloomy chasm they hurrying come; 
Low at its foot, with stores and gardens gay, 
Close, snugly sheltered, little Queenstown lay; 
Here night once more her shadows o’er us threw,1983.
And, safely moor’d, we bid our bark adieu. 
Long seemed the night; impatient of repose, 
By day’s first dawn delighted we arose; 
A day replete with scenes sublime and new 
About to burst on our astonished view.1988.
Sweet rose the morning, silent and serene, 
No vagrant cloud, or stirring leaf was seen, 
The sun’s warm beams with dazzling radiance glow, 
And glittering dance upon the flood below. 
Soon full equipt the towering Ridge we scale,1993.
Thence, gazing back, a boundless prospect hail. 
Far in the east Ontario’s waters spread, 
Vast as the Ocean in his sky-bound bed. 
Bright through the parted plain that lay between, 
Niagara’s deep majestic flood was seen;1998.
The right a wilderness of woods displayed, 
Fields, orchards, woods, were on the left arrayed. 
There, near the lake’s green shore, above the flood, 
The tall, white light-house like a column stood. 
O’er each grim fort, high waving to the view,2003.
Columbia’s stars, and Britain’s crosses, flew. 
Thus two stern champions watch each other’s eye, 
And mark each movement, ready to let fly. 
Up to the ridge’s top, high winding led, 
There on a flat, dry plain, we gayly tread.2008.
And stop, and list, with throbbing hearts to hear 
The long expected cataract meet the ear, 
But list in vain. Though five short miles ahead, 
All sound was hushed and every whisper dead.*  
“‘Tis strange,” said Duncan. “Here the sound might reach.”2013.
“‘Tis all an April errand.” answered Leech. 
“Men to make books a thousand tales devise, 
And nineteen twentieths are a pack of lies. 
Here, three long weeks by storms and famines beat, 
With sore-bruised backs, and lame and blistered feet,2018.
Here, nameless hardships, griefs, and miseries past, 
We find some mill-dam for our pains at last. 
Once safe at home, kick’d, cudgell’d let me be 
If e’er bookmaker make a fool of me.” 
He spoke, and groan’d; for, heedless of his wo,2023.
A stubborn stump assailed his corny toe, 
Stunned with the stroke, he grinned and hopped around, 
While peals of mirth and laughter loud resound. 
Heavy and slow, increasing on the ear, 
Deep through the woods a rising storm we hear,2028.
Th’ approaching gust still loud and louder grows, 
As when the strong north-east resistless blows, 
Or black tornado, rushing through the wood, 
Alarms th’ affrighted swains with uproar rude. 
Yet the blue heavens displayed their clearest sky,2033.
And dead below the silent forests lie; 
And not a breath the slightest leaf assailed; 
But all around tranquillity prevailed. 
“What noise is that?” we ask, with anxious mien, 
A dull salt driver passing with his team,2038.
“Noise! noise!—why nothing, that I hear or see; 
But Nagra falls —Pray, whereabouts live ye?” 
All look’d amaz’d; yet not untouch’d with fear, 
Like those who first the battle’s thunders hear, 
Till Duncan said, with grave, satiric glee—2043.
“Lord, what a monstrous mill-dam that must be!” 
Leech blush’d assent; while, as we nearer drew, 
The loudening roar more harsh and heavy grew. 
Awe-struck sensations now all speech represt, 
And expectation throbb’d in every breast.2048.
Now from the woods, emerging into day, 
Before us fields, and farms, and orchards lay; 
The sloping hills a hollow vale disclose, 
Whence hurrying clouds of boiling smoke arose, 
Till in one congregated column thrown,2053.
On whose bright side a glorious rainbow shone, 
High in the heavens it rear’d its towering head, 
And o’er the day its train gigantic led.*  
Beyond its base, there like a wall of foam, 
Here in a circling gulf unbroken thrown,2058.
With uproar hideous, first the Falls appear, 
The stunning tumult thundering on the ear. 
Above, below, where’er the astonish’d eye, 
Turns to behold, new opening wonders lie, 
Till to a steep’s high brow unconscious brought,2063.
Lost to all other care of sense or thought, 
There the broad river, like a lake outspread, 
The islands, rapids, falls, in grandeur dread, 
The heaps of boiling foam, th’ ascending spray, 
The gulf profound, where dazzling rainbows play,2068.
This great o’erwhelming work of awful Time, 
In all its dread magnificence sublime, 
Rose on our view; amid a crashing roar 
That bade us kneel, and Time’s great God adore. 
As when o’er tracks immense of desert drear,2073.
Through dangerous nations, and midst toils severe; 
Day after day condemn’d a war to wage 
With thirst and hunger, men and lions’ rage, 
Noon’s burning heat, and night’s distressing cold, 
Arabian pilgrims Mecca’s walls behold;2078.
Those holy walls, whose sacred roof contains 
Mahomet’s tomb—their prophet’s blest remains, 
Past sufferings vanish; every sigh’s supprest, 
A flood of rapture rises in each breast, 
All hearts confess an awful joy serene,2083.
And, humbly, bow before the glorious scene. 
Such were our raptures, such the holy awe 
That swell’d our hearts at all we heard and saw; 
Fix’d to the rock, like monuments we stood, 
On its flat face, above th’ outrageous flood,2088.
There, while our eyes th’ amazing whole explor’d, 
The deep loud roar our loudest voice devour’d. 
High o’er the watry uproar, silent seen, 
Sailing sedate, in majesty serene, 
Now midst the pillar’d spray sublimely lost,2093.
And now, emerging, down the rapids tost, 
Swept the gray eagles; gazing calm and slow, 
On all the horrors of the gulf below; 
Intent, alone, to sate themselves with blood, 
From the torn victims of the raging flood.2098.
Whate’er the weather, or whate’er the gale, 
Here ceaseless haze and flying rains prevail; 
Down bend the boughs with weight of moisture borne, 
Each bush, each tree, the dazzling drops adorn; 
Save when deep winter’s fiercest rigors blow,2103.
Then falls the whirling spray in silent snow; 
While the dew-drops to icicles are chang’d, 
In glittering pendant parallels arrang’d. 
Then, too, amid the Falls, stupendous rise 
Bright icy pillars of prodigious size!2108.
As if some pile, immense, of Greece or Rome, 
Were deep engulf’d within their hideous womb. 
Drench’d to the skin, our baggage down we throw, 
Fix’d to descend into the gulf below, 
Amid whose wreck, and from whose depths profound,2113.
Some new resource for wonder might be found; 
Along the dreadful verge we cautious steer’d, 
Till the tall ladder’s tottering top appear’d;*  
A tree’s projecting root its weight sustains, 
The dread abyss wheels round our giddy brains;2118.
Leech, like a bird, with the whole gulf in view, 
Down its slight slippery bars regardless flew; 
The bard came after, not devoid of fear, 
And Duncan, gay and laughing, clos’d the rear; 
The cumb’rous weight its bending sides assails,2123.
It yields! it cracks! its whole foundation fails! 
Fear, swift as light, the rocks grim pavement stains 
With mangled limbs, and blood, and spatter’d brains; 
But firm above the roots remain’d; though rude, 
And safe below on Chaos’ shores we stood.2128.
Genius of song! Great Source of light and day! 
How shall the Muse this dreadful place portray! 
Where, all around, tremendous rocks were spread, 
That from our feet in headlong fury fled;*  
Rocks that great Ajax, with his hundreds more,2133.
Could scarce have mov’d one hairbreadth from the shore. 
Where logs, and boards, and trees of reverend age, 
Beat to a pulp amid the torrent’s rage, 
Fragments of boats, oars, carcasses unclean, 
Of what had bears, deer, fowls and fishes been,2138.
Lay in such uproar, midst such clamour drown’d,*  
That death and ruin seem’d to reign around! 
High in our front th’ outrageous river roar’d, 
And in three separate falls stupendous pour’d; 
First, slow Fort Slusher’s* down was seen to roam,2143.
In one vast living sheet of glittering foam; 
On its south side a little islet towers, 
There one small pitch o’er broken fragments pours; 
Goat Island next, with oaks and cedars crown’d, 
Its shelving base with dwarfish shrubbery bound,2148.
Along the brink a rocky front extends 
Four hundred yards, and at the Horseshoe ends.*  
There the main forces of the river pour; 
There, fierce above, the rushing rapids roar! 
The mighty wat’ry mass, resistless grown,2153.
Green down the impending brink unbroken thrown, 
Whelm’d amidst dazzling hills of boiling spray, 
In raging, deafening torrents roar away! 
One last grand object* yet remain’d unview’d, 
Thither we crawl, o’er monstrous fragments rude,2158.
Struggling o’er caverns deep; now prostrate thrown, 
Now up wet slippery masses clambering on; 
Below, in foam, the raging rapids sweep, 
Above, dark, hollowed hangs th’ enormous steep, 
Scoop’d out immense; resounding, gloomy, bare,2163.
Its giddy verge projected high in air; 
There such a scene of rage and uproar new, 
In awful grandeur burst upon our view, 
As seiz’d, at once, all power of speech away, 
And fill’d our souls with terror and dismay.2168.
Great God of nature! whose blest sun and showers 
Call’d into action these tremendous powers, 
Where shall my tongue fit force of language find 
To speak the dread sensations of the mind, 
When o’er the impending brink, in bounding sweep,2173.
The eye pursued this deluge to the deep, 
Saw its wild torrents undulating pour 
From heaven to earth with deafening crashing roar, 
Dash’d in the wild and torn abyss below 
Midst dazzling foam and whirling storms of snow,2178.
While the whole monstrous mass, and country round, 
Shook, as with horror, at the o’erwhelming sound!*  
Within this concave vast, dark, frowning, deep, 
Eternal rains and howling whirlwinds sweep; 
The slippery rocks, at every faithless tread,2183.
Threaten to whelm us headlong to the dead; 
Our bard and pilot, curious to survey, 
Behind this sheet what unknown wonders lay, 
Resolv’d the dangers of th’ attempt to share, 
And all its terrors and its storms to dare;2188.
So, hand in hand, with firm yet cautious pace, 
Along the gloom they grope this dreary space, 
Midst rushing winds, descending deep, they gain 
Behind th’ o’erhanging horrors of the scene, 
There dark, tempestuous, howling regions lie,2193.
And whirling floods of dashing waters fly, 
At once of sight depriv’d, of sense and breath, 
Staggering amidst this cavern’d porch of death, 
One moment more had swept them in the waves 
To the most horrible of human graves;2198.
But danger, here, to desperate force gave way, 
And drove them, drench’d and gasping out to day. 
The glooms of evening now began to close, 
O’er heaps of rocks our homeward steps we chose; 
And, one by one, th’ infernal ladder scal’d,2203.
While Night’s grim darkness deep around prevail’d; 
Safe on the fearful brink, we search around, 
And, glimmering near, a light and lodgings found; 
There, full of all the wonders of the day, 
In vain our bed our weary heads we lay;2208.
Still loud without a mighty tempest heaves; 
Still the calm air our terror undeceives. 
And when some short and broken slumbers came, 
Still round us roaring swept th’ outrageous stream; 
Whelm’d in the deep we sunk, engulf’d, forlorn;2213.
Or down the dreadful Rapids helpless borne; 
Groaning we start! and at the loudening war, 
Ask our bewilder’d senses where we are. 
At length, with watching and with toil opprest, 
The thundering tumult rock’d us into rest.2218.

The Pilgrim, A Poem*

“Adieu the social sweets of home!1.
The voice of friend! the kindred eye! 
Condemn’d through distant lands to roam,3.
I bless you with my parting sigh! 

Through western forests deep and drear,5.
Far from the haunts of Science thrown, 
My long laborious course I steer7.
Alone, unguided, and unknown. 

“Farewell!” he cry’d; the glistening tear9.
That gather’d fast on either eye, 
Dimm’d the last parting look so dear,11.
Till manlier feelings bade him fly. 

With gun across his shoulder thrown,13.
O’er Alpine regions wild and vast, 
With gloomy haggard pines o’ergrown,15.
The solitary pilgrim past. 

And now immur’d ‘midst many a cliff17.
Ohio ‘s princely flood appears; 
And snug within his little skiff19.
Our Pilgrim down the current steers. 

No lucre-hunting wight was he,21.
Intent alone on greed of gain; 
The noblest charms he still could see23.
In Nature’s scenes and living train. 

The flood his gliding bark that bore,25.
Whose stream a course majestic keeps; 
Collects from various States its store,27.
And through a length of regions sweeps; 

Its flat rich banks, few cities nigh—29.
Its rough indented mountains steep; 
Its smoking huts and headlands high,31.
Reflected downwards in the deep, 

To him gave raptures every morn;33.
And as he clear’d each opening bend, 
He hail’d the boatman’s mellow horn,35.
And saw the floating arks descend. 

The ducks that swarm’d each opening run,37.
The eagles sailing high in pride, 
Fell at the thunders of his gun,39.
And prostrate floated on the tide. 

He gaz’d on each gigantic wood,41.
That tow’r-like from the margin rose; 
He marked each tributary flood43.
That to this noble river flows. 

And when the air was all serene,45.
He sought some smooth and pebbly shore; 
Thence rang’d the lofty woods between,47.
Their deep recesses to explore. 

He stoop’d each rising plant to view,49.
He cull’d each rare and curious ore; 
For all to him was great, was new,51.
A vast, and an exhaustless store. 

He listened to each warbling throat,53.
That twitt’red from the budding spray, 
And blest the red-bird’s mellow note55.
At dawning and at setting day. 

When dark, tempestuous winds arose,57.
And driving snows obscur’d the air, 
Or when the dashing surges froze59.
Upon his hands and clotted hair, 

He scorn’d the shrinking soul of slaves,61.
He swept his oars and rais’d the song, 
And wrestled with the winds and waves63.
To bear his struggling bark along. 

He saw the shaggy hills glide by,65.
He heard the snags and sawyers roar, 
And when the rolling waves rose high,67.
He traced the steep and shelter’d shore. 

When Night descended grim and slow,69.
He sought the squatter’s wretched shed, 
Where deaden’d round, in tow’ring show,71.
Vast pillar’d trunks their ruins spread. 

There o’er the loose luxuriant soil,73.
That some few ragged rails inclose, 
Unhonour’d by the hand of Toil,75.
A growth of weeds enormous rose. 

His hut of logs, untrimm’d, unbeam’d,77.
Where nail nor window hole were seen; 
Without, a cavern’d ruin seem’d,79.
But frown’d a fouler cave within. 

One bed, where nightly kennel’d all,81.
Its foul and towz’led rags displayed; 
A broken chest, where kittens crawl—83.
A pot that pigs a shelter made. 

The low, wet roof unseam’d and rude,85.
Receiv’d the rain in many a rill; 
The chimney-sides all open stood—87.
The loosen’d floor was rattling still. 

With tatter’d hat, and beard unshorn,89.
And face inlaid with dirt and soot: 
And hunting shirt defil’d and torn,91.
And feet unbless’d with shoe or boot, 

The squatter by his hearth unclean,93.
Sat with his hand-spike for a cane, 
And as the shivering pigs crept in,95.
He drove them through the logs again. 

And as he scratch’d, and chewd his quid,97.
And listen’d to the pilgrim’s tale, 
Still would the grunting guests intrude,99.
And still the handspike would assail. 

Close round a gaping circle press,101.
Of ragged children plump and brown, 
To gaze upon the stranger’s dress,103.
And hear the wonders of the town. 

In buck-skin bag, with head of axe,105.
The mouldy coffee now is broke, 
The pork no store of cabbage lacks;107.
The hoe-cakes on the shingle smoke. 

No cups from foreign lands are seen,109.
No plates arrang’d, no table spread, 
Each dipp’d within the pot his tin,111.
And slic’d his bacon on his bread. 

But Hunger, ravenous guest! was there,113.
He wav’d his spell o’er every treat, 
And gave the rough and homely fare115.
A charm, that even the gods might eat; 

And Toil , blest sinnewer of the poor!117.
Thy callous hand, and stubborn tread, 
Still made the hardest cabin floor119.
Refreshing as the softest bed. 

What though the wolves with mingling howl,121.
All night harangued their answering brood; 
And that vile hag, the big-horn’d owl,123.
More hideous, hollow’d through the wood. 

Our pilgrim as he dropt to rest,125.
Well pleas’d would listen to their lay, 
And as the cabin planks he prest,127.
Snore chorus to their lullaby. 

Soon as the dawn of morning broke,129.
The pilgrim all his stores reshipt; 
And through the placid river’s smoke,131.
With steady stroke serenely swept. 

The red-bird whistled as he past,133.
The turtles deep bemoan’d around; 
The screaming jays in search of mast,135.
And rattling wood-peckers resound. 

The turkey, from the tallest trees,137.
Calls out the watchword to his train, 
Soon as the coming skiff he sees,139.
And seeks the mountain’s side again. 

The streaming ducks in rapid file,141.
Shoot o’er the surface of the flood, 
And pigeons darkening many a mile,143.
Roar like a tempest o’er the wood. 

And now the source of morning beams145.
High from the shaggy mountain’s steep, 
Upon the pilgrim’s skiff it gleams,147.
And plays upon the glassy deep: 

And where encircling mountains bend,149.
And vast primæval woods prevail, 
He sees the pillar’d smoke ascend151.
From Sugar Camp in shelter’d vale. 

He heard the whistling rustic’s noise—153.
The sounding axe—the artless song; 
The barking dog, the children’s voice—155.
The charmer of the rural throng. 

Fast by the river’s shelving side,157.
He moor,d his little skiff with care, 
Where piles of floating timber ride,159.
And form a shelter’d harbour there. 

He climb’d the mouldering banks sublime,161.
Struck with the forest deep and gray, 
Where scatter’d round by mighty Time,163.
The ruins of the former lay; 

Here rose the sycamores immense,165.
And stretch’d their whiten’d arms around, 
From eating floods the best defence,167.
And hugest of the forest found. 

The sugar trees erect and tall,169.
Arrang’d their stately thousands here, 
Whose trunks profusely yield to all171.
The sweetening beverage of the year: 

The limpid sweets from every tree,173.
Drop in the wooden troughs below, 
Set by the entering augur free,175.
And through small tubes of elder flow. 

Amid this maple forest gay,177.
Where one prodigious log was rear’d; 
The kettles rang’d in black array179.
Above a raging fire appear’d. 

With wooden pails from tree to tree,181.
The singing rustics walk’d their round, 
And with their mingling jokes and glee,183.
The deep and hollow woods resound. 

A little hut with leaves bespread,185.
To shield the rustics from the night, 
With blankets for a transient bed,187.
And moss cramm’d in each crevice tight. 

To see the thickening syrrup done,189.
Is still the sire and matron’s share, 
And when the evening shades draw on,191.
They leave it to the damsel’s care. 

Amid the fire enlighten’d woods,193.
The wanton wenches laugh and sing, 
For well each lightsome lass concludes195.
Her hastening beau is on the wing. 

With startling whoop, in laughing trim,197.
The hardy buckskins soon arrive, 
They fill the kettles to the brim,199.
In feats of chopping wood they strive. 

The lasses from the kettles neat,201.
Their vigorous sweethearts oft regale, 
With pliant lumps of sugar sweet,203.
Dropp’d in the cool congealing pail. 

And while the blazing-fire burns high,205.
Within the hut the leaves are prest, 
Where, snug as squirrels close they lie,207.
And Love and Laughter know the rest. 

“Sweet is the sugar season dear!“209.
The maids along Ohio sing; 
“Of all the seasons in the year,211.
The sweetest season is the Spring.” 
(To be continued.)*

In Memory Of Captain Lewis*

Far hence be each accusing thought! 
Let tears of silent sorrow flow;  
Pale Pity consecrate the spot 
Where poor, lost Lewis now lies low. 

This lonely grave–this bed of clay, 
Neglected–dug the pathway near;  
Unfenced from midnight beasts of prey, 
Excites Affliction’s bitterest tear. 

The soldier brave, of dauntless heart, 
The chief belov’d, the comrade dear;  
Of honour’d worth the mortal part 
Moulders in sacred silence here. 

His was the peril, glory, pride, 
First of his country to explore 
Whence vast Missouri’s currents glide; 
Where white man never trod before. 

Her roaring cataracts he scal’d, 
Her mountains of eternal snow;  
There his brave band the rivers hail’d 
That westward to the ocean flow. 

Subdu’d by boldness, and amazed 
At daring deeds unknown before,  
The hordes of Indian warriors gazed, 
And lov’d them for the hearts they bore. 

Far down Columbia’s foamy steeps, 
He led his brave, adventurous band;  
Plough’d the Pacific’s billowy deeps, 
And stood triumphant on the strand. 

Twice fourteen months of peril past, 
Again the Alpine snows they spurn;  
Their country opes to view at last, 
And millions welcome their return. 

The learned on Europe’s distant Lands, 
With joy the great arrival hail;  
And Fame on tip-toe ready stands, 
To spread the wonders of their tale. 

O sad reverse! O mournful end 
Of this high destiny so dear!  
He, the lord-chieftian of their band, 
Fell, friendless and unhonoured here! 

The anguish that his soul assailed, 
The dark despair that round him flew,  
No eye, save that of Heaven, beheld, 
None but unfeeling strangers knew. 

Bereav’d of Hope’s sweet angel form, 
Griefs rose on griefs, and fear on fear;  
Poor Reason perish’d in the storm, 
And Desperation triumphed here! 

Fast pour’d the purple stream of life, 
His burning lips one drop did crave;  
Abandon’d, midst this bloody strife, 
He sank, unfriended, to the grave. 

Unhappy youth! here rest thy head, 
Beloved, lamented by the brave;  
Though silent deserts round thee spread, 
And wild beasts trample o’er thy grave. 

Here reap that peace life could not give; 
But while thy own Missouri flows,  
Thy name, dear Lewis, still shall live, 
And ages yet lament thy woes. 

Lone as these solitudes appear, 
Wide as this wilderness is spread;  
Affection’s steps shall linger here, 
To breath her sorrows o’er the dead. 

The Indian hunter, slow and sad, 
Who wanders with his rifle near;  
With solemn awe shall hither tread, 
To mourn a brother-hunter here. 

The pilgrim-boatman on his way, 
Shall start the humble grave to view;  
“Here Lewis lies!” he’ll mournful say, 
While tears his manly cheeks bedew. 

Far hence be each accusing thought! 
With his my kindred tears shall flow;  
Pale Pity consecrate the spot, 
Where poor, lost Lewis now lies low! 

Poems from the American Ornithology

The American Blue-Bird*

When winter’s cold tempests and snows are no more,  
Green meadows and brown furrow’d fields re-appearing, 
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore,  
And cloud-cleaving geese to the Lakes are a-steering; 
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing; 5.
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing, 
O then comes the Blue-bird, the herald of spring!  
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season. 

Then loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring;  
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the weather; 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring,  
And spicewood and sassafras budding together: 
O then to your gardens ye housewives repair! 13.
Your walks border up; sow and plant at your leisure; 
The Blue-bird will chant from his box such an air,  
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure. 

He flits thro’ the orchard, he visits each tree,  
The red flowering peach and the apple’s sweet blossoms; 
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be,  
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms; 
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours; 21.
The worms from their webs where they riot and welter; 
His song and his services freely are ours,  
And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 

The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train,  
Now searching the furrows–now mounting to cheer him; 
The gardener delights in his sweet simple strain,  
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him; 
The slow ling’ring schoolboys forget they’ll be chid, 29.
While gazing intent as he warbles before ’em, 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red,  
That each little loiterer seems to adore him. 

When all the gay scenes of the Summer are o’er,  
And Autumn slow enters so silent and sallow; 
And millions of warblers, that charm’d us before,  
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow; 
The Blue-bird, forsaken, yet true to his home, 37.
Still lingers, and looks for a milder to-morrow, 
Till forc’d by the horrors of winter to roam,  
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow. 

While Spring’s lovely season, serene, dewy, warm,  
The green face of earth, and the pure blue of heav’n, 
Or love’s native music have influence to charm,  
Or sympathy’s glow to our feelings are giv’n, 
Still dear to each bosom the Blue-bird shall be; 45.
His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a treasure; 
For, thro’ bleakest storms, if a calm he but see,  
He comes to remind us of sunshine and pleasure! 

The Humming-Bird*

When morning dawns, and the blest sun again1.
Lifts his red glories from the Eastern main;  
Then thro our woodbines, wet with glittering dews, 3.
The flower-fed Humming-bird his round pursues;  
Sips with inserted tube, the honeyed blooms,  
And chirps his gratitude as round he roams;  
While richest roses, tho in crimson drest,  
Shrink from the splendor of his gorgeous breast; 8.
What heav’nly tints in mingling radiance fly!  
Each rapid movement gives a different dye;  
Like scales of burnish’d gold they dazzling show,  
Now sink to shade……now like a furnace glow! 

The Baltimore Oriole*

High on yon poplar, clad in glossiest green, 1.
The orange, black-capp’d Baltimore is seen;  
The broad extended boughs still please him best, 3.
Beneath their bending skirts he hangs his nest;  
There his sweet mate, secure from every harm,  
Broods o’er her spotted store, and wraps them warm;  
Lists to the noontide hum of busy bees,  
Her partner’s mellow song, the brook, the breeze; 8.
These, day by day, the lonely hours deceive,  
From dewy morn to slow descending eve,  
Two weeks elaps’d, behold a helpless crew!  
Claim all her care and her affection too;  
On wings of love th’assiduous nurses fly, 13.
Flowers, leaves and boughs abundant food supply;  
Glad chants their guardian as abroad he goes,  
And waving breezes rock them to repose. 

The Fish-Hawk, Or Osprey*

Soon as the Sun, great ruler of the year! 1.
Bends to our northern climes his bright career,  
And from the caves of ocean calls from sleep3.
The finny shoals and myriads of the deep;  
When freezing tempests back to Greenland ride;  
And day and night the equal hours divide;  
True to the season, o’er our sea-beat shore,  
The sailing Osprey high is seen to soar8.
With broad unmoving wing; and circling slow,  
Marks each loose straggler in the deep below:  
Sweeps down like lightning! plunges with a roar!  
And bears his struggling victim to the shore.  

The long-hous’d fisherman beholds with joy, 13.
The well known signals of his rough employ;  
And as he bears his nets and oars along, 15.
Thus hails the welcome season with a song. 

THE FISHERMAN’S HYMN

The Osprey sails above the sound;1.
The geese are gone–the gulls are flying;  
The herring shoals swarm thick around,3.
The nets are launch’d–the boats are plying;  
Yo ho, my hearts! let’s seek the deep,  
Raise high the song, and cheerly wish her,  
Still as the bending net we sweep,  
“God bless the Fish-Hawk and the fisher!” 8.

She brings us fish–she brings us spring,9.
Good times, fair weather, warmth and plenty,  
Fine store of shad, trout, herring, ling,11.
Sheepshead and drum, and old-wives dainty.  
Yo ho, my hearts! let’s seek the deep,  
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,  
Still as the bending net we sweep,  
“God bless the Fish-Hawk and the fisher!”16.

She rears her young on yonder tree,17.
She leaves her faithful mate to mind ’em;  
Like us, for fish, she sails the sea,19.
And, plunging, shows us where to find ’em.  
Yo ho, my hearts! let’s seek the deep,  
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,  
While slow the bending net we sweep,  
“God bless the Fish-Hawk and the fisher!”24.

