A Winter Night

7Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,

8Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,

9While burns, wi’ snawy wreaths up-choked,

10 Wild-eddying swirl;

11Or, thro’ the mining outlet bocked,

12 Down headlong hurl:

13List’ning the doors an’ winnocks rattle,

14I thought me on the ourie cattle,

15Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle

16 O’ winter war,

17And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle

18 Beneath a scar.

19Ilk happing bird,—wee, helpless thing!

20That, in the merry months o’ spring,

21Delighted me to hear thee sing,

22 What comes o’ thee?

23Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing,

24 An’ close thy e’e?

25Ev’n you, on murdering errands toil’d,

26Lone from your savage homes exil’d,

27The blood-stain’d roost, and sheep-cote spoil’d

28 My heart forgets,

29While pityless the tempest wild

30 Sore on you beats!

31Now Phoebe in her midnight reign,

32Dark-muff’d, view’d the dreary plain;

33Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,

34 Rose in my soul,

35When on my ear this plantive strain,

36 Slow, solemn, stole:—

37“Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!

38And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!

39Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!

40Not all your rage, as now united, shows

41 More hard unkindness unrelenting,

42 Vengeful malice unrepenting.

43Than heaven-illumin’d Man on brother Man bestows!

44“See stern Oppression’s iron grip,

45 Or mad Ambition’s gory hand,

46Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip,

47 Woe, Want, and Murder o’er a land!

48 Ev’n in the peaceful rural vale,

49 Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,

50How pamper’d Luxury, Flatt’ry by her side,

51 The parasite empoisoning her ear,

52 With all the servile wretches in the rear,

53Looks o’er proud Property, extended wide;

54 And eyes the simple, rustic hind,

55 Whose toil upholds the glitt’ring show—

56 A creature of another kind,

57 Some coarser substance, unrefin’d—

58Plac’d for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below!

59“Where, where is Love’s fond, tender throe,

60 With lordly Honour’s lofty brow,

61 The pow’rs you proudly own?

62 Is there, beneath Love’s noble name,

63 Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim,

64 To bless himself alone?

65 Mark maiden-innocence a prey

66 To love-pretending snares:

67 This boasted Honour turns away,

68 Shunning soft Pity’s rising sway,

69Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray’rs!

70 Perhaps this hour, in Misery’s squalid nest,

71 She strains your infant to her joyless breast,

72And with a mother’s fears shrinks at the rocking blast!

73“Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down,

74 Feel not a want but what yourselves create,

75 Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate,

76 Whom friends and fortune quite disown!

77Ill-satisfy’d keen nature’s clamorous call,

78 Stretch’d on his straw, he lays himself to sleep;

79While through the ragged roof and chinky wall,

80 Chill, o’er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap!

81 Think on the dungeon’s grim confine,

82 Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine!

83 Guilt, erring man, relenting view,

84 But shall thy legal rage pursue

85 The wretch, already crushed low

86 By cruel Fortune’s undeserved blow?

87Affliction’s sons are brothers in distress;

88A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!”

89 I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer

90 Shook off the pouthery snaw,

91 And hail’d the morning with a cheer,

92 A cottage-rousing craw.

93 But deep this truth impress’d my mind—

94 Thro’ all His works abroad,

95 The heart benevolent and kind

96 The most resembles God.