Transcriber's Note

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

THE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
JANET LITTLE,
THE
SCOTCH MILKMAID.

AIR:
PRINTED BY JOHN & PETER WILSON.

M,DCC,XCII.

Entered in Stationers’ Hall.

TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE
FLORA,
COUNTESS OF LOUDOUN,
THE FOLLOWING
POEMS
ARE
WITH PERMISSION,
HUMBLY INSCRIBED,
BY
YOUR LADYSHIP’S]

EVER GRATEFUL,
AND OBEDIENT
HUMBLE SERVANT,
JANET LITTLE,

CONTENTS.

Page
To Hope[27]
On Happiness[32]
Upon a young Lady’s leaving Loudoun Castle[37]
The fickle Pair[40]
To a Lady, a Patroness of the Muses, on her Recovery from Sickness[42]
The Lottery Ticket[45]
The Month’s Love[47]
Damon and Philander[50]
Colin and Alexis[58]
Almeda and Flavia[62]
On the Spring[72]
William and Mary[75]
Lothario[78]
Amanda, an Elegy on the Death of Mrs. ——, personating her Husband[83]
Celia and her Looking Glass[86]
The unfortunate Rambler[91]
Lucina, an Elegy[94]
The envied Kiss[98]
The young Man’s Resolution[100]
To a young Man under Sentence of Death for Forgery, from his Mistress[101]
On an unlooked for Separation from a Friend[104]
Written January first, 1792[106]
On a Visit to Mr. Burns[111]
Given to a Lady who asked me to write a Poem[113]
Epistle to Nell, wrote from Loudoun Castle[117]
Nell’s Answer[120]
Another Epistle to Nell[122]
An Epistle to a Lady[125]
From Snipe, a favourite Dog, to his Master[129]
On the Death of J—— H——, Esq.[133]
On the Birth of J—— H——, Esq.’s Son[138]
On a Gentleman’s proposing to travel 300 Miles to see J—— H——, Esq.’s Child[140]
Verses written on a Foreigner’s visiting the Grave of a Swiss Gentleman, buried among the Descendents of Sir William Wallace, Guardian of Scotland in the thirteenth Century[142]
From Philander to Eumenes[144]
Sylvia and Armeda[147]
The captivated Soldier[150]
On reading Lady Mary Montague and Mrs. Rowe’s Letters[153]
Upon a young Lady’s breaking a Looking Glass[155]
An Acrostic upon a young Woman, written by her Lover[158]
An extemporary Acrostic[159]
An Epistle to Mr. Robert Burns[160]
To my Aunty[164]
On Halloween[167]
On seeing Mr. —— Baking Cakes[171]
A Poem on Contentment[173]
Alcanzar[180]
Alonzo to Delia[184]
Delia to Alonzo[185]
From Delia to Alonzo, who had sent her a slighting Epistle[188]
From Flavia to Carlos[192]
To Nell when at Moffat Well[195]
A young Lady’s Lamentation for the Loss of her Sister by Marriage[197]
The Rival Swains[202]
To a Lady who sent the Author some Paper, with a Reading of Sillar’s Poems[206]

SUBSCRIBERS NAMES.

A

B

C

D

E

F

G

H

I, J

K

L

M

N

O

P

R

S

T

W

V

Y

[ERRATA].

TO THE
COUNTESS OF LOUDOUN.

WILL gentle Loudoun deign to lend an ear,

When nature speaks, and sorrow drops a tear?

Within your walls my happiness I found

Luxuriant flourish, like the plants around:

Blithe as the birds that perch on yonder spray,

In joyous notes, I pour’d the willing lay.

Beneath your roof these humble lines had birth,

Whose honour’d Patrons now lie low in earth;

Or borne by Fate far from their native shore,

With smiles auspicious glad my heart no more.

Here youth and beauty, innocence and love,

I joy’d to see, to serve, and to approve:

Here honour’d Age to all around did show,

That virtue’s paths alone can bliss bestow:

Here moral lessons spoke from ev’ry part,

And peace and kindness wrote them on my heart.

