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Thrice hallow'd pile, where all within
His country's pride,
And where he died.
Next " Auld Kirk Alloway," all hail!
What Muse when here that turns not pale,
As we thy haunted precincts near,
Recalling scenes enacted here,
Which yet thy crumbling gables two
Confirm too plainly to be true 1
But mark " the winnock in the east,
Whare sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast,
Wha screwed his pipes and gaurt them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' played dirl;"
The door through which, ere Maggie rallied,
The motley hellish legion sallied,
In fiendish vengeance, speed, and might,
Pursuing Tam, poor luckless wight,
Which put him in a dismal plight,
Despite his care, Upon that memorable night
He passed from Ayr.
And oh! the "bonnie banks o' Doon,"
That echo loud with endless tune!
How sweet to linger in the shade,
Or tread the fragrant flowery glade,
Where rapturous in the days of yore,
The great magician we deplore
So frequent trod and mused alone,
As bland Erato favour shone.
Here, what associations dwell!
Thrice hail thee, famous Mungo's Well,
Thy cooling draught, as crystal clear,
How grateful to the palate here!
The ivied bridge which " Tammy" crossed,
Defying devil, witch, or ghost,
Or aught of the infernal host,
The stream to pass; But where his trusty Maggie lost
Her tail, alas!
And hail, thou Cenotaph of fame,
The solemn precept once imposed
As gems encased.
While hail the sculptor's noble part,
And every hue,
Alas ! adieu.
Now, lastly, to the brave and free:
First, Old Mortality, to thee,
Dear Kennedy, with thanks profound,
We'll pledge the jolly bumper round
For ever green
Though far between.
THE DRUNKARD'S SOLILOQUY
(5)1 WAKE ! yes, gracious Heaven, once more awake;
And ever-burning, hell-fermenting stomach,
Which sickens at, and loathes the thought of food;
While cold the sweat that bathes my trembling limbs,
And pain-racked, weak, emaciated frame;
A living hospital immured I lie,
Sad victim of remorse, regret, and shame.
How brutalized, degraded, and abandoned!
To conscious rectitude and virtue lost,
Succumbed by every vile, unholy passion
Into all folly and excess of madness—
The very incarnation of pollution;
A scourge, a pest, a curse to human kind—
A public scandal, and the scoff and scorn
Of former friends, and by the wise and good
Scarce noticed save with pity or contempt;
The dupe defenceless, and the ready prey
Of every cheat and sharper I may meet:
How like a vessel drifted here and there
Upon the squally, undulating deep,
Without a compass, chart, or helm to guide her!
And now at length—O God, how horrible !—
Rock-foundered and a melancholy wreck;
To others beaconing the fatal reef,
I isolated stand, and curse existence.
Had but my natal been my mortal hour,
And never had those lips the nipple pressed,
How well for me! O why did not those hands
Which first received me on the stage of life
Anticipate my future wretched being
As some unseemly, heterogeneous birth?