Tyrant Flycatcher, Or King-Bird*

Far in the south, where vast Maragnon flows, 1.
And boundless forests unknown wilds enclose;  
Vine-tangled shores, and suffocating woods, 3.
Parch’d up with heat, or drown’d with pouring floods;  
Where each extreme alternately prevails,  
And Nature sad their ravages bewails;  
Lo! high in air, above those trackless wastes,  
With Spring’s return, the King-bird hither hastes; 8.
Coasts the fam’d Gulf,* and from his height explores 
Its thousand streams, its long indented shores,  
Its plains immense, wide op’ning on the day,  
Its lakes and isles where feather’d millions play;  
All tempt not him; till, gazing from on high, 13.
Columbia’s regions wide below him lie;  
There end his wand’rings and his wish to roam,  
There lie his native woods, his fields, his home;  
Down, circling, he descends from azure heights,  
And on a full-blown sassafras alights.18.
Fatigued and silent, for a while he views 
His old frequented haunts, and shades recluse,  
Sees brothers, comrades, every hour arrive– 
Hears, humming round, the tenants of the hive;  
Love fires his breast, he wooes; and soon is blest; 23.
And in the blooming orchard builds his nest. 
Come now ye cowards! ye whom heav’n disdains,  
Who boast the happiest home–the richest plains;  
On whom, perchance, a wife, an infant’s eye,  
Hang as their hope, and on your arm rely; 28.
Yet, when the hour of danger and dismay 
Comes on that country, sneak in holes away,  
Shrink from the perils ye were bound to face,  
And leave these babes and country to disgrace;  
Come here (if such we have), ye dastard herd! 33.
And kneel in dust before this noble bird. 
When the speck’d eggs within his nest appear,  
Then glows affection, ardent and sincere;  
No discord sours him when his mate he meets;  
But each warm heart with mutual kindness beats. 38.
For her repast he bears along the lea 
The bloated gad-fly, and the balmy bee;  
For her repose scours o’er th’ adjacent farm,  
Whence Hawks might dart, or lurking foes alarm;  
For now abroad a band of ruffians prey, 43.
The Crow, the Cuckoo and th’ insiduous Jay;  
These, in the owner’s absence, all destroy,  
And murder every hope, and every joy. 
Soft sits his brooding mate; her guardian he,  
Perch’d on the top of some tall neighb’ring tree; 48.
Thence, from the thicket to the concave skies,  
His watchful eye around unceasing flies.  
Wrens, Thrushes, Warblers, startled at his note,  
Fly in affright the consecrated spot.  
He drives the plundering Jay, with honest scorn, 53.
Back to the woods; the Mocker to his thorn;  
Sweeps round the Cuckoo, as the thief retreats;  
Attacks the Crow; the diving Hawk defeats;  
Darts on the Eagle downwards from afar,  
And midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war. 58.
All danger o’er, he hastens back elate,  
To guard his post, and feed his faithful mate. 
Behold him now, his little family flown,  
Meek, unassuming, silent, and alone;  
Lur’d by the well-known hum of fav’rite bees, 63.
As slow he hovers o’er the garden trees;  
(For all have failings, passions, whims, that lead;  
Some fav’rite wish, some appetite to feed;)  
Straight he alights, and from the pear-tree spies 
The circling stream of humming insects rise; 68.
Selects his prey, darts on the busy brood,  
And shrilly twitters o’er his sav’ry food. 
Ah! ill-timed triumph! direful note to thee,  
That guides thy murderer to the fatal tree;  
See where he skulks! and takes his gloomy stand; 73.
The deep-charg’d musket hanging in his hand;  
And gaunt for blood, he leans it on a rest,  
Prepar’d, and pointed at thy snow-white breast.  
Ah friend! good friend! forbear that barb’rous deed.  
Against it, valor, goodness, pity plead; 78.
If e’er a family’s griefs, a widow’s woe,  
Have reach’d thy soul, in mercy let him go!  
Yet, should the tear of pity nought avail,  
Let interest speak, let gratitude prevail;  
Kill not thy friend, who thy whole harvest shields, 83.
And sweeps ten thousand vermin from thy fields;  
Think how this dauntless bird, thy poultry’s guard,  
Drove ev’ry Hawk and Eagle from thy yard;  
Watch’d round thy cattle as they fed, and slew 
The hungry, black’ning swarms that round them flew; 88.
Some small return, some little right resign,  
And spare his life whose services are thine!  
—I plead in vain! amid the bursting roar 
The poor, lost King-Bird, welters in his gore.  

Poems Ascribed to Wilson

Ode By The Late Alexander Wilson*

Grim low’rs the clouds o’er the wide spreading plain,1.
And loud howls the wind ‘cross the steep Mistylaw; 
While down to the Loch the fierce Calder amain,3.
Its brown water pours, deeply swell’d by the snaw. 

Yet firmly beneath the fierce elements rage,5.
The Castle looks down on the bleak wintry scene; 
While the old ruin’d Peil, like some grim hoary sage,7.
Seems a moral to man of the days that have been. 

Ah me! what sad tales could its ruin’d walls tell,9.
What deeds of oppression, of war, and of strife;  
When Barons of old in its chambers did dwell,11.
For shelter from those who oft sought for their life. 

But, ev’n as those days of warfare have past,13.
And all is now peaceful and tranquil around,  
So come shall the sunshine of summer at last,15.
To cheer the dull scene, and invig’rate the ground. 

Song*

The sun had shone o’er loch and lea,1.
An’ frae the north the fierce win’ came; 
When Mattie frae her straw-roof’d cot,3.
Gaed out to wander far frae hame. 
An’ as her bosom heav’d the sigh, 
She said–she said, in her deep grief– 
“I’ll lay me on yon braes and die! 
For nought can gie this heart relief.8.

Oh! saftly, O, ye breezes blaw,9.
That rage alang yon hills sae hie;  
An’ saftly rain fa’ on the deep,11.
For my dear lad is far at sea.  
Baith nicht an’ day for him I sigh, 
Alas! for me there’s nought but grief;  
“I’ll lay me on yon braes and die, 
An’ gie this weary heart relief.”16.

She wander’d far owre moor an’ dale,17.
She wander’d deep, deep through the snaw;  
She wander’d far by burn an’ brae,19.
Till wi’ fatigue she down did fa’.  
Nae mair her bosom heaves the sigh, 
Nae mair she says in her deep grief– 
“I’ll lay me on yon braes an’ die,” 
For death has now gi’en her relief.24.

An Auld Scottish Sang

Owre the land as I travel, my finery to shew,1.
I ne’er harass my mind wi’ sorrow or woe; 
But blythely tak’ the road, and while journeying alang,3.
Croon cheer’ly to mysel’ an’ auld Scottish sang. 

And when frae some farm-town I’m ordered to depart,5.
I ne’er tak’ their insult wi’ sorrow to my heart; 
But lea’ them wi’ contempt, weel knowing they are wrang,7.
Aye comfortin’ my heart wi’ an auld Scottish sang. 

While I travel thro’ the woods sae lanesome and drear, 9.
It aye gi’es me pleasure my ain voice to hear;  
An’ sae aneath my pack, as I lightly trudge alang, 11.
I wake the wild wood’s echo wi’ an auld Scottish sang. 

Ae nicht in my rambles, a lodgin’ I sought13.
Frae a lanely auld woman wha lived in a cot;  
She ca’d me a thief, and made the door play bang, 15.
Sae aff I set chaunting an auld Scottish sang. 

Anither time I rappet at an auld cobbler’s door, 17.
When swearin’, out he cam’ wi’ a most infernal roar;  
Syne wi’ a’ his micht, a hammer at me flang, 19.
Sae I tun’d him in his swearin’ wi’ an auld Scottish sang. 

Anither time I travell’d when the snaw fell thick and fast, 21.
An’ caul frae the hills cam’ the biten’ norlan’ blast;  
I lost my pack wi’ every thing that did to me belang, 23.
Yet still kept up my heart wi’ an auld Scottish sang. 

Sae an auld Scottish sang’s aye a pleasure to me, 25.
Whether travelin’ by lan’, or sailin’ by sea;  
It cheers the dull road, an’ mak’s short what seems lang, 27.
O, a blessing to me is an auld Scottish sang! 

Apostrophe to the Library*

Ye who delight through learning’s path to roam, 1.
Who deign to enter this devoted dome,  
By silent awe and contemplation led, 3.
Survey these wonders of the illustrious dead!  
The lights of every age, of every clime,  
The fruits of science and the spoils of time,  
Stand here arranged, obedient to your nod;  
Here feast the sages and give thanks to God. 8.
Next thanks to him, that venerable sage,  
His country’s boast–the glory of the age!  
Immortal Franklin, whose unwearied mind 
Still sought out every good for all mankind;  
Searched every science, studious still to know, 13.
To make men virtuous, and to keep them so:  
Living, he reared with generous friends this scene,  
And dead, still stands without to welcome in. 

Prose

Journal as a Pedlar, Part I (1790)

*** Before the reader enter upon the following sheets,
I think necessary to inform him, that, signifying, some time ago, to an intimate friend, an intention I had of traversing the eastern parts of Scotland, he entreated me to
keep a Journal, which, by way of amusement, and to comply with his request, I did, by committing to paper, each night, the most remarkable occurrences of the day, interspersed
with such descriptions of the places, through which I passed, as the shortness of my way would allow. On my return, a number of acquaintances having examined the scroll,
expressed their approbation of it, and requested me to publish it along with the poetical pieces. With their solicitations I have now ventured to comply, in hopes that the
perusal of it may be a relaxation to the reader; and, while the novelty of the incidents entertain, the truth of them may perhaps not be
uninstructive.* 1.

Edinburgh, Sept. 17, l789.

As youth is the most favourable time to establish a man’s good fortune in the world; and as his success in life depends in a great measure, on his prudent endeavours and unwearied perseverance, I have resolved to make one bold push for the united interests of Pack and Poems. Nor can any one justly blame me for it, since experience has now convinced me, that the merit I am possessed of (which is certainly considerable) might lie for ever buried in obscurity, without such an attempt. I have therefore fitted up a proper budget, consisting of silks, muslins, prints, &c. &c. for the accommodation of those good people who may prove my customers–a sufficient quantity of Proposals for my poetical friends; and to prevent those tedious harangues, which otherwise I would be obliged to deliver at every threshold, I have according to the custom of the more polite pedlars, committed the contents of my Pack to a Hand-bill, though in a stile somewhat remote from any I have yet seen.* 1.

Sept. 18. Departed from Edinburgh, designing to cross over to Fifeshire; changed my resolutions, and proceeded forward to Musselburgh, beneath a most oppressive load. Arrived at this place late in the evening.–Musselburgh (so called from the vast quantities of mussels that are found along the shore) is a small, though neat town, six miles east from Edinburgh, stretching along the frith of Forth, which, at this place, may be ten or twelve miles broad; the streets are wide and well paved; its in-habitants numerous, a great many of whom are butchers, which appears by the numberless carcases of sheep, calves, cows, &c. that are to be seen suspended in rows at almost every door. Edinburgh is their market, to which, every morning, their stores are conveyed. This day saw several troops of dragoons reviewed, which made a formidable appearance, on an extensive level green, that spreads along the shore, where the game of golph is much practised by parties of gentlemen; and is, in my opinion, a more healthy than entertaining amusement. 3.

Sept. 19. I have this day collected a few subscriptions. Encountered, in my excursions through the town, with a son of the muses, who, on looking over the proposals and specimen, snarled at some expression that displeased him. I, in defence, mentioned a similar phrase which Thomson had used. “Aye, aye,” said he “Thomson’s was poetry, but this is none;” and then, after a little meditation and muttering to himself, he altered the line, which I, to humour him, confessed to be a beautiful amendment. Pleased with this, he set down his own name, and, smiling, said, “D–n me! I’ll procure some subscribers for you;” In the course of our conversation, he told me that he had finished several pieces; among the rest, two farces, and an English translation of the Gentle Shepherd. This day an old Lady, whom I had importuned in vain to add to the list of subscribers, gave me a solemn advice, that as I was but a young author, and unacquainted with the world, not to spend the money I might make, on women and wine. “I am exceedingly obliged to you, Madam,” returned I, “for the advice you are pleased to give me; but if I meet with no better encouragement from the world than I have received from your ladyship, I believe your good counsel will be superfluous.” 4.

Another gentleman’s mansion I was approaching when the owner appeared, whom I saluted, presenting him the proposals. He stared at the paper some moments, as if it had been a monster; then, with a contemptuous sneer, exclaimed, “O Christ! I’ll have nothing to do with it–some damned stuff or other.” I met also with a school-master, who seemed to be a son of Bacchus, Learning and Snuff; for, after several good observations on the specimen and an enormous draught of snuff, he declared he would most certainly take a copy; “But, remember,” says he, “by Jupiter, we,–we,–will offer up one half of its price at the shrine of Bacchus. 5.

Sept. 21. Fisher-row. This place is separated from Musselburgh only by a river, over which is a wooden bridge three feet broad and near one hundred and fifty long; the breadth of the channel being occasioned by the flowing of the sea. The inhabitants of this place are mostly fishers, from whom the town takes its name. While I staid here, a very melancholy accident happened at a place called Roslin, some miles up the river. A newly married couple had been on a visit to a friend’s house, where they staid till the night was far advanced. In coming home they had the river to cross, over which went a feeble wooden bridge, railed only at one side. The night being dark and stormy, the bridge but narrow, and the river swelled by the rains, her husband desired her to hold by his coat while he went before, which she accordingly attempted to do; but missing her step, plunged headlong into the current. The husband, imagining that he did not feel her behind him, and unable to hear for the noise which the wind made among the trees, turned quickly about, and ran to the other end of the bridge, thinking she had staid behind; but not finding her there, he called her by name, as loud and as long as he could, “Peggy! Peggy!” but, alas! Peggy was gone, never more to return, and the unhappy man went home in a case not to be described, and was seized with a fever, which, in a short time, rendered him delirious. Next day the corpse of this unfortunate young woman was found near Fisher-row harbour, where the river discharges itself into the sea, stripped of everything of value. The body was opened by the Surgeons, when it was found that she was six months advanced in her pregnancy. The child and its mother I saw both decently interred by her friends next day. 6.

While I was traversing from house to house, I was told, by almost every body, of a Taylor, a great Poet, who, as the women and fishers informed me, could make a Poem of any thing. Curious to see this prodigy of wit, I sought out his hut, and found it. On my entrance, I perceived a little shrunk creature, perched, cross-legged, on a table, making his head and hand keep time with one another. I boldly entered, and asked what he would buy. “Nothing,” says he,––”Have you any strong gray thread?” I told him I was sorry that I had none, “Any needles or thimbles?” I am just out of them at present. “Then,” replied he, “you have nothing for me.” “No! perhaps I may have something to suit you for all that.” “No, no,” returned he, and fell a-whistling. Here a pause ensued. At length, says I, you are certainly acquainted with the rules of composition, friend, or you would not whistle that tune so justly. “Composition!” said he, “Do you know what composition is?” “Not I; but I have heard Poets and Fidlers, when speaking of a song or tune, call it composition.” “You are not far wrong,” continued he. “Did you ever read any Poetry?” “Yes, I have read the Wife of Beith, and ballads, and the Psalms, and many others.” “And do you understand them?” “Excellently,” replied I, “and I delight to read metre.” “Lay down your pack for a moment,” then says he, nimbly sliding from the table, “I’ll show you something curious. You’ll perhaps not have heard of me, but I am a bit of a Poet; I make verses myself sometimes.” Hereupon pulling out the drawer of an old chest, and rustling some time among a parcel of papers, he presented me with a printed piece, entitled King Crispianus’ march through Fisher-row, which I read aloud with seeming rapture, though, at the same time, I could scarce suppress a continued succession of yawnings, while the exulting author stared steadfastly in my face the whole time; and seeing me admire the first so much, tortured me with a second, and a third, all equally sublime. I now began to interrogate him as to his knowledge of Poetry, and found him entirely ignorant of every thing save rhyme. Happening to ask him if ever he had read any of Pope or Milton’s pieces, he told me he never had, for he did not understand one word of Latin. I showed him my proposals, asked him to subscribe, and said I knew the Author. He read part of them with excessive laughter, declared that the author was certainly a learned fellow, and that he would chearfully subscribe, but his wife was such a devil, that if she knew of him doing any thing without her approbation, there would be no peace in the house for months to come: “And by the bye,” says he, “we are most dismally poor. I assure you there has been nothing with us this many a day, but potatoes and herring.” I told him that poverty was the characteristic of a poet. “You are right,” says he, “and for that very reason I am proud of being poor.” I left this votary of rhyme, and went through the rest of the town, meeting with no other adventure worthy of being remembered. 7.

Sept. 22. Left this place, and proceeded eastwards about three miles, to Prestonpans. This town is larger but not so regular as the last, neither are the houses so good, but rather ruinous, the streets on account of the numerous salt-pans, black and narrow, and the buildings, if so they may be called, dismally exhibiting the effects of time’s all-devouring jaws, tottering on the brink of dissolution, and threatening every gale of wind, to be the eternal residences of their possessors. About a mile to the southward of this, the battle of Preston-pans was fought, where the gallant Colonel Gardiner fell, whose house stands near the place of action. Leaving this place, with little success, I pursued my way eastward, passing a little village on the shore, called Cockenzie, composed chiefly of salt-pans, and the workmen’s huts. Five miles farther east, I came to another village, called Aberlady. Here I propose to spend the night, and moralize on the toils and disappointments of the day. 8.

Sept. 23. Rose by day-break, and proceeded on my pilgrimage. The country for about three miles to the east of this, along the shore, is a sandy level, interspersed with little hillocks, and inhabited by an innumerable swarm of rabbits, under the dominion of an old Weaver, whose sole prerogative and occupation it is, in the winter season, to apprehend, execute, and dispose of them to the best advantage. 9.

Entered about nine o’clock, the town of North-Berwick, a sea-port, situated at the extremity of a long sandy bay. About half-a-mile south from this, a high hill rises, named North-Berwick-Law, and is seen at a vast distance, both by sea and land. 10.

With much difficulty I reached its top, on which is erected the two jaw-bones of a whale, and over them a pendant streams in the wind. The view from this is really beautiful. The wide German ocean spreading in the east, far as the eye can reach. The country of Fife and wild enormous ranges of mountains to the north; while the frith of Forth stretching to the west, lies spotted with rocks, ships, and small islands. After satisfying my curiosity, descend to North-Berwick, where I intend to repose for this night. 11.

Sept. 24. Left this place, and continued eastwards, passing along a very steep and rocky shore, till I came to a place called Comly-bay, where a few solitary fishermen live. At the eastern extremity of this bay, the shore rises so high, that I was forced to take to hands and feet, and climb for a considerable way, till I reached the summit of it. Here I had a near and an agreeable view of the Bass, a large rock, almost circular, rising out of the sea to the dreadful height of 600 feet, and distant from the shore about a mile, giving the spectator an awful idea of its almighty founder, who weigheth the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance, who by one word raiseth into existence this vast universe, with all these unwieldy rocks; and who will, when his almighty goodness shall think fit, with one word, command them to their primitive nothing. The ruins of an old castle are still to be seen on its south side, which was formerly used as a place of confinement to many of the persecuted presbyterians. Prodigious numbers of Solan geese build among the cliffs of the rock, the method used to catch their young is somewhat dangerous. As soon as it is perceived that the young are arrived at their proper bigness, which they do ere capable of flying (this happens generally about the middle of July) then the climber has a rope fixed round his middle, with a feather pillow bound on his breast, to prevent sharp pointed crags from wounding him in his ascent or descent. Being thus secured, he is let down over the verge of the rock, till he come to the nests of the geese, while flying and screaming around him in vast multitudes, and of nameless kinds, deploring the loss of their unfortunate young. A considerable number of boats are stationed below, ready to receive the fowls, as soon as he drives them from their holes. This is easily effected; the birds unable to support themselves, and falling from such a height, are so stunned, that, before they can recover themselves, they are snatched from the sea and secured. This method they yearly repeat, sending those caught to Edinburgh, where they are generally sold at two shillings, or two and sixpence each. The climber, who, at this season, resides constantly on the island, has a little hut built, where he sells liquor, bread, cheese, &c. for the accommodation of those sportsmen who visit the rock for the diversion of shooting. The shore all along here is exceedingly high and rugged, while a ceaseless surf rolls impetuously among the precipitated fragments below. Proceeding a mile further east, I came to the remains of an old fortification, known by the name of Tamtallan. It is built on the verge of a high shore, overhanging the sea, nearly opposite to the Bass, and distant from it a long mile, composed of three towers, about sixty paces from each other, and joined by a strong high wall, all seemingly whole, except the west tower, which hangs in ruins. I measured the wall, and found it, in many places, more than ten feet thick, and strongly cemented. The whole building is about six storeys, quite inaccessible towards the sea, and seems to have been deeply trenched toward the land. This place, and the Bass, are both the property of Sir Hugh Dalrymple of Leuchie, proprietor of a large estate in this country, of that name, and superior of the town of North Berwick. 12.

Having sufficiently examined this ancient structure, I proceeded forwards, and night coming on, arrived at a small village called Whitekirk, and obtained lodgings in a little ale-house. While I sat conversing with the landlord, he told me the following story that happened to a family in the neighbourhood, which, as it exhibits a remarkable occurrence of Providence, I shall relate. About six months ago, the master of the house, who was by trade a fisher, fell sick, and continued in a lingering way until about three weeks ago, when his distemper growing worse, increased to that degree that all hopes of recovery were gone. In these circumstances he prepared himself for his dissolution, in a manner that became a Christian, and agreeable to the character he had all along been distinguished by when in health and vigour. Meantime his wife was pregnant and drew near the time of her delivery, and it gave the poor man no small uneasiness to think that he should not see his last offspring; and it was one of his fervent petitions to Heaven, that he might be spared until that time. Some short time after this, he grew extremely ill, and all his relations were called in to take their last farewell. While they stood round his bed expecting his immediate departure, his wife was taken suddenly ill, and, in less than an hour was delivered of twins, which the dying man no sooner understood, than he made signs to them to send for the minister, who accordingly in a short time came. He then attempted to rise in the bed, but his strength was exhausted. Hereupon one of his daughters went up to the bed behind him, and supported his hands, until he held up both the children; first one and then the other. Then kissing them both, delivered them over to their mother, and reclining his head softly on the pillow, expired. 13.

Sept. 23. Set forward on my way to Dunbar,* seeing little by the way worthy of notice, only now-and-then two whale jaw-bones erected at the entrance to some distinguished farm-houses, the thick end fixed in the ground, and the two points meeting at top, forming a kind of arch, capable of letting the highest coach or loaded cart pass thro’; being generally from sixteen to eighteen feet in height. Passed this day several elegant farm-houses, the politeness of whose inhabitants claims little of my praise; who, taking them in general, are so lost to humanity and discretion, that when a poor pedlar approaches their sacred mansions, engages and vanquishes a surly Tyger-like Mastiff (who guards the door, and bears his master’s hospitality in his countenance), and even forces his way to the kitchen, he is no sooner in, than, as if they were afraid that he brought the pestilence along with him, he is huffed out, and the door clapt behind him. Such are the effects of pride and luxury: such the effects that wealth and independence produce in the dispositions of the illiterate and the uncultivated. On the other hand, the poor cottager welcomes you into his little hut, invites you to sit down, and even presses you to partake of his homely fare, seeming happy to have it in his power to be hospitable to a stranger. Met with nobody this day but had more books than they made a good use of. 14.

Sept. 24. This morning rose early to take a view of the town (Dunbar), which is pretty large; the main street broad, and running from north to south, contains the only buildings of any note. The Provost’s house closes the view at the north end, fronted with a row of trees, making a very neat appearance. Several narrow lanes lead down to the shore, possessed chiefly by fishers. At the west end of the harbour they have lately built a battery of stone, in the form of a half-moon, mounting seventeen twelve pounders. This is the effect of Paul Jones’s appearance in the frith last war, who came so near this place with some of his ships, as to demolish some of the chimney tops, and put the inhabitants in a terrible consternation. They are also building a new pier from the battery, which will certainly be attended with a vast expence, and even without affording general content. A little to the west of this are still to be seen the ruins of the castle of Dunbar, built on a rock that juts into the sea, hollowed with gloomy caves, through which, in a storm, the waves roar horribly; which, joined to the ruins above, forms a most dismal appearance. 15.

Sept. 25. Having done some little business in this place, and there being no other towns to the east or south, for a considerable way, have bargained with the master of a sloop, with whom I intend to embark for Burntisland, in Fife-shire, a town about thirty miles from this, and almost opposite to Edinburgh.* 16.

Sept. 26. Went on board early this morning for Burntisland, with a good gale astern; passed the Bass, and several other small islands, and landed at Burntisland, after a pleasant passage of six hours. 17.

Sept. 28. Burntisland. In this place the lover of ruins would be highly entertained, when whole streets are to be seen in solitary desolation. They have an excellent harbour here; to which in a hard gale of easterly wind, the shipping in Leith-roads repair. Some time ago a thick-silk manufactory was established here, and seemed, for a while, to prosper, but on account of some differences arising among the partners, has now dwindled to a name. About a mile to the westward of this is a petrifying spring, which I had the curiosity to visit; the water is hard and well tasted; and all along the shore, for the space of a quarter of a mile, are to be seen the produce of the spring, rocks hang frightfully tottering over one another, where the different courses of the stream has been before. In some places I found the stone forming, resembling those pendicles of ice that hang by the house eaves. This is used as a watering-place by the ships of war lying in the roads and other vessels outward bound. This town being nearly opposite to Leith, a passage-boat goes from this every day, save Sunday, and even then, if encouragement offers. The water is seven miles broad, and a single passenger pays six-pence. A pretty large sugar-work is also on foot here, seemingly to thrive. This evening went down, and took a view of a strange vessel, called the Experiment, launched from the sands of Leith, built on an entire new construction, and has been in this harbour these twelve months; measuring about one hundred feet in length, being almost two distinct vessels under one deck, but with two keels, two rudders, and five masts, and seems to have been the monstrous production of some Mathematician’s delirious pericranium. It was built at a vast expence, and without any visible intention or use, but that of an experiment. 18.

Sept. 29. Went two miles along the shore, eastward, to Kinghorn.* On my way visited a famous Spa well, whose waters are deservedly esteemed by people languishing under a consumption. The flow of water is but small, seeping out from a cleft rock, which rises above it thirty or forty feet. On spring-tides the sea flows nearly up to the well, beside which is a convenient seat cut out from the rock, where you can sit and receive the water in a vessel from the spring, and near that a large cave enters the rocks, where you may be secured from the storm; so that here is at once shelter for the traveller, drink for the thirsty, a seat for the weary, and health for the sick, all from the rough but bounteous hand of Nature. About half a mile to the westward of this, on the shore, which hangs gloomily above the sea, is the place where Alexander III. was killed by a fall from his horse, while on a hunting party; which place still retains the name of The King’s wud en’. Kinghorn is but a small place; its inhabitants subsisting chiefly by the passage, which is the most frequented on the frith, a considerable number of boats still passing and repassing to and from the Petty-cur, a harbour about half a mile west from the town. In a large boat the passenger pays six-pence; in a pinnace, which is most convenient, in a smooth sea, ten-pence. The town is composed of an irregular assemblage of poor, low, ruinous, tile-covered huts; but if miserable without, still more so within. Almost every house being so dark, black, and dirty, that I wrong them not to stile each the cave of misery, and desolation. The inhabitants are almost all boatmen and their whole commerce being with strangers, whom perhaps they may never see again, makes them avaricious, and always on the catch. If a stranger comes to town at night, intending to go over next morning, he is taken into a lodging. One boatman comes in–sits down, promises to call you in the morning, assists you to circulate the liquor, and after a great deal of loquacity, departs. In a little another enters, and informs you that the fellow who had just now left you, goes not over at all; but that he goes, and for a glass of gin he will awake you, and take you along with him. Willing to be up in time, you generously treat him. According to promise, you are awakened on the morning, and assured that you have time enough to take breakfast, in the middle of which, hoarse roarings alarm you that the boat is just going off. You start up, call for your bill, the landlord appears, charges you like a nobleman–there is no time for scrupling–you are hurried away by the boatman on the one hand, and genteelly extorted by the landlord on the other, who pockets his money, and bids you haste, lest you lose your passage; and perhaps, after all, when you get on board, you are detained an hour or more by the sailors waiting for more passengers. Such, and a thousand more mean tricks, are practised on the unsuspecting stranger, and all under a show of the most extreme kindness. While here I inquired for Pattie Birnie, the famous fiddler,* and was told a great many anecdotes of him, by some of the old people who remember to have seen him. I applied to a literary character in this town, with a subscription-paper, but he told me he did not find himself inclined to meddle with it, saying, I should apply my talents to prose-writing, for he doubted much if I would meet with great encouragement in the poetical branch, so many good poets having transmitted us pieces inimitable by succeeding ages. I told him if we never attempted to rival them, we made them seemingly inimitable indeed; but when young genius, fired with the love of that applause which former poets had met with, strove to attract the observation of the world, and soar above their progenitors, I should imagine they merited encouragement for having spirit enough to make the attempt. He said it was ambition to make such attempts, and to encourage ambition was not right; and ere I could return an answer, he slipt to his room, while I came away, cursing his stupidity. To several others I have applied, but they know not what poetry is, so cannot, as they said, subscribe. Returned back to Burntisland after sun-set. 19.

