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List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle
O' winter war,
Beneath a scar, Ilk bapping bird, wee helpless thing, That, in the merry months o' spring, Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o'thee ? Where wilt thou cow'r thy chitt'ring wing,
An' close thy e'e ?
you on murd'ring errands toil'd,
My heart forgets,
Sore on you beats.
Rose in my soul,
Slow, solemn, stole
“ Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,
“See steru oppressior's iron grip,
Or mad Ambition's gory hand,
Wo, want, and murder o'er a land!
The parasite empoisoning her ear,
With all the servile wretches, in the rear,
Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show,
Some coarser substance, unrefin'd,
The pow'rs you proudly own?
To bless himself alone!
“ Mark maiden-innocence a prey
To love pretending snares,
Shunning soft pity's rising sway,
Perhaps, this hour, in mis’ry's squalia nest,
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, And with a mother's fears shrieks at the rocking
“Oye! who, sunk in beds of down,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Ill satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call,
Think on the dungeon's grim confiue,
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow!
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
A cottage-rousing craw.
Tho' all his works abroad
The most resembles GOD.
The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw ;
The blinding sleet and snaw:
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down
Aød roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day.
The joyless winter-day,
Than all the pride of May!
My griefs it seems to join,
These woes of mine fulfil,
Because they are thy will !
This one request of mine !)
Assist me to resign.
OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care,
I sit me down and sigh ;
* Dr. Young
A long, a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I !
Dim backward as I cast my view,
Must be my bitter doom ;
Happy, ye sons of busy life
No other view regard !
They bring their own reward:
Unfitted with an aim,
Forget each grief and pain ;
Find every prospect vain.
How blest the Solitary's lot,
Within his humble cell,
Beside his crystal well!
By unfrequented stream,