Classic Poem

Yestreen , as I staw by yon auld ruin'd wa',
Whare heroes lie mould'ring and rotten,
There the chieftain of fame, and the fair peerless dame,
Lie low in their mansion, forgotten.

Below yon grey stanes lie the friar's haly banes,
An' the nuns in yon mould'ring cloister,
That liv'd their chaste lives without husbands or wives,
Wi' pains and wi' pennance right austere.

Now lowly ye rest; but your sauls they are blest;
For honour and truth was your treasure:
An' ye holy few, that, secluded frac view,
Despising each worldly pleasure.

Thus musing I strode o'er the green grassy sod,
An' thought on the frailties o' nature,
How man's like a flower, that's cut down in an hour:
A weak, thoughtless, short-sighted creature.

Midnight came soon, and the pale waning moon
O'er the verge her last shred was declining;
Dark clouds gather'd roun', with a dismal like gloom,
As if spirits o' darkness were joining.

The ominous note frae the raven's hoarse throat,
Was join'd by the far-flying heron;
Through the vaults the wind sang, and the untouch'd bell rang,
Chorus'd up by the owl's screeching clarion.

Loudly the rain lash'd frae the wings o' the blast,
And louder the thunder did bellow;
The light'ning's rude dash o'er the ruins did flash,
While demons of darkness did follow.

When lo! to the west, where the ivy had prest,
Rose the moanings of misery and horror;
The fire-ba's fell, like red bolts shot frae hell,
Spreading fear, devastation, and terror.

When near to yon bust raise twa knights frae the dust,
Wha's looks teem'd wi' terror and vengeance:
Said, “through fervent zeal we've our souls sent to hell,
Being of kings and of devils the engines.

“Our arms we have strain'd for what fate ne'er ordain'd;
For the tomb and yon temple sae bonny,
To clear Jewish parks frae Saracens and Turks,
And become a Jerusalem Johnny.

“Through the fray we have dash'd, till our feet ha'e been wash'd
Wi' blood o' the innocent Persian;
But never yet deem'd, while their bodies we seam'd,
That we from our duty were swerving.

“In our demon-like grup we have women ript up,
Tho' the child in the womb has been starting;
While the sum of our gains, and reward of our pains,
Was the gift o' a green or blue garten.”

Then niest frae the groun', raise a friar an' a nun,
Twa spectres wi' horrible grinnin';
They wildly accus'd, an' each other abus'd,
For secretly tempting to sinnin'.

“From the rich,” says the monk, “I have eat an' have drunk,
An' paid with a Pope's toleration;
I have taught them a lie, for which I now fry,
An' sooth'd o'er their souls to damnation.

“The poor I have rack'd, till their heart-strings have crack'd;
Stain'd their daughters with guilt and infection:
I have lain with men's wives, challeng'd, then ta'en their lives;
And all without dread or detection.

“Made religion a cloak, real piety a joke,
And hatched conspiracy and treason;
And in prosperous days, we made faggots to blaze,
And curb'd every dawning of reason.”

“And me,” said the nun, “you've for ever undone,
By your lewd and your lawless caresses;
You strangled my child, tho' the innocent smil'd;
And laugh'd at a mother's distresses.”

“You lie,” said the priest, anger swell'd in his breast,
“Thy child had a convent of fathers;
'Twas far other aims, than confessing your sins,
Made you twine round our bodies like adders.

“Thy dark hollow soul, with hypocrisy foul,
Thou varlet—thou base lying Vandal!
What fiend ever match'd yet false women debauch'd—
You caus'd me, to save you from scandal.”

But the morning bell strook, when I backward did look,
To muse on those prospects sae dreary;
There was nought I could view, but the dark waving yew:
Thro' turrets the wind whistl'd eerie.