Night（1 / 2）

a winter night

poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,

that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!

how shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,

your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you

from seasons such as these?—shakespeare.

when biting boreas, fell and dour,

sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;

when phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,

far south the lift,

dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r,

or whirling drift:

ae night the storm the steeples rocked,

poor labour sweet in sleep was locked,

while burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked,

wild-eddying swirl;

or, thro' the mining outlet bocked,

down headlong hurl:

list'ning the doors an' winnocks rattle,

i thought me on the ourie cattle,

or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle

o' winter war,

and thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle

beneath a scar.

ilk happing bird,—wee, helpless thing!

that, in the merry months o' spring,

delighted me to hear thee sing,

what comes o' thee?

whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing,

an' close thy e'e?

ev'n you, on murdering errands toil'd,

lone from your savage homes exil'd,

the blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd

my heart forgets,

while pityless the tempest wild

sore on you beats!

now phoebe in her midnight reign,

dark-muff'd, view'd the dreary plain;

still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,

rose in my soul,

when on my ear this plantive strain,

slow, solemn, stole:—

“blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!

and freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!

descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!

not all your rage, as now united, shows

more hard unkindness unrelenting,

vengeful malice unrepenting.

than heaven-illumin'd man on brother man bestows!

“see stern oppression's iron grip,

or mad ambition's gory hand,