[104] Published at Glasgow, 1836.
[105] These are his descriptions of “The Drunkard,” “The Glutton,” and “The Good and Wicked Pastor.”
A CLAGIONN.
THE SKULL.
As I sat by the grave, at
the brink of its cave
Lo! a featureless
skull on the ground;
The symbol I clasp, and detain
in my grasp,
While I turn it
around and around.
Without beauty or grace, or
a glance to express
Of the bystander
nigh, a thought;
Its jaw and its mouth are
tenantless both,
Nor passes emotion
its throat.
No glow on its face, no ringlets
to grace
Its brow, and
no ear for my song;
Hush’d the caves of
its breath, and the finger of death
The raised features
hath flatten’d along.
The eyes’ wonted beam,
and the eyelids’ quick gleam—
The intelligent
sight, are no more;
But the worms of the soil,
as they wriggle and coil,
Come hither their
dwellings to bore.
No lineament here is left
to declare
If monarch or
chief art thou;
Alexander the Brave, as the
portionless slave
That on dunghill
expires, is as low.
Thou delver of death, in my
ear let thy breath
Who tenants my
hand, unfold;
That my voice may not die
without a reply,
Though the ear
it addresses is cold.
Say, wert thou a May,[106]
of beauty a ray,
And flatter’d
thine eye with a smile?
Thy meshes didst set, like
the links of a net,
The hearts of
the youth to wile?
Alas every charm that a bosom
could warm
Is changed to
the grain of disgust!
Oh, fie on the spoiler for
daring to soil her
Gracefulness all
in the dust!
Say, wise in the law, did
the people with awe
Acknowledge thy
rule o’er them—
A magistrate true, to all
dealing their due,
And just to redress
or condemn?
Or was righteousness sold
for handfuls of gold
In the scales
of thy partial decree;
While the poor were unheard
when their suit they preferr’d,
And appeal’d
their distresses to thee?
Say, once in thine hour, was
thy medicine of power
To extinguish
the fever of ail?
And seem’d, as the pride
of thy leech-craft e’en tried
O’er omnipotent
death to prevail?
Alas, that thine aid should
have ever betray’d
Thy hope when
the need was thine own;
What salve or annealing sufficed
for thy healing
When the hours
of thy portion were flown?
Or—wert thou a
hero, a leader to glory,
While armies thy
truncheon obey’d;
To victory cheering, as thy
foemen careering
In flight, left
their mountains of dead?
Was thy valiancy laid, or
unhilted thy blade,
When came onwards
in battle array
The sepulchre-swarms, ensheathed