Sept. 30. This morning a sloop foundered within a mile of the shore, in attempting to get into the harbour. The cries of her unhappy men alarmed the crew of a cutter, lying at a small distance, who perceived two persons clinging by the mast. A boat was immediately sent off to their relief, but though she rowed several times round the wreck could discover no appearance of man or boy–Sudden indeed are the transitions from time to Eternity! yet awful and important the change! How happy, how unspeakably happy they, who are prepared for such a warning! Who through the jaws of death are received into never-ceasing joy, and inconceivable delight! But, alas! how deplorable the situation of those, who in such extremities, by the brittle thread of life, hang over an eternal world of woe! To them death stares in ten thousand despairing forms, to them death is unutterable horror, and to them how precious would be one hour, or one moment. 20.

Oct. 1. This being the day set apart for electing the magistrates of a neighbouring town, the whole council, consisting of a parcel of weavers, shoemakers, taylors, &c. assembled. After the election, they adjourned to a public-house to dine, where the jolly god Bacchus, or his representative Aquavitæ, raised such an uproar in their brains, that tables were levelled, chairs broken, bowls dashed to pieces, and stoups and glasses flew thro’ the room with such rapidity, as threatened destruction to whatever they encountered; and one taylor, in particular, forgetting himself so much, as to believe he was provost, began to exercise his authority in loud commands to silence, until he should address them. All his endeavours to obtain silence proving vain, he dealt the wand of justice around him with such mettle and impartiality, that, roused to vengeance, the whole assembly began (like the Philistines of old) to cudgeling one another, Mars swelled the horrid scene, while Discord clapt her sooty wings over them. Broken shins, heads, and noses brought many a one to the floor, where they weltered, if not among their own blood, among their own piss, till sleep arrested the weary warriors in many a drousy attitude. 21.

Oct. 2. I have this day, I believe, measured the height of a hundred stairs, and explored the recesses of twice that number of miserable habitations; and what have I gained by it? Only two shillings of worldly pelf, but an invaluable treasure of observation. In this elegant dome, wrapt up in glittering silks, and stretched on the downy sofa, recline the fair daughters of wealth and indolence. The ample mirror, flowery floor, and magnificent couch, their surrounding attendants, while suspended in his wiry habitation above, the shrill-pip’d Canary warbles to enchanting echoes. Within the confines of that smoky hovel, hung round with squadrons of his brother artists, the pale-fac’d weaver plies the resounding lay, or launches the melancholy, murmuring shuttle. Lifting this simple latch, and stooping for entrance to the miserable hut, there sits Poverty, and ever-moaning Disease, clothed in dunghill-rags, and ever shivering o’er the fireless chimney. Ascending this stair, the voice of joy bursts on my ear, the Bridegroom and Bride, surrounded by their jocund companions, circle the sparkling glass and humorous joke, or join in the raptures of the noisy dance, the squeaking fiddle breaking through the general uproar in sudden intervals, while the bounding floor groans beneath its unruly load. Leaving these happy mortals, and ushering into this silent mansion, a more solemn, a striking object presents itself to my view. The windows, the furniture, and every tiling that could lend one chearful thought, are hung in solemn white, and there, stretch’d pale and lifeless, lies the awful corpse; while a few weeping friends sit black and solitary near the breathless clay. In this other place, the fearless sons of Bacchus extend their brazen throats in shouts like bursting thunder, to the praise of their gorgeous Chief. Opening this door, the lonely matron explores for consolation her Bible: and in this house the wife brawls, the children shriek, and the poor husband bids me depart, least his termagant’s fury should vent itself on me. In short, such an inconceivable variety occurs to my observation in real life, that would, were they moralized upon, convey more maxims of wisdom, and give a juster knowledge of mankind, than whole volumes of Lives and Adventures, that perhaps never had a being, except in the prolific brains of their fantastic authors. 22.

Journal as a Pedlar, Part II (1791)*

That frequent reflections and prudent remarks on the daily occurrences of life, are not only exceedingly useful, but highly necessary, for conducting us safely thro’ the wiles of the world, is a truth long since avowed, and which none but fools, or those destitute of common sense, have ever dared to deny. In the hurry and heat of affairs, we are apt to be deluded by cunning, or flattered by hypocrisy, blinded by the fire and turbulence of passion, or imposed on through the softness of unsuspecting simplicity; but in our retired moments, a calm retrospect of transactions, displays things to our view as they really are, shews us where we have erred and where suffered, convicts us of our folly, applauds us for our prudence and stings us with remorse, or sheds a gleam of joy over our minds at the remembrance of past actions. 1.

Nor is a just knowledge of mankind less necessary for our spiritual as well as temporal interest. Seduced by the fair smiles and deep-laid schemes of men, we fall a prey to their avarice and cruelty; and captivated by the outward glare and superficial glitter of the pleasures, vanity and ambition of this world, we forget our only true good, and rivet ourselves to earth and its deceiving allurements. A thorough knowledge of mankind, on the other hand, is of infinite benefit. We see through their schemes, and easily guard against their wiles; we know the folly of being too sanguine in our hopes, and can easily compute how far Interest, Ambition, Pride and Prejudice preponderate against all the other nobler passions of the soul. This takes the sting from Neglect, and makes Disappointment tolerable. Convinced, by the experience of ourselves and others, of the madness and unsatisfying delights of all sublunary pleasures, we can look with contempt on there all, labouring for those whose stability is eternal. 2.

But how, it may be asked, is a thorough knowledge of mankind to be obtained? Not from the romantic pages of our novels and adventures. These volatile pieces show us rather what is possible might be, than what really exists. The knowledge of the world can no more be learned from them, than the appearance of New Holland could he known by surveying some imaginary landscape. We might there see the mountains, ocean, woods and rivers depicted with never so much art, yet, were a mariner to set out in hopes of meeting the same prospect there, and steer by this pretended chart, I fear he would make but a sorry voyage. So fares it with the man, who full of the enthusiastic notions of life he has imbibed from those wonderful productions, rushes into the world. What a train of unforeseen misfortunes has he to encounter! and what complicated miseries does he involve himself in! till sober experience opens his eyes, and sets him on his guard against their fraud. It is, therefore, by personal intercourse with the world, that its true character can be known; and as my employment affords me advantages of this kind that few others enjoy, I shall here relate a few facts that occurred to me in the course of several days’ peregrination, on my first commencing Author. 3.

Having furnished my Budget with what necessary articles might be required, equipt with a short oaken plant, I yielded my shoulders to the load, and by day-break left the confines of our ancient Metropolis. 4.

The morning was mild, dear and inviting. A gentle shower, which had fallen amid the stillness of night, besprinkled the fields and adjoining meadows, exposing them to the eye clad with brightest green and glittering with unnumbered globes of dew. Nature seemed to smile on my intended expedition. I hailed the happy omen, and with a heart light as the lark that hovered over my head, I passed the foot of Salisbury Rocks, and, directing my course towards Dalkeith,* launched among the first farms and cottages that offered. The country here is rich and uncommonly fertile, producing an early crop, and amply repaying the husband-man’s toil with a plentiful return. A few rocky eminences rise, crowned with clusters of firs, which by no means offend the eye, but afford a striking contrast between the level and the rugged, the blessed and the bare. Upon the top of one of these heights stands the Castle of Craig Millar, where Mary Queen of Scots was some time confined. It now lies in solitary ruins. Two miles to the southward is the beautiful estate of Rockville, surrounded by most romantic pleasure-grounds; and all along, on every hand, the most beautiful prospects presented themselves to the view, till I reached Dalkeith, where I took up lodging in an old jolly Widow’s, whose house, I understood, was the general resort of travellers. At first sight of my lusty hostess I was prepossessed in her favour. Her height was something more than that of the common size, but seemingly diminished by her enormous corpulence. –Her eyes were piercing, and bespoke a mind not unacquainted with the world; she spoke with a masculine sharpness, and when interrupted in her discourse with the queries of the servant-maid, or displeased with any of her proceedings, would raise her voice, and pour forth such a flood of exclamations and abuse, as would have puzzled the powers of Dunbar or any of his contemporary rivals even to imitate. This done, the exhausted Matron would resume her story with all the serene composure of tranquility, wiping the oily drops from her face, and wondering at the warmness of the weather. In the course of these long-winded narratives, she generally held forth on the many losses she had met with, the hardships, difficulties, and almost impossibilities she had encountered and overcome, interspersing all with anecdotes of her own wanton humour and activity, at which she would burst out into the most extravagant fits of laughter, till interrupted by a vehement attack of the cough. Sometimes too, she would entertain me with a detail of the adventures she had been engaged in, when in the flush of youth and beauty; her amours and courtships, the love such and such a one bare her, “who is now in the dust,” and the many stratagems she had used with these enamoured gallants; but as this was a theme inexhaustible (at least to her sex), often without a period, and almost always uninteresting, I strove, when I found her entering on this subject, to divert her imagination to some other; for, as the honest Countryman, when he heard the Parson divide his text into one hundred and sixty three heads and brandies, rose hastily to his feet, and being asked what he meant, “I am going home,” says he, “for my night-cap, for I find we must stay here till morning,” so, when you hear a female enter into a relation of her love-intrigues, you may prepare, if no effectual interruption occurs, for the horrors of a two hours tedious recital. After repaying my officious landlady with a glass of brandy for her marvellous memoirs, I retired to bed, and, early next morning, rose to take a view of the Town. Dalkeith is situated in a fruitful country, six miles south from Edinburgh, on a rising ground, between the two rivers north and south Esk; these joining a little below the town, and running north-east for three or four miles, fall into the sea between Musselburgh and Fisher-row. The town, though not large, is neat, the streets wide, and the front houses, in general, genteel. The main street, which runs from east to west, is terminated on the east by the gate leading to the Duke of Buccleuch’s palace, whose eldest son inherits the title of Earl of Dalkeith. The inhabitants yearly celebrate the Duke’s birth-day by a numerous procession of the trades through the town, ringing of bells, &c., &c. Their weekly market is held on Thursday, when immense quantities of oat-meal pour in from the south, at the distance of 20 or 30 miles, is sold to extensive dealers, and immediately despatched to Edinburgh and the west country. Their Established church is a black, ruinous pile of Gothic architecture, inelegant in itself, unwholesome to its frequenters, and a disgrace to the town. They have likewise four other places of public worship, viz., a Burgher, Antiburgher, Methodist and Relief meeting-house. The people are in general, poor, laborious and illiterate, nor are their morals, especially those of the fair sex, much assisted by their intercourse with the Dragoons, three or four troop of whom generally reside here, for the conveniency of oats and pasturage.5.

When we are highly elevated on the wings of hope, if baulked in our designs or deprived of our expectations, we sink the deeper in despondence. This was partly the case with me, in regard to this place. I had looked round on the elegant buildings, valuable shops, and genteel company that surrounded me, and silently said to myself, Surely in this place, unhackneyed with new publications, where there seems to be so many people of taste, and where the appearance of an author disposing of his own works may seem a novelty, surely in such a place as this, I cannot fail of success. Big with these enthusiastic hopes, I put a volume in my pocket and went immediately to the shop of a bookseller, the only one in town. I found him dozing over some old tattered papers (perhaps the MSS of some forlorn and pennyless author), explained to him my business, showed him the book, and wished to know if he would purchase a few copies, or recommend me to any literary characters in town, whose inclination led them to the study of poetry. He took the book carelessly from me, whirled over the leaves again and again, enquired the price, and, in a tone that bespoke the meanness of his soul, told me he would take one of them at half price. That, though he scarcely believed ever it would sell, yet, he would be so far good to me as take one of them on these terms. This was delivered with an air that seemed to display the greatness of his generosity, and to require my thanks in return. I eyed the avaricious wretch for a moment with a smile of contempt, and asked if he was really sincere in what he said. Protesting upon his honour that he was, and that he would meddle with them on no other conditions, I thanked him for his mighty kindness, and left his shop with a hearty scorn for his narrowness of soul. The next I made my addresses to was a certain pedagogue, disabled of one leg, who, hopping up to me, enquired with a strange stare and impudence of look, what I wanted with him? This I explained as briefly as I could, and putting the book into his hand, desired he would be pleased to take a look of it. He took the poems–perused them for a few moments, but on observing his wife approaching, gave me them back hastily, and saying he had no use for any of these things, hirpled into his noisy hut again. 6.

The reception I met with from these and the greatest part to whom I applied, dispirited me so much, that, sunk in despondence, I stole to my lodgings, and there sat, sadly ruminating on the unpromising face of my affairs. I had ransacked the whole town for traffic, in vain; I had solicited the encouragement of the literary part of it with equal success; and when I directed my course to the palace, hopeful that I might there be more fortunate, I was repulsed by the porter, who assured me, that none of my occupation were allowed admittance. This I afterwards found out to be false. However, I had still one project, which, whatever the event might be, I was determined to put in execution. I had heard much said (and I believe justly) in praise of her Grace, the Duchess.* I had heard her kindness, bounty and generosity exalted to the heavens. Scarce a poor inhabitant but gave me Home affecting account of her sympathy, and produced to my view the effects of her charity, while the tears of gratitude glittered in their eye. Roused by these considerations, and animated with fresh hopes by the amiable character of this dignified personage, I at once resolved to remit her an address, representing, in the most modest terms, my solitary situation, little doubting but her unbounded generosity would extend itself to an unfortunate author. 7.

With these resolutions, I took the pen, and wrote the following address.

To Her Grace, the Duchess of–––.

Madam,–The person who has the honour of presenting the inclosed poetical hand-bill, humbly begs your gracious acceptance and perusal. The goods which it enumerates, your humble servant carries along with him, that he may, by their means, have an easier opportunity of soliciting the favour of the literary world, for a volume of poems he has just now published. May it therefore please your Grace, to allow, for once, a young poet to spread his elegant assortment at your feet–to entreat your acceptance of a copy of his poetical performances, and your pardon for this intrusion, which will for ever bind him,

Madam,

8.

This I sealed, and with a trifle bribed the porter to get it conveyed safely to her Grace. The janitor’s frozen features softened at the appearance of the specie; he assured me of his best endeavours to assist me, and desired I would call about the evening, when without doubt I would be introduced. 9.

The evening arrived, and I punctually attended. We met, and the sum of his intelligence was this, that he had got it delivered into the Duchess’ own hand, but no answer had as yet appeared; that, however, he had been, and still would be, indefatigable in my interest, and intreated me to call to-morrow morning. This I promised to do, although I had already, in my own mind, interpreted her Grace’s silence as a too plain answer, that once more dismissed rny hopes. 10.

I passed the rest of the evening in observing the bustle and preparations every one was making for the Fair, which was to commence next day; and alighting on an acquaintance, a native of the town, whom I had formerly seen in the west country, we retired to an adjoining public-house, where we might have a pint and a little chat to pass the evening. Here he informed me that the ensuing market continued for three days, and to encourage pedlars and other dealers to attend, the Duchess herself made it a rule every year to take a walk through the fair and purchase some little article from each, and that to-morrow’s afternoon she would, according to her usual custom, appear in the market for that purpose. Of this intimation I meant to make some use, and resolved, that if no answer arrived prior to that time, to watch the offered opportunity, and make my address to her Grace in person. Fixt in this determination, I came home and ascended to my room, there to lose for a while, the remembrance of my cares in the downy arms of repose. As soon as the first glimpses of dawn peeped into my chamber, I rose and took a short walk to the fields, to enjoy the serenity of the morn and the richness of the prospect that every where surrounded me. There is something in the mild, agreeable period of a summer’s morning, peculiarly pleasing to persons of a contemplative disposition. In that delightful season of dewy serenity, the mind is disengaged from the tumultuous cares and uproars of life, her action renewed, and her powers invigorated by the refreshing influence of sleep. The balmy fragrance that perfumes the air; the promiscuous notes of the feathered tribes, that, warbled in simple harmony from the branches, steal on the ear; the brook glittering as it murmurs along beneath the early rays; the artless whistling of the distant ploughman, and the universal smile that all nature wears around, conveys a secret, serene joy, a blissful tranquillity, that imagination wants language to describe. The soul is then, as it were, half relieved of her corporeal load. Contemplation gazes undisturbed, and Fancy, exulting Fancy, is for ever on the wing. 11.

Then it is, that the poor, fortuneless favourites of Genius steal forth amid the dewy solitudes, to admire the astonishing wonders of nature, to give a loose to the excursive faculties of imagination, and to enjoy the transporting pleasures that arise from those sublime and delightful studies; pleasures, that the grovelling sons of interest and grubs of this world, know as little of and are as incapable of enjoying, as those miserable spirits who are doomed to perpetual darkness, can the glorious regions and eternal delights of paradise. 12.

The day was now advancing, and the country people from every quarter were thronging to the Fair. The road seemed to move with black cattle; whole flocks of sheep successively advanced to the town, and about mid-day the streets were all bustle and commotion. The rustics in hodden gray stalked through the general hubbub, devouring with their eyes the wonderful curiosities that were exposed to view on the chapman’s stalls, which now lined both sides of the streets for a considerable length. 13.

Universal uproar prevailed everywhere among the tumultuous crowds; drums beating, pipes sounding, fiddlers playing in expectation of engagements, and all the other confusion that on like occasions every where prevail. On this hand was shouted, “Here’s the rare gingerbread”–on the other, “Aberdeen new almanacks” – “A full, true and particular account of a barbarous bloody and inhuman”––”Cast your eye a little farther, there you have a grand view of the”–”Now’s the time to try your luck; one in who makes two.” These, and other exclamations were distinguishable, the rest was all indistinct rumour and confusion. The town now exhibited the appearance of trade, and merchandizing was carried on with spirit. Meanwhile, my comrade and I had hung our room with shawls, silk handkerchiefs, muslins, printed cloth, ribbons, and a profusion of other gaudy finery, which, on the whole, made no inconsiderable appearance. We had erected shelfs round the room for the bulk of our goods, and from a large window that fronted the street, displayed a magnificent flag, composed of some elegant shawls, muslins, &c., elevated on a pole, and underneath on a sheet of pasteboard, was painted in conspicuous characters, “A SALE OF MUSLINS AND PRINTS.” 14.

While we were thus busied in exposing and disposing of our wares, happening to throw my eye to the window, I observed a group of gazing country folks encircling some ladies of distinction, and was immediately told by one of my customers, that it was the Duchess. I flew down stairs, mingled with the crowd, and found her Grace officiously engaged in receiving some silver trinkets she had purchased from an old chapman, who seemed to treat her with the utmost deference, and as she left his stall, making a most submissive and ridiculous bow, he turned to the byestanders, and chinking the money in his hand, gave them a look, so expressive of extreme joy and secret rapture, that excited the mirth of all around. Had Hogarth been there, to have arrested the features and made them his own, his piece might have formed an everlasting fund of laughter. At this instant I pressed through the crowd, and respectfully approaching, informed her that I was the person who had sent her Grace the letter last night. 15.

She paused for a few moments, and then inquired if I had any goods in the Fair. I replied in the affirmative, and, pointing to the flag, told her I had a beautiful and elegant assortment of muslins within that room, where I would be happy to be honoured with her Grace’s presence. She paused again for a moment, and saying in a tone that pierced me to the soul, “I don’t want any of these things,” turned with her attendants to the next stall. You whose souls are susceptible of the finest feelings, who are elevated to rapture with the least dawnings of hope, and sunk in despondence by the slightest thwarting of your expectations, think what I felt on this occasion. 16.

With a mixture of grief and indignation struggling in my breast, I returned to the sale-room, and leaving my comrade for a short time to manage affairs himself, retired to a corner of the room, where, having pondered a while on this fresh disappointment, I started to myself, resolved to think no more of the matter. During the rest of the time we staid here, nothing interesting happened. As soon as the Fair was finished, we made up our Budgets, and taking separate courses, agreed to meet at night in Musselburgh,* which lies on the shore, about three miles distant. 17.

In this day’s excursion I met with little worthy remarking, and found but indifferent sale for my goods. Though in the bosom of a rich and luxuriant country, yet the houses were but thinly scattered, and those few I met with, were either miserable hovels, or lordly farms; their possessors deprest with hard labour and poverty, or rendered haughty by pride, luxury, and absolute power over their vassals. The farms here being portioned out in large tracts, the poor peasant must be the farmer’s slave, or remove to the town; and I have often observed among them a spiritless resignation to their drudgeries and mean servitude. Almost unconscious that they were born for any other thing, but to be perpetual servants, from father to son and from mother to daughter, they struggle with want, and rear up their offspring in the service of their insolent superiors. 18.

I am very far from affirming, that these poor people are less happy than their opulent masters, whose houses exhibit a continual scene of extravagant feasting and other luxuries, copied from the laudable fashions of the great, those patterns of prudence and leaders of mankind. I am persuaded, that the humble, parsimonious peasant, eats his simple meal with as much satisfaction, rises refreshed from his few hours of sleep with as much cheerfulness, and experiences more real happiness, peace of mind, and bodily health, than those overgorged superiors, who treat their dependents as slaves, and look down on them as beings made of an inferior mould. Yet I cannot forbear regretting, that the pernicious and increasing custom of extensive farms, is not abolished, and a lesser portion of land allotted to each; by which means, the extremities of want and luxury would be equally avoided, the poor put on a footing to do something for themselves and offspring, and the country, more honestly supplied with its own product, than it is at this present day. 19.

About the dusk of the evening I entered Musselburgh, and proceeding to the appointed rendezvous, found my comrade newly arrived, whose success, by the smiles that sat on his face, I understood to have been equal to his wishes. Having ate nothing since the morning (for the country people are becoming too fashionable to affront a pedlar by offering him victuals), we ordered our land‑lady to make ready some eatables, and sat down to dinner with an appetite that gave double relish to our small but refreshing repast. 20.

I had, when in this town, about nine months before, obtained subscriptions from several people of the place, and as our stay was intended to be short, I took a few copies along with me, and set out in search of some of those gentlemen, whose promises I had been persuaded positively to depend on. The first I found out, was a little, hunch-backed Dominie, who had formerly professed a singular esteem for me, and had not only subscribed himself, but also, cheerfully engaged to procure me a numerous list among his friends. That the reader may have a better idea of this important teacher, I shall beg leave to represent him here, to his eye, as he exactly appeared to mine. His height was something less than that of an ordinary walking staff. His head (which far exceeded the proportion of his bulk, and seemed to be, “Of more than mortal size”) was fixed between two huge eminencies, the one jutting out before and the other heaped up behind like a mountain. His eyes were large, and rolled for ever with a kind of jealous pride and self-importance, on all around him. The rest of his figure was spun out into a pair of legs and thighs, that, extended outwards on each side, supported his shapeless frame, like the long feet of a clerk’s writing-stool. This strange phenomenon, gazing up to my face for a considerable time, declared he had never seen me in his life-time before. 21.

I mentioned some circumstances in our last conversation, namely, the proposed publication–subscription paper, with some other particulars; and with difficulty brought the affair to his remembrance, which, he said, “Was like a dream to him.” Having surveyed the book for some time, he enquired the price, and being told it, returned the copy immediately, saying, he would take none of it at that price. I replied, that the price was no more than what was signified in the proposals. This he flatly denied; on which, pulling out a copy of the conditions, “I’ll take it on no conditions,” said the impertinent dwarf. What! replyed I, did you not subscribe for the book!–”It might be so, said he, but show me my name! No law can oblige me to take it unless you can show me my hand-write.” I told him, that I trusted as much to people’s honour as their formal subscription, and reminded him of putting the paper to which he had subscribed in his pocket, with a kind promise of doing something for the author. It was in vain that I endeavoured to expostulate the matter with him; his wife joined him, exclaiming, that they knew better how their money came, than to throw it away on nonsense; and the deformed creature itself, continually squeaked out, “Shew me my name! shew me my name! No law can oblige me, sir, unless you shew me my individual hand-write.” Although I was secretly exasperated at this diminutive wretch, yet I concealed my indignation, and telling him, that nature had indeed been very unkind to him, in giving him a crazy body with such an insignificant soul, left the house immediately. I proceeded next to another, of the same tribe, who had promised to take a copy, with this proviso, that I should sacrifice one half of its price with him at the shrine of Bacchus. I found him at home, and was civily received. He looked over the book some time, but told me with an honest frankness, I had taken him in a wrong time, and hoped that I would not interpret his inability to a want of willingness to take the poems. Poverty, he said, had frozen up his pockets, and effectually prevented him from performing his engagement, but if at any future period I had occasion to pass that way, he begged that I would not neglect to call. I promised to do so, and again proceeded to another quarter of the town. To relate all the different receptions, and describe the various characters I met with in this place, would be tedious, and perhaps uninteresting. By some I was treated with the most extreme kindness; others had entirely forgot the affair, and the greatest part, either could or would not, accept of it. Tired of this fruitless expedition and sick of their mean excuses, I returned to my lodgings, and concealing the nature of my success from my comrade, joined in the mirth that seemed to circle round the hearth. 22.

My companion had been sitting alone by the kitchen fire, over a solitary bottle, when a little, old, decent-dressed man entered, who was soon followed by his spouse, and both were invited to a share of his bottle. This, after some few apologies, was accepted, and they diffidently sat down. In a simple, open manner the old man told him, that he was a weaver in the town; that it was not his usual custom to frequent public-houses, but at very rare times. “This woman and I,” continued he, “have lived man and wife, upwards of forty years together, and it has been our custom, on the Tuesday’s night after our Occasion, to be hearty over a pint; and, indeed, sir, when folks come to our time of life, they are much the better of a little; and a simple bottle at a time, you know, can do nobody harm.” My comrade readily agreed with his sentiments, and in the midst of much chit-chat, the cann was chearfully circling when I entered and joined the company. As the liquor began to ascend to our friend’s upper flat, he forgot the reserve and diffidence that at first so much embarassed him, and jocosely entertained us with the transactions of his youth. These anecdotes, silly and unimportant as they were, were yet related with such an ignorant simplicity, and bespoke such undebauched innocence of manners, (a quality too rarely to be met with in an old man) that I listened, or rather gazed on the harmless creature, with uncommon delight. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you are acquaint with the world, what news do you hear about this time? Think ye, will we have any fighting or no?” —”The last expresses bring bad news,” replied my companion, “the Dutch have landed a large army on Holland, and taken possession of it.” “Say you so! (said he with great concern) that is bad news indeed. That puts a stop to all! If the Dutch have really taken Holland, I doubt we’re all over, for Holland had sworn to be on our side.” Such was this reverend Sire’s knowledge of the world, and I believe it were much to the temporal and spiritual peace and interest of some modern politicians, that they knew no more.–– My comrade now entreated that he would favour us with a song. “As for songs,” said he, “I can sing none; but if any here would assist me, well try to have a Psalm tune; it is the far sweetest of all music.” To this we all immediately agreed, and our groggy old dad giving out the words, O mother dear Jerusalem, raised the Martyrs, but in such a style, with such a profusion of graces, and melancholy of tone, solemnity of look, and distortion of features, as made the whole company burst out into an universal roar of laughter, his spouse alone excepted, who, while the tune went on, seemed wrapt up in all the enthusiasm of devotion. 23.

Having amused ourselves to a late hour with this simple, honest couple, and sent them staggering home in the greatest good humour, we retired to our room, there to forget the toils of the day in sleep. Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, I prepared to traverse the town, and marking out with my eye a few of the most genteel houses, proceeded to business. On the east end of this town, in a retired and most agreeable situation, stands the celebrated Pinky-House, the seat of the Honourable Sir Archibald Hope. As his lady desired me to send her a copy, as soon as published, I set out without delay for the house, where I was kindly received, and generously encouraged. This was adding fire to my fancy, and vigour to my resolution; I returned her ladyship my sincere acknowledgments, and, though in the course of my future applications that day, I met with a greater number of insolent rebuffs than usual, yet, the consideration of the success I had been honoured with in the morning, made me overlook them all. When we are once conscious of enjoying the kind wishes and approbation of the wise and good, the neglect of fools and the scandal of the world, make but a slight impression on the mind. Persuaded of their applause, we rise above the malice of envy, and support the pressure of misfortunes with an undaunted fortitude and magnanimity of soul. This I call true Fame, at once the inspiration and ample reward of every noble action. All else, is but empty contemptible babbling; the breath of fools, the noisy shoutings of an undiscerning mob, and the certain destroyer of that invaluable blessing, peace of mind. At evening as I was about to return home, remembering of having lent an innkeeper of the town a volume of my poems the preceding night, that he might have some idea of the merits of the book before purchasing it, I immediately paid him a visit, and asked how he was pleased with the pieces. “By God,” said he, “they’re clever, damned clever, but I incline more to the historical way, such as Goldsmith’s Scots History, the Inquest of Peru, and things of that kind, else I would cheerfully take a copy. The book in cheap,” continued he, turning it round and round, “perfectly cheap. A gentleman from England, who stayed here all summer, and went away only about two weeks ago, had the biggest cargo of books that ever I laid my eyes on. Had you been but so lucky as to have come here then–by God he would have bought a whole trunk-full from you!” The experience I had of the world made me soon see through this silly evasion, and but little regret my want of acquaintance with this wonderful literary hero; yet I could not help smiling at his harrangue, and enquiring when the gentleman would return, told him not to neglect writing to me as soon as he arrived, and putting the poems in my pocket, went directly home. And now, having done all the business we could in this place, and directed the bulk of our goods to Haddington, we called our landlady and discharged the bill, in order to be ready for setting out at an early hour next day. Before concluding my account of this town, I might here mention some gentlemen, whose generosity I experienced, and likewise present the reader with a sketch of some characters, whose insults, pride, and stupidity, I bore with; but as the former of these will, I hope, accept of this general acknowledgment, and as the latter are of a class too despicable for notice, I decline saying any more. Some of them, I am convinced, suffer at present the effects of their own folly, and by their wretched poetical attempts and translations, have exposed to the world their miserable taste and enormous ignorance. 24.

