The Scottish Art Review
SONNETS.
ON A PICTURE BY DAVID SCOTT.
('A Man pursued by his Conscience.')
THROUGHOUT the Race of Life one rival fleet In quick on-coming echoes at ray side. He falters not, whatever may betide From the first starting to the final heat. In selfsame rhythm of each footfall's beat, The thing called Conscience apes my bravest stride ; Close as my shadow keeps, till having died I face him at our goal, the judgment-seat. Is he indeed my foe ? — or truest friend. Who girds me in the race yet to be run. And by his very strivings that offend Inspires me to the laurel-crown. Which won. We two may sleep with all our warring done, — No longer foes, at peace, till all things end. Gleeson White.
THE YEAR'S END.
HE seems a frail old man, this parting year, Who looks back sadly o'er his lifelong tale, And sighs for sorrow words of querulous wail ; Anon in senile frenzy stays the tear That sprang at thought of youth's forespent career. And, as old shames and torturing memories fail, Starts up obliviously, with fierce assail To storm the past, — ' Up, rouse thee yet. King Lear ! ' Once more, as though the night should see the sun, His youth'slost hopes flame forth; his tremulous hands Attempt the trick of waving as of yore ; The end shall yet save all, ere all is done. Too late, — fool, old man's mind ! Already stands Death's ominous shade in waiting at thy door. Colin Percival.
