Prologue : Written At The Request Of The Managers Of The Public Kitchen At Edinburgh, For The Benefi Poem by Hector Macneill

When discord first, with hate infuriate, hurl'd
Their baneful influence o'er a suffering world;
Broke the firm bands of kindred joys asunder,
And left in want the wretch to weep, and - wonder;
Thrill'd with despair ;- unfriended, and oppress'd,
With haggard eye, pale Poverty, distress'd,
Roam'd the lone wild, a wretched life to save,
And shivering sunk in Famine's darkening cave!
There, sad, she pin'd, and wail'd her hopeless moan,
Earth her damp pillow! and her bed - cold stone,
Till Charity (from Heaven's fair lineage sprung,
Nymph of the melting heart and soothing tongue)
Swift from yon starry vault's ethereal blue,
To want's dark cell with pitying ardour flew!

Cheer'd with celestial rays that chas'd the gloom,
The fainting mourner wak'd - as from the tomb;
Saw the sweet harbinger of joy again
Steal on the soft tip-toe to the bed of pain;
O'er the cold breast her mantling vestments spread;
Wipe the damp brow, and raise the drooping head;
Pour the rich cordial, trickling to the heart;
Brace the lax fibre, and new strength impart;
Kindle fond hope; and beck'ning with a smile,
Lure, while she flew to Britain's fostering isle!
To Britain's isle! where, cherish'd by her care,
The poor, if virtuous, never know despair:
Warm'd by her beams, each bosom learns to glow,
And throb, and feel - the sympathy of woe!
From ocean's gen'rous sons (in fame enroll'd)
To Scotia's mountains, and her patriot's bold;
Alike her magic power o'er land and wave:
- The flame of pity ever warms the brave!
Oh! could its light but harmonize the breast,
And guide again the jarring world to rest!
Spread with mild radiance far from shore to shore,
Till friendship binds, and discord's heard no more!
Till candour starts at reason's temperate call,
And mercy wafts humanity - to all!
This night, where charity's celestial flame
Gilds in mild lustre Scotia's annal'd fame;
Beams in each conscious eye, and, heav'nly meek,
Glows in soft blushes on each fair one's cheek;
This night! indeed, would mock the powers of rhime!
And stamp an era for recording time!

Enough for us, who claim no higher care
Than aid the wretched, and repel despair;
To light the lamp in poverty's dark cell,
And lend new strength to those who - struggle well;
- Enough for us! expiring worth to save,
And cheer the path of virtue to the grave!