Part 2

Lead where you please and trust me I will come, Convinced of this you will not lead me wrong, Shew each fair prospect round your early home, Where with enthusiast’s eye you rov’d when young.

Delightful scenery describ’d with skill, Describ’d with feeling pleases every mind; Sweet nature ever did, and ever will, Admirers of her many beauties find.

From yonder lofty eminence with you, I glance from sea to sea, the picture wide; But chief one landscape’s charms invite my view, With uplands, woods, and vales diversified.

Each water’d with its own blue winding stream; ---- dear to many a swain and maid, And dear to you as an Elysian dream, Its hills with all the warmth of youth portray’d.

Its poets’ work, its heroes’ deeds explor’d, With much research its various parts explain’d, By local notes with information stor’d, From ancient lore and modern language gain’d.

Thanks, then, for this new token of good-will, This flow’ry picture of your fav’rite scene; What so engaged your heart, your time and skill, To think not thrown away on one so mean:

Nor is it thrown away, for I will con, As when a little girl, its choicest lines; And oft’ your goodness by myself alone, Will mind, when all the past my thought combines.

May nature still for you her charms retain, And genius crown you with his favours rare; Philanthropy within your bosom reign, Religion’s power and heavenly peace be there.

May you, and she your friend, and only love, Be happy long, and still in goodness grow; Here blest, hereafter may your bliss improve, When earth’s dissolv’d, and time shall cease to flow.

A LETTER

_TO A FRIEND IN A GREAT TOWN_.

The following will not appear well connected at the beginning, a number of verses being omitted: as they cannot concern any one but he to whom they were originally addressed, what may be more generally useful are here inserted.

---- Ever dear, with willing ear I beg you to attend,-- I would advise you to be wise, O listen to a friend.

Forgive a zeal that seeks your weal, No motive else have I; For that intent these lines are sent, Not whim to gratify.

I know you’re plac’d ’midst follies vast, ’Midst vice in every shape, Where pleasure cries, with siren voice, And few her wiles escape.

Let others riot--keep you all quiet, Serene and pure within; Your Maker fear--his laws revere-- Indulge no darling sin.

One day in seven, devote to heaven, God’s house of prayer seek; Be what’s there said in memory laid, For practice through the week.

In dealing just, still true to trust, Whatever others do, Be truth sincere, and honour fair, The character of you.

Owe to no man.--What good you can With friendly zeal perform,-- Let hasty ire your breast ne’er fire, Though wrong’d, still passion’s storm.

Judicious be in your choice; A real _friend_ is rare; Be kind to all, but try them well, Your confidence who share.

Vain empty pride, high scornful ey’d, Ne’er stoop to flatter it; But worth, where seen, in rich or mean, Respect and imitate.

Ne’er be so weak, as vaunting make Proud self your darling song; Let others praise, if there is cause, But never one’s own tongue.

Vain boasting must still raise disgust, Where it applause expects; But solid sense learns diffidence, By seeing its own defects.

Be by each fault in others taught, T’ avoid the same through life; But to their hurt such ne’er report, Thus keeping clear of strife.

No word obscene, or oath profane, Be by your lips express’d, Nor even your ear approving hear, But from your soul detest.

In reason’s scale weigh matters well, When doubtful how to act; But ne’er in cause of goodness pause, Nor virtuous motions check.

All ill resist, do not assist In any guilty scheme, But count all foes who would propose To sully so your fame.

The gaming board shun as a sword, That would assail your breast; Haunts of the rude, like death elude, And drunkards’ bowl unblest.

In harmless joy your days employ, I would not have them dull; To some wise use, each spare hour chuse, On pleasures rational.

Lightsome as day with spirits gay, And sprightly temper even; Join jocund mirth, with men of worth, But ne’er to excess driven.

Good books at home, read in your room, When business will permit; These friends each night will bring delight, Pursu’d by no regret.

Your pillow prest, then sweetest rest Will every sense absorb; Such as by guilt, can ne’er be felt, Which vexing dreams disturb.

A heart at ease, in virtue’s ways, Its portion here is peace; Be that your aim--a worthier gem Than George’s crown doth grace.

Fresh wholesome air, oft walk to share; From noise and nonsense steal; Attend to health, without which, wealth Will be of small avail.

If fortune smile, O let meanwhile, A giving God be blest; Though troubles low’r, yet meek adore, And in your Maker trust.

What Providence doth wise dispense, Should by his friends be view’d, All sent in love, their hearts to prove, And working for their good.

In every case, then humbly place, On high your confidence; Use means, ’tis true, but grateful view, And own all help from thence.

Frail erring man, do all he can, Can merit make no plea; We at God’s hand can nought command, His favours all are free.

Free grace and love, Oh! these improve, While in this lower clime, For all must end, as here we spend, Use or abuse our time.

One thing ’bove all, one day we shall Find to be needful most; And time mis-spent, we may repent, Our precious moments lost.

Time pass’d, again we never can With pray’rs nor tears recall; And e’er perhaps few days elapse, We low in dust may fall.

No wisdom then we can attain, Or knowledge in the tomb; Each day we live doth warning give, That change may shortly come.