Hoary inhabitants around the place,

Whose faithful services obtain’d that grace,

’Mid ev’ry comfort rural life affords,

Shower prayers and blessings on its former Lords.

To you the young are taught to lift the eye,

Mild morning sun of their unclouded sky.

Blest in a lot left nothing to desire,

Those happy scenes did future hopes inspire,

That thus my life in careless ease might run,

My age supported by my master’s son;

In him, that goodness, and those virtues find,

Which grateful numbers meet in you combin’d.

Ah! like a changeful vision of the night,

Those scenes are fled, and death appals my sight!

Where’er I turn, lamented tombs appear,

Or parting sails extort the bitter tear!

To distant realms the darling child too gone;

O guard him heav’n, and let me weep alone!

For ev’ry tear, let countless blessings fall

On thy sad mother in thy grandsire’s hall!

Forgive, fair nymph, the dictates of despair;

Grief flies, for comfort, to the tender fair.

The good and great, we fondly think have pow’rs,

Can charm to ease our sad and anxious hours:

Else why to you should I at Fate repine?

The friends I mourn, alas! were doubly thine!

For their dear sakes, bid lines they priz’d still live,

And grant that shelter they no more can give.

Yet, the sad verse how should you patronize

That wakes up anguish in a heart at ease!

For their dear sakes my pray’rs are ever thine,

Nor can I more were your protection mine.

TO
THE PUBLIC.

I.

FROM the dull confines of a country shade,

A rustic damsel issues forth her lays;

There she, in secret, sought the Muse’s aid,

But now, aspiring, hopes to gain the bays.

II.

“Vain are her hopes,” the snarling critic cries;

“Rude and imperfect is her rural song.”

But she on public candour firm relies,

And humbly begs they’ll pardon what is wrong.

III.

And if some lucky thought, while you peruse,

Some little beauty strike th’ inquiring mind;

In gratitude she’ll thank th’ indulgent Muse,

Nor count her toil, where you can pleasure find.

IV.

Upon your voice depends her share of fame,

With beating breast her lines abroad are sent:

Of praise she’ll no luxuriant portion claim;

Give but a little, and she’ll rest content.

POEMS.

TO
HOPE.

I.

HAIL meek-ey’d maid! of matchless worth!

Our best companion here on earth;

To thee sole pow’r is giv’n,

T’ illume our dark and dreary way,

As through life’s mazy path we stray,

And bend our steps to heav’n.

’Tis thine to smooth the rugged vale,

To stem the trickling tear;

Thy whispers, as the spicy gale,

Do drooping trav’llers cheer.

Incline thou, to shine now

Upon me as I go;

Thy favour shall ever

Alleviate my wo.

II.

Thy presence calms the raging seas,

And to the throbbing breast gives ease

Amid the tempest’s howl,

When waves appear as mountains high,

When swelling surges dash the sky,

And foaming billows roll;

When danger, with uplifted hand,

Proclaims th’ approaching doom,

Thou gently dost the stroke withstand,

And dissipates the gloom.

When caring, despairing,

And deeming all as lost,

Thy rays will portray still

The long expected coast.

III.

Thou animates the hero’s flame;

To him presents a deathless name

In the ensanguin’d field:

Thou dost his nerves with valour brace,

Bids him, with bold undaunted face,

Destructive weapons wield.

War’s trumpet, breathing rude alarms,

Strikes terror all around;

Thy voice of fame, and honour’s charms,

Outvies the direful sound.

When falling, appalling

The tumults wild increase,

On wings then, thou brings then

The harbinger of peace.

IV.

Thy power elates the student’s views;

The paths of science kindly strews

With never-fading flow’rs.

Depriv’d of thee, how lovers mourn

Dejected, restless and forlorn,

In unfrequented bow’rs!

Attending still on Hymen’s rites,

Thou decorates the chain;

Thy smile the sprightly maid invites

And lures the youthful swain;

Still easing, and pleasing,

When stern misfortune stares,

’Mid losses, and crosses,

Thou lightens all their cares.

V.

