The Minister boldly the tidings reported,
And wisely distinguish’d the bad from the good;
Of the present or absent who die unconverted,
That worm eaten pulpit is clear of their blood!
POETICAL REFLECTIONS.
(Composed during a visit from the West.)
Once more, my muse, resume thy wonted seat,
And ask permission of the wise and great,
To admit, as tribute due, thy warbling song,
In thy own land, and in thy mother tongue.
Once more the happy region I behold,
Where I have oft experienc’d joys untold;
Where cattle graze, and crystal fountains flow,
And rivers glide, and healthy breezes blow.
Here my enraptur’d fancy playful roves,
And walks ’mong flowery banks, or shady groves,
Or nimbly climbs the rugged mountain’s height,
And views yon plains with ever new delight.
Sometimes in fertile orchards I attend,
Where mellow fruits the loaded branches bend;
Sometimes I see old Esk in fury roll,
Or fish, or walk, or swim the silent pool.
Here did I spend the morning of my days,
And learn’d by grace, to walk in wisdom’s ways,
Its scenes can court my soul’s affections yet,
Their charms are such they cannot be forgot.
O yes, the cottage once again I see,
Which oft has prov’d a safe retreat for me,
From wintry tempest, or my neighbour’s frown,
From piercing frost, or scorching sun at noon: