Defcend, ye chilly, fmothering Snows!
Not all your rage, as now, united fhows
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,

• Vengeful malice, unrepenting,

'Than heaven-illumin'd Man on brother man bestows! See ftern oppreffion's iron grip,

• Or mad Ambition's gory hand,
Sending, like blood-hounds from the flip,
Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land!

• Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale,

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale. 'How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her fide, • The parafite empoifoning her ear,

• With all the fervile wretches in the rear, * Looks o'er proud Property extended wide; 'And eyes the fimple, ruftic Hind, 'Whofe toil upholds the glittring show, 'A creature of another kind,

Some coarfer fubftance unrefin'd,

'Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile below!

'Where, where is Love's fond tender throe,

With lordly Honour's lofty brow,
The pow'rs you proudly own;

Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 'Can harbour, dark, the feliifh aim,

To blefs himself alone!

• Mark Maiden-innocence a prey To love pretending snares,

This boasted Honor turns away,

• Shunning foft Pity's rifing sway! • Regardless of the Tears and unavailing pray'rs! Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's fqualid neft,

She ftrains your infant to her joyless breast, • And with a Mother's fears fhrinks at the rocking • blast!

Oh, ye! who funk in beds of down,

Feel not a want but what yourselves create,
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate,
• Whom friends and fortune quite difown! ·
I'll-fatisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call,

• Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, Chill, o'er his flumbers, piles the drifty heap! Think on the dungeon's grim confine, • Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine! • Guilt, erring Man, relenting view! • But fhall thy legal rage pursue

The Wretch, already crushed low
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow?
Affliction's fons are brothers in distress;
A brother to relieve, how exquifite the blifs!'

I heard nae mair for Chanticleer!

Shook off the pouthery fnaw,

And hail'd the morning with a cheer,
A cottage roufing craw.

But deep this truth imprefs'd my mind

Thro' all his works abroad,

The heart benevolent and kind

The most resembles GOD.

EPISTLE

T

DAV IE,

A BROTHER POET.

January

W

I.

HILE winds frae off Ben-Lomond blaw,

And bar the doors wi' driving fnaw,

And hing us owre the ingle,

I fet me down to pass the time
And spin a verfe or twa' o' rhyme,
In hamely, weftlin jingle.

While frofty winds blaw in the drift,
Ben to the chimla lug,

I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift,
'I hat live fae bien an' fnug:
I tent lefs, and want less

Their roomy fire-fide;
But hanker, and canker,

To fee their cursed pride.

II.

It's hardly in a body's pow'r

To keep, at times, frae being four,
To see how things are shar'd ; ·
How belt o' chiels are whyles in want,
While Coofs on countless thousands rant
And ken na how to wair't:

But Pavie, lad, ne'er fash your head,
Tho' we hae little gear,

We're fit to win our daily bread,
As lang's we're hale and fier:
"Mair spier na, nor fear na”*,
Auld age ne'er mind a feg;
The laft o't the worst o't,

Is only but to beg.

III.

To lie in kilos and barns at e'en,

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, Is, doubtlefs, great diftrefs!

Yet then content could make us bleft;

Ev'n then, fometimes, we'd fuatch a tađe

O'trueft happiness,

The honeft heart that's free frae à’

Intended fraud or guile,

However Fortune kick the ba',