Past crimes to expiate, be my present aim
To raise new trophies to the Scottish name,
To make (what can the proudest Muse do more?)
E'en Faction's sons her brighter worth adore,
To make her glories, stamp'd with honest rhymes,
In fullest tide roll down to latest times. [thine,
"Presumptuous wretch! and shall a Muse like
An English Muse, the meanest of the nine,
Attempt a theme like this? Can her weak strain
Expect indulgence from the mighty Thane?
Should he from toils of government retire,
And for a moment fan the poet's fire,
Should he, of sciences the moral friend,
Each curious, each important search suspend,
Leave unassisted Hill of herbs to tell,
And all the wonders of a cockle-shell,
Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes,
Would not the Home step forth, and gain the prize?
Or if this wreath of honour might adorn
The humble brows of one in England born,
Presumptuous still thy daring must appear;
Vain all thy tow'ring hopes, whilst I am here."
Thus spake a form, by silken smile, and tone
Dull and unvaried, for the laureat known,
Folly's chief friend, Decorum's eldest son,
In ev'ry party found, and yet of none.
This airy substance, this substantial shade,
Abash'd I heard, and with respect obey'd.

From themes too lofty for a bard so mean,
Discretion beckons to an humbler scene.
The restless fever of ambition laid,
Calm I retire, and seek the silvan shade.
Now be the Muse disrob'd of all her pride,
Be all the glare of verse by Truth supplied,
And if plain Nature pours a simple strain,
Which Bute may praise, and Ossian not disdain,
Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all,
Whom English infidels Macpherson call,
Then round my head shall Honour's ensigns wave,
And pensions mark me for a willing slave.

Two boys, whose birth beyond all question springs From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings, Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and bred

On the same bleak and barren mountain's head,
By niggard Nature doom'd on the same rocks
To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks,
Fresh as the morning, which, enrob'd in mist,
The mountain's top with usual dullness kiss'd,
Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose;
Soon clad I ween, where Nature needs no clothes,
Where, from their youth enur'd to winter-skies,
Dress and her vain refinements they despise.
Jockey, whose manly high-bon'd cheeks to crown
With freckles spotted flam'd the golden down,
With mikle art could on the bagpipes play,
E'en from the rising to the setting day:
Sawney as long without remorse could bawl
Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal.
Oft at his strains, all natural though rude,
The Highland lass forgot her want of food,
And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest,
Sunk pleas'd, though hungry, on her Sawney's
breast.

Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen,
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green.
The plague of locusts they secure defy,
For in three hours a grasshopper must die.
No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there,
But the cameleon, who can feast on air.
VOL XIV.

No birds, except as birds of passage, flew,
No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo.
No streams as amber smooth, as amber clear,
Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran,
Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan.
No flow'rs embalm'd the air, but one white rose,
Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows,
By instinct blows at morn, and, when the shades
Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades.

One, and but one poor solitary cave,
Too sparing of her favours, Nature gave;
That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!)
Shelter at once for man and beast supplied.
Their snares without entangling briers spread,
And thistles, arm'd against th' invader's head,
Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose,
Thistles now held more precious than the rose.
All creatures which, on Nature's earliest plan,
Were form'd to loath, and to be loath'd by man,
Which ow'd their birth to nastiness and spite,
Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight,
Creatures, which when admitted in the ark,
Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark,
Found place within: marking her noisome road,
With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad;
There webs were spread of more than common size,
And half-starv'd spiders prey'd on half-starv'd flies;
In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl;
Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear'd the slimy wall;
The cave around with hissing serpents rung;
On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung;
And FAMINE, by her children always known,
As proud as poor, here fix'd her native throne.
Here, for the sullen sky was overcast,
And summer shrunk beneath a wint'ry blast,
A native blast, which, arm'd with hail and rain,
Beat unrelenting on the naked swain,
The boys for shelter made; behind, the sheep,
Of which those shepherds every day take keep,
Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude,
On Nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food.

JOCKEY.

Sith to this cave, by tempest, we 're confin'd, And within ken our flocks, under the wind, Safe from the pelting of this perilous storm, Are laid emong yon thistles, dry and warm, What, Sawney, if by shepherd's art we try To mock the rigour of this cruel sky? What if we tune some merry roundelay? Well dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey play.

SAWNEY.

