Works

O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;
Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet?
Will thae daft people never quit
An ne'er ha'e done
Disturbin' me in my black pit
Wi' Burn's fun.
...

The rage for writing has spread far and wide,
Letters on letters now are multiplied,
And every mortal, who can hold a pen,
Aspires in haste to teach his fellow men.
Paper in wasted reams, and seas of ink....

Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine,
Watched over by thy mountains far away,
Thy waters have been troubled oftentime,
Never before as they have been to day!
...

In the midst of Life we are in Death.


What is it that has stilled the usual hurry,
Checking the eager tread of rapid feet?
Why does the business face look sad and sorry...

(ISABELLA STEWART)


Heart of mine, by thy quick beating,
Thou knowest Isabel is near,
And the gladness of the greeting
Dims my eye with rapture's tear.
Heart of mine, each beat will tell...

There is a gladness over all the earth,
For summer is abroad in breezy mirth,
Nature rejoices and the heavens are glad,
And I alone am desolate and sad,
For I sit mourning by an empty cot,...

I, an Iroquois brave,
Speak from my forest grave,
Where by Utawa's wave
I sleep in glory.
Listen, pale faces, then,
Let years roll back again,
While of Iroquois men
I tell the story,
...

I often thought to write to thee, what time
I almost fancied heaven-born, genius mine,
And fondly hoped my island harp to wake,
To some new strain sung for my country's sake....

I dedicate these verses to one whom I hold dear,
One who in the dark days drew in Christian kindness near
May He who led me all my life do so and more to me
If ever I forget the debt of love I owe to thee.