From life’s fair dawn to liart eve,

We all thy flatt’ring tales believe,

Enamour’d of thy art:

Thy soft and salutary voice

Gives birth to unexpected joys,

And soothes the bleeding heart;

And even at our latest hour,

When earthly comforts fly,

Thou dost, by a superior Pow’r,

Death’s terrors all defy.

Not grieving, when leaving

This scene of dole and care,

But viewing, pursuing

A more exalted sphere.

ON
HAPPINESS.

O HAPPINESS! where art thou to be found?

What bow’r is blest with thy perpetual gleam?

From court, from cot, ev’n while they seek thy stay,

On thy soft pinions, rapid is thy flight.

Thy name, not substance, is to mortals known.

Repulse from thee makes drunkards stand aghast,

Who nightly revel o’er the flowing bowl.

In vain they seek thy progress to retard,

A guest too noble to be thus detain’d.

Thy quick elopement shews their sad mistake;

Baulks hope, and certain disappointment brings.

Misers for thee grope ’midst their bags of wealth,

Nor find thy residence in golden ore:

Fear, anxious care, bleak av’rice, and distrust,

Forbid thy access to the grov’ling soul.

Not riches, though in gorgeous pomp array’d,

With all the dazzling splendour of the east,

Secure thee ’mongst the gay, fantastic train.

Pride and Ambition, vulture-like, appear,

Gain access to the op’lent master’s heart,

And bid defiance to thy sacred charms,

Now swiftly banish’d from his sumpt’ous seat.

Nor even the voice of honour can recal

Thy hasty steps: thee Pleasure sues in vain;

A stranger to the gay, licentious crowd,

The giddy flutt’ring sons of dance and song.

Thou to the libertine dost ever prove

An airy phantom; mock’st his eager grasp;

Leaves him to cruel disappointment’s rage,

Remorse, despair, the inmates of his soul.

In hopes to meet thee in some distant clime,

The ardent warrior quits his native shore,

Inur’d to martial toil; at danger smiles,

And unconcern’d treads o’er the heaps of slain:

His en’mies fly before him; at his feet

Millions fall prostrate, and for mercy call:

Yet still in vain he makes his court to thee;

Thou scarce vouchsafes him one auspicious smile.

See lovers too, in yon sequester’d grove,

Seek lonely walks, and spend their sighs in vain,

For thee! For what? for some bewitching fair,

Whose smiles they deem can boundless bliss secure:

Their views contracted would thee thus confine.

Nor art thou found in Hymen’s sacred rites,

Though silken cords of sweet affection bind.

A thousand ills encompass the fond pair,

And mix their sweets with bitterness and wo.

Bent in pursuit, through many a devious track,

All seem to say, “Successless is the search;

To nobler objects henceforth bend your view.”

All hail, Religion! thou celestial power!

Thy force alone can soothe the anxious breast,

And quite dispel the solitary gloom,

These sullen shades that steal upon the soul.

O let me hear thy salutary voice!

Thy sacred dictates let me still revere;

And ever prone in virtue’s steps to tread,

My hopes, my wishes center’d all in Him,

Whose hand omnipotent the world did frame.

O Thou, great Source of all supreme delight!

Without reluctance may I ever prove

Submissive to thy providential sway,

To know and to observe thy laws divine,

My sole solicitude.

How mean soe’er my humble station be,

Content, and calm serenity of mind,

Shall pave my paths along the rugged vale;

And when the vain delusive vision’s past,

Then happiness, in all its vast extent

Unmeasurable, ignorant of bounds,

Shall through eternal ages be my lot;

The lot of all whose hope is fix’d on thee.

UPON A
YOUNG LADY’S
LEAVING
LOUDOUN CASTLE.

WHAT means this silent, solitary gloom?

All nature in her dishabille appears;

Contracted flow’rets yield no sweet perfume,

And ev’ry grove a dismal aspect wears.

Nor do the joys of Autumn glad our plains;

Our landscapes are in sable weeds array’d;

No jocund sound is heard among the swains,

And nought but sighs from each dejected maid.

Rude Eurus echoing through the distant woods,

With harsh, discordant note, augments our wo;

While rains, impetuous, from the bursting clouds,