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By fome auld, houlet-haunted, higgin *,
Or kirk deserted by its riggin,
It's ten to ane ye'll find him fnug in

Some eldritch part,
Wi' deils, they say, L-d safe's ! colleaguin

At some black art.

"Ilk ghaift that haunts auld ha' or chamer, Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar,

Warlocks and witches ; Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,

Ye midnight bes,

It's tauld he was a fodger bred, And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; But now he's quat the spurtle-blade,

And dog-skin wallet, And taen the intiquarian trade,

I think they call it.

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets t, Wad haud the Lothiars three in tackets,

A towmont gude ; And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,

Before the Flood.

* Vide his Antiquities of Scotland,
f Vide bis treatise on the ancient ai mour and weapons.

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; Auld Tubalcain's fire-lhool and fender; That which distinguished the gender

O’ Balaam's als; A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,

Weel shod wi' brass.

Forbye, he'll shape you aff fugleg,
The cut of Adam's philibeg ;
The knife that nicket Abel's craig

He'll prove you fully,
It was a faulding jocteleg,

Or lang-kail gullie.

But wad ye see him in his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three

Gude fellows wi' him;'
And, port, O port! shine thou a wee,

And then ye'll see him!

Now, by the powers o' Verse and Profe! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,

They fair misca' thee.; I'd take the rascal by the nose,

Wad say, Shame fa' thee:

TO

TO

Miss C*********

a very young Lady,

Written on the blank Leaf of a Book, presented to

her by the Author.

EAUTE

,
Blooming on thy early May,
Never may'st thou, lovely Flower,
Chilly shrink in Neety shower!
Never Boreas' hoary path,
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath,
Never baleful ftellar lights,
Taint thee with untimely blights !
Never, never reptile thief
Riot on thy virgin leaf!
Nor even Sol too fiercely view
Thy bosom blushing still with dew!

May'lt thou long, sweet crimson gem,
Richly deck thy native stem;
Till some evening, Cober, calm,
Dropping dews, and breathing balın
While all around the woodland rings,
And every bird thy requiem fings;
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound,
Shed thy dying honours round,
And resign to parent Earth
The loveliest form the e'er gave birth.

SONG

S

Ο Ν

G,

ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,

And waste my

Joul with care ; But ah! how bootless to admire,

When fated to despair!

Yet in thy presence, loyely Fair,

To hope may be forgiven ;
For fure 'twere impious to despair

So much in fight of Heaven.

On

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