ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF "VERE BOGLE."

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XIV, Issue 170, 18 July 1879, Page 4

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF "VERE BOGLE."

Vere Bogle lies in his last lair, He'll sweep your reeky lums nae ruair,; Of life's hard work he had his share From first to last, Now here he lies without a care, All troubles past. To labour's lowly toil he knelt him, With varied useful arts he dealt him ; By day, we heard, end saw, and felt him Intent to clean ; By night, without a doubt, we smelt him Tho' all unseen. He was the foremost in the strife, When lums were foul, and smells were rife, The trusted friend of man and wife, Of every class, Unnoticed, and unknown, through life He did not pass. Ye Nelson wive9, to pity swift, How oft in anger's bitter tift, His well-known fees in fits of thrift Ye more than grudged him, For then ye set your tongues adrift, And sore misjudged him. Ye wee school bairns ! when mischief leads Your minds to various thoughts and deeds— With those allied to nature's needs, A heavy score — Think on Vere Bogle's lengthy screeds, And err no more. Ye thoughtless few, whose silly sneers Too oft, alas, assailed his ears ; Reflect, and shed repentant tears For errors past ; To-day, he neither feels nor fears Your weapons cast. Be not, in haste, prone to descry The mote that blears a brother's eye ; But quick to soothe misfortune's sigh, With kindly art, And scorn the censor's words that fly To wound the heart. Had it been his, wit's shafts to urge, And lash your souls with satire's scourge, Yonr hearts had then been made to purge Their petty sneers ; Then 1 had sung their dying dirge In mocking tears. "So Titan of his age in mind, With tropes and flowers of speech refined, And deep, far-searching thought, and blind To classic lore ; A Doric tongue, of homely kind, Was all his store. Ye favored few, to plenty born ! Look not on humble toil with scorn ; Hard is their lot from morn tj morn Thro' weary days ; And yet sweet virtues still adorn Their lowly ways. A thorny pathway thick with gloom, Was his from cradle to the tomb ; Few life-flowers cheered his path with bloom, And fragrant breath ; Relentless Fate pronounced his doom, That closed in death. His fate, with almost all his woes, From actions ot his own, arose ; He held the power — a power that goes To alter fate— Which diligence, and skill, disclose In man's estate. Let youth 'this grand old lesson read — Tie Wisdom's, 'tis not mine indeed — Man for himeelf muetr take the lead / With steady aim,. Self-action reaps a richer meed „..',, Thap tongue can name. Despair not of becoming great In fame, in virtue, or estate ; By rising early, working lata s • : .- : u ■ . Wiith care, and skill, Man will succeed, despite of fate, '' Oppose what will. Self-guiding, self-relying will, With faith, can move a mountain still ; Yea ! prudence, patience, care and skill, " . As one combined ; WiH all life's dearest hopes falfi], ■ '■■ ■ To Reason's mind. Bjjtj thejag, :Vere Bogle never knew— Wereifar beyond his fancy's view And'strdng tenrptations, 'itound him ■ '"'tKrew.' Life's evil snarea i-j And bound him, with misfortune's «rew, . • To life-long cares. Bat let just tribute mark my song ! Tho' with Life's ills, Vere battled long ; His heart in honesty, was strong As tested steel, And meekly rendered love for wrong Against his weel. Now Life, with all its cares, is past ; The doom is sealed, the die is cast ; In dreamless sleep Yxrjs sleeps at last In deep repose ; While dark oblivion follows fast, , J Life's solemn close. ■ t ''■"., David Burns. Nelson, June, 1879.