The morning was spreading gray in the east, the air mild and still, and the sun a little above the horizon, when, laden with our respective Budgets, my companion and I departed from Musselburgh, and with our face to the east, plodded along the shore. Here we had leisure to survey and opportunity to contemplate the vast prospect that surrounded us. The frith of Forth, which divides east Lothian from Fifeshire, is, here, about ten miles over; and we could plainly discover the long train of towns that stretch along the opposite coast. The sea was smooth as glass, and interspersed with a considerable number of large vessels, moving lazily along on the tide, while their white canvass glittered in the sun. The sea-fowl clamoured from every quarter, and a vast number of fishing-boats from different places, were scattered about a mile from the shore, intent at their occupation. Behind us, Arthur’s seat* rose towering to the heavens. To the west and north, was seen the mountains of Fife, and to the east the most conspicuous were North-Berwick-Law and the Bass, rising a little above the mainland. The melody of birds on the one hand, the solemn sounding of the sea along the pebbly shore on the other, joined to the wide watery prospect that spread before us, formed a most enchanting entertainment, that at once delighted the eye, charmed the ear, and conveyed a tide of rapture to the whole soul. We proceeded forward in this manner for about a mile, when turning to the right hand we ascended a steep hill and directed our steps to every hut and human abode that came within ken. The land here is high, commanding a still more extensive view of the Frith, and the rich fertile country around; adorned at little distances with some not inelegant country seats, surrounded with clusters of pine plantings and huge army oaks, and green pleasure-grounds which serve as pasturage to some fine flocks of sheep, cows, and oxen. As the day began to decline in the west, we descended to Preston-Pans,* a black uncomfortable town on the shore; and about three miles distant from Musselburgh. Here I made a few efforts to recommend myself and wares to some of the principal inhabitants, but without success; and seeing neither the appearance of sale, nor the prospect of finding common accommodation for the night, we left its smoky confines, that seemed to be overlaid with eternal showers of soot, and travelling for about two miles to the south, through those fields once stained with the blood and strewed with the carcasses of our contesting countrymen, we reached Tranent, where, after an hour’s fruitless search for lodgings, we were at last directed to the house of an honest Northumbrian, who kept a little genteel public-house, and were treated with a generous and cheerful hospitality. The table was spread with excellent provision, the beer went freely round, and an old travelling Fiddler who sat by the fire, in recompence for the few draughts he had drunk, tuned his instrument, and entertained us with a mixture of murdered sounds and squeaking discords. 25.

There is no species of pleasure more generally pleasing, or made more welcome to the human heart, than flattery. Flattery is the food of vanity, and vanity is the daughter of ignorance. To know ourselves, is the only method to exclude vanity and the certain way to despise flattery. Yet such is the frailty of our nature, that the minds of the wisest, as well as those of the most foolish, are apt at certain times, to be swelled by a secret pride and conscious belief of a worth and importance, beyond what they really possess. These ideas privately indulged, are not without their doubts; but when persons are once applauded to the skies for those rare qualities, and celebrated for the express excellencies which they long supposed themselves possessed of, their doubts instantly disappear–their pride rises confirmed of its master’s mighty importance, and the flatterer is hugged as their noblest friend,–one who has at length ventured to tell the truth; whose candour and penetration can justly discern and honestly display the brilliancy of their merits. With a full dose of this inspiring potion we treated our inimitable musician, and by extolling the loudness of his fiddle, the agility with which he played, the almost innumerable multitudes of his tunes, and in short, every other quality that belonged to a good performer, we kept him scratching among the strings, till a profusion of sweat streamed from every quarter of his countenance, and the tolling of the town bell summoned us to bed. Next morning we rose to take a view of the town, and seeing it to be but trifling, composed for the most part of mean houses, occupied by labourers and some weavers (who in this part of the country are wretchedly poor), we resumed our budgets, and proceeded eastward to Haddington,* keeping the highway, sometimes on this hand, sometimes on that, according as the situation of the farm-houses lay. As we were thus tacking from place to place, a white house, that crowned the top of a neighbouring hill about half a mile from the road, caught my eye, and as its outward appearance seemed to indicate better within, I steered directly for the glittering mansion. On my arrival, without stopping to knock (a ceremony never practised by pedlars, except when absolute necessity requires), I entered a spacious kitchen, where a large fire flamed in the chimney, over which an enormous pot raged with the heat, while a couple of cats basked on the hearth. All around wore the appearance of sumptuous plenty, but human creature I neither saw nor heard. Tired with clambering up the steep, I threw down my budget on the top of an old trunk, and sat down expecting that some of the family would soon appear. I had not been long seated, when an overgrown mastiff entered from another door, and, eyeing me with a look of fury, passed and repassed several times, then stretching himself on the floor, fixed his red eye-balls with a grim, sulky jealousy, broad in my face. I had rested for upwards of a quarter of an hour without any person making their appearance. Having little time to lose, I determined to stay no longer, and rose, with an intention of lifting my load. At this moment, the furious animal sprung forwards, and with a most infernal growl, seized me by the breast, and drove me against the partition! – Stunned as I was at this unexpected salute, I endeavoured by soft and soothing phrases, to get from his ungracious embrace, but I soothed in vain; he was proof against all the arts of flattery, which seemed rather to inflame his rage than soften him to peace. Meantime I burned with fury to be disengaged, and, had a large knife, which lay on the board, been within reach, I had most certainly plunged it into his entrails, and freed myself from this ferocious animal; but I was pinned to the wall, and to move was death. In this situation, I stood for some time, when an old lady entered, and seeing two such figures, in such a position, started back, and stood for a few moments, fixed in astonishment. I briefly explained the circumstances to her, and desired her to call down the dog; this she instantly did, and delivered me from one of the most disagreeable companions I ever had in my life. Meantime, the servants entering, she severely reprimanded them for leaving the kitchen; and relating the affair, a general laugh commenced, in which, being now out of danger, I heartily joined, resolved for the future to take care, when and where, I parted with my budget. Whether this humorous accident had opened their hearts, or that they really stood in need of these articles, I know not, but an uncommon spirit for purchasing seemed to prevail; my wares were tossed out on a large table, a group soon assembled, and for upwards of two hours, I was closely engaged cutting, measuring, and pocketing the cash; while the old matron, herself, hearing I was an author, liberally purchased a copy of my poems: after them servants began, with no less spirit; so that, betwixt the success of my sale and the enjoyment of a plentiful dinner, I had almost forgot the horror of the mastiff’s growls, when I gratefully left the house, gained the highway, and in a short time joined my companion. 26.

The Solitary Philosopher*

SIR,

AMONG all the variety of interesting pieces with which you weekly entertain your readers, none please me more than those anecdotes that relate to originality of character in particular individuals; and I am somewhat surprised that your philosophical correspondents have not favoured us with more frequent accounts of these uncommon personages, than they have done. You have yourself acknowledged, that one great design of your work is, to bring to light men of genius, or, in other words, persons who might otherwise have languished in obscurity, whose superior talents and studious researches enable them to be important members of society, and highly beneficial to their fellow creatures. But in what manner shall those proceed, who, though possessing much real genius, and valuable knowledge, are either unwilling, or being destitute of literary abilities, are unable to present themselves or their discoveries to the world through your paper. They must still remain in obscurity, if no assisting hand interferes; and except for the remembrances of a few friends, the world may never know that such persons existed. Give me leave, therefore, for once, to act the part of introducer, and present you with a short account of an original still in life. 1.

On the side of a large mountain, about ten miles west from this place, in a little hut of his own rearing, which has known no other possesser these fifty years, lives this strange and very singular person. Though his general usefulness, and communicative disposition requires him often to associate with the surrounding rustics; yet having never had an inclination to travel farther than to the neighboring village, and being totally unacquainted with the world, his manners, conversation, and dress are strikingly noticeable. A little plot of ground that extends round his cottage, is the narrow sphere to which he confines himself; and in this wild retreat, he appears to a stranger as one of the early inhabitants of earth, e’er polished by frequent intercourse, or united in society. In his youth, being deprived of the means of education, and till this hour a stranger to reading, the most valuable treasures of time are utterly unknown to him; so that what knowledge he has acquired seems to be from the joint exertions of vigorous powers, and an unwearied course of experiments. 2.

It is impossible, in the limited bounds of this paper, to give the particulars of all the variety of possessions in which he engages, and in which he is allowed by the whole inhabitants around him to excel. His genius seems universal; and he is at once by nature, Botanist, Philosopher, Naturalist, and Physician. 3.

The place where he resides seems indeed particularly calculated for assisting him in these favourite pursuits. Within a stone’s throw of his hut, a deep enormous chasm extends itself up the mountain for more than four miles, through the bottom of which a large body of water rages in loud and successive falls through the fractured channel, while its stupendous sides, studded with rocks, are overhung with bushes and trees, that meeting from opposite sides, and mixing their branches, entirely conceal, at times, the river from view; so that when a spectator stands above, he sees nothing but a luxuriance of green branches, and tops of trees, and hears at a dreadful distance below the brawling of the river. In this vale or glen innumerable rare and valuable herbs are discovered; and in the harvest months, this is his continual effort. He explores it with the most unwearied attention, climbs every cliff, even the most threatening and from the perplexing profusion of plants, collects those herbs, of whose qualities and value he is well acquainted. For this purpose, he has a large basket with a variety of divisions, in which he deposits every particular species by itself. With this he is often seen labouring home to his hut, where they are suspended in large and numerous parcels from the roof, while the sage himself sits smiling amidst his simple stores. In cultivating his little plot of ground, he proceeds likewise by methods entirely new to his neighbours. He has examined by numberless strange experiments, the nature of the soil, watches every progressive advance of the grain, and so well is he provided for its defence against vermin, that they are no sooner seen than destroyed. By these means he has greatly enriched the soil, which was by nature barren and ungenerous, while his crop nearly doubles that of his neighbours; the more superstitious of whom, from his lonely life, and success in these affairs, scruple not to believe him in league with the devil. 4.

As a mechanic, he is confined to no particular branch. He lives by himself, and seems inclined to be dependent on none. He is his own shoe-maker, cutler, and taylor; builds his own barns, and raises his own fences; threshes his own corn, and with very little assistance cuts it down. From his infancy, he has enjoyed an uninterrupted flow of health; but there is scrace a neighbouring peasant around, who has not, when wounded by accident, or confined by sickness, experienced the salutary effects of his skill. 5.

In these cases his presence of mind is surprising, his application simple, his medicines within the reach of every cottager; and in effecting a cure, he is seldom unsuccessful. Nor is his assistance in physic and surgery confined to the human species alone. Domestic and useful animals of every kind profit by his researches. He has been known frequently to cure horses, cows, sheep, &c. by infusing certain herbs among warm water, and giving them to drink. In short, so fully persuaded are the rustics of his knowledge in the causes and cure of disorders, to which their cattle are subject, that in every critical and alarming case, he is immediately consulted, and his prescriptions observed with the most precise exactness. I should arrogate too much to my own praise to say that I was the first who took any particular notice of this solitaire. He is known to many ingenious gentlemen in that place of the country, and has been often the subject of their conversation and wonder. Nor has the Honourable Gentleman whose tenant he is, suffered this rustic original to pass unnoticed or unbefriended; but with his usual generosity, and a love to mankind, that dignifies all his actions, has from time to time transmitted to him parcels of new and useful plants, roots, seeds, &c.; while the other shews himself worthy of such bounty, by a yearly specimen of their products, and a relation of the manner in which he treated them. 6.

About six months ago, I went to pay him a visit along with an intimate friend, no less remarkable for a natural curiosity. On arriving at his little hut, we found, to our small disappointment, that he was from home. As my friend, however, had never been in that part of the country before, I conducted him to the glen, to take a view of some of the beautifully romantic scenes, and wild prospects, that this place affords. We had not proceeded far along the bottom of the vale, when hearing a rustling above our head, I discovered our hoary botanist with his basket, passing along the brow of a rock, that hung almost over the centre of the stream. Having pointed him out to my companion, we were at a loss for some time, how to bring about a conversation with him. Having, however, a flute in my pocket, of which music he is exceedingly fond, I began a few airs, which by the sweetness of the echoes, was enchanted into the most enchanted melody. In a few minutes this had its desired effect; and our little man stood beside us, with his basket in his hand. On stopping at his approach, he desired us to proceed, complimented us on the sweetness of our music, expressed the surprise he was in on hearing it, and leaning his basket on an old trunk, listened with all the enthusiasm of rapture. He then, at our request, presented us with a sight of the herbs he had been collecting, entertained us with a narrative of the discoveries he had made in his frequent searches through the vale, which, said he, “contains treasures that few know the value of.” 7.

Seeing us pleased with this discourse, he launched forth into a more particular account of the vegetables, reptiles, wild beasts, and insects that frequented the place, and with much judgment explained their various properties. “Were it not, says he, for the innumerable millions of insects, that in the summer months swarm in the air, I believe dead carcases, and other putrid substances might have dreadful effects; but no sooner does a carcase begin to grow putrid, than these insects, led by the smell, flock to the place, and there deposit their eggs, which in a few days produce such a number of maggots, that the carcase is soon consumed. While they are thus employed below, the parent flies are no less busy, in devouring the noxious vapours that incessantly ascend; thus the air by these insects is kept sweet and pure, still the storms of winter render their existence unnecessary, and at once destroy them. And heaven that has formed nothing in vain, exhibits these things to our contemplation, that we may adore that all bounteous creator, who makes even the most minute and seemingly destructive creatures subservient to the good of man. 8.

In such a manner did this poor and illiterate peasant moralize on the common occurrences of nature; these glorious and invaluable truths did he deduce from vile reptiles, the unheeded insect, and simple herb, that lies neglected, or is trodden under foot as useless and offensive; and what friend to mankind does not, on contemplating this rustic’s story, fondly wish, with its writer, that learning had lent ts aid to polish a genius, that might have one day surprised the world with the glorious blaze of a Locke or Newton. 9.

I have nothing, Sir, to offer as an apology for the length of this paper, but the entertainment I hoped it might afford your numerous readers, and its truth, which is not unknown to a number of your respectable subscribers in this quarter, some of whom may perhaps favour you with more particulars respecting his discoveries, than can at present be given by10.

February 16th 1791

Advertisement in The Glasgow Advertiser by the Paisley Reformers

*

Paisley, Saracen’s Head Inn,
8 February 1793..

At a numerous and respectable meeting of Delegates from the Societies of this county associated for PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, the reports of the Delegates from their respective Societies were received; when it appeared that the greatest unanimity and peace prevailed through the whole Societies; that their numbers were rapidly encreasing, and that nothing but the accomplishment of their just constitutional and united demands, could ever prevail over their firmness and perseverance. 1.

The particulars respecting their future meetings being determined, they unanimously agreed to the following DECLARATION, which they ordered to be published in the Glasgow Advertiser, Edinburgh Gazette, and London Star; and that 2000 copies be printed, in the form of handbills, for the perusal of the County Societies. 2.

I. In the name of the Societies which we represent, we declare our firm and inviolable attachment to the genuine principles of the British Constitution, as established in 1688, our veneration for the person and family of our Gracious Sovereign, and our unalterable determination to obey our country’s laws, and discountenance every measure that can be reasonably deemed seditious, dangerous, or unconstitutional. 3.

II. We are determined to persevere in every lawful exertion, till we attain the glorious end for which we have associated. Our first application may be unsuccessful, but we should think ourselves unworthy of the appellation we have assumed, if a temporary repulse could induce us to depart from the cause in which we have engaged–We disclaim the cowardly idea; we pledge ourselves to maintain the firmest perseverance, and, by the regularity of our conduct, to manifest the rectitude of our intentions, and shew to the world that we really are THE FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE. 4.

III. No riot nor tumult shall ever meet our countenance or approbation. If these exist any where, we pity the infatuation of such as may have been unwarily led into measures so hurtful to the cause of liberty, and so inimical to the peace and good order of society; and we abhor the diabolical designs of those who, from wicked or interested motives, may have attempted to stimulate a spirit of discontent or confusion in any part of the country. We also feel compassion for the man whose ears have been filled with fabricated stories of our disloyalty, and disaffection to government; and hope the time is approaching, when the conduct of those, who have so misrepresented us, shall be displayed in its native colours, and exposed to all the contempt and odium it so justly deserves. 5.

We have already, in our different Societies, publicly declared, what are the objects of our association; and think it unnecessary here to recapitulate them. But in the present crisis, we cannot help expressing our serious concern at the prospect of that greatest of national calamities into which our rulers seem ready to plunge us. We cannot evade the present opportunity of declaring our disapprobation of a measure so pregnant with ruin to our dearest interests–that we look forward with horror, and anticipate the miseries that must unavoidably ensue; and that we will not consent, that the nation shall be wantonly precipitated into such an abyss of destruction. We are persuaded, that we speak the mind of every one whose breast glows with sensations of humanity, when we declare, that war is the height of wickedness, when undertaken without the utmost urgent necessity. If urgent necessity presses our Ministry to enter into a war at present, let them shew where that necessity is; and they may expect the concurrence and support of a brave and loyal people. But if no such necessity exists, who can fail to reprobate the measure—a measure so evidently calculated to sink us in poverty and ruin. Is it to prevent a people from enjoying the privileges nature has given them, that we are to sacrifice thousands of lives, one of which is of more importance than all the riches which ever passed the Scheldt? If the blood of one man calls for vengeance on the guilty head of his destroyer, is it a light thing to sport with the lives of thousands. Does humanity shudder at the late atrocious conduct of the French? Does our Minister wish, for the sake of human nature, that such a deed could be for ever obliterated from the page of history? and is he callous to the feelings that ought to arise from the woes of his countrymen? Does he feel no remorse at shedding the blood of multitudes—as beholding thousands of our brave citizens torn from their endearing homes, and exposed to the cruelest of deaths where no friend is near to sooth and alleviate the agonies of their last moments? Can we hear the feelings expressed by our parliament for the murder of one man, and believe it possible that they will not have similar sensations from contemplating the slaughter of thousands? 6.

Dreadful are the calamities of war! In the present case, we have our commerce, our fortunes, our lives to lose; without the alleviating prospect of the smallest advantage. Contrary to the dictates of morality, and religion, it must be incompatible with the happiness and prosperity of nations; for “what is morally wrong, cannot be politically right.” War may be profitable to individuals; but it is always the bane of national happiness. 7.

Fellow citizens, in one voice proclaim your disapprobation of war, and your eager desire to avert it. It is of the utmost importance to your commercial interests, as well as to the GREAT CAUSE OF HUMANITY. What calamities must follow the stagnation of trade! What crowds of ideas shocking to all the feelings of nature does war excite in every susceptible breast! Can you carry your imagination to the field of battle and death! Can you behold the blood of your fellows, your countrymen, your friends, shed forth in torrents, and hesitate one moment to come forward, and declare that you will not bring upon your heads the imputation of so much guilt: for guilty you will be, if you are silent, and suffer that silence to be construed into consent. 8.

THE MEETING also unanimously agreed to the following RESOLUTIONS: 9.

I. That a Reform in the representative election of Great Britain, and a shorter duration of parliamentary delegation, are essentially necessary to the true interests of the Sovereign, and the happiness of the subject; to procure which in a peaceable and constitutional manner is the great design, and universal wish of our Associations. 10.

II. That the Liberty of the Press, of so much importance to the safety of free people, calls for the protection and support of all, as being the terror of villainy and corruption, the palladium of civil liberty, and the boast and glory of every free nation. 11.

III. That Press Warrants are an insult to justice and humanity the miserable source of ruin and distress to numberless families, and a disgrace to the British Constitution. 12.

IV. That the united thanks of the Societies are justly due to the Right Hon. Charles James Fox, for his open and animated disapprobation of involving the Nation in the miseries of unnecessary war; to the Hon. Thomas Erskine, for his noble and unwearied exertions in defence of the Liberty of the Press; to Colonel Macleod, the sincerity of whose wishes for the interests of his country, his late elegant and pathetic Address to the Societies of Scotland, will remain a perpetual monument; to Mr. Grey for the active and leading part he has always taken in the cause of the People. (The eyes of the nation are still upon him; they know his abilities, and integrity; and that, that in depending upon these, they will never be disappointed): And to all the Members of the illustrious Minority in Parliament, who, in spite of the torrent of ministerial influence, have boldly stood forth in support of the real interests of their country. 13.

Oration, on the Power And Value of National Liberty*

Distinguish thyself as thou will, still, Slavery, still thou art a bitter draught, and though thousands, in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. 

GENTLEMEN,

THE subject to which I mean to call your attention; on this distinguished occasion, is THE POWER AND VALUE OF NATIONAL LIBERTY; a subject of all other earthly concerns the most interesting to men; but particularly so to free-men. It is indeed with the deepest consciousness of my utter inability to do justice to so noble a theme, that I venture to address you on this auspicious day; but trusting, with all my deficiencies, to the indulgence of this numerous and, respectable assembly, many of whom I know have hazarded their lives in defence of liberty, and all of whom I trust glory in this inestimable inheritance, I solicit for myself your kind and patient attention. 1.

There is not, perhaps, in the whole English language, a more expressive terns than the word LIBERTY. The very sound seems to inspire with ardour, and to rouse the heart to energy. Among the ancient Romans it was a sacred and soul-inspiring name, that aimated their legions to battle, and resounded in times of peace through that immense republic, in songs of triumph. During your late arduous, but triumphant struggle for INDEPENDENCE, in this western world, with a powerfull and inveterate antagonist; a kingdom of soldiers and seamen, provided with every necessary, and every implement of destruction in abundance, against an infant colony of farmers and woodsmen, without fleets, without armies, unpractised in the bloody arts of war, and dispersed over an immense country, it was this inspiring name, LIBERTY, that collected from every direction your gallant youths….that created arms, heroes, and armies….that bore you on, through every danger and every difficulty, to victory and glory; and drove your enemies before you back to the ocean, as the gloomy clouds of the east roll back before the irresistible fury of the roaring north-west.–It was this illustrious name, and your glorious example, that roused, as if by electricity, a great, but deeply oppressed nation, of twenty-five millions of people, to burst the chains and rivetted shackles of despotism, as in a moment, and to hurl back the accumulated vengeance of ages of sufferings on the heads of their overwhelmed oppressors. It was this that demolished the gloomy dungeons of the bastile….that dethroned, and devoted to punishment, a once powerful monarch, and has rendered the French nation not only invincible, but victorious over the whole combined arms of Europe. 2.

How astonishing that one word should produce such extraordinary effects; and more astonishing still, if, as some persons assert, this thing liberty be nothing more than a name….an ideal notion, that exists but in imagination. Amazing indeed! that a mere name….an ideal notion should inspire millions of men to scorn every danger, to face death in its most terrible forms, and glory, with their expiring breath, in their cause. No, gentlemen! the heroes of America, thank heaven! have demonstrated to the world, that liberty is something more than a name….something more than a notion….That it is a blessed and substantial reality, the great strength and happiness of nations, and the universal and best friend of man. In order to give you a concise and comprehensive definition of true liberty, it will be necessary for me, in the first place, to observe, that there have been people in the world, weak or wicked enough to believe, that liberty was the right and privilege of doing just whatever they pleased. This so far from being liberty, is the most complete tyranny; and would, if adopted, introduce universal anarchy, and the total subversion of all society. The strong would overpower the weak; they, in their turn, would prey upon and devour one another; all right, justice and civilization would be completely swept away, and nothing left of man but an unprincipled herd of ferocious savages. This, therefore, cannot be true liberty, even according to these gentlemen’s own opinions; for it would then be no imaginary notion, no airy dream, but a most dreadful reality indeed. 3.

There have been others, who have imagined liberty to consist in an equality of property, and have looked upon those who were richer, or had greater possessions than themselves, as exceptions to, and violators of this their favourite system of liberty. Such an opinion as this can only arise from ignorance or want of reflection on the nature of man. A moment’s consideration might, methinks, make its absurdity and even impossibility evident to every one. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that such an equal and universal distribution of property was made, how long would it continue so? Not a day! no, perhaps, not an hour ! Some would be more indolent, some more extravagant, others more industrious, careful or enterprizing, than the rest and the property of these would increase or diminish accordingly. If, indeed, all men were equally strong, equally industrious, frugal, and ingenious such a state of things might, perhaps, be possible; but as mankind now are, of such various inclinations, powers and dispositions, disproportion of property is only a necessary consequence of this disproportion of abilities, and has been, and will continue to be so till the end of time. No, gentlemen! true liberty consists, not in depriving any person of the advantages of superior talents and acquirements, or in robbing the industrious to support the idle and extravagant; but in securing to every man the fruits of his own honest diligence, or those which have descended to him from his fore fathers. True genuine national liberty, may, in a few words, be defined thus….the full and unrestrained freedom of speaking and acting to promote our own happiness, in so far as we do not encroach on the like rights of another….The secure protection of person and property under good and equitable laws….The strict and impartial distribution of justice to all ranks and descriptions of persons….and the free exercise of opinion and Religious Worship. These constitute true liberty….these are the fountains from whence every blessing tows that renders human life desirable. Nor are they the gifts of man, but the birth-right of every human being, bestowed on him by his great Creator. Possessed of these, arts, science, agriculture commerce, virtue, religion, and the whole resources of a nation, flourish. Deprived of them the most gloomy ignorance, vice, barbarity, oppression, and bigotry descend, in dismal darkness, and spread ruin and desolation over a wretched country. 4.

To confirm and illustrate these truths, and to shew liberty in all its native loveliness, we need only contrast it with the hideous pictures of slavery, which the history of almost every region of this restless globe has exhibited to our melancholy contemplation. 5.

The first and most ancient account we have of national slavery is recorded in the book of Exodus, where, we are told, that the children of Israel were made to serve, with rigour, as slaves to the Egyptians….That they were loaded beyond their strength….That their lives were made bitter with hard bondage, in mortar and in brick, and that in order to prevent them from multiplying, and thereby becoming formidable to their Oppressors, their male infants were most inhumanly ordered to be murdered as soon as born. It is added, that they cried because of their affliction, and their cries came up before God, (as the cries of the oppressed always will) who rescued them from slavery, and overthrew their oppressors. In this account, there are two things particularly worthy of notice; how weak and contemptible were these Israelites, while under the lash of tyranny; but no sooner were they encircled with freedom, than they assumed a most formidable appearance, and riot only became invulnerable to their enemies, but conquered almost wherever they went. Again, by attentively considering the history of this wonderful people, it would appear, that the Supreme Being himself considered national slavery as the deepest state of human wretchedness, by making it his usual, and most awful punishment for their great national offences. Accordingly, we read, that their whole country was ravaged by the Babylonians…. Their King carried in chains to Babylon, and themselves sold for Bondmen and Bondwomen, and whoever will take the trouble of reading the 5th chapter of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, or the 28th of Deuteronomy, from the 29th verse to the end, will there find such a detail of the miseries of slavery, as cannot fail of affecting every generous heart with horror and indignation. 6.

Since that period, what innumerable scenes of more aggravated cruelty have succeeded! What long and bloody tragedies of real woe have been acted upon the vast theatre of this word! What immense proportions of this habitable globe have been laid waste, depopulated, and covered with ruins! What multitudes of the human race have been murdered, with every circumstance of cruelty, to satiate the ambition, revenge, or madness of tyranny! Even at this moment, how many of our fellow creatures, in different quarters of the world, as virtuous, as brave, as deserving as we are, lie groaning in hopeless wretchedness, under the trampling feet of this monster, denied even the poor comfort of complaining. Yes, Citizens! millions of your fellow beings are at this moment in actual want of bread….surrounded by all the horrors of famine, not the effect of unproductive seasons, or bad crops, but the consequence of a long, bloody, and unjust war, begun and persisted in contrary to the will and in spite of the wishes, tears and prayers of the people. 7.