Death at our side makes havock wide, Acquaintance not a few, Some young and gay are call’d away, Since I last spoke with you.

Let us regard, and be prepar’d, More wean’d from worldly toys, Which nought can give, but us deceive With false and fleeting joys.

The immortal mind is sure design’d To rise ’bove trifles here, Still soaring higher, it should aspire To heaven, its native sphere.

Below the skies, nought can suffice, The soul still feels a void; Its lov’d abode is with its God, His presence full enjoy’d.

Look on this state so short of date, As trial for the next; Thro’ a Saviour’s name make heaven your claim, Be there your treasure fix’d.

Tho’ we are weak, and wisdom lack, To our best interest blind; Aid, wisdom, light, if sought aright, We graciously shall find.

May heaven direct, and ne’er forsake, But bless my youthful friend; To life give charms, in death’s alarms-- Peace, Hope, and Triumph send.

A LETTER

_To my NEPHEW after he had been ill, then residing in Perth_.

Dear G---- when you these lines receive, Some lovely day like this, Then of your guardian friends ask leave, And if they answer, yes--

With bow of thanks accept the boon; And then with playful glee, And lightsome step, come here at noon, To dine that day with me.

But if your guardians answer, no, Without complaint submit; What’s proper for you best they know, And every way most fit.

Returning health, relations kind, These blessings duly prize, And with a glad, but humble mind, Let grateful thoughts arise,

And trace them from a source divine, Whence all our blessings flow, Such feelings will your soul refine, True happiness to know.

For in whatever state we are, ’Tis comfort still to feel, We’re under his Almighty care, Who orders all things well.

Supported by his Providence, Preserved by his power, Our hope is in Omnipotence, Both now and evermore.

Nought of this hope can us deprive, Unless, O wicked thought! We ’gainst his tender mercies strive, And set his love at nought.

Be then your youthful heart impress’d With awe, nor so offend,-- But not with gloomy dread possess’d-- Your Maker is your friend.

When I beneath the sod lie pale, O! may your days be spent, Though ’lotted in life’s humble vale, In pious calm content.

Now Spring with promis’d bounty crown’d, Unlocks her lovely stores; ’Tis time to dress the spot of ground, That shall be called yours.

When wint’ry storms retreat at last, Afar to frozen seas; Your seeds will spring and blossom fast, And scent the summer breeze.

When flowers are beautiful to view, Fields green, and fair the sky, Then ask your friends to come with you, These beauties to enjoy.--

Though eggs or milk should be their fare, And bread of barley-meal, With welcome, exercise, and air, Such food will favour well.

Though no rich dainties them await, Them though exertion tire, The walk itself will be a treat, And health I hope their hire.

POSTSCRIPT.

Here an acquaintance from the north, A visit doth intend; You oft’ experienc’d his worth, He was the stranger’s friend.

A LETTER

TO A GENTLEMAN FARMER,

_Requesting a favour_.

Sir, just at a venture this freedom I took, And here, as it is, is a letter; Excuse its design, its defects overlook, For the truth is, I could not do better.

I will not address you in flatt’ry’s fine strain, Which is at the best a mere bubble; But simply, and shortly, will try to explain The cause why I give you this trouble.

Being born in this place, and brought up in my youth, By parents not rich, but respected, For honesty, industry, kindness, and truth, On whom some esteem was reflected.

For whose sakes, this neighbourhood, not then estrang’d, Would have helped me, one or another; But now, one excepted, the tenants are chang’d, Who e’er knew my father or mother.

Another, of late, to his farm bade farewell, On whom was the half of my leaning; And one over-burden’d will naturally fail-- So now you may guess at my meaning.

A favour from you this is sent to obtain, And for leave too, to beg a renewal; Please grant me, at this time, and sometimes again, A cart to bring sticks home for fuel.

No claim I can urge to your kindness at all, Necessity made me invent this; And to Mrs ----’s tho’ my claim is but small, Yet her I request to present this.

And should she, sweet pleader, but give me her vote, These lines will, at least, not offend you; The favour I ask, be it granted or not, I wish, Sir, that good may attend you.

_On laying an old Petticoat beside a good one, which were both cut from the same piece of cloth._

Do not thy sister poor despise, Though now in such a plight; Though she in rags beside thee lies, Don’t her condition slight.

I’d have thee better manners taught, Than such vain pride to shew; ’Twas her misfortune, not her fault, That brought thy sister low.

No diff’rence once you two between, A nice eye could have made; But she has oft’ in hardships been, Which made her sooner fade.

In useful service she has spent, Her beauty, strength, and prime; Thou may’st be tarnish’d, burnt, or rent, At some unlucky time.

No one though prosperous to-day, Can tell to-morrow’s lot; This thought must not be thrown away, Though spoke to a petticoat.

No, let me profit by the same, And make the advice my own, To bear in mind how frail I am, Nor be to censure prone.

Should error, change, decay, be proud, Right reason answers, No-- And man to these (howe’er endow’d) Is liable while below.

Humility becomes us all, Though seldom rightly learn’d: We should not boast when others fall, But pity, and be warn’d.

=On visiting a Faded Flower.=