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There's themes enough in Caledonian story,

Written Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory.

TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT THE POET A Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell I NEWSPAPER, AND OFERED TO CONTINUE IT How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless

FREE OF EXPENSE, fell ?

KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, Where are the muses fled that could produce

And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce;

How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ? How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the

This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted, sword,

To ken what French mischief was brewin', 'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord;

er guilty fora; Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin'; And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of | If Venus yet had got his nose off :

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,

Or how the collieshangie works Oh for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene

Atween the Russians and the Turks; To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen!

Or if the Swede, before he halt, Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms

Would play anither Charles the Twalt : 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's

If Denmark, ony body spak o't; arms.

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman,

How cut-throat Prussian blades were To glut the vengeance of a rival woman:

hingin; A woman--tho' the phrase may seem un

| How libbet Italy was singin'; civil

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, As able and as cruel as the Devil !

Were sayin' or takin'aught amiss. One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page,

Or how our merry lads at hame, But Douglasses were heroes every age :

In Britain's court, kept up the game: And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life,

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er A Douglas followed to the martial strife,

him! Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right suc

Was managing St Stephen's quorum; ceeds,

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin', Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads!

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin', As ye hae generous done, if a’ the land

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin'; Would take the muses' servants by the

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them,

Or if bare ---- yet were tax'd; And where ye justly can commend, commend

The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,

Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls them; And aiblins when they winna stand the test,

If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, Wink hard and say the folks hae done their

Was threshin' still at hizzies tails; best!

Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, Would a’ the land do this, then I'll be cau

And na o' perfect kintra cooser. tion

A’ this and mair I never heard of, Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation,

And but for you I might despair'd of. Will gar fane blaw until her trumpet crack,

So gratefu', back your news I send you, And warsle Time, and lay liim on his back!

And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! For us and for our stage should ony spier, Ellisland, Monday Morning. “Wha's aught thae chiels maks a' this bus

tle here?" My best ley foremost, I'll set up my brow, We have the honour to belong to you!

Peg Ilirholson. (245) We're your ain bairns, e en guide us as ye Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. like,

As ever trod on airn; But like gude mithers, shore before you

But now she's floating down the Nith, strike.

| And past the mouth o' Cairn. And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, For a' the patronage and meikle kindness Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, We've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks ; ! And rode thro' thick and thin; God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get ! But now she's floating down the Nith, but thanks.

1 Aud wanting e'en the skin.

hand;

hut patronise, bend. commend

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,

The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, And ance she bore a priest;

She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, But now she's floating down the Nith, Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave For Solway fish a feast.

designs, Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,

Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : And the priest he rode her sair ;

Last, she sublimes th’ Aurora of the poles, And much oppressed and bruis'd she was,

The flashing elements of female souls.
As priest-rid cattle are-

The order'd system fair before her stood,
Nature, well-pleas’d, pronounc'd it very good;
But ere she gave creating labour o'er,

Half-jest, she cried one curious labour more.
Tr Pin Bed. (246)

Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter,

Such as the slightest breath of air might Thou bed, in which I first began

scatter; To be that various creature-Man!

With arch alacrity and conscious glee And when again the Fates decree,

(Nature may have her whim as well as we, The place where I must cease to be ;

Her llogarth-art perhaps she meant to showit) When sickness comes, to whom I fly,

She forms the thing, and christens it--a poet, To soothe my pain, or close mine eye;

Creature, tho'oft the prey of care and sorrow, When cares surround me, where I weep,

When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow, Or lose them all in balmy sleep;

A being form’d t'amuse his graver friends, 'When sore with labour, whom I court,

Admir'd and prais'd--and there the homage And to thy downy breast resort

ends: Where, too ecstatic joys I find,

A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife, When deigns my Delia to be kind

Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life; And full of love, in all her charnis,

Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms.

Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live; The centre thou—where grief and pain,

Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, Disease and rest, alternate reign. Oh, since within thy little space,

Yet frequently unhecded in his own. So many various scenes take place;

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, Lessons as useful shalt thou teach,

She laugh’dat first, then felt for her poor work. As sages dictate-churchmen preach; Pitying the propless climber of mankind, And man, convinced by thee alone,

She cast about a standard tree to find ; This great important truth shall own: And, to support his helpless woodbine state, That thin partitions do diviile

Attach'd him to the generous truly great, The bounds where good and ill reside; A title, and the only one I claim, That nought is perfect here below;

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous But BLISS still bordering upon WOE." (247) Graham.

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train,

Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main! First Epistle to flr. Grahant Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff,

That never gives--tho'humbly takes enough; OF FINTRY.

