Blair Collection > Selections from the Gaelic bards

DUGALD BUCHANAN. 89
Or wert thou the Leech,
Who thy patients could teach
Every ache, every pain to allay —
Boasting elate,
Thy specific so great,
That could snatch from death's hand his prey ?
Alas ! and that power
Was lost in the hour
When relief thy own sickness did crave —
And then all thy skill,
In the bolus and pill,
Could not keep thee a day from the grave.
Or in tavern rout,
Didst thou revel and shout,
With the mirth which the dram-drinking bred?
And never a thought
Of God's providence sought,
If the barm raised it not in thy head ?
No music was there,
But to curse and to swear,
As you tried whose fist was the best ;
Till, as senseless and coarse
As a cow or a horse,
You lay dizzy and spewed in your rest.
Or some great man and grand,
Do I hold in my hand —
Lord of acres, fertile and wide,
Who kindness would show
To the mean man and low,
And the poor from his plenty supplied ?