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He had nae wish but to be glad,

Nor want but—when he thirsted;
He had nought but to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested

His
sang

that night.

He swoor by a' was swearing worth,

To speet him like a pliver,
Unless he wad from that time forth

Relinquish her for ever.
Wi' ghastly e’e, poor tweedle-dee

Upon his hunkers bended,
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,

And sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve

When round the tinkler prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,

When thus the caird addressid her :

AIR,

TUNE--For a' that, and a' that. I am a bard of no regard,

Wi' gentle folks, and a' that: But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,

Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS.

AIR.

TUNE-Clout the Caudron.

My bonny lass, I work in brass,

A tinkler is my station :
I've travell'd round all Christian ground

In this my occupation :
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd

In many a noble squadron:
But vain they search’d, when off I march'd
To go and clout the caudron,

I've tae'n the gold, &c.
Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,

Wi' a' his noise and caprin,'
And tak a share wi' those that bear

The budget and the apron.
And by that stoup, my faith and houp,

And by that dear Kilbagie (61),
If e'er ye want, or meet wi’ scant,
May I ne'er weet my craigie.

And by that stoup, &c.

For a' that, and a' that,

And twice as muckle's a' that; I've lost but ane, I've twa behin,'

I've wife eneugh for a' that. I never drank the Muses' stank,

Castalia's burn and a' that ; But there it streams, and richly reams, My Helicon I ca’ that,

For a' that, &c.
Great love I bear to a' the fair,

Their humble slave, and a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.

For a' that, &c.
In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,

Wi' mutual love and a' that:
But for how lang the flee may stang,
Let inclination law that.

For a' that, &c.
Their tricks and craft have put me daft,

They've ta’en me in, and a' that ;
But clear your decks, and here's the sex
I like the jads for a' that.

CHORUS
For a' that, and a' that,

And twice as muckle's a' that;
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,

They're welcome till’t for a' that.

RECITATIVO,

RECITATIVO.

The caird prerail'd—the unblushing fair

In his embraces sunk,
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,

And partly she was drunk.
Sir Violino, with an air

That show'd a man of spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, And made the bottle clunk

To their health that night. But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft,

That play'd a dame a shavie,
The fiddler raked her fore and aft,

Ahint the chicken cavie.
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,

Tho' limping wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft,
And shor'd them Dainty Davie

O'boot that night
He was a care-defying blade

As ever Bacchus listed,
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,

His heart she ever miss'd it.

So sang the bard-and Nansie's wa's
Shook with a wonder of applause,

Re-echo'd from each mouth :
They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their

duds. They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,

To quench their lowin' drougth.
Then owre again, the jovial thrang,

The poet did request,
To loose his pack and wale a sang,
A ballad o the best;
He rising, rejoicing,

Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, and found them

Impatient for the chorus.

AIR.

TUNE-Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses. Sve! the smoking bowl before us,

Mark our jovial ragged ring! Round and round take up the chorus,

And in raptures let us sing.

Or haply, prest with cares and woes,

Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth, with me, to mourn

The miseries of man.
The sun that overhangs yon moors,

Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support

A haughty lordling's pride:
I've seen you weary winter-suu

Twice forty times return,
And ev'ry time has added proofs

That man was made to mourn.

CHORUS.

Oh man, while in thy early years,

How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,

Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;

Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,

That man was made to mourn.

A fig for those by law protected!

Liberty's a glorious feast ! Courts for cowards were erected,

Churches built to please the priest. What is title ? what is treasure ?

What is reputation's care ? If we lead a life of pleasure, 'Tis no matter how or where!

A fig, &c. With the ready trick and fable,

Round we wander all the day; And at night in barn or stable, Hug our doxies on the lay.

A fiy, &c. Does the train-attended carriage

Through the country lighter rove? Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love!

A fig, &c. Life is all a variorum,

We regard not how it goes ; Let them cant about decorum Who have characters to lose.

A tig, &c.
Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets !

