On receiving a Moral Epistle from him.
May, 1802.
PLEASE accept the thanks and praise
Due to your poetic lays,
Wisdom ay should be rever'd,
Sense to wit be ay prefer'd.
—Just your thoughts, in simple guise,
Fit to make frail mortals wise ;
Every period, every line,
With some moral truth doth shine.
—Like the rocks, which storms divide,
Thund'ring down the mountain's side,
So strides Time, with rapid force,
Round his unobstructed course ;
Like a flood upon its way,
Sweeping downward to the sea :
But what figure so sublime
As describe the flight of time ?
Yesterday is past and gane,
Just as it had never been.
—Life's a dream, and man's a bubble,
'Compass'd round with care and trouble,
Like a ship in tempest tost ;
Soon o'erwhelm'd, for ever lost ;
Like the short-liv'd passion-flow'r, [1]
Blooming, dying, in an hour ;
Like the tuneful bird that sings,
Flutt'ring high on sportive wings,
Till the fowler's subtle art,
Drives Death's message to its heart,
While, perhaps, Death aims his blow
For to lay the wretch as low.
—Now since life is but a day,
Make the most of it we may ;
Not in drinking to excess—
Drink the spirits will depress :
Calm and tranquil let us be,
Still resign'd to Fate's decree :
Let not poortith sink us low,
Let not wealth exalt our brow,
Let's be grateful, virtuous, wise—
There's where all our greatness lies ;
Doing all the good we can,
Is all that Heaven requires of man.
—Wherefore should we grieve and sigh,
'Cause we know that he must die ?
Death's a debt requir'd by nature,
To be paid by every creature ;
Rich and poor, and high and low,
Fall by Death's impartial blow—
God, perhaps in kindness, will
Snatch us from some coming ill ;
Death may kindly waft us o'er
To a milder, happier shore.
—But, Dear Jamie ! after a',
What I've said's not worth a straw ;
What is't worth to moralize
What we never can practise ?
As for me, wi a my skill,
Passion leads me as she will :
But resolves, laid down to-day,
Ere to-morrow 're done away.
—then let's ever cheery live,
Do our best and never grieve ;
Still let Friendship's warmest tie
A' deficiencies supply,
And, while favoured by the Nine,
I your laurels will entwine.
Note by Ramsay.—“This old friend and correspondent of the author still survives” (1837).
James King, weaver, soldier, and poet, was born at the head of Causeyside Street, Paisley, in 1776. He was brought up to the trade of a weaver, and enlisted into one of the Fencible Regiments raised after the outbreak of the French Revolution. After five years' service, the Fencible Regiments were disbanded. In 1803, when the Militia Regiments were re-embodied, James King enlisted in the Renfrewshire Militia; and several letters from him to Robert Tannahill, when serving in that corps while in England, appear among the Correspondence. During his service, an overt act of insubordination occurred in the regiment about the end of 1811, and James King was suspected of being the ringleader, while the usual unsatisfactory defence that he was not to blame was set up. He was not listened to, but allowed to leave the regiment. He, however, obtained his discharge in 1815, when the regiment was disbanded. The disbanding of Militia and Local Militia Regiments, after the Battle of Waterloo, created a great sensation in the streets of Paisley, and we recollect the occurrence well. In 1826, James King returned to Paisley, and took up his residence in the house where he was horn, and remained a year; after which, he removed to Charleston, and resided there several years. He wrote the “Battle of Talavera,” which appeared in the Scots Magazine, and the “Battle of Busace,” which appeared in the Harp of Renfrewshire. Motherwell, the editor, added a note ascribing the latter song to James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd; but he was mistaken. We recollect Mr. King well, and he called upon us frequently. He contributed. “A Legend of Stanely Castle” to the Renfrewshire Annual for 1841; and, in 1842, he commenced the publication of his Poems and Songs, which only reached the third number. From first to last, King has written a large quantity of Poetry; and if his poems and songs could now he collected together, they would form a handsome volume. He died 28th September, 1849, in the 73rd year of his age.—Ed.
[1] Passiflora; Passion Flower,—from passio, suffering, and flos, a flower. This plant was discovered in South America in 1629, and much interest is attached to it from the description given by Romish missionaries. They declared that the part of the flower like a pillar, hearing the three stigmas, represented the Cross on which the Saviour suffered; the five anthers, the hammer and the nails with which he was fastened to the Cross; and the rays figured the crown of thorns. The petals represented the ten apostles,—the other two being left out because the one had betrayed, and the other denied his Master. The Saviour having lain three days in the tomb,—that the flower opens and closes in three days in commemoration of that event.
[Semple 18]