« AnteriorContinuar »
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past,
Out-thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
But house or hald,
An' cranreuch cauld !
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
Gang aft a-gley,
For promis'd joy.
Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
On prospects drear!
I guess an' fear.
A WINTER NIGHT.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Far south the lift,
Or whirling drift:
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked,
Wild eddying swirl, Or thro’ the mining outlet bocked,
Down headlong hurl.
List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle,
O' winter war,
Beneath a scar.
Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing,
What comes o' thee?
An' close thy ee?
Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd,
My heart forgets,
Sore on you beats.
Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign,
Rose in my soul,
Slow, solemn, stole
Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,
Vengeful malice, unrepenting,
Or mad ambition's gory hand,
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land!
How pamper'd luxury, flatt'ry by her side,
The parasite empoisoning her ear,
With all the servile wretches in the rear, Looks o’er proud property, extended wide; And eyes the simple rustic hind,
Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, A creature of another kind,
Some coarser substance, unrefin'd,
The pow'rs you proudly own?
To bless himself alone!
To love-pretending snares,
Shunning soft pity's rising sway,
Perhaps this hour, in mis’ry's squalid nest,
She strains your infant to her joyless breast,
Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall,
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!
The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow? Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !'
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
A cottage-rousing craw.
But deep this truth impress'd my
mindThro' all his works abroad, The heart, benevolent and kind,
The most resembles God,