WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour,
Sharp shivers thro the leafless bowr;
When Phoebus gies a short-livd glowr,
Far south the lift,
Dim-darkning thro the flaky showr,
Or whirling drift:
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi snawy wreaths up-choked,
Wild-eddying swirl;
Or, thro the mining outlet bocked,
Down headlong hurl:
Listning the doors an winnocks rattle,
I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
O winter war,
And thro the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle
Beneath a scar.
Ilk happing bird,wee, helpless thing!
That, in the merry months o spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o thee?
Whare wilt thou cowr thy chittering wing,
An close thy ee?
Evn you, on murdering errands toild,
Lone from your savage homes exild,
The blood-staind roost, and sheep-cote spoild
My heart forgets,
While pityless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats!
Now Phoebe in her midnight reign,
Dark-muffd, viewd the dreary plain;
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,
Rose in my soul,
When on my ear this plantive strain,
Slow, solemn, stole:
Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!
Not all your rage, as now united, shows
More hard unkindness unrelenting,
Vengeful malice unrepenting.
Than heaven-illumind Man on brother Man bestows!
See stern Oppressions iron grip,
Or mad Ambitions gory hand,
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip,
Woe, Want, and Murder oer a land!
Evn in the peaceful rural vale,
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
How pamperd Luxury, Flattry by her side,
The parasite empoisoning her ear,
With all the servile wretches in the rear,
Looks oer proud Property, extended wide;
And eyes the simple, rustic hind,
Whose toil upholds the glittring show
A creature of another kind,
Some coarser substance, unrefind
Placd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below!
Where, where is Loves fond, tender throe,
With lordly Honours lofty brow,
The powrs you proudly own?
Is there, beneath Loves noble name,
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim,
To bless himself alone?
Mark maiden-innocence a prey
To love-pretending snares:
This boasted Honour turns away,
Shunning soft Pitys rising sway,
Regardless of the tears and unavailing prayrs!
Perhaps this hour, in Miserys squalid nest,
She strains your infant to her joyless breast,
And with a mothers fears shrinks at the rocking blast!
Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down,
Feel not a want but what yourselves create,
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Ill-satisfyd keen natures clamorous call,
Stretchd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep;
While through the ragged roof and chinky wall,
Chill, oer his slumbers, piles the drifty heap!
Think on the dungeons grim confine,
Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine!
Guilt, erring man, relenting view,
But shall thy legal rage pursue
The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel Fortunes undeserved blow?
Afflictions sons are brothers in distress;
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
And haild the morning with a cheer,
A cottage-rousing craw.
But deep this truth impressd my mind
Thro all His works abroad,
The heart benevolent and kind
The most resembles God.