Need I enlarge further on this gloomy side of the subject, to raise in your souls an abhorrence of tyranny? Need I add to this black catalogue the bloody persecutions, burnings, banishments, and imprisonments for religion, that have disgraced every country in Europe? Where men were compelled to act contrary to their consciences, or suffer death. Where the flames were kindled; the images of saints presented, and the poor sufferer left to his choice, to worship the one, or be thrown into the other. Where gloomy inquisitions were erected, and. wheels racks, and other instruments of torture, set to work in their dismal dungeons, the bare recital of whose scenes would be sufficient to freeze the blood with horror. 8.

Let no man say, that the danger of a repetition of these things are past. The spirit and principles that led to these attrocities, remain to this day, interwoven with, and incorporated into almost all the old governments of Europe, and will, if not thoroughly reformed, burst out into such, and perhaps much more outrageous persecutions, unless the righteous Judge and great Ruler of the universe has already sealed their universal downfal and total destruction. 9.

From these dreary and distressing scenes, let us now turn to that glorious Deliverer, that illustrious Benefactress of mankind, before whose august presence, tyrants expire, and all these horrors vanish, like the shades of night before the splendor of the rising sun. In this western woody world, far from the contaminating influence of European politics, has the GREAT TEMPLE OF LIBERTY been erected. Under no government on earth is so large, so equal a portion of civil and religious freedom enjoyed by every individual citizen. What are the governments of the old world, but huge devouring monsters, gorging their voracious maws with the hard earned morsels of the oppressed multitude, drinking up their tears, and sporting with their bloody sufferings? Read their histories….visit their countries….converse with their most intelligent inhabitants….and the more you see, and hear, and experience, the more you will love and venerate this great, this stupendous, and, as I trust, everlasting Monument of the power and value of liberty; which you and your fathers have erected for the refuge, the happiness, and inheritance of unborn millions. Indeed, gentlemen, I cannot more strikingly illustrate the power, and demonstrate the value of liberty, than by giving you the outlines of this immense structure, and contrasting it with the fairest and most boasted system of governments that kings and their sycophants can produce. 10.

Here the great body of the people, of which this respectable audience form a part, are the fountain of all power, and their will the foundation on which the whole superstructure of government is erected. By your voice it was called into existence, for your benefit it is altered and improved, by your energy and talents it is supported and directed. You make, or you unmake laws….you declare war, or you proclaim peace. Not, indeed, in your own individual persons, but in the persons of your real representatives. From the wisest and most faithful of your fellow-citizens, you select men to perform the great duties of government. Their tour of duty over, if they have shewn themselves worthy of your confidence, they are reappointed: if not, they descend again into the rank of a private citizen. In the exercise of this right, by the people themselves, lies the chief excellence of a republican form of government; as it not only makes the representatives responsible to, and dependent on the people, as they ought to be, but provides an effectual remedy for almost every abuse, by enabling the people to remove from the great councils of the nation, those men, whose measures and designs may be deemed hostile to their liberties. How different this, from those wretched countries of Europe, where the voice of the people is totally disregarded, or treated with the utmost contempt. Where two or three men of property, appoint a nominal representative for thousands, and where hundreds of thousands have no representative at all. Where those who fight their battles, cultivate their fields, and crown their tables with every luxury, are looked down on as beings of an inferior species, and branded with the opprobrious epithet of the swinish multitude; where their haughty rulers are born kings, bishops, and legislators, though nature, perhaps, has made them fools ; and where these important and awful offices, on the proper management of which, the lives and welfare of so many millions depend, descend, as an inheritance, from father to son, however weak, wicked, or unprincipled. 11.

Universal liberty of conscience, in matters of religion, is here established on the most liberal ground. Every citizen, who believes in one Supreme Being, is eligible, with the exceptions of some slight considerations of age and residence, to the highest places of trust and honour, and may worship God as may seem most agreeable to his conscience. Compare, this with the churches of Europe, as established by law…with the despotism of the Romish church in Spain, Italy, and Portugal, to whose creed every officer of government must conform, or affect to conform, and where the people are compelled to support, at an enormous expence, a multitude of priests, monks, friars, &c. who swarm, like the devouring locusts, over the face of the whole country, and insolently claim the tenth of all the produce of the industrious farmer, even to his fowls and his chickens. Here their rulers, arrogating to themselves dominion over the soul as well as the body, their laws and forms must be rigidly observed, even in violation of conscience itself. The arbitrary act of religious persecution, not long ago exhibited in one of these countries, cannot yet be forgotten, where a poor man was committed to prison, for life, for refusing to swear in a court of justice, though he offered to affirm, but was afterwards under the necessity, in order to save a small family from starving, to comply with the law, and to swear contrary to his conscience.* 12.

Another excellence of liberty, is the Freedom of the Press. Here, every person entrusted with power may be brought before the great tribunal of the people; his whole conduct, measures, and sentiments tried by the principles of the constitution. His imbecility, villainy, or corruption, arraigned and exposed to the world, provided nothing is asserted but what can be substantiated by facts. This gentlemen, is a most valuable privilege; it may be called the very right arm, the grand watch-tower….the most formidable bastion of liberty, from whence and by which, the true patriot can guard against every open or insidious approach, and rebel, with success, every daring attack on the liberties of his country. 13.

These are some of the innumerable blessings of liberty, for the attainment and preservation of which so much blood has been shed….so many dangers defied, and such prodigies of valour performed as have astonished the world. This is the glorious object that filled and animated the hearts of that illustrious train of heroes who fell on your ravaged fields and bloody fortresses, fighting for the liberties of their country. Heroes, whom no corruption could seduce, nor toils discourage, nor dangers, nor death itself terrify. Faithful to the standard of Liberty, she has now surrounded their brows with immortal honours. Their names will live in the hearts, and breathe with ardour from the lips of Americans, while sun and moon endureth; and future ages shall shed tears of triumphant joy and honest pride over the history of their immortal atchievments. This is the Charm that has continued to draw such multitudes from almost every nation in Europe, to this our land of liberty….to more abundant stores and a happier home. This is the Power that in little more than a century, has made cities, fields, arts and science flourish and spring up from a howling wilderness; and with a rapidity of population unexampled in the history of mankind, has, from a few scattered adventurers, made us a great, powerful, and independent nation. Indeed what is there in human life pleasing or desirable that we owe not, under providence, to liberty? Is the protection of property a blessing? She guards with a jealous, but impartial eye, the rich man’s millions with the poor man’s mite. Is the free worship of God, the pouring out our hearts to him in such way and manner as conscience may dictate, a blessing? She beholds with a sacred reverence, with an unbounded charity the various devotions of every sect….prefers not one above another….believes in the piety and sincerity of all, nor suffers any human being to dare to intrude between God and his creature. 14.

Is the advantage of education a blessing? She opens and establishes seminaries of learning….promotes and protects the liberty of the press, and holds out to all the greatest incitements to virtue and learning, by asking no other qualifications for places of the highest trust than talents and sound principles. Is national peace a distinguished blessing? She pursues not schemes of conquest or aggrandizement, those sources of long and bloody wars, and national misery, but with the integrity, firmness, and impartial policy of an honest individual, deals justly, openly, and equally with all. In a word, liberty unites and consolidates the whole powers, moral and physical, of society, by making the public will and the public good, the great rule of her conduct, and the object of all her proceedings. 15.

Such, gentlemen, is the nature and value of liberty. May its benevolent principles animate every bosom. May its friends, wherever situated, be forever victorious. May its enemies in every country be effectually converted, or covered with everlasting shame and confusion; and soon may that great millennium arrive, when the mighty Genius of liberty, standing on the earth and ocean of this vast globe, the abode of such innumerable millions, shall breathe out the solemn and determined vow of the whole human race, THAT TYRANNY SHALL BE NO LONGER. 16.

To promote this great event, which, according to the whole tenor of sacred prophecy, and, indeed, from present appearances, seems fast approaching, you, gentlemen, and your fellow-citizens, as freemen and as Americans, are to be no unconcerned spectators. Hitherto you have acted a most distinguished part in this grand effort of mankind to rescue themselves from tyranny. First in the glorious career of nations, you have shown what liberty can do. Your example and your unparalleled prosperity has aroused and animated distant nations. On you. And on this your great fabric of liberty, are the eyes of every people on earth directed. On your success in this grand experiment of representative government….On your established greatness and rising glory the destinies of mankind….the liberties of the world are suspended. You have acquired, it is now your great business to preserve and perpetuate to posterity this invaluable treasure. 17.

What would you think of that farmer who should bestow the greatest labour in cultivating his fields, and yet pay no regard to his fences….take no pains to prevent the inroads and destruction made upon his harvests? What would you think of the inhabitants of that city, who, though in continual danger of being attacked by a cruel enemy, should yet let their gates stand open, and their walls go to ruin? Liberty is this strong FENCE, that protects and secures to you the fruits of your labour. Liberty is that WALL, those GATES and RAMPARTS, that surround and defend you from the merciless fury of Tyranny, who forever raves around them, bellowing for entrance, and thirsting for blood. It is, therefore, your deepest interest, as well as duty, to be vigilant and watchful of the motions and designs of this prowling enemy of your peace, your prosperity, religion and happiness. Acquaint yourselves minutely with the true principles of liberty, on which the different state governments and your great federal compact is founded. Read books of authentic history, and travels. They will inform you of the fatal consequences of the loss of liberty, to the different nations of the world. Contrast the wants and wretchedness experienced by your fellow-creatures in other countries, with the peace, plenty and felicity you enjoy in this. Remember, that for all these, under Providence, you are indebted to liberty………Infuse these ideas into your children. Cultivate their minds, and enlarge their understandings by education and reading. Set before them in your own persons, examples of firm patriotism and genuine piety. Inure them to habits of industry, oeconomy and virtue, love of country, and gratitude to the Great Giver of all good. Then may the storms of aristocracy roar, and the fury of foreign or domestic enemies swell and rage around you. Your liberty, founded on this immoveable rock, its structure adorned, and its energy directed by that incorruptible Republican, who, on this ever memorable day, has ascended into the chair of state, shall roll back all their meditated mischief on their own heads, and your country rise in strength, grandeur and prosperity….the seat of learning and of arts….the abode of plenty and of peace….the asylum of the persecuted, and the pride and glory of the world. Is this hope great and elevating? Who then, that so lately beheld the surrounding glooms of aristocracy, descending in dismal darkness, and threatening to blast and bury forever from our view this glorious prospect….what republican, I say, who eyed with a throbbing and indignant heart, the evil genius of despotism breaking into this our western paradise, to plunge us into a world of woe, who feels not now a flood of joy, swell his overflowing heart on this triumphant day, at the defeat and expulsion of this arch fiend, and the universal overthrow of his fallen associates. The majesty of the people arose, and their enemies were hurled to the regions of despair and ignominy. The clouds are now dispersing….The prospect brightens with more splendour than ever, and every
patriotic heart welcomes this happy era. 18.

O’er vast Columbia’s varied clime,  
Her cities, forests, shores and dales,  
In rising majesty sublime,  
Immortal Liberty prevails. 

Hail long expected glorious day!  
Illustrious, memorable morn,  
That freedom’s Fabric from decay 
Rebuilds….for Millions yet unborn. 

His country’s glory, hope and stay,  
In virtue and in talents try’d 
Now rises to assume the sway…. 
O’er this great Temple to preside. 

Within its hallow’d walls immense,  
No hireling bands shall e’er arise,  
Array ‘d in tyranny’s defence,  
To crush an injur’d people’s cries. 

No lordling here, with gorging jaws,  
Shall wring from industry the food,  
No holy bigot’s fiery laws,  
Lay waste our ruin’d fields in blood. 

Here strangers from a thousand shores,  
Compell’d by tyranny to roam,  
Shall find amidst abundant stores,  
A nobler and a happier home. 

Here Art shall lift her laurel’d head,  
Wealth, Industry, and Peace divine,  
And where unbounded forests spread,  
Shall fields and lofty cities shine. 

From Europe’s wants and woes remote 
A friendly waste of waves between,  
Here plenty cheers the humblest cot,  
And smiles on every village green.; 

Here, free as air’s expanded space,  
To every soul and sect shall be,  
That sacred privilege of our race,  
The worship of the Deity. 

These gifts, great Liberty! are thine,  
Ten thousand more we owe to thee;  
Immortal may their memories shine,  
Who fought and died for liberty. 

What heart but hails a scene so bright?  
What soul but inspiration draws?  
Who would not guard so dear a right;  
Or die in such a glorious cause? 

Let foes to freedom dread the name;  
But should their touch this sacred tree,  
Thrice fifty thousand swords shall flame 
For Jefferson and Liberty! 

From Georgia to lake Champlain,  
From seas to Mississippi’s shore,  
Ye sons of freedom loud proclaim,  
THE REIGN OF TERROR IS NO MORE! 

Rejoice Columbia’s sons! rejoice !  
To tyrants never bend the knee;  
But join with heart and soul and voice 
For VIRTUE, PEACE AND LIBERTY!  

For The Port Folio.
On The Study Of Natural History*

Though Natural History, strictly speaking, comprehends the whole animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms, or is, in other words, a History of Nature; yet, it is seldom so generally applied, and is frequently confined to Botany and Zoology; sometimes to the latter alone. It is, of all human knowledge, the most sublime, because it exhibits the power, and introduces us, as it were, into the presence, of OMNIPOTENCE. It is the most instructive, because it unfolds his goodness, wisdom, and perfections. It is also the most delightful, from its inexpressible beauty, vastness, and variety. The first lessons of infancy should be learnt from the pages of this magnificent volume, as the plainest, the most easily comprehended, striking, and impressive; perpetually inspiring the highest conceptions of the Creator; and animating us with the purest spirit of devotion. Our amazement increases on every fresh survey, and we exclaim in the rapturous language of the poet: 1.

“These are thy glorious Works, Parent of Good! 
Almighty! thine this universal frame; 
Thus wond’rous fair, thyself how wondrous then! 
Unspeakable!”*  

If then the objects of creation, which surround us, are capable of producing such effects, when beheld even in a general way, how must every sensation of wonder, awe, and devotion be increased, when we contemplate them more closely, and individually; when we consider their conformation, instincts, peculiarities, uses; their secret connexion, and reciprocity of dependence on each other; as forming one immense chain of created beings, emanating from, and upheld by one Great, Incomprehensible, Self-existent, Eternal! We there discover such unity of design, such beneficence, grandeur, order, and harmony, as cannot fail, not only of forming our minds to virtue, but of instilling into them the principles, and laying the foundation of true taste, in every art that is great, excellent, or praiseworthy. 2.

For these reasons, there are no literary productions of the present day, whose appearance I so cordially welcome as well-witten books of Natural history; but, sorry I am to say, that my congratulations on this head, particularly as respects the objects of our own country, are so rarely excited, as to almost induce the melancholic belief that this divine study is in danger of being entirely abandoned, and surperseded by the age for incongruous and idle Novels; the insatiable greediness of gain, and the noisy discord of distracting politics. Three hundred years have passed away since the first settlement of this country; and twenty millions have descended to the tomb, without leaving, in this department of Science, one eminently distinguished vestige behind them. Yet every thing around invites us to the pursuit; but invites in vain. Numbers of the finny race, that tenant our lakes, seas, and rivers, and many of the feathered tribes that warble in our woods, are totally unknown to us; and though the periodical appearance and departure of others, be as regular and uniform, as the Seasons, yet they never excite in us a single inquiry. They come, we know not whence; exist, we know not how; and go, we know not whither. The air swarms with insects, with which we are totally unacquainted; though the safety of our crops, and the protection of our people, from famine, have, at times, nearly depended on a knowledge of the subject. Multitudes of plants vegetate in our extensive regions, whose very forms have never met our eye; though many of them might be highly important as food or medicine to man; even the earth, on which we tread, encloses treasures that we will not be at the trouble or expense of searching for, till they force themselves on our view; contenting ourselves with the same superficial scratching of the surface, with those who went before us; and sending, at a vast accumulation of risk, expense and national dependence, to a distant country for these very supplies, which nature has bountifully scattered at our feet. These assertions, my countrymen, are not merely declamatory; neither are they meant to give offence; but to rouse in your bosoms a love and ambition to excel in these most useful and virtuous studies. Every enlightened nation of Europe has become, as it ought to be, the proper historian of its own natural productions; while we have sat down satisfied, ingloriously satisfied, to receive from France, Britain, or Germany, an account of the productions of our own streams, our own fields and forests; and to swallow as facts the crude suggestions of foreign pride, ignorance, and prejudice. 3.

As I propose, in my succeeding numbers, to make application for information to those readers of The Port Folio, who may be disposed to give it, on some subjects of the Natural History of the United States, so I mean not to impose on others, what I would be unwilling to engage in myself. I will, therefore, add example to precept, and shall, from time to time, communicate through the same medium, such interesting particulars of some of our American animals, insects, birds, fishes, plants, minerals, &c., as are either new or not generally known; and which in numerous extensive tours through the territories of the United States, I have been enabled to collect. 4.

The Naturalist No. II*

AN inhabitant of the northern states, on his first visit to the lower countries of the Carolinas and Georgia, is struck with the unexpected appearance and novelty of the scenery, of their less inhabited or unsettled parts; the chief characteristics of which may be given as follows: A thick flat wilderness of pines, through which the narrow road, skirted with myrtles* and gull-berry bushes,* winds through immense dreary solitudes, with sometimes only one or two huts in a whole day’s journey. Marshes, branches or watery tracts, covered with loblolly bays, so closely crowded together as to shut out the light of day; dead stagnating ponds, seen through among the crowded pines, sending forth noxious exhalations, fevers, and pestilence; and prodigious cypress-swamps, where a growth of timber, far surpassing in magnitude all others on the continent, rises from an ocean of reeds, having their leafless branches loaded with such vast quantities of moss, that 40 or 50 men might easily conceal themselves on one tree. It hangs waving in the wind from 3 to 12 and 15 feet long, and looks as if every tree were covered with wagon loads of tow; but what form the most disagreeable part of the features of this country are the dark sluggish streams which perpetually intercept the road, and are the gloomy haunts of multitudes of hideous alligators. From Newbern, in North-Carolina, along the whole low countries and coast, to the mouth of the Mississippi, and up that river as far as New-Orleans, there is scarce a creek, pond, or swamp, that is not infested with these disgusting and voracious animals. At every stage you listen to narratives of the depredations committed, at one time or other, by the alligators. The principal sufferers on these occasions are hogs, who have ventured down to the river’s side to wallow in the mud, where they are sprung upon, and soon dragged into the river. Dogs are also a very favourite morsel; and the very howling of one, on the shore, will, in a few seconds, bring 20 or 30 alligators to the surface. On a deer taking the river, the alligators have been known to allow him to pass unmolested; but to seize every dog that followed. Some of these, after having been for a minute or two under water, have disengaged themselves, and rising to the surface, have succeeded in reaching the shore, sorely gashed and mangled by the teeth of the alligator. Some dogs, however, fearlessly take the river, and when attacked, as they generally are, from behind, boldly face round, and engage the enemy in his own element; barking and snapping, and generally forcing him to disappear; for, like all tyrants, he is as cowardly as cruel. The dog then again makes for shore, and as often as he hears them behind him, wheels round and defends himself as before; and thus fights his way through. Negroes who venture into the river to bathe in summer, have frequently been attacked, and sometimes destroyed. It is also a singular fact, that tame ducks and geese, though they frequent these rivers and ponds in winter, yet, as soon as the warm weather commences, entirely abandon such places. The alligator is generally detested by the inhabitants, and various modes are practised to destroy him. A hunting party is formed of 30 or 40 persons, well armed with guns and rifles, who separate into two bodies, and scour the river, lagoons, and banks, for alligators. Those who have no dogs imitate their howling, and thus decoy the alligators near to the boat, while another lays them lifeless with the rifle. In this manner 200 of these animals have been killed in one excursion; that party which had killed the greatest number, being entitled to a supper or treat from the less successful one. Sometimes they prepare a small piece of hard pitch pine, of about 10 or 12 inches long, sharpen it at both ends and notch it at the middle, where they fasten a line of small rope, and run this sharpened stick into a small piece of pork; this being thrown overboard is soon swallowed by the alligator, and the rope being pulled the same moment, the stick is thrown at right angles across the monster’s throat, who, unable to close its jaws, is led to the shore with very little exertion, to the great diversion of the company. 1.

But the most singular mode of taking and destroying this formidable animal, and which may be depended on as fact, is as follows: In the month of February, when the weather begins to get a little warm, and before the alligators emerge from their winter quarters, a party of 8 or 10 persons provide themselves with a long rope, about three quarters of an inch in diameter, furnished at one extremity with a running noose. Having arrived at that part of the bank of the river under which they suspect the alligators are lying, one of the most resolute and able divers undresses himself, and goes down to reconnoitre. The winter retreats of the alligators are large roomy excavations in the bank, at the depth of 10, 12, and even 15 feet under water, frequently protected by projecting roots of enormous cypress trees. In one of these dens the diver sometimes finds 6 or 8 large alligators, with numbers of mud turtles, dozing in a listless though not torpid state; for though they appear sensible to what is about them, yet on these occasions they are not easily disturbed. The diver having noted their number and situations, ascends to draw breath; and after a little, redescends, taking with him that end of the rope which has the running noose. Approaching the largest and most formidable one, he slides the noose gently over the tail, hind feet, and body, up to the fore legs, the animal all this time remaining quite passive. Sometimes, if they lie at a great depth, the diver is obliged to rise several times for breath, before he can complete his purpose, he then draws the noose as tight as he safely dare, aid ascends to the surface to assist those on shore in dragging the monster, struggling, flouncing, and plunging, to dry land, where with clubs, pitchforks, &c. they torment him awhile, and then put him to death. All these means, however, have availed little to lessen their numbers; and the most effectual method to exterminate them altogether, appears to be by destroying their nests and eggs. The most interesting and circumstantial description of these, as well as of the alligator itself, I find thus detailed by Bartram: 2.

“On turning a point or projection of the river bank,” says this traveller, “at once I beheld a great number of hillocks, or small pyramids resembling haycocks, ranged like an encampment along the banks; they stood fifteen or twenty yards distant from the water, on a high marsh, about four feet perpendicular above the water; I knew them to be the nests of the crocodile, having had a description of them before, and now expected a furious and general attack, as I saw several large ones swimming abreast of these buildings. These nests being so great a curiosity to me, I was determined, at all events, immediately to land and examine them. Accordingly I ran my bark on shore at one of their landing places, which was a sort of neck or little dock, from which ascended a sloping path or road up to the edge of the meadow, where these nests were. Most of them were deserted, and the great thick whitish eggshells lay broken and scattered upon the ground round about them. 3.

“The nests or hillocks are of the form of an obtuse cone, four feet high, and four or five feet in diameter at their bases; they are constructed with mud, grass, and herbage; at first they lay a floor of this kind of tempered mortar on the ground, upon which they deposit a layer of eggs, and upon this a stratum of mortar seven or eight inches in thickness, and then another layer of eggs; and in this manner one stratum upon another nearly to the top. I believe they commonly lay from one to two hundred eggs in a nest: these are hatched, I suppose, by the heat of the sun; and perhaps the vegetable substances mixed with the earth, being acted upon by the sun, may cause a small degree of fermentation, and so increase the heat in these hillocks. The ground for several acres about these nests showed evident marks of a continual resort of alligators; the grass was every where beaten down, hardly a blade or straw was left standing; whereas all about, at a distance, it was five or six feet high, and as thick as it could grow together. The female, as; I imagine, carefully watches her own nest of eggs until they are all hatched; or perhaps while she is attending her own brood she takes under care and protection as many as she can get at one time, either from her own particular nest or others; but certain it is that the young are not left to shift for themselves, having had frequent opportunities of seeing the female alligator leading about the shores her train of young ones, just as a hen does her brood of chickens; and she is equally assiduous and courageous in defending the young which are under her care, and providing for their subsistence; and when she is basking upon the warm banks, with her brood around her, you may hear the young ones continually whining and barking like young puppies; I believe but few of a brood live to the years of full growth and magnitude, as the old feed on the young as long as they can make prey of them. 4.

“The alligator, when full grown, is a very large and terrible creature, and of prodigious strength, activity, and swiftness in the water. I have seen them 20 feet in length, and some are said to be 22 or 23 feet long; their body is as large as that of a horse; their shape exactly that of a lizard, except the tail, which is flat or cuneiform, being compressed on each side, and gradually diminishing from the abdomen to the extremity, which, with the whole body, is covered with horny plates or squamæ, impenetrable, when on the body of the live animal even to a rifle ball, except about their head, and just behind their fore legs or arms, where it is said they are only vulnerable. The head of a full grown one is about three feet, and the mouth opens nearly the same length; the eyes are small in proportion, and seem sunk deep in the head, by means of the prominency of the brows; the nostrils are large, inflated, and prominent on the top, so that the head in the water resembles, at a distance, a great chunk of wood floating about. Only the upper jaw moves, which they raise almost perpendicular, so as to form a right angle with the lower one. In the fore part of the upper jaw on each side, just under the nostrils, are two very large, thick, strong teeth or tusks, not very sharp, but rather the shape of a cone; these are as white as the finest polished ivory, and are not covered by any skin or lips, and always in sight, which gives the creature a frightful appearance; in the lower jaw are holes opposite to these teeth, to receive them; when they clap their jaws together it causes a surprising noise, like that which is made by forcing a heavy plank upon the ground, and may be heard at a great distance. But what is yet more surprising to a stranger, is, the incredible loud and terrifying roar which they are capable of making, especially in the spring season, their breeding time. It most resembles very heavy distant thunder, appearing actually to cause the earth to tremble. 5.

“An old champion, who is perhaps absolute sovereign of a little lake or lagoon (when fifty less than himself are obliged to content themselves with swelling and roaring in little coves round about) darts forth from the reedy coverts, all at once, on the surface of the waters, in a right line; at first seemingly as rapid as lightning, but gradually more slowly until he arrives at the centre of the lake, when he stops; he now swells himself by drawing in wind and water through his mouth, which causes a loud sonorous rattling in the throat for near a minute; but it is immediately forced out again’ through his mouth and nostrils with a loud noise, while he brandishes his tail in the air, and the vapour ascends from his nostrils like smoke. At other times, when swoln to an extent ready to burst, his head and tail lifted up, he spins or twirls rapidly round on the surface of the water. He acts his part like an Indian, chief, when rehearsing his feats of war, and then retiring, the exhibition is continued by others who dare to step forth and strive to excel each other to gain the attention of the favourite female.” 6.

The Naturalist No. III*

THE inhabitants of the United States, like the joint heirs of an immense, undescribed property, are not yet acquainted with half the value of their inheritance; the incalculable riches of their country. Its mineral treasures are but little known; its botanical ones are far from being fully explored. Vegetable productions of equal, perhaps superior value with that of the celebrated cotton or tobaco plants, may yet lurk in the obscure recesses of our forests, or even of our fields, waiting only the kindly hand of the cultivator, and the aid of the ingenious and enterprising manufacturer, to usher them into notice and general usefulness. Considering it the duty of every citizen, at all times, more particularly at the present extraordinary crisis, to contribute his mite to promote our national independence, I shall make no apology for introducing, in this place, some account of a plant which grows in great abundance in many parts of the country, as well as in the neighbourhood of this city; and of pointing out some of the useful purposes to which it may be applied. 1.

Those who amuse themselves with a ramble, or promenade, along the charming banks of the Schuylkill and Delaware, may have observed a plant, rising in a single stem to the height of three or four feet, whose smooth oval leaves, when broken, exude a white milky juice in considerable quantities; it bears bunches of blossoms of a dingy purple colour, which are succeeded by pods, containing numerous seeds, and a white glistening silky substance usually called wild cotton, or Virginia silk. This plant belongs to a genus called by botanists Asclepias, from Æsculapius the god of medicine; and is the Asclepias syriaca of Linnæus, or Syrian Swallow-Wort. The root is perennial, and will last from ten to twenty years. In the month of April it throws out, like asparagus and hops, a great number of shoots; the principal stem is about as thick as a man’s finger, straight, round, and smooth, and beset with oval leaves of considerable size, covered on the upper side with dark green, and on the lower side with whitish down. The plant begins to flower about the beginning of June, and continues till the beginning of August; there are often from twelve to sixteen flowers on one stem, each of which forms a bunch, containing from thirty to forty single flowers. Each single flower adheres to the bunch by a long thin stalk, and has a sweetish odour. Each bunch of flowers is succeeded by three, four, and sometimes ten long and rough pods, which inclose several round, yellowish-brown, flat, and thin seeds, wrapped up in a beautiful white shining kind of silk. The seeds are winged, a form which nature has given with great variety to many others, in order that they may be conveyed with more ease, and to a greater distance, by the wind. 2.

