Song—Wha Is That At My Bower-Door
Tune—“Lass, an I come near thee.”
“Wha is that at my bower-door?” “O wha is it but Findlay!” “Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be here:” “Indeed maun I,” quo’ Findlay; “What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?” “O come and see,” quo’ Findlay; “Before the morn ye’ll work mischief:” “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay. “Gif I rise and let you in”— “Let me in,” quo’ Findlay; “Ye’ll keep me waukin wi’ your din;” “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay; “In my bower if ye should stay”— “Let me stay,” quo’ Findlay; “I fear ye’ll bide till break o’ day;” “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay. “Here this night if ye remain”— “I’ll remain,” quo’ Findlay; “I dread ye’ll learn the gate again;” “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay. “What may pass within this bower”— “Let it pass,” quo’ Findlay; “Ye maun conceal till your last hour:” “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay.
1784
Remorse: A Fragment
Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish Beyond comparison the worst are those By our own folly, or our guilt brought on: In ev’ry other circumstance, the mind Has this to say, “It was no deed of mine:” But, when to all the evil of misfortune This sting is added, “Blame thy foolish self!” Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse, The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt— Of guilt, perhaps, when we’ve involved others, The young, the innocent, who fondly lov’d us; Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin! O burning hell! in all thy store of torments There’s not a keener lash! Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, Can reason down its agonizing throbs; And, after proper purpose of amendment, Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? O happy, happy, enviable man! O glorious magnanimity of soul!