Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) never, never Scotia's realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN: A DIRGE. 1 WHEN chill November's surly blast I spied a man, whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care; His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 2 Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?' Began the reverend sage; 'Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or haply, press'd with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn 3 The sun that overhangs yon moors, Out-spreading far and wide, Where hundreds labour to support 4 O man! while in thy carly years, Which tenfold force gives Nature's law 5 Look not alone on youthful prime, But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want-oh! ill-match'd pair! 6 A few seem favourites of fate. In pleasure's lap caress'd; Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, oh! what crowds in every land, Are wretched and forlorn; Through weary life this lesson learn- 7 Many and sharp the numerous ills More pointed still we make ourselves, And man, whose heaven-erected face Makes countless thousands mourn! 8 See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil; 9 If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave- By Nature's law design'd— Why was an independent wish If not, why am I subject to Or why has man the will and power 10 Yet, let not this too much, my son, This partial view of human-kind The poor, oppressèd, honest man, Had there not been some recompence 11 0 Death! the poor man's dearest friend- Welcome the hour, my aged limbs A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 10 THOU unknown, Almighty Cause In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 2 If I have wander'd in those paths As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have dcne 3 Thou know'st that Thou has formèd me 4 Where human weakness has come short, Do thou, All-good! for such thou art, 5 Where with intention I have err'd, But, Thou art good; and goodness still STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 1 WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 2 Fain would I say, 'Forgive my foul offence!' Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 30 Thou, great Governor of all below! If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, Or still the tumult of the raging sea: |