The silk, which covers the seeds in the pods, is the principal part of use. The pods gradually acquire maturity from August to the beginning of October; during which period those who cultivate the plant must watch with great care for the period of their bursting, in order to collect the silk, lest it should be carried away by the wind, or spoiled by the rain. The pods, when collected, should be spread out on a net, or rack, to the height of about a foot, in an airy place, to dry. 3.

The silk, which is of a shining white colour, from an inch to an inch and a half in length, and exceedingly elastic, is then taken out, and being freed from the seeds, is then hung up in thin bags in the sun, that it may become perfectly dry; and at the same time it is often softened with the hand, or by being beat. This vegetable silk may now be used, without any farther preparation, instead of feathers and horse hair, for beads, cushions, coverlets to beds, bolsters and mattresses. From eight to nine pounds of it, which occupy the space of from five to six cubic feet, will be sufficient for a bed, coverlet, and two pillows; such beds, therefore, are exceedingly convenient for travelling. It is not advisable, however, to use the silk in common for beds, instead of feathers, as it is too soft and warm. It requires a little preparation for quilts and counterpanes, and is lighter and warmer than those of common silk. For spinning, however, notwithstanding its fineness, which approaches near to that of common silk, it is not fit, when taken alone, as it is almost too short, and, therefore, must be used with an addition of flax, wool, or common silk; but particularly of cotton. One third of this silk, with two thirds of cotton, forms a very good mixture for gloves, stockings, and caps. Other mixtures may be used for different kinds of stuffs; but it has been observed, that the cloth is much stronger when the vegetable silk is employed for the woof, rather than for the warp. Many colours have been applied to such cloth with great success; but as each substance requires a peculiar mode of treatment, more experiments on this subject are necessary; a mixture of one third vegetable silk, and two thirds of rabbits’ down, forms hats exceedingly light and soft to the touch; which have a great resemblance to beaver hats, and are much cheaper. 4.

As soon as the pods have been collected, the stems which contain a fibrous part capable of being spun, must be cut before they become dry, or suffer from the night frost. They must then be immersed for some days, in water, like flax or hemp, and then dried, by being spread out on the grass. Care, however, must be taken by experiments, to ascertain the proper length of time, as too much, or too little, would be prejudicial. In the last case, the flaxy part is brittle; and in the former, it loses its strength. After it has been watered it is beaten and heckled. A mixture of the threads spun from the flax of these stems with the vegetable silk and cotton, produces a kind of cloth very proper for furniture. It has been, however, employed chiefly, with and without an addition of rags, for making all kinds of writing and packing papers, which sometimes is similar to the Chinese paper, and sometimes exceeds in strength the usual paper made from rags. 5.

Both the inner white skin, and the external green husk of the capsules, which contain the seeds, might be employed for manufacturing the finer sorts of this silk paper; and, that as little as possible of this plant should remain useless, Nature has provided in the sweet juice of its flowers, excellent nourishment for bees. According to a late German writer, this plant, in the above respect, the lime tree excepted, is superior to all other vegetable productions. 6.

The great utility of this plant has been known in Europe little more than forty years. A manufactory of articles from it has been established at Paris since 1760; and it has long been employed at Lausanne with advantage for making candle-wick; but no one has shown more zeal in regard to the cultivation and preparation of this article than Mr. Schneider of Leignitz, who has recommended it in two different pamphlets. In regard of the application of it to paper-making, Mr. Schmid of Lunenburg has made a variety of experiments, and it is much to be wished that others would imitate his example. 7.

This plant is propagated two ways, either by the seed, or by slips. In the month of March, after the land has been well dug, the seeds are sown thin, and singly, in furrows of the depth of an inch, and covered with earth, which is thrown over theirs to the depth of half an inch; they are secured also from the night frost by moss, or a little light dung. In from four to six weeks the young plants begin to appear. The first year they produce flowers; but do not come to full maturity till the third. In the third year they are transplanted. But this method is more laborious and ought not to be recommended, but in particular cases; such as when the roots have degenerated, or when they are transplanted to different climates. The object will be sooner accomplished by slips from the roots. As the plant throws out around it long roots with new eyes, these must be lopped off from the stock, either in Autumn, when the milky juice in the plant has dried up, or in the Spring, before it again flows; and are to be cut into pieces of from four to six inches in length; but care must be taken that they have a sufficient number of eyes. A fresh incision must be made in the root before and behind, and they are then to be planted in the ground to the depth of four or five inches, in an oblique position, with the eyes, or buds, upright. Those planted in Autumn will produce seeds the next Summer; and those planted in Spring will bear the second Summer. 8.

The ground, before it is planted, must be dug up to a good depth, and well dunged. It must also be well weeded, and kept exceedingly clean. After the crop has been collected, the stems must be cut close to the ground, and the plants which have died, must be replaced by young ones. Towards Winter they must be covered with a little dung, which ought to be spread in the Spring. A sufficient space, also, must be left between the plants. They ought to be planted in rows, and at the distance of one foot and a half, or rather two feet, from each other. Of the stems that shoot up, only the best (perhaps about one half) should be left standing, the rest, as soon as the flowers appear, should be cut and placed in sand or earth, to dry up the milky juice that flows from them. Even of the prime plants it will be proper to suffer only four or five of the lowest branches of flowers to come to maturity. By following these cautions the silk obtained will be of superior quality. The increase is very great. In the year 1785 Mr. Schneider began with six plants; and in 1793 had a plantation which contained 30,000. The first crop produced 8, the second 355, and the third 600 pounds of silk. If the leaves, after the crop has been collected, be thrown together in heaps to rot, they form an excellent manure for future use. In regard to the preparation of silk, little need be said. It may easily be conceived, that it will be of advantage to separate that which is long from the shorter part, in order that the former may be employed in spinning. The shorter kinds may be used for beds, and for hat making. 9.

The experiments that have been already made with this plant gave the following results: 10.

From the interior white rind of the capsule, mixed with one third of rags, a writing paper was obtained pretty white, of a good quality; and similar to the silk paper of the Chinese.11.

From the external part of the capsules a greenish coloured paper; which, when sized, was stronger than paper made of rags: it was almost as close in its texture as parchment; and even when unsized did not suffer the ink to penetrate through it. This kind was exceedingly proper for wrapping paper. 12.

From the stems, a paper was obtained so like in every thing to paper made of rags, that the difference could scarcely be distinguished. 13.

Such are some of the qualities of this excellent plaint. As the present month is the proper season for collecting it, and as sufficient quantities of it for fair experiment, can easily be procured for the bare expense of gathering it; why may not this be done in the different manufactures of cloth, hat, and paper making? If unsuccessful, the experiments would be little loss. If, on the contrary, they were crowned with success, as there is every reason for believing, the gain, in a national point of view, would be of great importance. 14.

The Naturalist No. IV*

Observations on the Night-Hawk and Whip-Poor-Will of the United States1.

ON the question, Are these one and the same bird; or are they, really two distinct species? there has long been an opposition of sentiment, and many fruitless disputes. Numbers of sensible and observing people whose intelligence and long residence in the country entitle their opinion to respect, positively assert; that the night hawk and the whip-poor-will are very different birds; and do not even associate together. The naturalists of Europe, however, have generally considered the two names as applicable to one and the same species; and this opinion has also been adopted by two of our most distinguished naturalists, Mr. William Bartram of Kingsessing,* and Professor Barton of Philadelphia.* The writer of this being determined to ascertain the truth, by examining for himself, took the following effectual mode of settling this disputed point, the particulars of which he now submits to those interested in the question. 2.

Thirteen of those birds, usually called night-hawks, which dart about in the air like swallows, and sometimes descend with rapidity from a great height making a hollow sounding noise, like that produced by blowing into the bunghole of an empty hogshead, were shot, at different times and in different places, and accurately examined, both outwardly and by dissection. Nine of these were found to be males, and four females. The former all corresponded in the markings and tints of their plumage; the latter also agreed in their marks, differing slightly from the males, though evidently of the same species. Two others were shot as they rose form the nests, or rather from the eggs, which in both cases were two in number, laid on the open ground. These also agreed with the markings of their plumage with the four preceding, and on dissection were found to be females. The eggs were also secured. 3.

A whip-poor-will was shot, in the evening, while in the act of repeating his usual and well-known notes. This bird was found to be a male, differing in many remarkable particulars from all the former. Three others were shot at different times, during the day, in solitary and dark-shaded parts of the woods. Two of these were found to be females, one of which had been sitting on two eggs. The two females resembled each other almost exactly; the male also corresponded in its markings with the one first found; and all four were evidently of one species. The eggs differed greatly from the former, both in colour and marking. The differences between these two birds were as follows. 4.

The sides of the mouth, in both sexes of the whip-poor-will, were beset with ranges of long and very strong bristles, extending more than half an inch beyond the point of the bill; both sexes of the night-hawk were entirely destitute of bristles. The bill of the whip-poor-will was also more than twice the length of that of the night-hawk. The long wing-quills of both sexes of the night-hawk were of a deep brownish black, with a large spot of white nearly in their middle; and when shut, the tips of their wings extended a little beyond the tail. The wing-quills of the whip-poor-will of both sexes were beautifully spotted with light brown, had no spot of white on them, and, when shut, the tips of the wings did not reach the tip of the tail by at least two inches. The tail of the night-hawk was handsomely forked, the exterior feathers being the longest, shortening gradually to the middle ones; the tail of the whip-poor-will was rounded, the exterior feathers being the shortest, lengthening gradually to the middle ones. 5.

After a careful examination of these and several other remarkable differences, it was impossible to withstand the conviction, that these birds belonged to two distinct species of the same genus, differing both in size, colours, manners, and conformation of parts. 6.

A statement of the principal of these facts having been laid before Mr. Bartram, together with a male and female of each of the abovementioned species, and also a male of the great Virginian Bat, or Chuck will’s widow; after a particular examination, that venerable naturalist was pleased to declare himself fully satisfied; adding, that he had now no doubts of the night-hawk and whip-poor-will being two very distinct species of Capromulgus. 7.

It is not the intention of the writer of this to enter at present into a description of either the plumage, manners, migration or economy of those birds, the range of country they inhabit, or the superstitious notions entertained of them; his only object, at present, is the correction of an error, which, from the respectablity of those by whom it was unwarily adopted, has been but too extensively disseminated, and received by too many as a truth. 8.

The Naturalist No. V*

On the Existence of Native Antimony in the United States

IF that citizen who makes a grain of wheat grow on a spot of the surface of the earth where it never grew before, deserves well of his country, no less entitled to approbation is he, who, from a part of the interior of the earth which never yielded them before, draws materials of indispensable utility for the existence, comfort and accommodation of man. The riches of the soil, or surface of our country, are well known, and well improved; but the value of that part of it which lies from twenty to five hundred feet from the surface, though doubtless immense, is, generally speaking, as little known to its proprietors as the unexplored caverns in the unfathomable abyss of the Atlantic; and as seldom thought of. 1.

This neglect is at all times a circumstance of regret to the real patriot; but more particularly at the present extraordinary period, in which we live; when the devastations committed on our foreign commerce, by the two gigantic powers who have convulsed all Europe in their struggles for supremacy, threaten its total extermination, and force us to the alternative of curtailing our expenditures for foreign commodities, or of seeking within our own territories for those articles of necessity which, hitherto, we have been accustomed to bring from remote quarters of the globe. 2.

I am led to these observations by reflecting on a fact, lately communicated to me by a friend, viz. that so great is the scarcity, in this country at present, of the mineral called antimony, so indispensably necessary in the manufacture of printing types, that, unless a supply can be speedily procured from Europe, the proprietors of the type foundery in this city, the largest and most extensive in the United States, will be obliged to discharge one half, or perhaps two thirds of all their hands; and thus will a severe check be given to the present unexampled progress of arts and literature in this flourishing, peaceful and happy country, for want of a single article, which perhaps, lies at no great distance, in inexhaustible quantities, under our very feet. I confess I was less mortified to hear that the exportation of this article had been prohibited by the respective governments of France and Great Britain, than to be told, that antimony is nowhere found native within the territory of the United States, and that to procure it, we must submit to the most humiliating impositions. If the first of these assertions were absolutely true, that in an extent of two thousand miles by one thousand, of plains, vallies, mountains and precipices, a single mineral, so common in other parts of the earth, should be entirely wanting in this, it would be a kind of miracle in the mineralogy of our country, without a parallel in any other part of the globe. 3.

But this is highly improbable; nay, I have no hesitation in asserting it as my opinion, that native antimony does actually exist in this country, in as great quantities, and perhaps as much purity, as in any other country whatever; and, that if proper search were made, it would most certainly be found. The facts and circumstances on which this opinion is founded, I shall, for the information of those immediately concerned, and for the encouragement of others, briefly detail. 4.

In the winter of 1808, being in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I was shown a mineral substance, evidently sulphurated antimony, which was said to have been found in the bed of Saco river, about twenty miles above the town of that name, in the District of Maine. A celebrated mineralogist now, or lately in this city, had been presented with specimens of the same, and directed to that part of the river where it was found; but mistaking the place for the banks, instead of bed of the river, the waters of which were at that time high; he wandered about for a whole day in the rain in search of the spot, but without success. As the river during my visit was in the same state, I had no better opportunity of examining than my predecessor; and this place remains still unexplored. The land adjoining is the property of a Mr. Nathaniel Parsons, who lives about two miles north west from York court house, in the same district of Maine. At the same time and place I was shown a piece of antimonial ore, said to have been found in the state of Vermont, by a miner of the name of Pitcher. In my way to that state I stopped at Dartmouth college, and in a conversation with Dr. Smith, professor of materia medica there, I was informed that specimens of antimony were deposited in the museum of the college, which had been found by some labourers, a few years before, in digging the canal at Hadley; but learned, to my astonishment, that no inquiry had been made by the professor or any other person, at the time, as to the precise spot whence this substance was taken; nor, on my arrival there, could I find any person who could throw any further light on the matter than that it was said, that antimony had been dug up somewhere thereabout; and this discovery is also, like the former, still wrapt up in obscurity. 5.

Having been credibly informed, that, some years ago, an apothecary of this city (Philadelphia) had purchased a considerable quantity of what was at that time considered to be black lead, but which, on examination afterwards, was found to be antimony, from a person who said he brought it from North Carolina; I was anxious, on approaching that state, to make some further inquiries relative to this mineral. On the evening of the 29th of January last, I took shelter from a violent snowstorm in the house of a colonel Burwell Mooring, who lives near the Roanoke, about twenty miles below Halifax. From this gentleman I received the following information. That about nine years ago he lived in Wayne county, N. C. and had on his place a mill, now called Thompson’s mill, on Nohunta creek, which falls into Contentna creek, and this last into the river Neuse. That the rapidity of the water, after passing through the mill, tore a deep rut in the bank; and boys, while amusing themselves by swimming there, were in the practice of bringing up, from a depth of ten or twelve feet, large pieces of a heavy, black, glittering mineral, so like antimony, that on comparing the substance so found with some antimony they had in the house, and which the lady herself then handed to me, they could perceive no difference in their appearance. Unacquainted with the value of this discovery, no farther attention was paid to it; and to my great regret not a remnant of it had been preserved. The spot, he says, is not more than thirty feet below the mill, on the right hand going down. The present proprietor is a Mr. Zaddock Thompson, who lives on the premises. Col. Mooring added, that in Nohunta run, about a mile below the mill, great abundance of the same substance may easily be found. Such was the information I received from this respectable family. Urgent business prevented me from repairing immediately to the spot, though at a distance of forty miles; but in reply to the letter which I at that time wrote him, Mr. Thompson says, that the substance mentioned was generally supposed to be antimony; and that in an attempt to melt it, it flew off in smoke, or evaporated! 6.

After such highly encouraging proofs, let us hear no more whining, that this valuable mineral nowhere exists within the territory of the United States; but let those who have skill and opportunities for making excursions, be on the alert, and leave no stone unturned in the pursuit; for, with prophetic certainty, I could almost venture to pronounce in this, as in a much more solemn and important affair, SEEK DILIGENTLY AND YE SHALL FIND. 7.

Queries Respecting the Cowpen-Finch of North America*

It is a fact well known to naturalists, and to the people of Europe generally, that the cuckoo of that country (cuculus canorus) never builds itself a nest, but lays her eggs in the nests of other birds, and abandons her progeny to the mercy or affection of strangers. The good and amiable Dr. Jenner, who has since risen to immortal reputation, and to whose genius and humanity the whole human race are under everlasting obligations, was the first person who gave the world a particular detail of these extraordinary habits of the cuckoo, which he has done with great precision, and chiefly from his own observations. In the United States we have two species of cuckoo, each differing greatly in colour and in notes from the European one, and also in habits, for both our cuckoos build their own nests, and hatch, feed, and attend their own young, with the greatest solicitude and affection. The natural history of both these species, will be found in the second volume of the American Ornithology, accompanied with coloured representations of the two birds and their respective eggs. In the meantime the author of that work solicits the attention of persons of leisure and information, residing in the country, to the following facts and queries. 1.

In this part of North America, particularly in the middle and southern states, we have a small bird, about the size of the female redwing blackbird, which is fond of attending cows while at pasture, and even of frequenting the places where they are penned up in winter, to feed on the seeds, insects, &c. which it finds among the excrements of the cattle. For these reasons it is called by many, the cow-bird.* It is the fringilla pecaris of Linnæus and Turton, and the cowpen finch of Catesby. At a distance it appears altogether black; but on being examined in the hand, the head and neck of the male is of fine silky drab, with the upper part of the breast deep violet; the rest of the plumage may be called black, with strong reflexions of green. This bird has long been noted by persons of observation in the country, for laying its eggs in the nests of other birds, who hatch them, and feed the young foundling* with all the care and tenderness they show to their own brood. When it leaves the nest, one or both of the foster parents assiduously watch all its wanderings, to feed and protect it, exhibiting the same marks of anxiety and distress for its danger, and the same manoeuvres for its safety, and escape, as if it were their own offspring. On the other hand, the cow-bird is not confined in its choice to the nest of any one particular bird; for I have myself found its eggs and young in those of five different species, some of whose nests were scarcely sufficient to contain the young cow-bird of a week old. Such are some of the facts. I have now to propose a few queries, to corroborate my own observations, and to enable me to throw some light on the history of this remarkable bird. 2.

1. Has the cow-bird ever been known to build a nest for itself; and if it has, in what situation was it placed, of what materials was it composed, and what were the number and colour of its eggs? 3.

2. What are the birds generally selected by the cow-bird for its nurses; and have they been observed to resist or express any uneasiness at the intrusion of the latter?4.

3. When the young cow-bird is hatched, or soon after, does it, like its prototype in Europe, turn out all its fellow-tenants, eggs as well as young, and occupy the premises exclusively? 4.

On some of these heads a number of examples have occurred to my own observation. Any gentleman possessing facts relative to the above, or to the history of the bird in general, will confer an obligation by transmitting them under cover to the publishers, with as little delay as more important matters may permit, and the favour will be suitably acknowledged by5.

Correspondence–The Port Folio*

The writer of the above will please accept my thankful acknowledgments. I regret, however, that he did not substitute his real signature, that I might know to whom I am indebted for the favour. The facts he has stated are interesting; for, in the history of the feathered tribes, as in every department of history, facts are the most essential materials wanted. We can have theory enough from the mere closet naturalist; but to procure the former, we must submit to the drudgery of ransacking, examining, and exploring, with unwearied perseverance, the great stores of living nature, for ourselves. 1.

The remark of Myrtillo, that the cow-bird is “dependent on others of a less and harmless[s] kind,” exactly corresponds with my own observations. The birds in whose nests I have found her eggs, being, without exception, of this character. Among these known foster parents may be enumerated, the Maryland yellowthroat, the red-eyed flycatcher, the golden crowned thrush, the yellowbird, and the bluebird: all birds of a mild and affectionate disposition, qualities very requisite in a nurse. That these will, however, forsake their newly formed nest, should the cow-bird be the first to lay in it I have myself had no less than three instances of this season. Were I disposed, like some others, to theorize on this particular, I might say that this remarkable circumstance is a deviation from the design of Nature, or rather, that the design of Nature in this case seems to be defeated by it. Perhaps, however, the proprietor of the nest may have more honourable motives. She may say, or be supposed to say, to the intruder, “I built this for myself and for my own progeny; you have thought proper to take possession; you are welcome; take it; hatch your own eggs, and rear your own young as I and others do, and as all ought to do.” Such might be the fanciful reveries of a Buffon: we will content ourselves for the present with humble facts. 2.

The most interesting point relative to this affair is still undetermined, viz. What becomes of the young of the foster parents hatched in the same nest with the cow-bird? Have they ever been found together? Or have they been known to remain tenants in common until ready to fly? In all cases that have come under my own notice the cow-bird was alone in the nest; or was fed and attended by the proprietors, unaccompanied by any other young ones. 3.

About two months ago I took from the nest of the Maryland yellowthroat (American Ornithology, vol. I, pl. 6, fig. 1) which was built at the root of a briar bush among the leaves, a young cow-bird nearly fit to fly. It filled and occupied the whole nest. I examined the space around, and watched the motions of the old ones with great care, for a considerable time, to discover whether there were any other young, or what had become of them; but without success. This cow-bird I carried home with me, and entrusted to the care a redbird (loxia cardinalis) who fed and reared it with the greatest tenderness. It is now changing its brown coat for one of glossy black; and repays the attention of its second stepfather, with an occasional attempt at singing. 4.

Extract of a Letter from Lexington*

Lexington, April 4, 1810.

My Dear Sir,

Having now reached the second stage of my bird-catching expedition, I willingly sit down to give you some account of my adventures and remarks since leaving Pittsburg; by the aid of a good map and your usual stock of patience you will be able to listen to my story, and trace all my wanderings. Though generally dissuaded from venturing by myself on so long a ‘voyage down the Ohio, in an open skiff, I considered this mode, with all its inconveniencies, as the most favourable to my researches, and the most suitable to my funds, and I determined accordingly. Two days before my departure the Alleghany river was ore wide torrent of broken ice, and I calculated on experiencing considerable difficulties on this score. My stock of provisions consisted of some biscuit and cheese, and a bottle of cordial presented me by a gentleman of Pittsburg; my gun-trunk and great coat occupied one end of the boat, I had a small tin occasionally to bale her and to take my beverage from the Ohio with, and bidding adieu to the smoky confines of Pitt, I launched into the stream and soon winded away among the hills that every where inclose this noble river. The weather was warm and serene, and the river like a mirror, except where floating masses of ice spotted its surface, and which required some care to steer clear of; but these to my surprise in less than a day’s sailing totally disappeared. Far from being concerned at my new situation, I felt my heart expand with joy at the novelties which surrounded me; I listened with pleasure to the whistling of the red-bird on the bank as I passed, and contemplated the forest scenery as it receded, with increasing delight. The smoke of the numerous sugar camps, rising lazily among the mountains, gave great effect to the varying landscape; and the grotesque log cabins that here and there opened from the woods were diminished into mere dog-houses by the sublimity of the impending mountains. If you suppose to yourself two parallel ranges of forest covered hills, whose irregular summits are seldom more than three or four miles apart, winding through an immense extent of country, and inclosing a river half a mile wide, which alternately washes the steep declivity on one side, and leaves a rich flat forest clad bottom on the other, of a mile or so in breadth, you will have a pretty correct idea of the appearance of the Ohio. The banks of these rich flats are from twenty to sixty and eighty feet high, and even these last were within a few feet of being overflowed in Decernber 1808. 1.

I now stripped, with alacrity, to my new avocation. The current went about two and a half miles an hour, and I added about three and a half miles more to the boat’s way with my oars. In the course of the day I passed a number of arks, or as they are usually called Kentucky boats, loaded with what it must be acknowledged are the most valuable commodities of a country; viz. men, women and children, horses and ploughs, flour, millstones, &c. Several of these floating caravans were loaded with store goods for the supply of the settlements through which they passed, having a counter erected, shawls, muslins, &c. displayed, and every thing ready for transacting business. On approaching a settlement they, blow a horn or tin trumpet, which announces to the inhabitants their arrival. I boarded many of these arks, and felt much interested at the sight of so many human beings migrating, like birds of passage to the luxuriant regions of the south and west. These arks are built in the form of a parallelogram, being from twelve to fourteen feet wide, and from forty to seventy feet long, covered above, rowed only occasionally by two oars before, and steered by a long and powerful one fixed above as in the annexed sketch. 2.

Ark
[Image* ]
Barge for passing up stream
[Image* ]

The barges are taken up along shore by setting poles at the rate of twenty miles or so a day; the arks cost about one hundred and fifty cents per foot, according to their length, and when they reach their places of destination, seldom bring more than one-sixth their original cost. These arks descend from all parts of the Ohio and its tributary streams, the Alleghany, Monongahela, Muskingum, Sciota, Miami, Kentucky, Wabash, &c. &c. in the months of March, April, and May particularly, with goods, produce and emigrants, the two former for markets along the river, or at New Orleans, the latter for various parts of Kentucky, Ohio, and the Indiana Territory. I now return to my own expedition. I rowed twenty odd miles the first spell, and found I should be able to stand it perfectly well. About an hour after night I put up at a miserable cabin, fifty-two miles from Pittsburg, where I slept on what I supposed to be corn-stalks, or something worse; so preferring the smooth bosom of the Ohio to this brush heap, I got up long before day, and being under no apprehension of losing my way I again pushed out into the stream. The landscape on each side, lay in one mass of shade, but the grandeur of the projecting headlands and vanishing points, or lines, were charmingly reflected in the smooth glassy surface below. I could only discover when I was passing a clearing by the crowing of cocks; and now and then in more solitary places the big horned owl made a most hideous hollowing that echoed among the mountains. In this lonesome manner, with full leisure for observation and reflection, exposed to hardships al1 day, and hard births all night, to storms of rain, hail and snow, for it froze severely almost every night, I persevered, from the 24th of February to Sunday evening March 17th, when I moored my skiff safely in Bear Grass Creek, at the Rapids of the Ohio, after a voyage of seven hundred and twenty miles. My hands suffered the most; and it will be some weeks yet before they recover their former feeling and flexibility. It would be the task of a month to detail all the particulars of my numerous excursions, in every direction from the river. In Steubenville, Charlestown and Wheeling I found some friends. At Marietta I visited the celebrated remains of Indian fortifications, as they are improperly called, which cover a large space of ground on the banks of the Muskingum. Seventy miles above this, at a place called Big Grave Creek, I examined some extraordinary remains of the same kind there. The Big Grave is three hundred acres round at the base, seventy feet perpendicular, and the top, which is about fifty feet over has sunk in, forming a regular concavity, three or four feet deep. This tumulus is in the form of a cone, and the whole, as well as its immediate neighbourhood, is covered with a venerable growth of forest four or five hundred years old, which gives it a most singular appearance. In clambering around its steep sides I found a place where a large white oak had been lately blown down, and had torn up the earth to the depth of five or six feet. In this place I commenced digging, and continued to labour for about an hour, examining every handful of earth with great care, but except some shreds of earthen ware made of a coarse kind of gritty clay, and considerable pieces of charcoal, I found nothing else; but a person of the neighbourhood presented me with some beads fashioned out of a kind of white stone, which were found in digging on the opposite side of this gigantic mound, where I found the hole still remaining. The whole of an extensive plain a short distance from this is marked out with squares, oblongs and circles, one of which comprehends several acres. The embankments by which they are distinguished are still two or three feet above the common level of the field. The Big Grave is the property of a Mr. Tomlinson, or Tumblestone, who lives near, and who would not expend three cents to see the whole sifted before his face. I endeavoured to work on his avarice by representing the probability that it might contain valuable matters, and suggested to him a mode by which a passage might be cut into it level with the bottom, and by excavation and arching a most noble cellar might be formed for keeping his turnips and potatoes. “All the turnips and potatoes I shall raise this dozen years,” said he, “would not pay the expense.” This man is no antiquarian or theoretical farmer, nor much of a practical one either I fear; he has about two thousand acres of the best land, and just makes out to live. Near the head of what is called the Long Reach, I called on a certain Michael Cressap, son to the noted colonel Cressap, mentioned in Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia. From him I received the head of a paddle fish, the largest ever seen in the Ohio, which I am keeping for Mr. Peale, with various other curiosities. I took the liberty of asking whether Logan’s accusation of his father having killed all his family, had any truth in it; but he replied that, it had not. Logan, he said, had been misinformed; he detailed to me all the particulars which are too long for repetition, and concluded by informing me that his father died early in the revolutionary war of the camp fever, near New-York. 3.