Ah, Jockey, ill advisest thou, I wis, To think of songs at such a time as this. Sooner shall herbage crown these barren rocks, Sooner shall fleeces clothe these ragged flocks, Sooner shall want seize shepherds of the South, And we forget to live from hand to mouth, Than Sawney, out of season, shall impart The songs of gladness with an aching heart.

JOCKEY.

Still have I known thee for a silly swain; Of things past help, what boots it to complain? Nothing but mirth can conquer Fortune's spite; No sky is heavy, if the heart be light: Patience is Sorrow's salve; what can't be cur'd, So Donald right areeds, must be endur'd.

U

SAWNEY.

Full silly swain, I trot, is Jockey now ; How didst thou bear thy Maggy's falsehood? how, When with a foreign loon she stole away, Did'st thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's lay? Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I Applied those proverbs, which you now apply?

JOCKEY.

O she was bonny! All the Highlands round Was there a rival to my Maggy found! More precious (though that precious is to all) Than the rare med'cine which we brimstone call, Or that choice plant, so grateful to the nose, Which in I know not what far country grows, Was Maggy unto me; dear do I rue, A lass so fair should ever prove untrue.

SAWNEY.

Whether with pipe or song to charm the ear, Through all the land did Jamie find a peer? Curs'd be that year by every honest Scot, And in the shepherd's calendar forgot, That fatal year, when Jamie, hapless swain, In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain. Jamie, when our young laird discreetly fled, Was seiz'd and hang'd till he was dead, dead, dead.

JOCKEY.

Full sorely may we all lament that day; For all were losers in the deadly fray. Five brothers had I, on the Scottish plains, Well dost thou know were none more hopeful swains; Five brothers there I lost, in manhood's pride, Two in the field, and three on gibbets died; Ah! silly swains, to follow war's alarms! Ah! what hath shepherd's life to do with arms!

SAWNEY.

Mention it not-There saw I strangers clad In all the honours of our ravish'd plaid, Saw the Ferrara too, our nation's pride, Unwilling grace the awkward victor's side, There fell our choicest youth, and from that day Mote never Sawney tune the merry lay; Bless'd those which fell! curs'd those which still To mourn fifteen renew'd in forty-five. [survive,

Thus plain'd the boys, when from her throne of turf,

With boils emboss'd, and overgrown with scurf,
Vile humours, which, in life's corrupted well,
Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could quell,
Pale FAMINE rear'd the head: her eager eyes,
Where hunger e'en to madness seem'd to rise,
Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart,
Strain'd to get loose, and from their orbs to start;
Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-sunk cell,
Where wretchedness and horrour lov'd to dwell;
With double rows of useless teeth supplied,
Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide,
Which, when for want of food her entrails pin'd,
She op'd, and, cursing, swallow'd nought but wind;
All shrivell'd was her skin, and here and there,
Making their way by force, her bones lay bare:
Such filthy sight to hide from human view,
O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd plaid she threw.
"Cease," cried the goddess, " cease, despairing
swains,

And from a parent hear what Jove ordains!

"Pent in this barren corner of the isle,
Where partial Fortune never deign'd to smile;
Like Nature's bastards, reaping for our share
What was rejected by the lawful heir;
Unknown amongst the nations of the Earth,
Or only known to raise contempt and mirth;
Long free, because the race of Roman braves
Thought it not worth their while to make us slaves;
Then into bondage by that nation brought,
Whose ruin we for ages vainly sought;
Whom still with unslack'd hate we view, and still,
The pow'r of mischief lost, retain the will;
Consider'd as the refuse of mankind,

A mass till the last moment left behind,
Which frugal Nature doubted, as it lay,
Whether to stamp with life, or throw away?
Which, form'd in haste, was planted in this nook,
But never enter'd in Creation's book;
Branded as traitors, who for love of gold
Would sell their God, as once their king they sold;
Long have we borne this mighty weight of ill,
These vile injurious taunts, and bear them still.
But times of happier note are now at hand,
And the full promise of a better land:
There, like the Sons of Israel, having trod,
For the fix'd term of years ordain'd by God,
A barren desert, we shall seize rich plains,
Where milk with honey flows, and plenty reigns.
With some few natives join'd, some pliant few,
Who worship int'rest, and our track pursue,
There shall we, though the wretched people grieve,
Ravage at large, nor ask the owner's leave.

