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Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave;
Forgive me if the phrase be strong;-
A poet worthy of Rob Roy

Must scorn a timid song.

Say, then, that he was wise as brave;
As wise in thought as bold in deed:
For in the principles of things
He sought his moral creed.

Said generous Rob, "What need of books?
Burn all the statutes and their shelves;
They stir us up against our kind;

And worse, against ourselves.

"We have a passion, make a law,
Too false to guide us or control!
And for the law itself we fight
In bitterness of soul.

"And, puzzled, blinded thus, we lose
Distinctions that are plain and few :
These find I graven on my heart:
That tells me what to do.

"The creatures see of flood and field,
And those that travel on the wind!
With them no strife can last; they live
In peace, and peace of mind."

"For why?-because the good old rule
Sufficeth them, the simple plan,

That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.

"A lesson which is quickly learn'd,
A signal this which all can see !
Thus nothing here provokes the strong
To wanton cruelty.

"All freakishness of mind is check'd;
He tamed, who foolishly aspires:
While to the measure of his might
Each fashions his desires.

"All kinds, and creatures, stand and fall
By strength of prowess or of wit :
'Tis God's appointment who must sway,
And who is to submit.

"Since, then, the rule of right is plain,
And longest life is but a day;

To have my ends, maintain my rights,
I'll take the shortest way.'

And thus among these rocks he lived,
Through summer's heat and winter's snow:
The eagle, he was lord above,

And Rob was lord below.

So was it would, at least, have been
But through untowardness of fate;
For polity was then too strong;

He came an age too late.

Or shall we say an age too soon?
For, were the bold man living now,
How might he flourish in his pride,
With buds on every bough!

Then rents and factors, rights of chase,
Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains,
Would all have seem'd but paltry things,
Not worth a moment's pains.

Rob Roy had never linger'd here,
To these few meagre vales confined;
But thought how wide the world, the times
How fairly to his mind.

And to his sword he would have said,
"Do thou my sovereign will enact
From land to land through half the earth!
Judge thou of law and fact !

""Tis fit that we should do our part;
Becoming, that mankind should learn
That we are not to be surpass'd
In fatherly concern.

"Of old things all are over old,

Of good things none are good enough :-
We'll show that we can help to frame
A world of other stuff.

"I, too, will have my kings that take
From me the sign of life and death:
Kingdoms shall shift about like clouds,
Obedient to my breath."

And, if the word had been fulfill'd,
As might have been, then, thought of joy!
France would have had her present boast,
And we our brave Rob Roy !

Oh! say not so; compare them not;
I would not wrong thee, champion brave!
Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all
Here standing by thy grave.

For thou, although with some wild thoughts,
Wild chieftain of a savage clan !

Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love

The liberty of man.

And, had it been thy lot to live

With us who now behold the light,

Thou wouldst have nobly stirr'd thyself,

And battled for the right.

For thou wert still the poor man's stay,
The poor man's heart, the poor man's hand!
And all the oppress'd who wanted strength,
Had thine at their command.

Bear witness many a pensive sigh
Of thoughtful herdsman when he strays
Alone upon Loch Veol's heights,

And by Loch Lomond's braes!

And, far and near, through vale and hill,
Are faces that attest the same;
And kindle, like a fire new stirr'd,
At sound of Rob Roy's name.

A POET'S EPITAPH.

ART thou a statesman, in the van
Of public business train'd and bred?
-First learn to love one living man!
Then mayst thou think upon the dead.
A lawyer art thou ?-draw not nigh ;
Go, carry to some other place
The hardness of thy coward eye,
The falsehood of thy sallow face.
Art thou a man of purple cheer,
A rosy man, right plump to see?
Approach; yet, doctor, not too near;
This grave no cushion is for thee.
Art thou a man of gallant pride,
A soldier, and no man of chaff?
Welcome!-but lay thy sword aside,
And lean upon a peasant's staff.
Physician art thou? One, all eyes,
Philosopher! a fingering slave,
One that would peep and botanize
Upon his mother's grave?
Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn aside,-and take, I pray,
That he below may rest in peace,
That abject thing, thy soul, away.

-A moralist perchance appears;
Led, Heaven knows how, to this poor sod;
And he has neither eyes nor ears;
Himself his world, and his own God;

One to whose smooth-rubb'd soul can cling,
Nor form, nor feeling, great nor small;
A reasoning, self-sufficing thing,

An intellectual all in all !

Shut close the door, press down the latch; Sleep in thy intellectual crust;

Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch
Near this unprofitable dust.

But who is he with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown?
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own.

He is retired as noontide dew
Or fountain in a noon-day grove;
And you must love him, ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.
The outward shows of sky and earth,
Of hill and valley, he has view'd;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.

In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,
The harvest of a quiet eye

That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
But he is weak, both man and boy,
Hath been an idler in the land:
Contented if he might enjoy

The things which others understand.
-Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length,
Or build thy house upon this grave.

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. "WHY, William, on that old grey stone, Thus for the length of half a day,

Why, William, sit you thus alone,

And dream your time away?

"Where are your books!-that light bequeath'd

To beings else forlorn and blind!

Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed
From dead men to their kind.

"You look round on your mother earth,
As if she for no purpose bore you;
As if you were her first-born birth,
And none had lived before you!"
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet, I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply:

"The eye-it cannot choose but see;
We cannot bid the ear be still;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against, or with our will.

"Nor less I deem that there are powers
Which of themselves our minds impress;
That we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness.

"Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum
Of things for ever speaking,

That nothing of itself will come,

But we must still be seeking?

"Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, Conversing as I may,

I sit upon this old grey stone,
And dream my time away.'

THE TABLES TURNED;

AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT. UP! up! my friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble?

Up up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you'll grow double.

The sun, above the mountain's head,

A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,

His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life

There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

He, too, is no mean preacher:

Come forth into the light of things,

Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless-
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,

Then all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:

-We murder to dissect.

Enough of science and of art;

Close up these barren leaves:

Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

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