ST. ANDREW'S MESSAGE TO THE SCOTSMEN IN LIVERPOOL. THE star-studded pinions of night waved their last, Again, I beheld, and earth's cities were gone Of her domes, and her temples, and towers there were none; Not one lofty mountain had ventured to bear Again, I beheld, and lo! distance had thrown In splendour o'erwhelming burst full on my view; There, entranced as I listened, and dazzled beheld, 66 And he smiled as he gently on mine laid his hand, Saying, Listen young bard, and my words understand; "By grace, here, through great tribulation I came ; "The patron of Scotland, St. Andrew my name; "While on earth I through faith communed daily with God, "And the sweet paths of virtue and wisdom I trode; "And sowed thus the seed that a harvest has given "Of fruit everlasting-the bounty of heaven; "And hence, 'mong the great and the mighty, my name“Is blazoned in light by the finger of Fame. "Thy countrymen long have the day of my birth "Distinguished and welcomed with gladness and mirth; "But lately on banks of the Mersey I've seen "What if honour designed me, no honour has been. "When the deep bowl is drained until Reason's watchlight "Is extinguished-and desperate and dark to the fight, "Unmarshalled, the armies of Passion arise, "And love drops a tear, and sweet Harmony flies; "And man's guardian angels recoil from the sight, "While fiends on dark errands look on with delight : "Such scenes may give joy to the base god of wine, "And add to his honours, but never to mine. "Go, bard of the Irwine, and ere thou again "Shalt mark that fair stream mix its waves with the main, "To men of the north who sojourn in this land, "Disclose thou my counsel, and this my command: "When Time's hoary pinions again bring the day "That closes November's cloud-mantled array, "And far from the face of each well-cherished scene, "The children of dear Caledonia convene; "Let Temperance and Wisdom preside at their boards, "Love rule all their actions, and dictate their words ; "And thus by kind heaven shall their efforts be blest, "And with joy shall I hear in those mansions of rest." I awoke all bewildered-long musing I lay, And eyed the dawn roll its deep shadows away; My trust is discharged to the Saint-and to you, Ye Scotsmen, that dwell by the Mersey-adieu ! LIVERPOOL, Dec., 1842. EPISTLE TO MR CHARLES CLARK, COTTAGE-HILL, LANARK. AUTHOR OF "THE SPINNING WHEEL," ETC. WHAT, in the name of all divine, Is he away with fate and chance grey, That threatening hangs on steep and brae, By fancy's power, I've sometimes seen While hung the mist upon the vale, The dream would change, when far and wide, And winter sang in leafless bower When loneliness her couch hath spread * My friend is very attentive to the wants of the winged tribe during the severities of winter. I have been much amused, on a frosty morning, to see them hopping about the windows with wistful and expectant looks. |