Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That called them from their native walks away! When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain. For seats like these beyond the western main ; And shuddering still to face the distant deep, Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. The good old sire the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for her father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose; And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief, In all the silent manliness of grief. O luxury thou curst by Heaven's decree, How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! At every draught more large and large they grow, Till, sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. E'en now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, That idly waiting flaps with every gale; And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, JOHN BARLEYCORN. [A FAVOURITE old Ballad, probably even of earlier date than the 18th century; it has often been attributed to Burns, and has been inserted in some editions of his works, but the only foundation for this that can be traced has been an alteration of one or two of the lines by Burns.] 'HERE was three kings into the East, THERE Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath, John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And showers began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, The sultry suns of summer came, The sober autumn entered mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head His colour sickened more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; And tied him fast upon the cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. |