Where the pure gospel fount so transparent in beauty,
Oft in silence refreshes with gladness the soul,
Which in humble devotion to heaven and duty,
Seeks through faith and repentance a glorious goal.
Evergreen be the spot where in silence reposing,
The bones of my fathers so tranquilly sleep,
Every tye of affection their virtues disclosing,
While the dew drops of eve shall in sympathy weep.
E.
AULD AGE.
Is that Auld Age that's tirling at the pin?
I trow it is, then haste to let him in:
Ye're kindly welcome, friend; na dinna fear
To shaw yoursel', ye'll cause na trouble here.
I ken there are wha tremble at your name,
As tho' ye brought wi' ye reproach or shame;
And wha, "a thousond lies wad bear the sin,"
Rather than own ye for their kith or kin;
But far frae shirking ye as a disgrace,
Thankfu' I am t' have lived to see thy face;
Nor s'all I ere disown ye, nor tak pride,
To think how long I might your visit bide,
Doing my best to mak ye well respecked,
I'll no fear for your sake to be neglecked;
But now ye're come, and through a' kind of weather
We're doomed frae this time forth to jog the-gither,
I'd fain mak compact wi' ye firm and strang,
On terms of fair giff gaff to haud out lang;
Gin thou'lt be civil, I s'all lib'ral be,
Witness the lang lang list o' what I'll gie;
First, then, I here mak owre for gude and ay,
A' youthfu' fancies, whether bright or gay,
Beauties and graces, too, I wad resign them,
But sair I fear 'twad cost ye fash to find them;
For 'gainst your dady, Time, they cou'd na stand,
Nor bear the grip o' his unsonsy hand;
But there's my skin, whilk ye may further crunkle,
And write your name at length in ilka wrunkle.
On my brown locks ye're leave to lay your paw
And bleach them to your fancy white as snaw.
But look na, age, sae wistfu' at my mouth,
As gin ye lang'd to pu' out ilka tooth!
Let them, I do beseech, still keep their places,
Though, gin ye wish't ye're free to paint their faces.
My limbs I yield ye; and if ye see meet,
To clap your icy shackles on my feet,
Ise no refuse; but if ye drive out gout,
Will bless you for't, and offer thanks devout.
Sae muckle was I gi' wi' right good will,
But och! I fear that maer ye look for still,
I ken by that fell glow'r and meaning shrug,
Ye't slap your skinny fingers on each lug;
And unca fain ye are I trow, and keen,
To cast your misty powders in my een;
But O in mercy, spare my poor wee twinkers,
And I for ay s'all wear your chrystal blinkers!
Then 'bout my lugs I'd fain a bargain mak,
And gi' my hand, that I shall ne'er draw back.
Well then, wad ye consent their use to share,
Twad serve us baith, and be a bargain rare—
Thus I wad ha't when babbling fools intrude,
Gabbling their noisy nonsense, lang and loud;
Or when ill-nature well brush'd up by wit,
Wi' sneer sarcastic takes its aim to hit;
Or when detraction, meanest slave o' pride,
Spies out wee fau'ts and seeks great worth to hide;
Then mak me deaf as deaf as deaf can be;
At a' sic times my lugs I lend to thee.
But when in social hour ye see combin'd
Genius and Wisdom—fruits of heart and mind,
Good sense, good humour, wit in playfu' mood,
And candour e'en frae ill extracting good;
Oh, then, auld friend, I maun ha' back myhearing,
To want it then wad be an ill past bearing.
Better to lonely sit i' the douf spence
Than catch the sough o' words without the sense.—
Ye winna promise? Och ye're unco dour,
Sae ill to manage, and sae cauld and sour.
Nae matter, hale and sound I'll keep my heart,
Nor frae a crum o't s'all I ever part:
It's kindly warmth will ne'er be chilled by a'
The cauldest breath your frozen lips can blaw.
Ye need na' fash your thumb, auld carle, nor fret,
For there affection shall preserve its seat;
And though to tak my hearing ye rejoice,
Yet spite o' you I'll still hear Friendship's voice.
Thus, though, ye tak the rest, it shan'na grieve me,
For ae blythe spunk o' spirits ye maun leave me;
And let me tell you in your lug Auld Age,
I'm bound to travel wi' ye but ae stage:
Be't long or short, ye canna keep me back;
And, when we reach the end o't, ye maun pack.
For there we part for ever; late or air.
Another guess companion meets me there:
To whom ye—nill ye will ye, maun me bring;
Nor think that I'll be wae or laith to spring
Fra your poor dosen'd side, ye carle uncouth,
To the blest arms of everlasting youth.
By him, whate'er ye ye've rifl'd sto'wn, or ta'en,
Will a' be gi'en wi' interest back again:
Froze by a' gifts and graces, thousands moe
Than heart can think of, freely he'll bestoe.
Ye need na wonder, then, nor swell wi' pride,
Because I kindly welcome ye, as guide,
To one sae far your better. Now as tauld,
Let us set out upo' our journey cauld;
Wi' nae vain boasts, nor vain regrets tormented,
We'll e'en jog on the gate, quiet and contented.
[Taken from "Memoirs of Eliza Hamilton," by Miss Benger.
"DREADFUL HARD TIMES."
Yesterday I walked down, to that part of the town,
Where people collect at the sign of the Tun,
To discuss and debate the great matters of state,
And show how things that go wrong should be done:
There was ragged Sam Bent, who is not worth a cent,
There was idle Dick Lawless, and noisy Jack Grimes,
And swaggering Jim Bell, who has nothing to sell,
All cursing the Banks, and these dreadful hard times.