The Holy Fair（5 / 9）

  now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,
  he's stampin, an' he's jumpin!
  his lengthen'd chin, his turned-up snout,
  his eldritch squeel an' gestures,
  o how they fire the heart devout,
  like cantharidian plaisters
  on sic a day!
  but hark! the tent has chang'd its voice,
  there's peace an' rest nae langer;
  for a' the real judges rise,
  they canna sit for anger,
  smith opens out his cauld harangues,
  on practice and on morals;
  an' aff the godly pour in thrangs,
  to gie the jars an' barrels
  a lift that day.
  what signifies his barren shine,
  of moral powers an' reason?
  his english style, an' gesture fine
  are a' clean out o' season.
  like socrates or antonine,
  or some auld pagan heathen,
  the moral man he does define,
  but ne'er a word o' faith in
  that's right that day.
  in guid time comes an antidote
  against sic poison'd nostrum;
  for peebles, frae the water-fit,
  ascends the holy rostrum:
  see, up he's got, the word o' god, ↑返回顶部↑