On reading the Trial of William Burke and
Helen M‘Dougal, for Murder, 24th December, 1828.
AN EXPOSTULATION.
“Thou can’st not say I did it!!!”
Ah!—can’st thou, with cold indifference see
The hand of execration point to thee?
Can’st thou, unmov’d, bear a whole nation’s cry,
To cleanse thyself from the polluted sty
Of Burke, and Hare, and all that fiendish crew,
Who, for mere gain, their fellow-mortals slew,
And sold to thee, as thou hast not denied,
Such bodies as by students were descried
Ne’er to have been interred, nay, bore, some say,
Strong marks of life, by violence reft away?
And thou didst not attempt the truth to find,
Though oft it must have flash’d across thy mind;
But with a reckless carelessness, receiv’d
Whate’er was brought,[1] and any lie believ’d,
Told by the gang, whose very forms do show
They would not tell thee aught thou did’st not know,
Or should’st have known, if true thy Science says,
That marks of death by Murder any ways
May well be seen, when the dissecting knife
Opens all the sure and secret seats of life.[2]
Art thou a Scotsman ——? then haste to prove
That patriotic feelings can thy bosom move;
Haste to wipe out the stain thy country shares,
While such a stigma fair Edina bears.
Art thou a son of Science? quickly, then,
Show she does not make brutes of lect’ring men.
Art thou a Father? then thy child may plead,
To cleanse thyself from this unholy deed.
Art thou a husband? ask thine honest wife,
If ’twere not better to descend in life,
Than traffic with the basest, vilest band,
And thus for —— soon’s the deed is plann’d;
A ready market keep—and hide away
An old tea-box; that’s all which you can say.
Art thou a Christian? think’st thou this avails
With Him on high, who, with unerring scales,
Weighs all the thoughts, and words, and deeds of men,
And searches through, ev’n the soul’s inmost ken?
If this dread argument will not prevail,
Nought can thy cold obdurate heart assail.
Yes, time mispent, and surely worse than vain,
’Tis to attempt to rouse, by my poor strain,
The proud rich man, hedg’d round by many a friend,
Whose voice th’ applause of hundred youths attend.
If his own conscience will not wake and cry,
Assert thine innocence, REPLY, REPLY,
To all the accusations lately rais’d
’Gainst thy fair fame, till ev’n —— has gaz’d,
And gaz’d in vain to see thee —— come forth,
Arm’d with thy —— thy —— and thy ——
* * * * Cetera desunt.
WILLIAM BURKE.
O Burke, cruel man, how detested thy name is!
Thy dark deeds of blood are a stain on our times.
O savage, relentless, forever infamous,
Long, long will the world remember thy crimes.
Thrice ten human beings, weep all you who hear it,
Were caught in his snares and caught in his den,
The shades of thy victims may elude thy vile spirit,
O Burke, cruel monster, thou basest of men.
The weary, the old, and the way-faring stranger,
Were woo’d by his kindness and led to his door,
But little knew they that the path led to danger,
O little knew they that their wanderings were o’er.
Little knew they that the beams of the morning,
To wake them to brightness, would shine all in vain,
And little their friend knew, who watched their returning,
That they were ne’er more to return back again.
O gather the bones of the murdered together,
And give them a grave in some home of the dead,
That their poor weeping friends with sad hearts may go thither,
And shed tears of sorrow above their cold bed.
Ye great men of learning, ye friends of dissection,
Who travell’d through blood to the temple of gain,
And bright human life for your hateful inspection,
O give the poor friends the white bones of the slain.
But woe to the riches and skill thus obtained,
Woe to the wretch that would injure the dead,
And woe to his portion whose fingers are stained
With the red drops of life that he cruelly shed.
Tho’ Burke has been doom’d to expire on the gallows,
The vilest that ever dishonoured the tree,
Yet some may survive him whose hearts are as callous,
O, who wall be safe if the tigers be free.
Let none e’er reside in the crime marked dwellings,
For ever disgraced by Burke and by Hare,
May the cold damp of horror lie dark in their ceilings,
And their pale ghastly walls still be dismal and bare.
