English

Ah why my Soul, art thou absorb'd in pain?
Why art thou found disquieted in vain?
Dispel thy fears, let every doubt subside,
Acquaint thyself with God, in him conside.
Frail Man, of Woman born, is heir to woe;
From various sources his afflictions flow;
As sparks ascending bear to heav'n their course,
So sorrow triumphs with resistless force.
On Earth, what being is exempt from pain?
Awake, then, oh my Soul! no more complain.
Art thou not blest with bright Reflection's aid?
Is not thy Maker's love with grace display'd?

Air — Bonnie Dundee .

Oh! tell me, bonnie young lassie!
 Oh tell me how for to woo!
Oh! tell me, bonnie sweet lassie!
 Oh tell me how for to woo!
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning?
 Lips like the roses fresh moistened wi' dew?
Say, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning?—
 Oh! tell me how for to woo!
Far hae I wandered to see thee dear lassie!
 Far hae I ventured across the saut sea!
Far hae I travelled owre moorland and mountain,
 Houseless, and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea!

Thy thunder pealeth o'er us,
God of the earth and sky!
And o'er the gloomy heavens,
The clouds roll dark and high;
But oh! there lieth brooding
A cloud more dark and dread,
Above our guilty nation,
In fearful portent spread.

Though broad our fertile borders
All smilingly expand,
The curse of blood is on us,
And on our pleasant land;
For we have sinn'd before thee,
And caus'd dark floods to roll,
Of tyranny and anguish,
Across our brother's soul.

But let not yet thine anger

I sing this song that you may know me better;
That I may know thee better;
And that we two may burn our false idols
At the same altar.

I come first to you,
Young, inland mariner on a sea of flowing grapes,
In purple France:
Shaking the sweet snow from my hardy shoulders
I come to you.
Long has my race, companioned by strong elements,
Misunderstood the liquid nature of your soul.
And you, with the same blindness as mine own,
Have called my silent Northmen cold and passionless.

The great ship furrows a silent sea,
And wakens the blue to flame,
But at morrowdawn will her track be gone,
And the waters flow on the same.

The great ship looks with a thousand eyes
In the blue eye of the bay.
But never a gleam of their golden dream
Slips down in the sea to stay.

The little cart hath a creaking sound;
And moves like a thing asleep.
But it leaves a trace, on the road's white face,
That many a year shall keep.

O tide of leaves, in the moaning eves,

Suppose me free from pining care,
With head, and heart, quite debonnaire;
Or riding in a Vis-a-Vis,
Discoursing with a Belle Esprit;
Or walking in St. James's Park,
With some gay meteor of a spark,
Who talks of what he does not know;
A mixture of conceit and show;
Or wielding of the Critic's rod,
Dispensing favours with a nod;
Or grown, perhaps, an amoroso,
A Dulcinea del Toboso;
Or deep immers'd in pains and study,
Tho' I am still so thick and muddy;
Grant that this vision were most true,

When Abr'ham, full of sacred awe,
Before Jehovah stood,
And, with an humble, fervent pray'r,
For guilty Sodom sued; —

With what success, what wondrous grace,
Was his petition crown'd!
The Lord would spare, if in the place
Ten righteous men were found.

And could a single holy soul
So rich a boon obtain?
Great God! and shall a nation cry,
And plead with thee in vain?

Our country, — guilty as she is, —
Her num'rous saints can boast,
And now their fervent pray'rs ascend;

WRITTEN IN SICKNESS .

In vain, sweet Sleep! I supplicate thine aid,
Image of Death, in mildest form array'd;
Oh! grant thy healing grace and soothing pow'r,
May balmy blessings on my senses show'r.
Rack'd on the Wheel of Fancy, Reason dies,
And Hope, suspended, seems a dubious prize.
But art thou still inflexible, severe,
Deaf to complaint, and blind to Virtue's tear?
Oh! deign to strengthen, and in quiet keep,
My various faculties, sweet gentle Sleep;
That not exhausted, but refresh'd they prove,

Ah whither art thou fled, companion dear?
To what sequester'd vale dost bend thy way?
Will the deep sigh, or Friendship's pearly tear,
Excite thy pity, or protract thy stay?

These artless lays imperfectly express
The tender bodings of an heart sincere;
But ill can paint the feelings of distress,
Or speak the anguish of awaken'd fear.

In search of Happiness, say, dost thou roam,
And distant realms in quest of Peace explore?
Alas my friend! she is but found at home,

If Love had lost his shafts, and Jove down threw
His thunder-bolts, or spent his forked fire,
They only might recovered be anew
From out my heart, cross-wounded with desire.
Or if debate by Mars were lost a space,
It might be found within the self-same place.

If Neptune's waves were all dried up and gone,
My weeping eyes so many tears distill,
That greater seas might grow by them alone:
Or if no flame were yet remaining still
In Vulcan's forge, he might from out my breast
Make choice of such as should befit him best.