The little fate allows, they share as soon, WHEN Nature her great masterpiece designed, U

Uulike sage proverb’d wisdom's hard-wrung And fram'd her last best work, the human

boon. mind,

The world were blest did bliss on them depend, Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,

Ah, that “the friendly e'er should want a She formed of various parts the various man. friend!” Then first she calls the useful many forth; Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, Plain plodding industry, and sober worth: | Who life and wisdom at one race begun, Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of Who feel by reason and who give by rule, earth,

[birth: (Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool!) And merchandise' whole genus take their Who make poor will do wait upon I should Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, We own they're prudent, but who feels And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds.

they're good! Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye! The lead and buoy are needful to the net; God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy! "The caput mortuum of gross desires (squires ; But, come, ye who the godlike pleasure know, Makes & material for mere knights and Heaven's attribute distinguished--to bestow!

THE FIVE CARLINES.

179 Whose arms of love would grasp the human And black Joan, frae Crichton Peel, race:

(grace; O’gipsy kith and kin-
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's Five wighter carlines warna foun'
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes! The south countra within.
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times.

To send a lad to Lon'on town,
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid,
Backward, abash’d, to ask thy friendly aid?

. They met upon a day, I know my need, I know thy giving hand, i

| And mony a knight, and mony a laird, I crave thy friendship at thy kind command;

.! Their errand fain would gae.
But there are such who court the tunefulnine- O mony a knight and many a laird.
Heavens! should the branded character be This errand fain would cae :
mine!

[flows, But nae ane could their fancy please,
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely One'er a ane but twae.
Yet vilest reptiles in their beyging prose.
Mark, how their lofty independent spirit . The first he was a belted knight (249),
Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit! Bred o' a border clan,
Seek not the proofs in private life to find; And he wad gae to Lon’on town,
Pity the best of words should be but wind! Might nae man him withstan'.
So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song

' And he wad do their errands weel,
ascends,
But grovelling n the earth the carol end

And meikle he wad say,

And ilka ane at Lon'on court In all the clam'rous cry of starving want,

r! They dun benevolence with shameless front;

Would bid to him guid day. Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays,

Then next came in a sodger youth (250), They persecute you all your future days!

And spak wi’ modest grace,
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain! And he wad gae to Lon’on town.
My horny fist assume the plough again;

If sae their pleasure was.
The pie-bald jacket let me patch once more;
On eighteen-pence a-week I've liv'd before. He wadna hecht them courtly gifts,
Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that Nor meikle speech pretend,
last shift!

But he wad hecht an honest heart,
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift: Wad ne'er desert a friend,
That, pllc'd by thee upon the wish'd-for

Now, wham to choose, and wham refuse, height,

At strife their carlines fell!
Where, man and nature fairer in her sight,
My muse may imp her wing for some sub-

For some had gentle folks to please, limer flight.

And some would please themsel.
Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o’ Nith,

And she spak up wi' pride,

And she wad send the sodger youth,
Thr Fine Carlinrs. (248)

Whatever might betide.
THERE were five carlines in the south, For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court (251)
They fell upon a scheme,

She didna care a pin ; To send a lad to Lon'on town,

But she wad send the sodger youth To bring them tidings hame.

To greet his eldest son. (252) Nor only bring them tidings hame,

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale, But do their errands there,

And a deadly aith she's ta’en, And aiblins gowd and honour baith

That she wad vote the border knight,
Might be that laddie's share.

Though she should vote her lane.
There was Vaggy by the binks o'Nith, For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair,
A dame with pride eneugh,

And fools o change are fain;
And Marjory o'the Mouylochs,

But I hae tried the border knight, A carline auld and teugh.

And I'll try him yet again. And blinkin' Bess o’Annandale,

Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel, That dwelt near Solwayside,

A carline stoor and grim, And whisky Jean, that took her gill,

The auld guidman, and the young guidman, In Galloway sae wide.

For me may sink or swim;

For fools will freat o' right or wrang,

While knaves laugh them to scorn; But the sodger's friends hae blawn the

best,
So he shall bear the horn.
Then whisky Jean spak owre her drink,

Ye weel ken, kimmers a',
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court,

His back's been at the wa’;
And mony a friend that kiss'd his cup,

Is now a fremit wight:
But it's ne'er be said o'whisky Jean-

I'll send the border knight.
Then slow raise Marjory o' the Loch,

And wrinkled was her brow,
Her ancient weed was russet grey,

Her auld Scots bluid was true;
There's some great folks set light by me-

I set as light by them;
But I will send to Lon'on town

Wham I like best at hame.
Sae how this weighty plea may end,

Nae mortal wight can tell:
God grant the king and ilka man

May look weel to himsel.

O for a throat like huge Mons-meg (254),
To muster o'er each ardent Whig

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners;
Heroes and heroines commix
All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honours.
MʻMurdo and his lovely sponse,
(Th’ enamour'd laurels kiss her brows)

Led on the loves and graces ;
She won each gaping burgess' heart
While he, all conquering, play'd his part

Among their wives and lasses.
Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps;
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,

Like Hecla streaming thunder;
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs,

And bar'd the treason under.
In either wing two champions fought,
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought

The wildest savaye Tory,
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
High wav'd his magnum bonum round

With Cyclopean fury.
Miller brought up the artillery ranks,
The many pounders of the Banks,

Resistless desolation ;
While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold,

And threaten'd worse damnation.

