But chief thy notice shall one monster claim;
A monster furnish'd with a human frame,
The parish-officer!-though verse disdain
Terms that deform the splendour of the strain;
It stoops to bid thee bend the brow severe
On the sly, pilfering, cruel, overseer;
The shuffling farmer, faithful to no trust,
Ruthless as rocks, insatiate as the dust!
When the poor hind, with length of years decay'd, Leans feebly on his once subduing spade, Forgot the service of his abler days,
His profitable toil, and honest praise,
Shall this low wretch abridge his scanty bread,
This slave, whose board his former labours spread?
When harvest's burning suns and sickening air
From labour's unbrac'd hand the grasp'd hook tear,
Where shall the helpless family be fed,
That vainly languish for a father's bread?
See the pale mother, sunk with grief and care,
To the proud farmer fearfully repair;
Soon to be sent with insolence away,
Referr'd to vestries, and a distant day!
Referr'd-to perish !-Is my verse severe ?
Unfriendly to the human character?
Ah! to this sigh of sad experience trust:
The truth is rigid, but the tale is just.
If in thy courts this caitiff wretch appear,
Think not that patience were a virtue here.
His low-born pride with honest rage controul;
Smite his hard heart, and shake his reptile soul.
But, hapless! oft through fear of future woe,
And certain vengeance of th' insulting foe,
Oft, ere to thee the poor prefer their pray❜r,
The last extremes of penury they bear,
Wouldst thou then raise thy patriot office higher,
To something more than magistrate aspire?
And, left each poorer, pettier chase behind,
Step nobly forth, the friend of human kind?
The game I start courageously pursue!
Adieu to fear! to insolence adieu!
And first we'll range this mountain's stormy side, Where the rude winds the shepherd's roof de
As meet no more the wint'ry blast to bear,
And all the wild hostilities of air.
-That roof have I remember'd many a year;
It once gave refuge to a hunted deer-
Here, in those days, we found an aged pair;-
But time untenants-hah! what seest thou there?
"Horror!-by Heav'n, extended on a bed
"Of naked fearn, two human creatures dead!
"Embracing as alive!-ah, no!-no life!
"Cold, breathless!"
'Tis the shepherd and his wife. I knew the scene, and brought thee to behold What speaks more strongly than the story told. They died through want
"By every power I swear,
"If the wretch treads the earth, or breathes the
Through whose default of duty, or design,
"These victims fell, he dies."
A swearing justice wants both grace and sense.
A CASE WHERE MERCY SHOULD HAVE MITIGATED
UNNUMBER'D objects ask thy honest care,
Beside the orphan's tear, the widow's prayer:
Far as thy power can save, thy bounty bless,
Unnumber'd evils call for thy redress.
Seest thou afar yon solitary thorn,
Whose aged limbs the heath's wild winds have torn?
While yet to cheer the homeward shepherd's eye,
A few seem straggling in the evening sky!
Not many suns have hastened down the day,
Or blushing moons immers❜d in clouds their way,
Since there, a scene that stain'd their sacred light,
With horror stopp'd a felon in his flight;
A babe just born that signs of life exprest,
Lay naked o'er the mother's lifeless breast.
The pitying robber, conscious that, pursu❜d,
He had no time to waste, yet stood and view'd;
To the next cot the trembling infant bore,
And gave a part of what he stole before;
Nor known to him the wretches were, nor dear,
He felt as man, and dropp'd a human tear.
Far other treatment she who breathless lay,
Found from a viler animal of
Worn with long toil on many a painful road, That toil increas'd by nature's growing load, When evening brought the friendly hour of rest, And all the mother throng'd about her breast, The ruffian officer oppos'd her stay,
And, cruel, bore her in her pangs away,
So far beyond the town's last limits drove,
That to return were hopeless, had she strove.
Abandon'd there-with famine, pain and cold,
And anguish, she expir'd-the rest I've told.
"Now let me swear-For by my soul's last sigh,
"That thief shall live, that overseer shall die."
Too late!-his life the generous robber paid,
Lost by that pity which his steps delay'd!
No soul-discerning Mansfield sat to hear,
No Hertford bore his prayer to mercy's ear;
No liberal justice first assign'd the gaol,
Or urg'd, as Camplin would have urg'd, his tale.
ON Carron's side the primrose pale,
Why does it wear a purple hue?
Ye maidens fair of Marlivale,
Why stream your eyes with pity's dew?
'Tis all with gentle Owen's blood
That purple grows the primrose pale;
That pity pours the tender flood
From each fair eye in Marlivale.
The evening star sat in his eye,
The sun his golden tresses gave, The north's pure morn her orient dye, To him who rests in yonder grave!
Beneath no high, historic stone,
Though nobly born, is Owen laid,
Stretch'd on the green wood's lap alone,
He sleeps beneath the waving shade.
There many a flowery race hath sprung,
And fled before the mountain gale,
Since first his simple dirge he sung;
Ye maidens fair of Marlivale!
Yet still, when May with fragrant feet Hath wander'd o'er your meads of gold,
That dirge I hear so simply sweet
Far echo'd from each evening fold.
II.
'Twas in the pride of William's day,
When Scotland's honours flourish'd still,
That Moray's earl, with mighty sway,
Bare rule o'er many a Highland hill.
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