CXCVII JOHN ANDERSON John Anderson my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, R. Burns CXCVIII THE LAND O THE LEAL I'm wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, I'm wearing awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task's ended noo, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, To the land o' the leal. In the land o' the leal! Lady Nairn CXCIX ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE Ye distant spires, ye antique towers And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way : Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed While some on earnest business bent 'Gainst graver hours that bring constrain To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Alas! regardless of their doom No sense have they of ills to come Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band Ah, tell them they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, And Shame that sculks behind. And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try Lo, in the vale of years beneath The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, To each his sufferings: all are men, The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. T. Gray CC THE SHRUBBERY O happy shades ! to me unblest! And heart that cannot rest, agree! Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness everywhere, And slights the season and the scene. For all that pleased in wood or lawn While Peace possess'd these silent bowers, Her animating smile withdrawn, Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should tread CCI HYMN TO ADVERSITY Daughter of Jove, relentless power, With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. |