Lochwinnoch: A Descriptive Poem
Dispatched to foreign climes, our beauteous toil
Adorn the fair of many a distant isle,
Shield from the scorching heat or shiv'ring storm,
And fairer deck out Nature's fairest form.
Such our sweet toils, when Peace, with gladdening smile,
Wraps in her wings our little busy isle;
But when, loud bellowing, furious from afar,
Is heard the uproar of approaching War,
Britannia rousing, when aspiring foes
Call forth her vengeance and provoke her blows,
Then all the hero in their bosom burns;
Their country calls and Rage dull Pleasure spurns.
Beneath the throng of many a glitt'ring spear,
In marshalled lines the fearless youths appear,
The drum resounds—they leave their native shore,
On distant coasts to swell the battle's roar;
There quell the furious foe, or see their homes no more.
But these are harsh extremes; rough Labour now
Bathes each firm youth, and hoary parent's brow;
Nought shows, but brisk activity around,
The plough-boy 's song, the tradesman's hamm'ring sound.
See! from yon vale, in huge enormous height,
Glitt'ring with windows on the admiring sight,
The fabric swells—within, ten thousand ways
Ingenious Burns his wondrous art displays:
Wheels turning wheels in mystic throngs appear,
To twist the thread, or tortured cotton tear,
While toiling wenches' songs delight the list'ning ear.
At little distance, bord'ring on the lake,
Where blooming shrubs from:golden branches shake
Ambrosial sweets, 'midst shelt'ring coverts high,
Fair Castle-Semple glitters on the eye:
As when bright Phoebus bursts some gloomy shroud,
And glorious issues from the darksome cloud,
Superbly enters on the empyrean blue,
And shines, revealed, to the enraptured view;
So from the trees the beauteous structure open,
Sheltered with hills, and many a deep'ning copse.
The wondering stranger stops to admire the scene;
The dazzling mansion and the shaven green ;
The fir-topt mount ;where browze the bounding deer,
The lake adjoining, stretching smooth and clear;
The long glass hot-house, basking in the rays,
Where nameless blossoms swell beneath the blaze;
Where India's clime in full perfection glows,
And fruits and flowers o'ercharge the bending boughs.
These, and unnumbered beauties charm his sight,
And oft he turns and gazes with delight.
Ye lonely walks, now sinking from the sight,
Now rising easy to the distant height,
Where o'er my head the bending branches close,
And hang a solemn gloom—sedate repose,
Now generous opening, welcomes in the day,
While o'er the road the shadowy branches play.
Hail! happy spots of quiet and of peace,
Dear favourite scenes, where all my sorrows cease,
Where calm Retirement reigns in sober mood,
Lulled by the songsters of the neighbouring wood.
Here oft beneath the shade, I lonely stray,
When morning open, or evening shuts the day;
Or when, more black than night, Fate stern appears,
With all his train of pale despairing fears.
The winding walks, the solitary wood,
The uncouth grotto, melancholy rude;
My refuge these the attending Muse to call,
Or in Pope's lofty page to lose them all.