Fragment of an Epistle to Mr W.H.D---
By James Orr
鈥楾is no malice o鈥� the hale,
鈥楾is no the looms untunefu鈥� peal,
The ragged coat, an鈥� hamely meal,
That keenly sting;
But something else 鈥� I see and feel,
But canna sing.
O Nature! cud I set your stage,
Wi鈥� a its scen鈥檙y on my page!
My rainbows points the earth sud guage,
My wild-fire wander;
An鈥� lakes an鈥� rivers smile and rage,
Wi鈥� grace an鈥� grandeur.
The purplin鈥� morn, and pensive eve,
Sud a their fine, fair tints receive;
My cliff sud frown, my echo rave,
My shamrock smell,
My night appear as gran鈥檒y grave
As night hersel'.
My thun鈥檈r dreadfully sud soun鈥�,
An鈥� still the hum o鈥� hazy noon;
Hill, wood, an鈥� grove, sud (smiling roun鈥�)
Sing, low, and bleat;
An鈥� rough cascades come dashin鈥� down,
In savage state.
Or cud my manners-paintin鈥� rhymes
鈥淗aud up the mirror鈥� to the times,
I鈥檇 sing how av鈥檙ice gnaws folks wymes,
How folly tipples,
An鈥� how ambition thins the climes
That love re-peoples.
The tragedy o鈥� doeless Dodd
Frae shame sud free him if I cud;
Some 鈥渧illage HAMPDENS鈥� patriot blood
Sud issue, glorious,
Some WOLFE aince mair sud thank his God
And die victorious.
I needna strive. My want and woe
Unnerves the energies, you know;
Yet Nature prompts my muse, tho鈥� slow
An鈥� faints her fires:
The cuckoo sings obscurely low,
The lark aspires.
Coy science spurn鈥檇 me frae her knee,
An鈥� fortune bad my shuttle flee;
But, a鈥� the while, smit strangely wi鈥�
The love o鈥� sang,
I rudely rhyme the scenes I see,
Whare鈥檈r I gang.