Second Epistle to Mr. Graham,

OF FINTRY. (253).
Fintry, my stay in worldly strife,
Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life,

Are ye as idle's I am ?
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,

And ye shall see me try him.
I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears,
Who left the all-important cares

Of princes and their darlings ; And bent on winning borough towns, Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns,

And kissing barefit carlins. Combustion through our boroughs rode Whistling his roaring pack abroad,

Of mad, unmuzzled lions ; As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd, And Westerha' and Hopeton hurld

To every Whig defiance. But Queensberry, cautious, left the war, The unmanner'd dust might soil his star,

Besides, he hated bleeding; But left behind him heroes bright, Heroes in Cæsarean tight

Or Ciceronian pleading.

To these, what Tory hosts oppos’d; With these, what Tory warriors clos'd,

Surpasses my descriving : Squadrons extended long and large, With furious speed rush'd to the charge,

Like raging devils driving. What verse can sing, what prose narrate, The butcher deeds of bloody fate

Amid this mighty tulzie ? Grim horror grinn'd; pale terror roar'd As murther at his thrapple shor'd;

And hell mixt in the brulzie! As Highland crags, by thunder cleft, When lightnings tire the stormy lift,

Hurl down wi' crashing rattle;
As flames amang a hundred woods;
As headlong foain a hundred floods;

Such is the rage of battle.
The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly,

Before th' approaching fellers ;
The Whigs come on like ocean's roar
When all his wintry billows pour

Against the Buchan Bullers. (255)

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CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS.

181 Lo, from the shares of death's deep night, l If in your bounds ye chance to light Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,

Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight,
And think on former daring;

Ostature short, but genius bright,
The muffled murtherer of Charles (256),

That's he, mark weel
The Magna Charta flag unfurls,

And wow! he has an unco slight
All deadly gules its bearing.

O'cauk and keel.
Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame;

By some auld houlet-haunted biggin, Bold Scrimgeour (257) follows gallant Gra

Or kirk deserted by its riggin, hame-- (258)

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in Auld Covenanters shiver

Some eldritch part, (Forgive, forgive, much-wrongd Montrose! Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguin' While death and hell engulf thy foes,

At some black art.
Thou liv'st on high for ever!)

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
Still o'er the field the conibat burns; Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamour,
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;

And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar, But fate the word has spoken--

Warlocks and witches; For woman's wit, or strength of man,

Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,
Alas! can do but what they can-

Ye midnight bitches.
The Tory ranks are broken !

It's tauld he was a sodger bred,
Oh that my e'en were flowing burns! And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;
My voice a lioness that mourns

But now he's quat the spurtle blade,
Her darling cub's undoing!

And dog skin wallet, That I might greet, that I might cry,

And ta'en the--Antiquarian trade, While Tories fall, while Tories fly,

I think they call it. And furious Whigs pursuing ! He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets, What Whig but wails the good Sir James ;

Rusty aird caps and jingliu' jackets, Dear to his country by the names

Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, Friend, Patron, Benefactor ?

A towmont guid; Not Pulteny's wealth can Pulteny save!

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, And Hopeton falls, the generous brave!

Before the Flood. And Stuart bold as Hector!

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; Thou, Pitt, shall rue this overthrow,

Auld Tubalcain's tire-shool and fender: And Thurlow grow) a curse of woe,

That which distinguished the gender And Melville melt in wailing!

.()' Balaam's ass; Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice!

A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,
And Burke shall sing, “Ol prince, arise !

Weel shod wi' brass.
Thy power is all-prevailing!”

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,
For your poor friend, the Bard afar,

The cut of Adam's philabey ; He hears, and only hears the war,

The kuife that nicket Abel's craig, A cool spectator purely;

He'll prove you fully, So when the storm the forest rends,

It was a faulding jocteleg, The robin in the hedge descends

Or lang-kail gully.
And sober chirps securely.

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

Guid fellows wi' him.
On Captain Grose's Perrgrinations And port, Oh port! shine thou a wee,

And then ye'll see him;
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING TIIE

ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. (259) Now, by the pow'rs o’verse and prose! HEAR, land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,

Thou art a dainty chiel, oh Grose! Frae Maidenkirk (260) to Johnny Groats;

Whae'er othee shall ill suppose,
If there's a hole in a' your coats,

They sair misca' thee;
I rede you tent it:

I'd take the rascal by the nose,
A chield's amang you taking notes,

Wad say, shame fa’ thee,
And, faith, he'll prent it.

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