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To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy
From BOOK V cause
There shame to manhood, and opprobriDooms and devotes him as his lawful
ous more prey.
To France than all her losses and defeats Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Old or of later date, by sea or land, Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
381 Make enemies of nations who had else
Her house of bondage worse than that of Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
Which God avenged on Pharaoh-the Thus man devotes? his brother, and de
20 And worse than all, and most to be de
Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken
hearts, plored, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair, 385
That monarchs have supplied from age to Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his
sweat With stripes that Mercy, with a bleeding
With music such as suits their sovereign
The sighs and groans of miserable men, Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.25 Then what is man? And what man
There's not an English heart that would
not leap seeing this, And having human feelings, does not
To hear that ye were fallen at last, to
know blush And hang his head, to think himself a
That even our enemies, so oft employed
In forging chains for us, themselves were man?
free: I would not have a slave to till my ground,
For he that values liberty, confines To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 30
His zeal for her predominance within And tremble when I wake, for all the
No narrow bounds; her cause engages wealth
• him That sinews bought and sold have ever
395 Wherever pleaded; 'tis the cause of man. earned. No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's Just estimation prized above all price, I had much rather be myself the slave 35
ON THE RECEIPT OF MY
MOTHER'S PICTURE And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
Oh that those lips had language! Life We have no slaves at home: then why has passed abroad?
With me but roughly since I heard thee And they themselves once ferried o'er the last. wave
Those lips are thine—thy own sweet That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. smile I see, Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their The same that oft in childhood solaced me; lungs
40 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, Receive our air, that moment they are “Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears free;
away!” They touch our country, and their shackles | The meek intelligence of those dear eyes fall.
(Blest be the art that can immortalise, That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud | The art that baffles Time's tyrannic And jealous of the blessing. Spread it claim then,
To quench it) here shines on me still the And let it circulate through every vein 45 I same.
10 Of all your empire; that where Britain's | Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, power
O welcome guest, though unexpected here! Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. Who bidst me honor with an artless song, I vows to destruction.
Affectionate, a mother lost so long,
I will obey, not willingly alone,
'Tis now become a history little known, But gladly, as the precept were her own: That once we called the pastoral house And, while that face renews my filial grief, our own. Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Short-lived possession! but the record fair Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
That memory keeps, of all thy kindness A momentary dream that thou art she. 20 there,
55 My mother! when I learned that thou Still outlives many a storm that has efwast dead,
faced Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I A thousand other themes less deeply shed?
traced. Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, | Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, Wretch even then, life's journey just That thou mightst know me safe and begun?
warmly laid; Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, a kiss:
The biscuit, or confectionary plum; 61 Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss- | The fragrant waters on my cheeks beAh, that maternal smile! It answers, stowed Yes.
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, glowed; I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, All this, and more endearing still than And turning from my nursery window, all, drew
30 Thy constant flow of love, that knew no A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! I fall,
.: 65 But was it such?—It was.—Where thou Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and art gone
brakes Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. That humor interposed too often makes; May I but meet thee on that peaceful All this still legible in memory's page, shore,
And still to be so to my latest age, The parting word shall pass my lips no Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 70 more!
Such honors to thee as my numbers may; Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,' concern,
Not scorned in heaven, though little Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. noticed here. What ardently I wished I long believed, Could Time, his flight reversed, restore And, disappointed still, was still de the hours, ceived.
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued By expectation every day beguiled, 40 flowers,
75 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. The violet, the pink, and jassamine, Thus many a sad to-morrow came and I pricked them into paper with a pin went,
(And thou wast happier than myself the Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, while, I learned at last submission to my lot; Would softly speak, and stroke my head But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er fordeplored thee, ne'er for- and smile),
45 Could those few pleasant days again Where once we dwelt our name is appear, heard no more,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish Children not thine have trod my nursery them here? floor;
I would not trust my heart—the dear deAnd where the gardener Robin, day by day, light Drew me to school along the public way, Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.Delighted with my bauble coach, and But no—what here we call our life is such, wrapped
50 So little to be loved, and thou so much, In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet That I should ill requite thee to constrain capped,
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's | And, while the wings of Fancy still are coast
free, (The storms all weathered and the ocean And I can view this mimic show of thee, crossed)
Time has but half succeeded in his theftShoots into port at some well-havened Thyself removed, thy power to soothe isle,
121 Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons
smile, There sits quiescent on the floods that SONNET TO MRS. UNWIN
show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, While airs impregnated with incense play Such aid from heaven as some have Around her, fanning light her streamers feigned they drew, gay;
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached
new, the shore,
And undebased by praise of meaner things! “Where tempests never beat nor billows That, ere through age or woe I shed my roar.”