Here's to all the wandering train!
Ilere's our ragged brats and callets !
One and all cry outAmen!
A fig for those by law protected!

Liberty's a glarious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,

Churches built to please the priest.

Look not alone on youthful prime,

Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,

Supported is his right;
But see him on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn;
Then age and want-oh! ill-match'd pairl-

Show man was made to mouin.

A few seem favourites of fate,

In pleasure's lap carest;
Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.
But, oh! what crowds in every land,

All wretched and forlorn!
Thro' weary life this lesson learn

That man was made to mourn.

Many and sharp the num'rous ills

Inwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves

Regret, remorse, and shame;
And man, whose heaven-erected face

The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

Jan was Maùe to Journ. (62)

A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast

See yonder poor, o'e-labour'd wight, Made fields and forests bare,

So abject, mean, and vile, One ev'ning, as I wandered forth

Who beg's a brother of the earth Along the banks of Ayr,

To give him leave to toil; I spied a man whose aged step

And see his lordly fellow-worm Seem'd weary, worn with care;

The poor petition spurn, His face was furrow'd o'er with years,

,

Unmindful, though a weeping wife And hoary was his hair.

And helpless offspring mourn. “ Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ?" If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave Began the rev'rend sage:

By Nature's law designed Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Why was an independent wish Or youthful pleasure's rage ?

E'er planted in my mind?

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The sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play (65),
And hunger'd mankin ta'en her way

To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaw's ilk step betray

Whare she has been.

The thresher's weary flingin’-tree
The lee-lang day had tired me;
And when the day had clos'd his e'e,

Far i the west,
Ben i' the spence (66), right pensivelie,

I gaed to rest.

WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,

Wi? murdoring pattle!
I'm truly sorrow man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,

And fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave

's a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the laive,

And never miss't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
And naething, now, to big a new ane,

O’ foggage green
And bleak December's winds ensuin',

Baith snell and keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
And weary winter comin' fast,
And cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell, "Till, crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro' thy cell.

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill'd wi' hoast-provoking smeek,

The auld clay biggin'; And heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin'.

All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mus'd on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,

And done nae things, But stringin' blethers

up

in rhyme, For fools to sing

Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit

My cash-account:
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,

Is a' th' amount.

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! Still, as in Scottish story read,
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,

She boasts a race,
To swear by a'yon starry roof,

To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,
Or some rash aith,

And polish'd grace.
That I henceforth would be rhyme-proof
Till my last breath

By stately tow'r or palace fair,

Or ruins pendent in the air,
When, click! the string the snick dirl draw; Bold stenis of heroes, here and there,
And, jee! the door gaed to the wa’;

I could discern;
And by my ingle-lowe I saw,

Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,
Now bleezin' bright,

With feature stern,
A tight, outlandishi hizzie, braw,
Come full in sight.

My heart did glowing transport feel,

To see a race (68) heroic wheel, Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht;

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel The infant aith, half-form’d, was crusht;

lu sturdy blows; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht In some wild glen;

While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their suthiron foes.
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht,
And stepped ben.

His Country's Saviour (69), mark him well! Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs

Bold Richardton's (70) heroic swell;

The chief on Sark (71) who glorious fell Were twisted gracefu'round her brows; I took her for some Scottish Muse,

In high command;

And he whom ruthless fates expel
By that same token,

His native land.
And come to stop those reckless vows,
Wou'd soon been broken.

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade (72) A “hair-brain’d, sentimental trace"

Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,

I mark'd a martial race, portray'd
Was strongly marked in her face ;
A wildiy-witty, rustic grace

In colours strong;
Shone full upon her;

Bold, soldier-featurd, undismayed
Her
eye,
ev'n turn'd on empty space,

They strode along.
Beam'd keen with honour.

Tlıro' many a wild romantic grove (73), Down flow'd her robe a tartan sheen,

Near many a licrmit-fancy'd cove Till half a ley was scrimply seen ;

(Fit haunts for friendship or for love), And such a lex! ny bonnie Jean

In musing mood.
Could only peer it;

An aged judge, I saw him rove,
Sae thought, sae taper, tight and clean,

Dispensing good.
Nane else came near it.

With deep-struck reverential awe (74),
Her mantle large, of greenish hue,

The learnell sire and son I saw (75),
My gazing wonder chiefly drew;

To Nature's God and Nature's law
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw
A lustre grand;

They gave their lore,

This, all its source and end to draw;
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view,

That, to adore.
A well-known land.
Here, rivers in the sea were lost;

Brydone's brave ward (76) I well could spy There, mouutains to the skies were tost:

Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast

Who call'd on Faune, low standing by,
With surging foam

To hand him on,
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast,

Where many a patriot-name on high
The lordly dome.

And hero shone.
Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods;
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds :
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
On to the shore,

I view'd the heav'nly-seeming fair
And many a lesser torrent scuds,

A whisp'ring throb did witness bear
With seeming roar.

Of kindred sweet,
Low in a sandy valley spread,

When with an elder sisters's air An ancient borough rear'd her head (67);

She did me greet.

DUAN SECOND.

;

" All hail! my own inspired bard! In me thy native Muse regard ! Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,

Thus poorly low! I come to give thee such regard

As we bestow.

)

Know, the great genius of this land
Has many a light, aërial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,

Harmoniously,
As arts or arms they understand,

Their labours ply.
They Scotia’s race among them share;
Some fire the soldier on to dare;
Some raise the patriot on to bare

Corruption's heart: Some teach the hard, a darling care,

The tuneful art.

'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, They, ardent, kindling spirits, pour; Or, ʼmid the venal senate's roar,

They, sightless, stand, To mund the honest patriot-lore,

And grace the hand. And when the bard, or hoary sage, Charm or instruct the future age, They bind the wild, poetic rage

In energy,

To mark the embryotic trace

Of rustic hard;
And careful note each op’ning grace,

A guide and guard.
Of these am 1-Coila my name (77);
And this district as mine I claiin. (fame,
Where once the Campbells (78), chiefs of

Held ruling pow'r:
I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame,

Thy natal hour.
With future hope, I oft would gaze,
Fond, on thy little early ways,
Thy rudely carollid, chiming phrase,

In uncouth rhymes,
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays,

Of other times,
I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar;
Or when the north his fleecy store

Drove through the sky,
I saw grim nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.
Or when the deep green-mantled earth
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth

In ev'ry grove,
I saw thee eye the general mirth

With boundless love.
When ripen'd fields, and azure skies,
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their erening joys,

And lonely stalk, To vent thy bosom's swelling rise

In pensive waik.
When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong,
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,

Th' adored Name,
I taught thee how to pour in song,

To soothe thy flame.
I saw thy pulse's maddening play,
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way,
Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray,

By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray

Was light from Heaven. I taught thy manners-painting strains, The loves, the ways of simple swains,

o'er all

my

wide domains

Thy fame extends ;
And some, the pride of Coila's plains,

Become thy friends.
Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow;
Or wake the bosom-melting throe,

With Shenstone's art;
Or pour, with Gray, the moving fiow

Warm on the heart.

Or point the inconclusive page

Full on the eye.
Hence Fullarton, the brave and young;
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue;
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung

His Minstrel lays;
Or tore, with nobler ardour stung,

The sceptic's bays.
To lower orders are assign'd
The humbler ranks of human-kind,
The rustic bard, the lab'ring hind,

The artizan;
All choose, as various they're inclin'd,

The various man.
When yellow waves the lieavy grain,
The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rein:
Some teach to meliorate the plain,

With tillage-skill;
And some instruct the shepherd-train,

Blythe o'er the hill.
Some hint the lover's harmless wile;
Some grace the maiden's artless smile;
Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil,

For humble gains, And make his cottage-scenes beguile

His cares and pains. Some, bounded to a district-space, Explore at large man's infant race,

Till now,

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