The Author's Earneft Cry and Prayer to the mons The Holy Fair Page I 1.2 19 26 Death and Doctor Hornbook The Brigs of Ayr 36 44 The Ordination 54 The Calf бо Addrefs to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righ teous Tam Samfon's Elegy 99 103 Halloween The Auld Farmer's New-Year Morning's Saluta tion to his Auld Mare Maggie 109 122 Page To Ruin To Mifs L year's Gift Epiftle to a young Friend To a Haggis 176 with Beattie's Poems for a New On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies A Dedication to G**** H*******, Esq. To a Loufe, on feeing one on a Lady's Bonnet 178 179 183 186 188 at Church 194 Addrefs to Edinburgh 197 Fpifle to J. L***** an old Scotch Bard 200 , To the fame 206 Epifle to W. S*****, Ochiltree Epifle to J. R******, inclofing fome Poems When Guildford good our Song. It was upon a Lammas Night,' Song, Now wetlin winds and flaught'ring guns, 233 Song, Behind hills where Stinchar flows,' 235 Green grow the Rafhes. A Fragment yon Song, Again rejoicing Nature fees,' ་ 211 219 223 227 231 237 239 Song, The gloomy night is gath'ring faft,' 242 Song, From thee, Eliza, I must go,' 244 The Farewell. To the Brethren of St. James's Lodge, Tarbolton 245 Song, No churchman am I for to rail and to 'TWAS WAS in that place o' Scotland's ifle, That bears the name of Auld King Coil, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Twa Dogs, that were na thrang at hame, The firft I'll name, they ca'd him Cafar, Was keepit for his Honor's pleafure ; His hair, his fize, his mouth, his lugs, His locked, lettered, braw brafs collar The tither was a ploughman's collie, Wha for his friend and comrade had him, Was made lang fyne, Lord knows how lang, He was a gafh an' faithfu' tyke, As ever lap a fheugh or dike. *Cuchulian's deg in Ofian's Fingal. His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl, Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, Wi' focial nofe whyles fnuff'd and fnowkit; CESAR. I've often wonder'd, honeft Luath, What fort o' life poor dogs like you An' when the gentry's life I faw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava. Our Laird gets in his racked rents, He ca's his coach; he ca's his horfe; He draws a bonie filken purse have, As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the fleeks, The yellow lettered Geordie keeks, |