For us, the Earth shall bring forth her increase;
For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece;
Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not our own,
And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown;
For our advantage shall their harvests grow,
And Scotsmen reap what they disdain'd to sow;
For us, the Sun shall climb the eastern hill;
For us, the rain shall fall, the dew distil;
When to our wishes Nature cannot rise,
Art shall be task'd to grant us fresh supplies.
His brawny arm shall drudging Labour strain,
And for our pleasure suffer daily pain;
Trade shall for us exert her utmost pow'rs,
Her's all the toil, and all the profit, our's;
For us, the oak shall from his native steep
Descend, and fearless travel through the deep;
The sail of Commerce for our use unfurl'd,
Shall waft the treasures of each distant world;
For us, sublimer heights shall Science reach,
For us, their statesmen plot, their churchmen preach;
Their noblest limbs of counsel we 'll disjoint,
And, mocking, new ones of our own appoint;
Devouring War, imprison'd in the North,
Shall, at our call, in horrid pomp break forth,
And when, his chariot wheels with thunder hung,
Fell Discord braying with her brazen tongue,
Death in the van, with Anger, Hate, and Fear,
And Desolation stalking in the rear,
Revenge, by Justice guided, in his train,
He drives impetuous o'er the trembling plain,
Shall, at our bidding, quit his lawful prey,
And to meek, gentle, gen'rous Peace give way.
"Think not, my sons, that this so bless'd estate
Stands at a distance on the roll of Fate;
Already big with hopes of future sway,
Een from this cave I scent my destin'd prey.
Think not, that this dominion o'er a race,
Whose former deeds shall Time's last annals grace,

In the rough face of peril must be sought,
And with the lives of thousands dearly bought;
No-fool'd by cunning, by that happy art
Which laughs to scorn the blundering hero's heart,
Into the snare shall our kind neighbours fall
With open eyes, and fondly give us all.

"When Rome, to prop her sinking empire, bore Their choicest levies to a foreign shore, What if we seiz'd, like a destroying flood, Their widow'd plains, and fill'd the realm with blood,

Gave an unbounded loose to manly rage,

And scorning mercy, spar'd nor sex nor age;
When, for our int'rest too mighty grown,
Monarchs of warlike bent possess'd the throne,
What if we strove divisions to foment,
And spread the flames of civil discontent,
Assisted those who 'gainst their king made head,
And gave the traitors refuge when they fled;
When restless Glory bad her sons advance,
And pitch'd her standard in the fields of France;
What if, disdaining oaths, and empty sound,
By which our nation never shall be bound,
Bravely we taught unmuzzled War to roam
Through the weak land, and brought cheap laurels
home;

When the bold traitors leagu'd for the defence
Of Law, Religion, Liberty, and Sense,
When they against their lawful monarch rose,
And dar'd the Lord's anointed to oppose,
What if we still rever'd the banish'd race,
And strove the royal vagrants to replace,
With fierce rebellions shook th' unsettled state,
And greatly dar'd, though cross'd by partial Fate;
These facts, which might, where Wisdom held the
sway,

Awake the very stones to bar our way,
There shall be nothing, nor one trace remain
In the dull region of an English brain,
Bless'd with that faith, which mountains can remove,
First they shall dupes, next saints, last martyrs prove.
"Already is this game of Fate begun
Under the sanction of my darling son:
That son, of nature royal as his name,
Is destin'd to redeem our race from shamne;
His boundless pow'r, beyond example great,
Shall make the rough way smooth, the crooked
straight,

Shall for our ease the raging floods restrain,
And sink the mountain level to the plain.
Discord, whom in a cavern under ground
With massy fetters their late patriot bound,
Where her own flesh the furious hag might tear,
And vent her curses to the vacant air,
Where, that she never might be heard of more,
He planted Loyalty to guard the door,
For better purpose shall our chief release,
Disguise her for a time, and call her Peace.

"Lur'd by that name, fine engine of deceit,
Shall the weak English help themselves to cheat;
To gain our love, with honours shall they grace
The old adherents of the Stuart race,
Who pointed out, no matter by what name,.
Tories or Jacobites, are still the same,
To sooth our rage, the temporising brood
Shall break the ties of truth and gratitude,
Against their saviour venom'd falsehoods frame,
And brand with calumny their William's name;
To win our grace, (rare argument of wit)
To our untainted faith shall they commit

EPISTLE TO WILLIAM HOGARTH.
AMONGST the sons of men how few are known
Who dare be just to merit not their own!
Superior virtue and superior sense
To knaves and fools will always give offence;
Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear,
So nice is jealousy, a rival there.