Marietta stands on a swampy plain, which has evidently once been the ancient bed of the Muskingum, and is still occasionally inundated to the depth of five or six feet. A Mr. Putnam, son to the old general of Bunker’s Hill memory, and a Mr. Gillman and Fearing are making great exertions here, in introducing and multiplying the race of Merinos. The two latter gentlemen are about establishing works by steam for carding and spinning wool, and intend to carry on the manufactory of broadcloth extensively. Mr. Gillman is a gentleman of taste and wealth, and has no doubts of succeeding. Something is necessary to give animation to this place, for since the building of ships has been abandoned here, the place seems on the decline. 4.

The current of the Muskingum is very rapid, and the ferry boat is navigated across in the following manner. A strong cable is extended from bank to bank, forty or fifty feet above the surface of the river, and fastened tight at each end. Of this cable are two loose running blocks; one rope from the bow of the boat is fastened to the first of these blocks, and another from the after part of the boat to the second block, and by lengthening this last a diagonal direction is given to the boat’s head, a little up stream, and the current striking forcibly and obliquely on her aft, she is hurried forward with amazing velocity without any manual labour whatever. I passed Blannerhasset’s island after night, but the people were burning brush, and by the light I had a distinct view of the mansion house, which is but a plain frame of no great dimensions. It is now the property of a Mr. Miller from Lexington, who intends laying it chiefly in hemp. It is nearly three miles long, and contains-about three hundred acres, half of which is in cultivation, but like all the rest of the numerous islands, of the Ohio, is subject to inundations. At Galliopolis, which stands upon a high plain, and contains forty or fifty scattered houses, I found the fields well fenced and well cultivated, peach and apple orchards numerous, and a considerable appearance of industry. One half of the original French settlers have removed to a tract of land opposite the mouth of Sandy River. This town has one store and two taverns; the mountains press into within a short distance of the town. I found here another Indian mound planted with peach trees. On Monday March 5th, about ten miles below the mouth of the great Sciota, where I saw the first flock of peroquets, I encountered a violent storm of wind and rain, which changed to hail and snow, blowing down trees and limbs in all directions, so that for immediate preservation I was obliged to steer out into the river which rolled and foamed like a sea, and filled my boat nearly half full of water, and it was with the greatest difficulty I could make the least headway. It continued to snow violently until dusk, when I at length made good my landing at a place on the Kentucky shore, where I had perceived a cabin; and here I spent the evening in learning the art and mystery of bear-treeing, wolf-trapping and wild-cat hunting, from an old professor. But notwithstanding the skill of this great master, the country here is swarming with wolves and wild-cats, black and brown; according to this hunter’s own confession he had-lost sixty pigs since Christmas last, and all night long the distant howling of the wolves kept the dogs in a perpetual uproar of barking. This man was one of those people called squatters, who neither pay rent nor own land, but keep roving on the frontiers, advancing as the tide of civilized population approaches. They are the immediate successors of the savages, and far below them in good sense and good manners, as well as comfortable accommodations. An engraved representation of one of their cabins would form a striking embellishment to the pages of The Port Folio, as a specimen of the first order of American Architecture. 5.

Nothing adds more to the savage grandeur and picturesque effect of the scenery along the Ohio than these miserable huts of human beings, lurking at the bottom of a gigantic growth of timber that I have not seen equalled in any other part of the United States. And it is truly amusing to observe how dear and how familiar habit has rendered those privations which must have been first the offspring of necessity. Yet none pride themselves more on their possessions. The inhabitants of these forlorn sheds will talk to you with pride of the richness of their soil, of the excellence and abundance of their country, of the healthiness of their climate, and the purity of their waters, while the only bread you find among them is of Indian corn coarsely ground in a horse-mill with half the grains unbroken; even their cattle are destitute of stables and hay, and look like moving skeletons; their own houses worse than pig-styes; their clothes an assemblage of rags, their faces yellow, and lank with disease, and their persons covered with filth, and frequently garnished with the humours of the Scotch fiddle, from which dreadful amusement by the mercy of God I have been most miraculously preserved. All this is the effect of laziness. The corn is thrown into the ground in the spring, and the pigs turned into the woods, where they multiply like rabbits. The labour of the squatter is now over till fall, and he spends the winter in eating pork, cabbage and hoe-cakes. What a contrast to the neat farm and snug cleanly habitation of the industrious settler that opens their green fields, their stately barns, gardens and orchards to the gladdened eye of the delighted stranger! 6.

At a place called Salt Lick I went ashore to see the salt works, and to learn whether the people had found any further remains of an animal of the ox kind, one of whose horns, of a prodigious size, was discovered here some years ago, and is in the possession of Mr. Peale. They make here about one thousand bushels weekly, which sells at one dollar and seventy-five cents per bushel. The wells are from thirty to fifty feet deep, but nothing curious has lately been dug up. I landed at Maysville, or Limestone, where a considerable deal of business is done in importation for the interior of Kentucky. It stands on a high narrow plain between the mountains and the river, which is fast devouring the bank, and encroaching on the town; part of the front street is gone already, and unless some effectual means are soon taken the whole must go by piecemeal. This town contains about one hundred houses, chiefly log and frames. From this place I set out on foot for Washington. On the road at the height of several hundred feet above the present surface of the river, I found prodigious quantities of petrified shells of the small cockle and fan-shaped kind, but whether marine remains or not am uncertain. I have since found these petrified concretions of shells universal all over Kentucky wherever I have been. The rocks look as if one had collected heaps of broken shells and wrought them up among clay, then hardened it into stone. These rocks lie universally in horizontal strata. A farmer in the neighbourhood of Washington assured me, that from seven acres he reaped at once eight thousand weight of excellent hemp, fit for market. 7.

Amidst very tempestuous weather I reached the town of Cincinnati, which does honour to the name of the old Roman, and is the neatest and handsomest situated place I have seen since I left Philadelphia. You must know that during an unknown series of ages the river Ohio has gradually sunk several hundred feet below its former bed, and has left on both sides occasionally what are called the first or nearest, and the second or next high bank, which is never overflown. 8.

The town of Cincinnati occupies two beautiful plains, one on the first, and the other on the second bank, and contains upwards of five hundred houses, the greater proportion of which are of brick. One block house is all that remains of Fort Washington. The river Licking comes in from the opposite shore, where the town of Newport of forty or fifty houses, and a large arsenal and barracks are lately erected. Here I met with a judge Turner, a man of extraordinary talents, well known to the literati of Philadelphia. He exerted himself in my behalf with all the ardor of an old friend. A large Indian mound in the vicinity of this town has been lately opened by a doctor Drake, who showed me the collection of curiosities which he had found in that and others. In the centre of this mound he also found a large fragment of earthen ware, such as I found at the Big Grave, which is a pretty strong proof that these works have been erected by a people, if not the same, differing little from the present race of Indians, whose fragments of earthen ware dug up about their late towns correspond exactly with these. Twenty miles below this I passed the mouth of the Great Miami, which rushes in from the north, and is a large and stately river, preserving its pure waters uncontaminated for many miles with those of the Ohio, each keeping their respective sides of the channel, I rambled up the banks of this river for four or five miles, and in my return shot a turkey. I also saw five or six deer in a drove, but they were too light heeled for me. 9.

In the afternoon of the 15th I entered Big Bone Creek, which being passable only about a quarter of a mile, I secured my boat and left my baggage under the care of a decent family near, and set out on foot five miles through the woods for the Big Bone Lick, that great antediluvian rendezvous of the American elephants. This place which lies “far in the windings of a sheltered vale,” afforded me a fund of amusement in shooting ducks and peroquets (of which last I skinned twelve, and brought off two slightly wounded) and in examining the ancient buffalo roads to this great licking place. Mr. Colquhoun, the proprietor, was not at home, but his agent and manager entertained me as well as he was able, and was much amused with my enthusiasm. This place is a low valley everywhere surrounded by high hills; in the centre, by the side of the creek is a quagmire of near an acre, from which and another smaller one below, the chief-part of these large bones have been taken; at the latter places I found numerous fragments of large bones lying scattered about. In pursuing a wounded duck across this quagmire, I had nearly deposited my carcass among the grand congregation of mammoths below, having sunk up to the middle and had hard struggling to get out. As the proprietor intends to dig in various places this season for brine, and is a gentleman of education and intelligence, I have strong hopes that a more complete skeleton of that animal called the mammoth, than has yet been found will be procured. I laid the strongest injunctions on the manager to be on the look out, and to preserve every thing; I also left a letter for Mr. Colquhoun to the same purport, and am persuaded that these will not be neglected. In this neighbourhood I found, the Columbo plant in great abundance, and collected some of the seeds. Many of the old stalks were more than five feet high. I have since found it in various other parts of this country. In the afternoon of the next day I returned to my boat, replaced my baggage, and rowed twenty miles to the Swiss settlement, where I spent the night. These hardy and industrious people have now twelve acres closely and cleanly planted with vines from the Cape of Good Hope. They last year made seven hundred gallons of wine, and expect to make three times as much the ensuing season. Their houses are neat and comfortable, they have orchards of peach and apple trees, besides a great number of figs, cherries, and other fruit trees, of which they are very curious. They are of opinion that this part of the Indiana Territory is as well suited as any part of France for the cultivation of the vine, but the vines they say require different management here from what they were accustomed to in Switzerland: I purchased a bottle of their last vintage, and drank to all your healths as long as it lasted in going down the river. Seven miles below this I passed the mouth of Kentucky river, which has a formidable appearance. I observed twenty or thirty scattered houses on its upper side and a few below, many of the former seemingly in a state of decay. It rained on me almost the whole of this day, and I was obliged to row hard and drink healths to keep myself comfortable. My birds’ skins were wrapt up in my great coat, and my own had to sustain a complete drenching, which, however, had no bad effects. This evening I lodged at the most wretched hovel I had yet seen. The owner, a meagre diminutive wretch, soon began to let me know of how much consequence he had formerly been; that he had gone through all the war with general Washington, had become one of his life-guards, and had sent many a British soldier to his long home. As I answered him with indifference, to interest me the more he began to detail anecdotes of his wonderful exploits; “One grenadier,” said he, “had the impudence to get up on the works and to wave his cap in defiance; my commander [general Washington I suppose] says to me, “Dick, cant you pepper that there fellow for me?” “Please your honour, says I, I’ll try at it; so I took a fair, cool and steady aim, and touched my trigger. Up went his heels like a turkey! down he tumbled! one buckshot had entered here and another here [laying a finger on each breast] and the bullet found the way to his brains right through his forehead. By –– he was a noble looking fellow!” Though I believed every word of this to be a lie, yet I could not but look with disgust on the being who uttered it. This same miscreant pronounced a long prayer before supper and immediately after called out in a splutter of oaths for the pine splinters to be held to let the gentleman see. Such a farrago of lies, oaths, prayers, and politeness, put me in a good humour in spite of myself. The whole herd of this filthy kennel were in perpetual motion with the itch, so having procured a large fire to be made, under pretence of habit I sought for the softest plank, placed my trunk and great coat at my head, and stretched myself there till morning. I set out early and passed several arks. A number of turkies which I observed from time to time on the Indiana shore, made me lose half the morning in search of them. On the Kentucky shore I was also decoyed by the same temptations, but never could approach near enough to shoot one of them. These affairs detained me so that I was dubious whether I should be able to reach Louisville that night. Night came on, and I could hear nothing of the Falls; about eight I first heard the roaring of the Rapids, and as it increased I was in hopes of every moment seeing the lights of Louisville; but no lights appeared, and the noise seemed now within less than half a mile of me. Seriously alarmed lest I might be drawn into the suction of the Falls, I cautiously coasted along shore, which was full of snags and sawyers, and at length with great satisfaction opened Bear Grass Creek, where I secured my skiff to a Kentucky boat, and loading myself with my baggage, I groped my way through a swamp up to the town. The next day I sold my skiff for exactly half what it cost me; and the man who bought it wondered why I gave it such a droll Indian name (The Ornithologist) “some old chief or warrior I suppose,” says he. This day I walked down along shore to Shippingport, to take a view of these celebrated Rapids, but they fell far short of my expectation. I should have no hesitation in going down them in a skiff. The Falls of Oswego, in the state of New-York, though on a smaller scale, are far more dangerous and formidable in appearance. Though the river was not high, I observed two arks and a barge run them with great ease and rapidity. The Ohio here is something more than a mile wide, with several islands interspersed; the channel rocky, and the islands heaped with drift wood. The whole fall in two miles is less than twenty-four feet. The town of Louisville stands on a high second bank, and is about as large as Frankfort, having a number of good brick buildings and valuable stores. The situation would be as healthy as any on the river, but for the numerous swamps and ponds that intersect the woods in its neighbourhood. These from their height above the river might all be drained and turned into cultivation; but every man here is so intent on the immediate making of money that they have neither time nor disposition for improvements, even where the article health is at stake. A man here told me that last fall he had fourteen sick in his own family. On Friday the 24th, I left my baggage with a merchant of the place to be forwarded by the first wagon, and set out on foot for Lexington, seventy-two miles distant. I passed through Middletown and Shelbyville, both inconsiderable places. Nine-tenths of the country is in forest; the surface undulating into gentle eminences and declivities, between each of which generally runs a brook over loose flags of limestone. The soil, by appearance, is of the richest sort, immense fields of Indian corn, high excellent fences, few grain fields, many log houses, and those of the meaner sort. I observed few apple orchards, but several very thriving peach ones. An appearance of slovenliness is but too general about their houses, barns, and barn-yards. Negroes are numerous; cattle and horses lean, particularly the former, who appear as if struggling with starvation for their existence. The woods are swarming with pigs, pigeons, squirrels and woodpeckers. The pigs are universally fat, owing to the great quantity of mast this year. Walking here in wet weather is most execrable, and is like travelling on soft soap; a few clays of warm weather hardens this again almost into stone. Want of bridges is the greatest inconvenience to a foot traveller here. Between Shelbyville and Frankfort, having gone out of my way to see a pigeon roost (which by the by is the greatest curiosity I have seen since leaving home) I waded a deep creek called Benson, nine or ten times. I spent several days in Frankfort, and in rambling among the stupendous cliffs of Kentucky river. On Thursday evening I entered Lexington. But I cannot do justice to these subjects at the conclusion of a letter, which in spite of all my abridgments, has far exceeded in length what I first intended. My next will be from Nashville. I shall then have seen a large range of Kentucky, and be more able to give you a correct delineation of the country and its inhabitants. In descending the Ohio, I amused myself with a poetical narrative of my expedition, which I have called ” The Pilgrim”,” an extract from which shall close this long and I am afraid tiresome letter. 10.

Correspondence*

Nashville, Tennessee, April 28th, 1810

My Dear Sir,

Before setting out on my journey through the wilderness to Natchez, I sit down to give you, according to promise, some account of Lexington, and of my adventures through the state of Kentucky. These I shall be obliged to sketch as rapidly as possible. Neither my time nor my situation enable me to detail particulars with any degree of regularity; and you must condescend to receive them in the same random manner in which they occur, altogether destitute of fanciful embellishment; with nothing but their novelty, and the simplicity of truth to recommend them. 1.

I saw nothing of Lexington till I had approached within half a mile of the place, when the woods opening, I beheld the town before me, on an irregular plain, ornamented with a small white spire, and consisting of several parallel streets, crossed by some others; many of the houses built of brick; others of frame neatly painted; but a great proportion wore a more humble and inferior appearance. The fields around looked clean and well fenced; gently undulating, but no hills in view. In a hollow, between two of these parallel streets, ran a considerable brook, that, uniting with a larger a little below the town, drives several mills. A large quarry of excellent building stone also attracted my notice as I entered the town. The main street was paved with large masses from this quarry, the foot path neat and guarded by wooden posts. The numerous stores piled with goods, and the many well dressed females I passed in the street, the sound of social industry, and the gay scenery of “the busy haunts of men,” had a most exhilarating effect on my spirits, after being so long immured on the forest. My own appearance, I believe, was to many equally interesting; and the storekeepers and other loungers interrogated me with their eyes as I passed, with symptoms of eager and inquisitive curiosity. After fixing my quarters, disposing of my arms, and burnishing myself a little, I walked out to have a more particular view of the place. 2.

This little metropolis of the western country is nearly as large as Lancaster in Pennsylvania. In the center of the town is a public square partly occupied by the court house and market place, and distinguished by the additional ornament of the pillory and stocks. The former of these is so constructed as to serve well enough, if need be, occasionally for a gallows, which is not a bad thought; for as nothing contributes more to make hardened villains than the pillory, nothing so effectively rids society of them as the gallows; and every knave may exclaim as he passes3.

“My bane and antidote are both before me.”4.

I peeped into the court house as I passed, and though it was court day I was struck with the appearance its interior exhibited; for, though only a plain square brick building, it has all the gloom of the Gothick, so much admired of late, by our modern architects. The exterior walls, having, on experiment, been found too feeble for the superincumbent honours of the roof and steeple, it was found necessary to erect, from the floor, a number of large, circular, and unplastered brick pillars, in a new order of architecture (the thick end uppermost) which, while they serve to impress the spectators with the perpetual dread that they will tumble about their ears, contribute also, by their number and bulk, to shut out the light, and to spread around a reverential gloom, producing a melancholy and chilling effect; a very good disposition of mind, certainly, for a man to enter a court of justice in. One or two solitary individuals stole along the damp and silent floor; and I could just descry, elevated at the opposite extremity of the building, the judges sitting, like spiders in a window corner, dimly distinguishable through the intermediate gloom. The market place, which stand a little to the westward of this, and stretches over the whole breadth of the square, is built of brick, something like that of Philadelphia, but is unpaved and unfinished. In wet weather you sink over the shoes in mud at every step; and here again the wisom of the police is manifest; as nobody at such times will wade in there unless forced by business or absolute necessity; by which means a great number of idle loungers are, very properly, kept out of the way of the market folks. 5.

I shall say nothing of the nature or quantity of the commodities which I saw exhibited there for sale, as the season was unfavourable to a display of their productions; otherwise something better than a few cakes of black maple-sugar wrapt up in greasy saddlebags, some cabbage, chewing tobacco, catmint and turnip tops, a few bags of meal, sassafras-roots, and skinned squirrels cut up into quarters–something better than all this I say, in the proper season, certainly covers the stalls of this market place in the metropolis of the fertile country of Kentucky. 6.

The horses of Kentucky are the hardiest in the world, not so much by nature as by education and habit. From the commencement of their existence they are habituated to every extreme of starvation and gluttony, idleness and excessive fatigue. In Summer they fare sumptuously every day. In Winter, when not a blade of grass is to be seen, and when the cows have deprived them of the very bark and buds of every fallen tree, they are ridden into town, 15 or 20 miles, through roads and sloughs that would become the graves of any common animal, with a fury and celerity incomprehensible by you folks on the other side of the Alleghany. They are fastened to the posts on the sides of the streets, and around the public square, where hundreds of them may be seen, on a court day, hanging their heads from morning to night, in deep cogitation, ruminating perhaps on the long expected return of spring and green herbage. The country people, to their credit be it spoken, are universally clad in plain homespun; soap, however, appears to be a scarce article; and Hopkins’s double cutters would find here a rich harvest and produce a very improving effect. Though religion here has its zealous votaries; yet none can accuse the inhabitants of this flourishing place of bigotry, in shutting out from the pale of the church or church yard any human being, or animal whatever. Some of these sanctuaries are open at all hours, and to every visitor. The birds of heaven find an hundred passages through the broken panes; and dogs tug at the carcase of the horse, on the grave of his master. Lexington, however, with all its faults, which a few years will gradually correct, is an honourable monument of the enterprise, courage and industry of its inhabitants. Within the memory of a middle-aged man, who gave me the information, there were only two log huts on the spot where this city is now erected; while the surrounding country was a wilderness, rendered hideous by skulking bands of bloody and ferocious Indians. Now numerous excellent institutions for the education of youth, a public library, and a well endowed university under the superintendence of men of learning and piety, are in successful operation. Trade and manufactures are also rapidly increasing. Two manufactures for spinning cottom have lately been erected. One for woolen; several extensive ones for weaving sail cloth and bagging, and seven ropewalks, which, according to one of the proprietors, export annually ropeyarn to the amount of 150,000 dollars. A taste for neat and even elegant buildings is fast gaining ground; and Lexington, at present, can boast of men who do honour to science, and of females whose beauty and amiable manners would grace the first circles of society. On Saturday April 14th, I left this place for Nashville, distant about 200 miles. I passed through Nicholasville, the capital of Jessamine county, a small village begun about ten years ago, consisting of about twenty houses, with three stores and four taverns. The woods were scarcely beginning to look green, which to me was surprising, having been led by common report to believe, that spring here is much earlier than in the lower parts of Pennsylvania. I must further observe, that instead of finding the woods of Kentucky covered with a profusion of flowers, they were, at this time, covered with rotten leaves and dead timber, in every stage of decay and confusion; and I could see no difference between them and our own, but in the magnitude of the timber, and superior richness of the soil. Here and there the white blossoms of the sanguinaria Canadensis, or red root, were peeping through the withered leaves: and the buds of the buckeye, or horse chesnut, and one or two more, were beginning to expand. Wherever the hackberry had fallen, or been cut down, the cattle had eaten the whole bark from the trunk, even to that of the roots. 7.

Nineteen miles from Lexington I descended a long, steep and rocky declivity, to the banks of Kentucky river, which is here about as wide as Schuylkill; and winds away between prodigious perpendicular cliffs of solid limestone. In this deep and romantic valley the sound of boat horns from several Kentucky arks which were at that instant passing, produced a most charming effect. The river, I was told, had already fallen fifteen feet; but was still high. I observed great numbers of uncommon plants and flowers growing among the cliffs; and a few solitary bank swallows were skimming along the surface. Reascending form this and traveling for a few miles, I again descended a vast depth to another stream called Dick’s river, engulfed among the same perpendicular masses of rock. Though it was near dark I found some curious petrifactions, and some beautiful specimens of mother of pearl on the shore. The roaring of a mill-dam, and the rattling of the mill, prevented the ferryman from hearing me till it was quite night; and I passed the rest of the road in the dark, over a rocky country, abounding with springs, to Danville. This place stands on a slight eminence, and contains about 80 houses, chiefly log and frame building, disposed in two parallel streets, crossed by several others. It has two rope walks and a woolen manufactory; also nine stores, and three taverns. I observed a great many sheep feeding about here, amidst fields of excellent pasture. It is however but a dullplace. A roman catholic chapel has been created here, at the expense of one or two individuals. The storekeepers trade from the mouth of Dick’s river down to New-Orleans, with the common productions of the country, flour, hemp, tobacco, pork, corn and whiskey. I was now 180 miles from Nashville, and, as I was informed, not a town or village on the whole route. Every day, however, was producing wonders in the woods, by the progress of vegetation. The blossoms of sassafras, dogwood and red bud, contrasted with the deep green of poplar and buckeye, enriched the scenery on every side; while the voices of the feathered tribes, many of which were to me new and unknown, were continually engaging me in the pursuit. Emerging from the deep solitude of the forest, the rich green of the grain fields, the farm house and cabins embosomed amidst orchards of glowing purple and white, gave the sweetest relief to the eye. Not far from the foot of a high mountain called Mulders Hill, I overtook one of those family caravans so common in this country. In the front went a wagon drawn by four horses driven by a negro, and filled with implements of agriculture; another heavy loaded wagon, with six horses, followed, attended by two persons; after which came a numerous and mingled group of horses, steers, sheep, hogs, and claves with their bells; next followed eight boys mounted double, also a negro wench with a white child before her; then the mother with one child behind her and another at the breast; ten or twelve colts brought up the rear now and then picking herbage and trotting ahead. The father, a fresh good looking man, informed me, that he was from Washington county in Kentucky, and was going as far as Cumberland river; he had two ropes fixed to the top of the wagon, one of which he guided himself and the other was entrusted to his eldest son, to keep it from oversetting in ascending the mountain. The singular appearance of this moving group, the mingled music of the bells and the shoutings of the drivers, mixed with the echoes of the mountains, joined to the picturesque solitude of the place, and various reflections that hurried through my mind, interested me greatly; and I kept company with them for some time, to lend my assistance if necessary. The country now became mountainous, perpetually ascending and descending; and about 49 miles from Danville I passed through a pigeon roost or rather breeding place, which continued for three miles, and from information, extended in length for more than 40 miles. The timber was chiefly beech; every tree was loaded with nests, and I counted in different places, more than 90 nests on a single tree. Beyond this I passed a large company of people engaged in erecting a horse mill for grinding grain. The few cabins I passed were generally poor; but much superior in appearance to those I met on the shores of the Ohio. In the evening I lodged near the banks of Green river. This stream like all the rest is sunk in a deep gulf between high perpendicular walls of limestone; is about 30 yards wide at this place, and runs with great rapidity, but, as it had fallen considerably, I was just able to ford it without swimming. The water was of a pale greenish colour, like that of the Licking and some other streams, from which circumstance I suppose it had its name. The rocky banks of this river is hollowed out in many places into caves of enormous size, and of great extent. These rocks abound with the same masses of petrified shells so universal all over Kentucky. In the woods a little beyond this, I met a soldier, on foot, from New-Orleans, who had been robbed and plundered by the Choctaws as he passed through their nation. “Thirteen or fourteen Indians,” said he “surrounded me before I was aware, cut away my canteen, tore off my hat, took the handkerchief from my neck and the shoes from my feet, and all the money I had with me, which was about 45 dollars.” Such was his story. He was going to Chilicothe, and seemed pretty nearly done up. In the afternoon I crossed another stream of about 25 yards in width, called Little Barren; after which the country began to assume a new and very singular appearance. The woods, which had hitherto been stately, now degenerated into mere scrubby saplings, on which not a bud was beginning to open, and grew so open that I could see for a mile through them. No dead timber or rotting leaves were to be seen, but the whole face of the ground was covered with rich verdure, interspersed with a variety of very beautiful flowers altogether new to me. It seemed as if the whole country had once been one general level; but that from some unknown cause the ground had been undermined and had fallen in, in innumerable places, forming regular funnel-shaped concavities of all dimensions from 20 feet in diameter and 5 feet in depth to 500 by 50, the surface or verdure generally unbroken. In some tracts the surface was entirely destitute of trees, and the eye was presented with nothing but one general neighborhood of these concavities, or as they are usually called sink-holes. At the centre, or bottom of some of these, openings had been made for water. In several places these holes had broken in, on the sides and even middle of the road, to an unknown depth; presenting their grim mouths as if to swallow up the unwary traveller. At the bottom of one of these declivities, at least 50 feet below the general level, a large rivulet of pure water issued at once from the mouth of a cave about 12 feet wide and 7 high. A number of very singular sweet smelling lichens grew over the entrance, and a pewee had fixed his nest, like a little sentry ox, on a projecting shelf of the rock above the water. The height and dimensions of the cave continued the same as far as I waded in, which might be 30 or 40 yards, but the darkness became so great that I was forced to return. I observed numbers of small fish sporting about, and I doubt not but these abound even in its utmost subterranean recesses. The whole of this country from Green to Red river, is hollowed out into these enormous caves, one of which, lately discovered in Warren county, about 8 miles from Dripping Spring, has been explored for upwards of six miles, extending under the bed of the Green river. The entrance of these caves generally commences at the bottom of a sinkhole; and many of them are used by the inhabitants as cellars or spring-houses, having generally a spring or brook of clear water running through them. I descended into one of these belonging to a Mr. Wood, accompanied by the proprietor, who carried the light. At first the darkness was so intense that I could scarcely see a few feet beyond the circumference of the candle; but after being in for five or six minutes, the objects around me began to make their appearance more distinctly. The bottom, for 15 or 20 yards at first, was so irregular that we had constantly to climb over large masses of wet and slippery rocks; the roof rose in many places to the height of 20 or 30 feet, presenting all the most irregular projections of the surface, and hanging in gloomy and silent horror. We passed numerous chambers, or offsets, which we did not explore; and after three hours of wandering in these profound regions of glooms and silence, the particulars of which would detain me too long, I emerged with a handkerchief filled with bats, including one which I have never seen described; and a number of extraordinary insects of the Gryllus tribe, with antennæ upwards of six inches long, and which I am persuaded had never before seen the light of day, as they fled from it with seeming terror, and I believe were as blind in it as their companions the bats. Great quantities of native glauber salts, are found in these caves, and are used by the country people in the same manner; and with equal effect, as those of the shops. But the principal production is saltpeter, which is procured from the earth in great abundance. The cave in Warren county abovementioned has lately been sold for 3000 dollars to a saltpeter company, and individual of which informed me that, from every appearance, this cave had been known to the Indians many ages ago; and had evidently been used for the same purposes. At the distance of more than a mile from the entrance, the exploring party, on their first visit, found the roof blackened by smoke, and bundles of half burnt canes scattered about. A bark mockasin, of curious construction, besides several other Indian articles, were found among the rubbish. The earth, also, lay piled in heaps, with great regularity, as if in preparation for extracting the saltpeter. 8.

