No More Learning

"Another year is gone for ever. "
And what is this day's strong suggestion?
"The passing moment's all we rest on! "
Rest on--for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days more--a few years must--
Repose us in the silent dust.
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes--all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies:
That on this frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight:
That future life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woeful night. --

Since then, my honour'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends,
Let us th' important _now_ employ,
And live as those who never die. --

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight, pale envy to convulse,)
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

* * * * *




CVIII.

TO A GENTLEMAN

WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO

CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE.
[These sarcastic lines contain a too true picture of the times in
which they were written. Though great changes have taken place in
court and camp, yet Austria, Russia, and Prussia keep the tack of
Poland: nobody says a word of Denmark: emasculated Italy is still
singing; opera girls are still dancing; but Chatham Will, glaikit
Charlie, Daddie Burke, Royal George, and Geordie Wales, have all
passed to their account. ]


Kind Sir, I've read your paper through,
And, faith, to me 'twas really new!
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin';
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin';
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
If Venus yet had got his nose off;
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks:
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the Twalt:
If Denmark, any body spak o't;
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't;
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin';
How libbet Italy was singin';
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss:
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britain's court kept up the game:
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin';
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in:
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin',
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,
Or if bare a--s yet were tax'd;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails;
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
And no a perfect kintra cooser. --
A' this and mair I never heard of;
And but for you I might despair'd of.
So, gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you!

_Ellisland, Monday morning_, 1790.

* * * * *




CIX.

THE KIRK'S ALARM;[76]

A SATIRE.

[FIRST VERSION. ]

[The history of this Poem is curious. M'Gill, one of the ministers of
Ayr, long suspected of entertaining heterodox opinions concerning
original sin and the Trinity, published "A Practical Essay on the
Death of Jesus Christ," which, in the opinion of the more rigid
portion of his brethren, inclined both to Arianism and Socinianism.
This essay was denounced as heretical, by a minister of the name
Peebles, in a sermon preached November 5th, 1788, and all the west
country was in a flame.