But now your brow is bald, John, John Anderson my jo, John, And mony a canty day, John, R. Burns CLVII THE LAND O' THE LEAL I 'M wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, I'm wearing awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task 's ended noo, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn 's there, Jean, O we grudged her right sair To the land o' the leal! Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, In the land o' the leal. Lady Nairn CLVIII ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON YE COLLEGE E distant spires, ye antique towers Where grateful Science still adores And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way: Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! Ah fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed While some on earnest business bent To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Gay Hope is theirs by fancy fed, Alas! regardless of their doom No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day : Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train! These shall the fury Passions tear, And Shame that skulks behind; Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath A griesly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That numbs the soul with icy hand, To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Thought would destroy their paradise! 'Tis folly to be wise. T. Gray CLIX HYMN TO ADVERSITY AUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, ᎠᏎ Thou tamer of the human breast, The bad affright, afflict the best! With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth |