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On the BIRTH of a POSTHUMOUS CHILD, born in peculiar Circumstances of FAMILY-DISTRESS.

SWEET flowret, pledge o' meikle love,

And ward o' mony a prayer,

What heart o' ftane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, fweet and fair.

November hirples o'er the lea,

Chill, on thy lovely form;

And gane, alafs! the fheltering tree,
Should fhield thee frae the ftorm.

May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blaft to blaw,
Protect thee frae the driving fhower,
The bitter froft and fnaw.

May HE, the friend of woe and want,
Who heals life's various ftounds,
Protect and guard the mother plant
And heal her cruel wounds.

But late fhe flourished, rooted fast,
Fair on the fummer morn:

Now, feebly bends fbe, in the blaft,
Unfheltered and forlorn,

Bleft be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unfcathed by ruffian hand!

And from thee many a parent ftem
Arife to deck our land.

THE

WHISTLE,

BALL A D.

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AS the authentic Profe hiftory of the WHISTLE is curious, I fhall here give it-In the train of Anne of Denmark, when the came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came over alfo a Danish Gentleman of gigantic ftature and great prowefs, and a matchlefs champion of Bacchus, He had a little ebony Whistle, which at the Commencement of the egies, he laid on the table; and whoever was laft able to blow it, every body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory.-The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a fingle defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Mofcow, War. faw, and several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alter native of trying his prowess, or elfe of acknowledging their inferiority. After many overthrows on the

part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor to the prefent worthy baronet of that name; who, after three days and three nights hard conteft, left the Scandivanian under the table, "And blew on the whistle his requiem fhrill.”

Sir Walter, fon to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards loft the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a fifter of Sir Walter's.

-On Friday the 16th October, 1790, at Friar'sCarfe, the Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the Ballad, by the prefent Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton; Robert Riddel, Efq. of Glenriddel, lineal defcendant and reprefentative of Walter Riddel, who won the Whifile, and in whofe family it had continued; and Alexander Fergufon, Efq. of Craigdarroch, likewife defcended of the great Sir Robert, which laft gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the field.

I

SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,

I Sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North,

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king,

And long with this Whistle all Scotland fhall ring.

Old Loda*, fill rueing the arm of Fingal,

The god of the bottle fends down from his hall"This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get

"o'er,

66 And drink them to hell Sir! or ne'er fee me "more!"

Old poets have fung, and old chronicles tell,
What champions ventured, what champions fell;
The fon of great Loda was conqueror still,
And blew on the Whittle their requiem thrill.

Till Robert the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, Unmatched at the bottle, unconquered in war, He drank his poor god-fhip as deep as the fea, No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gained, Which now in his houfe has for ages remained; Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, The jovial conteft again have renewed.

* See Offian's Carac-thura,

Three joyous good fellows with hearts clear of

flaw;

Craigdarroch fo famous for wit, worth and law;
And trufty Glenriddel, fo fkilled in old coins;
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.

Craigdarroch began with a tongue fmooth as oil,
Defiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil:
Or elfe he would mufter the heads of the clan,
And once more, in claret, try which was the man.

"By the gods of the ancients!" Glenriddel replies,

"Before I furrender fo glorious a prize,

"I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More *, "And bumper his horn with him twenty times ❝ o'er."

Sir Robert, a foldier, no fpeech would pretend, But he ne'er turned his back on his foe-or his

friend,

Said, tofs down the Whistle, the prize of the field, And knee-deep in claret he'd die or he'd yield.

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,

So noted for drowning of forrow and care;

But for wine and for welcome not more known to

fame,

Than the fenfe, wit, and tafte of a fweet lovely dame,

*See Johnson's tour to the Hebrides.

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