Be wicked as thou wilt, do all that 's base,
Proclaim thyself the monster of thy race;
Let vice and folly thy black soul divide,
Be proud with meanness, and be mean with pride;
Deaf to the voice of faith and honour, fall
From side to side, yet be of none at all;
Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties,
Which Nature in her bounty, good as wise,
To work our safety, and ensure her plan,
Contriv'd to bind, and rivet man to man;
Lift against Virtue Power's oppressive rod,
Betray thy country, and deny thy God;
And, in one gen'ral comprehensive line,
To group, which volumes scarcely could define,
Whate'er of sin and dullness can be said,
Join to a F's heart a D-
's head;
Yet may'st thou pass unnotic'd in the throng,
And, free from envy, safely sneak along.
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown
To saints whose lives are better than his own,
Shall spare thy crimes; and Wit, who never once
Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
But should thy soul, form'd in some luckless hour,
Vile int'rest scorn, nor madly grasp at pow'r;
Should love of fame, in ev'ry noble mind
A brave disease, with love of virtue join'd,
Spur thee to deeds of pith, where courage, tried
In Reason's court, is amply justified;
Or fond of knowledge, and averse to strife,
Should'st thou prefer the calmer walk of life;
Should'st thou, by pale and sickly Study led,
Pursue coy Science to the fountain-head;
Virtue thy guide, and public good thy end,
Should ev'ry thought to our improvement tend,
To curb the passions, to enlarge the mind,
Purge the sick weal, and humanize mankind:
Rage in her eye, and Malice in her breast,
Redoubled Horrour grinning on her crest,
Fiercer each snake, and sharper ev'ry dart,
Quick from her cell shall madd'ning Envy start.
Theu shalt thou find, but find alas! too late,
How vain is worth, how short is glory's date!
Then shalt thou find, whilst friends with foes conspire
To give more proof than Virtue would desire,
Thy danger chiefly lies in acting well;
No crime's so great as daring to excel.
Whilst Satire thus, disdaining mean control,
Urg'd the free dictates of an honest soul,
Candour, who, with the charity of Paul,
Still thinks the best, whene'er she thinks at all,
With the sweet milk of human kindness bless'd,
The furious ardour of my zeal repress'd.

Can'st thou, with more than usual warmth, she Thy malice to indulge, and feed thy pride, [ery'd,

Can'st thou, severe by Nature as thou art,
With all that wond'rous rancour in thy heart,
Delight to torture Truth ten thousand ways,
To spin detraction forth from themes of praise,
To make Vice fit for purposes of strife,
And draw the hag much larger than the life,
To make the good seem bad, the bad seem worse,
And represent our nature as our curse?
Doth not humanity condemn that zeal
Which tends to aggravate and not to heal?
Doth not discretion warn thee of disgrace,
And danger grinning stare thee in the face;
Loud as the drum, which spreading terrour round
From emptiness acquires the pow'r of sound?
Doth not the voice of Norton strike thy ear,
And the pale Mansfield chill thy soul with fear?
Do'st thou, fond man, believe thyself secure,
Because thou'rt honest, and because thou'rt poor?
Do'st thou on law and liberty depend?
Turn, turn thy eyes, and view thy injur'd friend.
Art thou beyond the ruffian gripe of pow'r?
When Wilkes, prejudg'd, is sentenc'd to the tow'r?
Do'st thou by privilege exemption claim,
When privilege is little more than name?
Or to prerogative (that glorious ground

On which state-scoundrels oft have safety found)
Do'st thou pretend, and there a sanction find,
Unpunish'd, thus to libel human kind?