Let their guilt and their gloom speak of nothing but terror,
Some dark deeds of blood to the stranger declare,
And ages to come ever mark them with horror,
For the ghosts of the murdered will still gather there.
ELEGAIC LINES WRITTEN ON THE
TRAGICAL MURDER OF POOR DAFT JAMIE.
Attendance give, whilst I relate
How Poor Daft Jamie met his fate;
’Twill make your hair stand on your head,
As I unfold the horrid deed;—
That hellish monster, William Burke,
Like Reynard sneaking on the lurk,
Coy-duck’d his prey into his den,
And then the woeful work began;—
“Come, Jamie, drink a glass wi’ me,
And I’ll gang wi’ ye in a wee,
To seek yer mither i’ the toun—
Come drink, man, drink, an’ sit ye doun.”
“Nae, I’ll no’ drink wi’ ye the nou,
For if I div ’twill make me fou;”
“Tush, man, a wee will do ye guid,
’Twill cheer yer heart, and warm yer bluid.”
At last he took the fatal glass,
Not dreaming what would come to pass;
When once he drank, he wanted more—
Till drunk he fell upon the floor.
“Now,” said th’ assassin, “now we may
Seize on him as our lawful prey.”
“Wait, wait,” said Hare, “ye greedy ass;
He’s yet too strong—let’s tak’ a glass.”
Like some unguarded gem he lies—
The vulture wants to seize his prize;
Nor does he dream he’s in his power,
Till it has seized him to devour.
The ruffian dogs,—the hellish pair,—
The villain Burke,—the meagre Hare,—
Impatient were their prize to win,
So to their smothering pranks begin:—
Burke cast himself on Jamie’s face,
And clasp’d him in his foul embrace;
But Jamie waking in surprise,
Writhed in an agony to rise.
At last, with nerves unstrung before,
He threw the monster on the floor;
And though alarm’d, and weaken’d too,
He would have soon o’ercome the foe;
But help was near—for it Burke cried,
And soon his friend was at his side;
Hare tripp’d up Jamie’s heels, and o’er
He fell, alas! to rise no more!
Now both these blood-hounds him engage,
As hungry tygers fill’d with rage,
Nor did they handle axe or knife,
To take away Daft Jamie’s life.
No sooner done, than in a chest
They cramm’d this lately-welcom’d guest,
And bore him into Surgeons’ Square—
A subject fresh—a victim rare!
And soon he’s on the table laid,
Expos’d to the dissecting blade;
But where his members now may lay
Is not for me—or you—to say.
But this I’ll say—some thoughts did rise,
It fill’d the students with surprise,
That so short time did intervene
Since Jamie on the streets was seen.
But though his body is destroy’d,
His soul can never be decoy’d
From that celestial state of rest,
Where he, I trust, is with the bless’d.
MRS. WILSON’S LAMENTATION
ON HEARING OF THE CRUEL
MURDER OF HER SON.
Why didst thou wander from my side,
My joy, my treasure, and my pride?
Though others little thought of thee,
Though wert a treasure dear to me.
I little thought when thee I left,
So soon of thee to be bereft;
Or that when after me you sought
You would by ruffian men be caught.
Thy playful manners fill’d with joy
The aged sire and sportive boy;
Of real joy you had enough,
When you could give or take a snuff.
The tricks you play’d with childish art,
Bound you the closer to my heart;
Thy kindness to thy mother prov’d
How dearly she by thee was lov’d.
What horrid monsters were these men
Who lur’d thee to their fatal den;
That den, whose deeds as yet untold,
Were done for sake of sordid gold.
But they alone were not to blame;
For when these dauntless monsters came
With human creatures scarcely cold,
The doctors took them, we were told.
Nor did they leave the doctors door
Without an order to bring more!
But Justice stern aloud doth cry—
“Let all who wink at murder die!”
And justice shall to me be done,
On all who murder’d my poor son;—
I’ll make appeal to Britain’s King,
That one and all of them may swing.
But that will not restore my son,
Or remedy the mischief done;
He murder’d is—no peace I have,
I shall go mourning to my grave.