Thou drooping sick Man, bless the Guide.
Who checked or turned thy headstrong youth, As he before had sanctified
Thy infancy with heavenly truth.
Ye Striplings, light of heart and gay, Bold settlers on some foreign shore,
Give, when your thoughts are turned this way, A sigh to him whom we deplore.
For us who here in funeral strain With one accord our voices raise, Let sorrow overcharged with pain Be lost in thankfulness and praise.
And when our hearts shall feel a sting From ill we meet or good we miss, May touches of his memory bring Fond healing, like a mother's kiss.
BY THE SIDE OF THE GRAVE SOME YEARS AFTER.
LONG time his pulse hath ceased to beat; But benefits, his gift, we trace- Expressed in every eye we meet
Round this dear Vale, his native place.
To stately Hall and Cottage rude
Flowed from his life what still they hold, Light pleasures, every day, renewed; And blessings half a century old.
Oh true of heart, of spirit gay, Thy faults, where not already gone From memory, prolong their stay For charity's sweet sake alone.
Such solace find we for our loss; And what beyond this thought we crave Comes in the promise from the Cross, Shining upon thy happy grave.*
* See upon the subject of the three foregoing pieces the Fountain,
c. &c., in the 5th Vol. of the Author's Poems.
LINES ON THE EXPECTED INVASION.
COME ye-who, if (which Heaven avert!) the Land Were with herself at strife, would take your stand, Like gallant Falkland, by the Monarch's side, And, like Montrose, make Loyalty your pride- Come ye,-who, not less zealous, might display Banners at enmity with regal sway,
And, like the Pyms and Miltons of that day, Think that a State would live in sounder health If Kingship bowed its head to Commonwealth- Ye too-whom no discreditable fear
Would keep, perhaps with many a fruitless tear, Uncertain what to choose and how to steer- And ye-who might mistake for sober sense And wise reserve the plea of indolence- Come ye-whate'er your creed-O waken all, Whate'er your temper, at your Country's call; Resolving (this a free-born Nation can) To have one Soul, and perish to a man, Or save this honoured Land from every Lord But British reason and the British sword.
SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH.
I SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold, At thought of what I now behold: As vapours breathed from dungeons cold Strike pleasure dead,
So sadness comes from out the mould Where Burns is laid.
And have I then thy bones so near, And thou forbidden to appear ? As if it were thyself that's here I shrink with pain;
And both my wishes and my fear Alike are vain.
Off weight-nor press on weight!-away Dark thoughts!-they came, but not to stay; With chastened feelings would I pay The tribute due
To him, and aught that hides his clay From mortal view.
Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth He sang, his genius' glinted' forth, Rose like a star that touching earth,
For so it seems.
Doth glorify its humble birth With matchless beams.
The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow, The struggling heart, where be they now?- Full soon the Aspirant of the plough, The prompt, the brave,
Slept, with the obscurest, in the low And silent grave.
I mourned with thousands, but as one More deeply grieved, for He was gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone, And showed my youth
How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth.
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