Classic Poem

Lone on the bleaky hills, the straying flocks
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks;
Down foam the rivulets, red with dashing rains,
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains;
Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan,
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. —

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests and ye caves,
Ye howling winds, and wintry-swelling waves,
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye,
Sad to your sympathetick glooms I fly;
Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar,
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. —

O heavy loss thy Country ill could bear!
A loss these evil days can ne'er repair!
Justice, the high vicegerent of her God,
Her doubtful balance ey'd and sway'd her rod;
Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow,
She sunk abandon'd to the wildest woe. —

Wrongs, Injuries, from many a darksome den,
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men:
See from his cavern grim Oppression rise,
And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes;
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly,
And stifle, dark, the fcebly-bursting cry. —
Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with crimes,
Rousing elate in these degenerate times;
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey,
As guileful Fraud points out the erring way:
While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue
The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong. —
Hark, injur'd Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale,
And much-wrong'd Misery pours th' unpitied wail!

Ye dark, waste hills, ye brown, unsightly plains,
Congenial scenes! ye soothe my mournful strains:
Ye tempests, rage; ye turbid torrents, roll;
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul:
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign,
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine,
To mourn the woes my Country must endure,
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. —