wings, And thy loved consort on the dangerous I may record thy worth, with honor
due, Of life long since has anchored by thy In verse as musical as thou art true, side.
| Verse that immortalizes whom it sings. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, But thou hast little need. There is a book, Always from port withheld, always dis By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly tressed101 L light,
10 Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest On which the eyes of God not rarely look; tossed,
A chronicle of actions just and bright; Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and | There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, compass lost,
shine, And day by day some current's thwarting And since thou ownest that praise, I spare force
thee mine. Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
105 Yet, oh, the thought that thou art safe,
TO MARY and he! That thought is joy, arrive what may The twentieth year is well-nigh past, to me.
Since first our sky was overcast; My boast is not, that I deduce my birthAh, would that this might be the last! From loins enthroned and rulers of the
My Mary! earth; But higher far my proud pretensions Thy spirits have a fainter flow, rise
110 I see thee daily weaker grow; The son of parents passed into the skies! 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, And now, farewell—Time unrevoked has
My Mary! run His wonted course, yet what I wished is Thy needles, once a shining store, done.
For my sake restless heretofore, 10 By contemplation's help, not sought in Now rust disused, and shine no more, vain,
My Mary! I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil To have renewed the joys that once were | The same kind office for me still, mine,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 15 Without the sin of violating thine:
But well thou playedst the housewife's No braver chief could Albion boast part,
Than he with whom he went,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.
Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 15
Or courage die away;
Supported by despair of life.
He shouted: nor his friends had failed
To check the vessel's course, 20 For, could I view nor them nor thee, But so the furious blast prevailed, What sight worth seeing could I see?
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.
Some succor yet they could afford; 25 Thy hands their little force resign,
And such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delayed not to bestow.
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Such feebleness of limbs thou provest,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 30 That now at every step thou movest Upheld by two, yet still thou lovest,
Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them; In wintry age to feel no chill,
Yet bitter felt it still to die
35 With me is to be lovely still,
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.
He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld; But ah! by constant heed I know,
| And so long he, with unspent power, How oft the sadness that I show
His destiny repelled;
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried “Adieu!”
At length, his transient respite past,
Had heard his voice in every blast, 45
Could catch the sound no more:
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.
Of narrative sincere,
50 When such a destined wretch as I, That tells his name, his worth, his age,
Washed headlong from on board, Is wet with Anson's tear:
Alike immortalize the dead.
I therefore purpose not, or dream, 55
THE HOLY FAIR
Upon a simmers Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair, But misery still delights to trace
I walked forth to view the corn Its semblance in another's case. 60 An' snuff the caller air.
The rising sun owre Galston muirs í No voice divine the storm allayed,
Wi' glorious light was glintin, No light propitious shone,
The hares were hirplin 10 down the furs,"
Fu' sweet that day.
| As lightsomely I glowered 13 abroad 10
To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, 14 early at the road,
Cam skelpin 15 up the way.
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, From LÌNES TO JOHN LAPRAIK
But ane wi' lyart 16 lining; . 15
The third, that gaed a wee a-back, I am nae poet, in a sense,
Was in the fashion shining
Fu' gay that day.
The twa appeared like sisters twin
Their visage withered, lang an' thin,
An' sour as onie slaes, 18 Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 55 The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,19 And say, “How can you e'er propose, As light as onie lambie, You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, An' wi' a curchie20 low did stoop, 25 • To mak a sang?”.
As soon as e'er she saw me,
Fu’ kind that day.
Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
But yet I canna name ye.”
“Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck21
35 A set o’ dull, conceited hashes3
A screed22 some day. Confuse their brains in college classes! They gang in stirks and come out asses, “My name is Fun-your cronie dear, Plain truth to speak;
70 The nearest friend ye hae; An' syne they think to climb Parnassus An’ this is Superstition here, By dint o' Greek!
An' that's Hypocrisy.
I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, Gie me ae6 spark o’ Nature's fire,
To spend an hour in daffin:23 That's a' the learning I desire;
Gin24 ye'll go there, yon runkled 25 pair, Then, tho’I drudge thro' dub' an' mire 75 We will get famous laughin At pleugh or cart,
At them this day.” 45 My Muse, tho' hamely in attire,
8 summer. fresh. 10 hopping. 11 furrows. May touch the heart.
18 grey. I serve. 2 sledge-hammerş. 3 idiots. foxen.
21 majority balterwards. one, 7 puddle.
23 larking. 24 if.
14 young women. 15 hurrying