Notwithstanding the miserable appearance of the timber on these barrens, to soil, to my astonishment, produced the most luxuriant fields of corn and wheat I had ever before met with. But one great disadvantage is the want of water, for the whole running streams, with which the surface of this country has evidently once abounded, have been drained off to a great depth, and now murmur along these lower regions secluded from the day. One forenoon I rode nineteen miles without seeing water; while my faithful horse looked round, but in vain, at every hollow, with a wishful and languishing eye, for that precious element. The barrens furnished me with excellent sport in shooting grouse, which abound here in great numbers; and in the delightful groves that here and there rise majestically from these plains, I found many new subjects for my Ornithology. I observed all this day, far to the right, a range of high rocky detached hills, or knobs, as they are called, that skirt the Barrens, as if they had been once the boundaries of the great lake that formerly covered this vast plain. These, I was told abound with stone coal and copperas. I crossed Big Barren river in a ferry boat, where it was about one hundred yards wide; and passed a small village called Bowling Green, near which I road my horse up to the summit of one of these high insulated rocky hills, or knobs, which overlooked an immense circumference of country, spreading around bare and leafless, except where the groves appeared, in which there is usually water. Fifteen miles from this, induced by the novel character of the country, I put up for several days, at the house of a pious and worthy Presbyterian, whence I made excursions, in all directions, through the surrounding country. Between this and Red river the country had a bare and desolate appearance. Caves continued to be numerous; and report made some of them places of concealment for the dead bodies of certain strangers who had disappeared there. One of these lies near the banks of the Red river, and belongs to a person of the name of –––, a man of notorious bad character, and strongly suspected, even by his neighbours, of having committed a foul murder of this kind, which was related to me with all its minutiae of horrors. As this man’s house stands by the road side, I was induced by motives of curiosity to stop and take a peep of him. On my arrival I found two persons in conversation under the piazza, one of whom informed me that he was the landlord. He was a dark mulatto, rather above the common size, inclining to corpulency, with legs small in proportion to his size, and walked lame. His countenance bespoke a soul capable of deeds of darkness. I had not been three minutes in company when he invited the other man (who I understood was a traveller) and myself to walk back and see his cave, to which I immediately consented. The entrance is in the perpendicular front of a rock, behind the house; has a door with a lock and key to it, and was crowded with pots of milk, placed near the running stream. The roof and sides of solid rock, were wet and dripping with water. Desiring ––– to walk before with the lights, I followed with my hand on my pistol, reconnoitering on every side, and listening to his description of its length and extent. After examining this horrible vault for forty or fifty yards, he declined going any further, complaining of a rheumatism; and I now first perceived that the other person had staid behind, and that we two were alone together. Confident in my means of self defence, whatever mischief the devil might suggest to him, I fixed my eye steadily on his, and observed to him, that he could not be ignorant of the reports circulated about the country relative to his cave. “I suppose,” said I, “you know what I mean?” “Yes, I understand you,” returned he, without appearing the least embarrassed, “that I killed somebody and threw them into this cave–I can tell you the whole beginning of that damned lie,”said he; and, without moving from the spot, he detailed to me a long story, which would fill half my letter, to little purpose, and which, with other particulars, I shall reserve for your amusement when we meet. I asked him why he did not get the cave examined by three or four reputable neighbours, whose report might rescue his character from the suspicion of having committed so horrible a crime. He acknowledged that it would be well enough to do so; but did not seem to think it worth the trouble; and we returned as we advanced, –––walking before with the lights. Whether this man be guilty or not of the transaction laid to his charge I know not; but his manners and aspect are such as by no means to allay suspicion. 9.

After crossing Red river, which is here scarce twenty yards broad, I found no more barrens. The timber was large, and the woods fast thickening with green leaves. As I entered the state of Tennessee the face of the country became hilly, and even mountainous. After descending an immense declivity, and coursing along the rich valley of Manskers creek, where I again met with large flocks of parakeets, I stopt at a small tavern, to examine, for three or four days, this part of the country. Here I made some interesting additions to my stock of new subjects for the Ornithology. On the fourth day I crossed the Cumberland where it is about two hundred and fifty yards wide, and of great depth, bounded as usual with high precipitous banks, and reached the town of Nashville, which towers like a fortress above the river. Here I have been busily employed these eight days, and send you the inclosed package of drawings, the result of every moment of leisure and convenience I could obtain. Many of the birds are altogether new; and you will find along with them every explanation necessary for your purpose. 10.

You may rest assured of hearing from me by the first opportunity after my arrival at Natchez. In the meantime I receive with much pleasure the accounts you give me of the kind inquiries of my friends. To me nothing could be more welcome, for whether journeying in this world, or journeying to that which is to come, there is something of desolation and despair in the idea of being forever forgotten in our absence, by those whom we sincerely esteem and regard. 11.

I am, with great affection,

dear sir,

your obedient servant,

To The Editor Of The Port Folio*

Bartram’s Gardens, July 16th, 1811

Dear Sir,

No man can have a more respectful opinion of the people of Kentucky, than myself; because, I have traversed nearly the whole extent of there country, and witnessed the effects of their bravery, their active industry and daring spirit for enterprise. But they would be gods, and not men, were they faultless. 1.

I am sorry that truth will not permit me to retrtact, as mere jokes, the few disagreeable things alluded to. I certainly had no other market place in view, than that of Lexington, in the passage above mentioned. As to the circumstance of “skinned squirrels cut up into quarters,” which seems to have excited so much sensibility, I candidly acknowledge myself to have been incorrect in the statement, and I owe an apology for the same. On referring to my notes taken at the time, I find the word halves, not quarters; that is, those “curious anatomical preparations,” (skinned squirrels) were brought to market in the form of a saddle of venison; not in that of a leg or shoulder of mutton. 2.

With this correction, I beg leave to assure your very sensible correspondent, that the thing itself was no joke, nor meant for one; but like all the rest of the particulars of that sketch, “good substantial matter of fact.” 3.

If these explanations, or the perusal of my American Ornithology, should assuage the “little pique” of the minds of the good people of Lexington, it will be no less honourable to their own good sense, than agreeable to, 4.

Dear Sir,

Your and their very humble servant,

Alex. Wilson.

Particulars of the Death of Captain Lewis*

Natchez, Mississipi Ter., May 28th, 1811.
Dear Sir,

ABOUT three weeks ago I wrote you from Nashville, enclosing three sheets of drawings, which I hope you have received.* I was at that time on the point of setting out for St. Louis; but being detained a week by constant and heavy rains, and considering that it would add four hundred miles to my journey, and detain me at least a month; and the season being already far advanced and no subscribers to be expected there, abandoned the idea, and prepared for a journey through the wilderness. I was advised by many not to attempt it alone; that the Indians were dangerous, the swamps and rivers almost impassable without assistance, and a thousand other hobgoblins were conjured up to dissuade me from going alone. But I weighed all these matters in my own mind; and attributing a great deal of this to vulgar fears and exaggerated reports, I equipt myself for the attempt. I rode an excellent horse, on whom I could depend; I had a loaded pistol in each pocket, a loaded musket belted across my shoulder, a pound of gunpowder in my flask, and five pound of shot in my belt. I bought some biscuit and dried beef, and on Friday morning, May 4th, I left Nashville. About half a mile from town I observed a poor negro with two wooden legs building himself a cabin in the woods. Supposing that this journey might afford you and my friends some amusement I kept a particular account of the various occurrences, and shall transcribe some of the most interesting, omitting every thing relative to my Ornithological excursions and discoveries as more suitable for another occasion. Eleven miles from Nashville I came to the Great Harpath, a stream of about fifty yards, which was running with great violence. I could not discover the entrance of the ford, owing to the rains and inundations. There was no time to be lost, I plunged in, and almost immediately my horse was swimming. I set his head aslant the current, and being strong, he soon landed me on the other side. As the weather was warm, I rode in my wet clothes without any inconvenience. The country today was a perpetual succession of steep hills and low bottoms; I crossed ten or twelve large creeks, one of which swam my horse, where he was near being entangled among some bad drift wood. Now and then a solitary farm opened from the woods, where the negro children were running naked about the yards. I also passed along the north side of a high hill, where the whole timber had been prostrated by some terrible hurricane. I lodged this night in a miner’s, who told me he had been engaged in forming no less than thirteen companies for hunting mines, all of whom had left him. I advised him to follow his farm as the surest vein of ore he could work. Next day (Saturday) I first observed the cane growing, which increased until the whole woods were full of it. The road this day winded along the high ridges of mountains that divide the waters of the Cumberland from those of the Tennesee. I passed few houses today; but met several parties of boatmen returning from Natchez and New-Orleans; who gave me such an account of the road, and the difficulties they had met with, as served to stiffen my resolution to be-prepared for every thing. These men were as dirty as Hottentots; their dress a shirt and trowsers of canvass, black, greasy, and sometimes in tatters; the skin burnt wherever exposed to the sun; each with a budget, wrapt up in an old blanket; their beards, eighteen days old, added to the singularity of their appearance, which was altogether savage. These people came from the various tributary streams of the Ohio; hired at forty or fifty dollars a trip, to return back on their own expenses. Some had upwards of eight hundred miles to travel. When they come to a stream that is unfordable, they coast it for a fallen tree; if that cannot be had, they enter with their budgets on their heads, and when they lose bottom, drop it on their shoulders, and take to swimming. They have sometimes fourteen or fifteen of such streams to pass in a day, and morasses of several miles in length, that I have never seen equalled in any country. I lodged this night in one Dobbins’s, where ten or twelve of these men lay on the floor. As they scrambled lap in the morning, they very generally complained of being unwell, for which they gave an odd reason, lying within doors, it being the first of fifteen nights they had been so indulged. Next morning (Sunday) I rode six miles to a man’s of the name of Grinder, where our poor friend Lewis perished. In the same room where he expired, I took down from Mrs. Grinder, the particulars of that melancholy event, which affected me extremely. This house or cabin is seventy-two miles from Nashville, and is the last white man’s as you enter the Indian country. Governor Lewis, she said, came there about sun-set, alone, and inquired if he could stay for the night; and, alighting, brought his saddle into the house. He was dressed in a loose gown, white, striped with blue. On being asked if he came alone, he replied that there were two servants behind, who would soon be up. He called for some spirits, and drank a very little. When the servants arrived, one of whom was a negro, he inquired for his powder, saying he was sure he had some powder in a canister. The servant gave no distinct reply, and Lewis, in the mean while, walked backwards and forwards before the door, talking to himself. Sometimes, she said, he would seem as if he were walking up to her; and would suddenly wheel round, and walk back as fast as he could. Supper being ready he sat downy but had not eat but a few mouthfuls when he started up; speaking to himself in a violent manner. At these times, she says, she observed his face to flush as if it had come on him in a fit. He lighted his pipe, and drawing a chair to the door sat down, saying to Mrs. Grinder, in a kind tone of voice, “Madam this is a very pleasant evening.” He smoked for some time, but quitted his seat and traversed the yard as before. He again sat down to his pipe, seemed again composed, and casting his eyes wishfully towards the west, observed what a sweet evening it was. Mrs. Grinder was preparing a bed for him; but he said he would sleep on the floor, and desired the servant to bring the bear skins and buffaloe robe, which were immediately spread out for him; and it being now dusk the woman went off to the kitchen, and the two men to the barn, which stands about two hundred yards off. The kitchen is only a few paces from the room where Lewis was, and the woman being considerably alarmed by the behaviour of her guest could not sleep, but listened to him walking backwards and forwards, she thinks, for several hours, and talking aloud, as she said, “like a lawyer.” She then heard the report of a pistol, and something fall heavily on the floor, and the words ” O Lord!” Immediately afterwards she heard another pistol, and in a few minutes she heard him at her door calling out ” O madam! give me some water, and heal my wounds.” The logs being open, and unplastered, she saw him stagger back and fall against a stump that stands between the kitchen and room. He crawled for some distance, raised himself by the side of a tree, where he sat about a minute. He once more got to the room; afterwards he came to the kitchen door, but did not speak; she then heard him scraping the bucket with a gourd for water; but it appears that this cooling element was denied the dying man! As soon as day broke and not before, the terror of the woman having permitted him to remain for two hours in this most deplorable situation, she sent two of her children to the barn, her husband not being at home; to bring the servants; and on going in they found him lying on the bed; he uncovered his side and shewed them where the bullet had entered; a piece of the forehead was blown off, and had exposed the brains, without having bled much. He begged they would take his rifle and blow out his brains, and he would give them all the money he had in his trunk. He often said, “I am no coward; but I am so strong, so hard to die.” He begg’d the servant not to be afraid of him, for that he would not hurt him. He expired in about two hours, or just as the sun rose above the trees. He lies buried close by the common path, with a few loose rails thrown over his grave. I gave Grinder money to put a post fence round it, to shelter it from the hogs, and from the wolves; and he gave me his written promise he would do it. I left this place in a very melancholy mood, which was not much allayed by the prospect of the gloomy and savage wilderness which I was just entering alone. 1.

My thoughts dwelt with sad, but unavailing regret, on the fate of my unfortunate friend; and I endeavoured to give vent to the despondence of my mind in the following verses, which I wished to dedicate to his memory. 2.

Far hence be each accusing thought!1.
Let tears of silent sorrow flow; 
Pale Pity consecrates the spot3.
Where poor lost Lewis now lies low!  

This lonely grave–this bed of clay, 5.
Neglected, dug the pathway near;  
Unfenc’d from midnight beasts of prey, 7.
Excites Affliction’s bitterest tear.  

The soldier brave, of dauntless heart, 9.
The chief belov’d, the comrade dear;  
Of honour’d worth the mortal part11.
Moulders in sacred silence here.  

His was the peril, glory, pride, 13.
First of his country to explore 
Whence vast Missouri’s currents glide, 15.
Where white man never trod before.  

Her roaring cataracts he scal’d, 17.
Her mountains of eternal snow;  
There his brave band the rivers hail’d19.
That westward to the ocean flow.  

Subdu’d by boldness, and amazed21.
At daring deeds unknown before, 
The hordes of Indian warriors gaz’d,23.
And loved them for the hearts they bore. 

Far down Columbia’s foamy steeps, 25.
He led his brave adventurous band;  
Plough’d the Pacific’s billowy deeps, 27.
And stood triumphant on the strand! 

Twice fourteen months of perils past, 29.
Again the Alpine snows they spurn;  
Their country opes to view at last, 31.
And millions welcome their return. 

The learned, on Europe’s distant lands, 33.
With joy the great arrival hail; 
And Fame on tip-toe ready stands35.
To spread the wonders of their tale. 

O sad reverse! O mournful end37.
Of this high destiny so dear!  
He, the lov’d chieftain of their band, 39.
Fell, friendless and unhonoured here! 

The anguish that his soul assailed, 41.
The dark despair that round him flew,  
No eye, save that of Heaven, beheld; 43.
None but unfeeling strangers knew. 

Bereav’d of Hope’s sweet angel form, 45.
Griefs rose on griefs, and fears on fear;  
Poor Reason perish’d in the storm, 47.
And Desperation triumphed here! 

Fast pour’d the purple streams of life, 49.
His burning lips one drop did crave;  
Abandon’d, midst this bloody strife, 51.
He sank, unfriended, to the grave. 

Unhappy youth! here rest thy head, 53.
Beloved, lamented by the brave;  
Though silent deserts round thee spread, 55.
And wild beasts trample o’er thy grave. 

Here reap that peace life could riot give;57.
But while thy own Missouri flows,  
Thy name, dear Lewis, still shall live, 59.
And ages yet lament thy woes: 

Lone as these solitudes appear, 61.
Wide as this, wilderness is spread,  
Affection’s steps shall linger here, 63.
To breathe her sorrows o’er the dead. 

The Indian hunter, slow and sad, 65.
Who wanders with his rifle near,  
With solemn awe shall hither tread, 67.
To mourn a brother hunter here. 

The pilgrim boatman on his way, 69.
Shall start this humble grave to view;  
” Here Lewis lies!” he’ll mournful say, 71.
While tears his manly cheeks bedew. 

Far hence be each accusing thought! 73.
With his my kindred tears shall flow;  
Pale Pity consecrates the spot, 75.
Where poor lost Lewis now lies low! 

I was roused from this melancholy reverie by the roaring of Buffaloe river, which I forded with considerable difficulty. I passed two or three solitary Indian’s huts in the course of the day, with a few acres of open land at each; but so wretchedly cultivated that they just make out to raise corn enough to keep in existence. They pointed me out the distances by holding up their fingers. This is the country of the Chickasaws, though erroneously laid down in some maps as that of the Cherokees. I slept this night in one of their huts; the Indians spread a deer skin for-me on the floor, I made a pillow of my portmanteau, and slept tolerably well. The old Indian laid himself down near me. On Monday morning I rode fifteen miles, and stopt at an Indian’s to feed my horse. The sight of my perokeet brought the whole family around me. The women are generally naked from the middle upwards; and their heads, in many instances, being rarely combed, look like a large mop; they have a yard or two of blue cloth wrapt round by way of petticoat, that reaches to their knees–the boys were generally naked; except a kind of bag of blue cloth by way of fig-leaf. Some of the women have a short jacket with sleeves drawn over their naked body, and the rag of a blanket is a general appendage. I met today two officers of the U. S. army, who gave me a more intelligent account of the road than I had received. I passed through many bad swamps today; and about five in the evening came to the banks of the Tenessee, which was, swelled by the rains, and is about half a mile wide thirty miles below the muscle shoals, and just below a long island laid down in your small map. A growth of canes of twenty and thirty feet high covers the low bottoms; and these cane swamps are the gloomiest and desolate looking places imaginable. I hailed for the boat as long as it was light, without effect; I then sought out a place to encamp, kindled a large fire, stript the canes for my horse, eat a bit of supper, and lay down to sleep; listening to the owls and the Chuck-Wills-Widow, a kind of Whip-poor-Will, that is very numerous here. I got up several times during the night to recruit my fire, and see how my horse did; and, but for the gnats, would have slept tolerably well. These gigantic woods have a singular effect by the light of a large fire; the whole scene being circumscribed by impenetrable darkness, except that in front where every leaf is strongly defined and deeply shaded. In the morning I hunted until about six, when I again renewed my shoutings for the boat, and it was not until near eleven that it made its appearance. I was so enraged at this delay that had I not been cumbered with baggage, I believe I should have ventured to swim it. I vented my indignation on the owner, who is a half breed, threatening to publish him in the papers, and advise every traveller I met to take the upper ferry. This man charges one dollar for man and horse, and thinks, because he is a chief, he may, do in this way what he pleases. The country now assumed a new appearance; no brush wood–no fallen or rotten timber; one could see a mile through the woods, which were covered with high grass fit for mowing. These woods are burnt every spring, and thus are kept so remarkably clean, that they look like the most elegant noblemen’s parks. A profusion of flowers, altogether new to me, and some of them very elegant, presented themselves to my view as I rode along. This must be a heavenly place for the botanist. The most noticeable of these flowers was a kind of Sweet William of all tints, from white to the deepest crimson. A superb Thistle, the most beautiful I had ever seen. A species of Passion flower very beautiful. A stately plant of the Sunflower family–the button of the deepest orange, and the radiating petals bright carmine, the breadth of the flower about four inches. A large white flower like a deer’s tail. Great quantities of the Sensitive plant; that shrunk instantly on being touched, covered the ground in some places. Almost every flower was new to me, except the Carolina pink-foot, and Columbo, which grew in abundance on every side. At Bear creek, which is a large and rapid stream, I first observed the Indian boys with their Blow-guns. These are tubes of cane seven feet long, and perfectly straight when well made. The arrows are made of slender slips of cane, twisted, and straightened before the fire, and covered for several inches at one end with the down of thistles in a spiral form, so as just to enter the tube. By a puff they can send these with such violence as to enter the body of a partridge twenty yards off. I set several of them a hunting birds by promises of reward, but not one of them could succeed. I also tried some of them myself, but found them generally defective in straightness. I met six parties of boatmen to day, and many straggling Indians, and encamped about sun-set near a small brook, where I shot a turkey, and on returning to my fire found four boatmen, who stayed with me all night, and helped to pick the bones of the turkey. In the morning I heard them gobbling all round me, but not wishing to leave my horse, having no great faith in my guests’ honesty, I proceeded on my journey. This day (Wednesday) I passed through the most horrid swamps I had ever seen. These are covered with a prodigious growth of canes, and high woods, which together, shut out almost the whole light of day for miles. The banks of the deep and sluggish creeks that occupy the centre are precipitous, where I had often to plunge my horse seven feet down; into a bed of deep clay up to his belly; from which nothing but great strength and exertion could have rescued him; the opposite shore was equally bad, and beggars all description. For an extent of several miles, on both sides of these creeks, the darkness of night obscures every object around. On emerging from one of the worst of these I met General Wade Hampton, with two servants, and a pack horse, going, as he said, towards Nashville. I told him of the mud campaign immediately before him; I was covered with mire and wet, and I thought he looked somewhat serious at the difficulties he was about to engage. He has been very sick lately. About half an hour before sun-set, being within sight of the Indian’s where I intended to lodge, the evening, being perfectly clear and calm, I laid the reins on my horse’s neck, to listen to a Mocking Bird, the first I had heard in the Western country, which, perched on the top of a dead tree before the door, was pouring out a torrent of melody. I think I never heard so excellent a performer. I had alighted, and was fastening my horse, when hearing the report of a rifle immediately beside me, I looked up and saw the poor Mocking Bird fluttering to the ground. One of the savages had marked his elevation, and barbarously shot him. I hastened over into the yard, and walking up to him, told him that was bad, very bad! That this poor bird had come from a far distant country to sing to him, and that in return, he had cruelly killed him. I told him the Great Spirit was offended at such cruelty, and that he would lose many a deer for doing so. The old Indian, father-in-law to the bird-killer, understanding by the negro interpreter what I said, replied, that when these birds come singing and making a noise all day near the house; somebody will surely die–which is exactly what an old superstitious German near Hampton in Virginia once told me. This fellow had married the two eldest daughters of the old Indian, and presented one of them with the bird he had killed. The next day I paced through the Chickasaw Big-town, which stands on the high open plain that extends through their country three or four miles in breadth by fifteen in length. Here and there you perceive little groups of miserable huts, formed of saplings, and plastered with mud and clay; about these are generally a few peach and plumb trees. Many ruins of others stand scattered about, and I question whether there were twenty inhabited huts within the whole range of view. The ground was red with strawberries; and the boatmen were seen in straggling parties feasting on them. Now and then a solitary Indian wrapt in his blanket passed sullen and silent. On this plain are beds of shells of a large species of clam, some of which are almost entire. I this day stopt at the house of a white man, who had two Indian wives, and a hopeful string of young savages, all in their fig-leaves; not one of them could speak a word of English. This man was by birth a Virginian, and had been forty years among the Chickasaws. His countenance and manners were savage and worse than Indian. I met many parties of boatmen today, and crossed a number of bad swamps. The woods continued to exhibit the same open luxuriant appearance, and at night I lodged at a white man’s, who has also two wives, and a numerous progeny of young savages. Here I met with a lieutenant of the U. S. army, anxiously inquiring for General Hampton. On Friday the same open woods continued; I met several parties of Indians, and passed two or three of their hamlets. At one of these were two fires in the yard, and at each eight or ten Indians, men and women squat on the ground. In these hamlets there is generally one house built of a circular form, and plastered thickly all over without, and within with clay. This they call a hot house, and it is the general winter quarters of the hamlet in cold weather. Here they all kennel, and having neither window nor place for the smoke to escape, it must be a sweet place while forty or fifty of them have it in occupancy. Round some of these hamlets were great droves of cattle, horses, and hogs. I lodged this night on the top of a hill far from water, and suffered severely for thirst. On Saturday I passed a number of most execrable swamps, the weather was extremely warm, and I had been attacked by something like the dysentry, which occasioned a constant burning thirst, and weakened me greatly. I stopt this day frequently to wash my head, and throat in the water to allay the burning thirst, and putting on my hat without wiping, received considerable relief from it. Since crossing the Tenessee the woods have been interspersed with pine, and the soil has become more sandy. This day I met a captain Hughes, a traveller, on his return from Santa Fe. My complaint increased so much that I could scarcely sit on horseback, and all night my mouth and throat were parched with a burning thirst and fever. On Sunday I bought some raw eggs, which I ate. I repeated the dose at mid-day and towards evening, and found great benefit from this simple remedy. I inquired all along the road for fresh eggs, and for nearly a week made them almost my sole food, till I completed my cure. The water in these cane swamps is little better than poison, and under the heat of a burning sun and the fatigues of traveling it is difficult to repress the urgent calls of thirst. On the Wednesday following, I was assailed by a tremendous storm of rain, wind, and lightning, until I and my horse were both blinded with the deluge, and unable to go on. I sought the first most open place, and dismounting stood for half an hour under the most profuse heavenly shower-bath I ever enjoyed. The roaring of the storm was terrible; several trees around me were broken off and torn up by the roots, and those that stood were bent almost to the ground; limbs of trees of several hundredweight, flew past within a few yards of me, and I was astonished how I escaped. I would rather take my chance in a field, of battle, than in such a tornado again. 3.

On the 14th day of my journey, at noon, I arrived at this place, having overcome every obstacle, alone, and without being acquainted with the country; and what surprised the boatmen more, without whiskey. On an average I met from forty to sixty boatmen every day returning from this place and New Orleans. The Chickasaws are a friendly, inoffensive people, and the Choctaws though more reserved, are equally harmless. Both of them treated me with civility, though I several times had occasion to pass through their camps where many of them were drunk. The peroquet which I carried with me was a continual fund of amusement to all ages of these people; and as they crowded around to look at it, gave me an opportunity of studying their physiognomies without breach of good manners. 4.

In thus hastily running over the particulars of this journey, I am obliged to omit much that would amuse and interest you; but my present situation, a noisy tavern, crowded in every corner, even in the room where I write, with the sons of riot and dissipation, prevents me from enlarging on particulars. I could also have wished to give you some account of this place, and of the celebrated Mississippi, of which you have heard so much. On these subjects, however, I can at present only offer you the following slight sketch, taken the morning after my arrival here. 5.

The best view of this place and surrounding scenery, is from the old Spanish fort on the south side of the town, about a quarter of a mile distant. From this high point, looking up the river, Natchez lies on your right, a mingled group of green trees and white and red houses, occupying an uneven plain, much washed into ravines, rising as it recedes from the bluff or high precipitous bank of the river. There is, however, neither steeple, cupola nor distinguished object to add interest to its appearance. The country beyond it to the right is thrown up into the same irregular knolls; and at the distance of a mile, in the same direction, you have a peep of some cultivated farms bounded by the general forest. On your left you look down at a depth of two or three hundred feet, on the river, winding majestically to the south; the intermediate space exhibiting wild perpendicular precipices of brown earth. This part of the river and shore is the general rendezvous of all the arks or Kentucky boats, several hundreds of which are at present lying moored there, loaded with the produce of the thousand shores of this noble river. The busy multitudes below present a perpetually varying picture of industry; and the noise and uproar, softened by the distance, with the continual crowing of the poultry with which many of these arks are filled, produce cheerful and exhilirating ideas. The majestic Missisippi, swelled by his ten thousand tributary streams of a pale brown colour, half a mile wide, and spotted with trunks of trees, that show the different threads of the current and its numerous eddies, bear his depth of water past in silent grandeur. Seven gunboats anchored at equal distances along the stream, with their ensigns displayed, add to the effect. A few scattered horses are seen on the low opposite shore, where a narrow strip of cleared land exposes the high gigantic trunks of some deadened timber that bound the woods. The whole country beyond the Missisippi, from south round to west, and north, presents to the eye one universal level ocean of forest, bounded only by the horizon. So perfect is this vast level that not a leaf seems to rise above the plain, as if shorn by the hands of heaven. At this moment, while I write, a terrific thunder storm, with all its towering assemblage of black alpine clouds, discharging living lightning in every direction, overhangs this vast level, and gives a magnificence and sublime effect to the whole.6.

Farewell,

And God bless you, my dear friend!