When poverty, the poet's constant crime, Compell'd thee, all unfit, to trade in rhyme, Had not romantic notions turn'd thy head, Had'st thou not valu'd honour more than bread, Had Int'rest, pliant Int'rest, been thy guide, And had not Prudence been debauch'd by Pride, In Flatt'ry's stream thou would'st have dipp'd thy pen, Applied to great, and not to honest men, Nor should conviction have seduc'd thy heart To take the weaker though the better part. What but rank folly, for thy curse decreed, Could into Satire's barren path mislead, When, open to thy view, before thee lay Soul-soothing Panegyric's flow'ry way? There might the Muse have saunter'd at her ease, And, pleasing others, learn'd herself to please; Lords should have listen'd to the sugar'd treat, And ladies, simp'ring, own'd it vastly sweet; Rogues, in thy prudent verse with virtue grac'd, Fools, mark'd by thee as prodigies of taste, Must have forbid, pouring preferments down, Such wit, such truth as thine to quit the gown. Thy sacred brethren too (for they no less Than laymen, bring their off'rings to success) Had hail'd thee good if great, and paid the vow Sincere as that they pay to God, whilst thon In lawn hadst whisper'd to a sleeping crowd, As dull as R, and half as proud.

[well,

Peace, Candour!--Wisely had'st thou said, and Could Int'rest in this breast one moment dwell, Could she, with prospect of success, oppose The firm resolves which from conviction rose. I cannot truckle to a fool of state, Nor take a favour from the man I hate. Free leave have others by such means to shine; I scorn their practice, they may laugh at mine. But in this charge, forgetful of thyself, Thou hast assum'd the maxims of that elf, Whom God in wrath for man's dishonour fram'd, Cunning in Heav'n, amongst us Prudence nam'd, That servile Prudence which I leave to those Who dare not be my friends, can't be my foes.

Had I with cruel and oppressive rhymes Pursu'd, and turn'd misfortunes into crimes; Had I, when Virtue gasping lay and low, Join'd tyrant Vice, and added woe to woe; Had I made Modesty in blushes speak, And drawn the tear down Beauty's sacred cheek; Had I (damn'd then) in thought debas'd my lays, To wound that sex which honour bids me praise; Had I, from vengeance by base views betray'd, In endless night sunk injur'd Ayliff's shade; Had I (which satirists of mighty name, Renown'd in rhyme, rever'd for moral fame, Have done before, whom Justice shall pursue In future verse) brought forth to public view A noble friend, and made his foibles known, Because his worth was greater than my own; Had I spar'd those (so Prudence had decreed) Whom, God so help me at my greatest need, I ne'er will spare, those vipers to their king, Who smooth their looks, and flatter whilst they sting, Or had I not taught patriot zeal to boast Of those, who flatter least, but love him most; Had I thus sinn'd, my stubborn soul should bend At Candour's voice, and take, as from a friend, The deep rebuke; myself should be the first To hate myself, and stamp my Muse accurs'd. But shall my arm-forbid it manly Pride, Forbid it Reason, warring on my sideFor vengeance lifted high, the stroke forbear, And hang suspended in the desert air, Or to my trembling side unnerv'd sink down, Palsied, forsooth, by Candour's half-made frown? When Justice bids me on, shall I delay Because insipid Candour bars my way? When she, of all alike the puling friend, Would disappoint my Satire's noblest end, When she to villains would a sanction give, And shelter those who are not fit to live, When she would screen the guilty from a blush, And bids me spare whom Reason bids me crush, All leagues with Candour proudly I resign; She cannot be for Honour's turn, nor mine.

Yet come, cold mouitor, half foe, half friend, Whom Vice can't fear, whom Virtue can't commend, Come Candour, by thy dull indiff'rence known, Thou equal-blooded judge, thou lukewarm drone, Who, fashion'd without feelings, dost expect, We call that virtue which we know defect; Come, and observe the nature of our crimes, The gross and rank complexion of the times, Observe it well, and then review my plan; Praise if you will, or censure if you can.

Whilst Vice presumptuous lords it as in sport, And Piety is only known at court; Whilst wretched Liberty expiring lies Beneath the fatal burthen of excise; Whilst nobles act, without one touch of shame, What men of humble rank would blush to name; Whilst Honour's plac'd in highest point of view, Worshipp'd by those, who justice never knew; Whilst bubbles of distinction waste in play The hours of rest, and blunder through the day, With dice and cards opprobrious vigils keep, Then turn to ruin empires in their sleep; Whilst fathers, by relentless passion led, Doom worthy injur'd sons to beg their bread, Merely with ill-got, ill-sav'd wealth to grace An alien, abject, poor, proud, upstart race; Whilst Martin flatters only to betray, And Webb gives up his dirty soul for pay;