[Sidenote: _fol._ 389.]
_ON A LATE DEFEAT, 1746, said to have been composed
by a Scots gentleman, an officer in the Dutch service._
Canst thou, my muse, such desolation view--
Such dreadful havoc 'mong the loyal few;
Vile murders, robbery, consuming fire;
Mothers, with tender infants, starv'd, expire;
Daggers and death in ev'ry hideous face
Threat'ning destruction to the northern race;
Villains contending with a dev'lish joy
Who first shall plunder, or who first destroy;
Successful tyranny and laurell'd vice,
The gods assisting him, who Heav'n defies;
Seeming to spurn the good, th' illustrious youth,
Renown'd for mercy, piety, and truth;
Reluctant fighting passage to a crown
Which none but bigot-whigs deny his own?
Can'st thou behold, and still thy grief suppress,
Our prince and country in so deep distress?
Nor, fir'd with indignation, aid my pen
To lash the cruel deeds of guilty men?
Rouze, rouze, my muse, and curse the hated cause
Of lost religion, liberty, and laws!
Thy freedom, Scotland! in one fatal hour
Is sacrific'd, alas! to lawless pow'r.
All, all is lost! No spark of hope remains;
Death only now, or banishment and chains.
Hard fate of war! How hast thou changed the scene!
What just, what glorious enterprize made vain!
Pale Nature trembles; general decay
Succeeds the horrors of th' unlucky day.
The good, the brave, in sympathy unite, [Sidenote: _fol._ 390.]
Amaz'd that Heav'n did not maintain the fight.
Despairing beauty languishes to see
Such virtue vanquished in a righteous plea.
Has godlike Charles (such matchless glories past!)
Conquered so oft to be subdued at last?
These valiant chiefs, whom native courage fir'd,
Then exil'd king's and country's wrongs inspir'd,
T' assert the rights each one enjoy'd before,
And king and country's liberties restore;
Failing in that, with just contempt of life,
Resolv'd to perish 'midst the glorious strife;
Must these true heroes, these great patriots yield
And the usurper's forces keep the field?
A bloody, perjur'd, mercenary crew,
Who fled but lately whom they now pursue
Like fiends of hell, by worse than demon led,
They _kill the wounded_ and they rob the dead.
O! Act of horror! more than savage rage
Unparallel'd in any former age!
Curst be the barb'rous executing hand,
And doubly curst who gave the dire command.
A deed so monstrous, shocking ev'n to name,
To all eternity 'twill damn their fame.
Ah! why, just Heaven! (But Heav'n ordain'd it so)
Are impious men allow'd to rule below?
Why does misfortune still attend the best,
Whilst those with life's supreme delights are blest?
Perplexing mistery to human sense;
The wonderful decree of Providence.
But virtue, happy in her self can bear } [Sidenote: _fol._ 391.]
(The ills of life most seemingly severe) }
Whatever fate the gods allot us here; }
Convinc'd that earthly happiness is vain
And most of pleasure's only rest from pain.
No shocks of fortune can her peace destroy,
Deserving bliss, indiff'rent to enjoy.
Calm and serene amidst the wrecks of fate,
As ne'er exalted in a prosp'rous state,
She bears adversity with stedfast mind,
To Heavn's decrees religiously resign'd.
Some time, perhaps, fair virtue will take place, }
Shining conspicuous in the royal race, }
To bless the land with liberty and peace. }
Tyrants subdu'd shall tremble at her nod
And learn that virtue is the cause of God.
_A PARAPHRASE UPON PSALM 137._
(_As it is said_) _by Willie Hamilton_.
1.
On Gallia's shore we sat and wept
When Scotland we thought on,
Rob'd of her bravest sons and all
Her ancient spirit gone.
2.
Revenge, the sons of Gallia said,
Revenge your native land.
Already your insulting foes
Crowd the Batavian strand.
3.
How shall the sons of freedom e'er
For foreign conquest fight?
For pow'r how wield the sword, depriv'd [Sidenote: _fol._ 392.]
Of Liberty and right?
4.
If thee, O Scotland! I forget
Ev'n to my latest breath,
May foul dishonour stain my name
And bring a coward's death.
5.
May sad remorse of fancy 'd guilt
My future days employ!
If all thy sacred rights are not
Above my chiefest joy.
6.
Remember England's children, Lord!
Who, on Drummossie day,
Deaf to the voice of kindred love,
Raze, raze it quite, did say.
7.
And thou, proud Gallia! faithless friend,
Whose ruin is not far,
Just Heav'n on thy devoted head
Pour all the woes of war!
8.
When thou thy slaughter'd little ones
And ravish'd dames shalt see,
Such help, such pity may'st thou have
As Scotland had from thee.
_ODE ON THE 20TH OF DECEMBER 1746._[179]
_Hie dies, anno redeunte, festus, etc._ [Sidenote: _fol._ 393.]
[179] Charles Edward is generally said to have been born on 31st
December: but 20th December is the date in the Manuscript, being old
style.
1.
A while forget the scenes of woe,
Forbid a while the tears to flow,
The pitying sigh to rise.
Turn from the ax the thought away;
'Tis Charles that bids us crown the day,
And end the night in joys.
2.
So when bleak clouds and beating rain
With storms the face of Nature stain,
And all in gloom appears.
If Phœbus deign a short-liv'd smile,
The face of Nature charms a while,
A while the prospect cheers.
3.
Come then, and while we largely pour
Libations to the genial hour,
That gave our hero birth;
Let us invite the tuneful nine
To sing a theme, like them, divine,
To paint our hero's worth.
4.
How on his tender infant years,
The cheerful hand of Heav'n appears
To watch its chosen care.
Estrang'd to ev'ry foe to truth
Virtuous affliction nurs'd his youth.
Instructive tho' severe.