« AnteriorContinuar »
Loves, graces, and virtues, I call not on you! | Or haughty chieftain, mid the din of arms, So shy, yrave, and distant, ye shed not a | In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms; tear :
While sans culottes stoop up the mountain But come, all ye offspring of folly so true,
high, And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold | And steal from me Maria's eye. bier.
Blest Highland bonnet! once my proudest We'll search through the garden for each
Now prouder still, Maria's temples press, silly flower,
I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, We'll roam through the forest for each idle
And call each coxcomh to the wordy war; Put chieily the nettle, so typical, shower,
I see her face the first of Ireland's sons (277), For none e'er approached her but rued
And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze; the rash dced.
The crafty colonel (278) leaves the tartanel We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure
lines the lay;
For other wars, where he a hero shines ; Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ;
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, There keen indignation shall dart on her
Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head,
Comes mid a string of coxcombs to display, prey, Which spurning contempt shall redeem
That veni, vidi, vici, is his way; from his ire.
The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks,
And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich THE EPITAPII.
[state Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
Though there, his heresies in church and What once was a butterfly yay in life's
Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate: beam:
Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, Want only of wisdom denied her respect, And dares the public like a noontide sun. Want only of goodness denied her esteem. I (What scandal calla Maria's jaunty stagger,
The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger;
And pours his vengeance in the burning line, (276)
Who christen'd thus Jaria's lyre divine, From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, The idiot strun of vanity hemised, Where intamy with sad repentance dwells; And even th’abuse of poesy abused: Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, Who call'd her verse a parish Workhouse, And deal from iron hands the spare repast,
(stray'd ?) Where trnant ’prentices, yet young in sin, For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or Blush at the curious stranger peeping in; Where strumpets, relics of the drüuken roar. A Work house! ah, that sound awakes my Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore no
woes, more :
And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! Where tiny thieves not destin'd yet to swing. In durance vile here must I wake and weep, Beat hemp for others, riper for the string :
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep! From these dire scenes my wretched lines
That straw where many a rogue las lain of I date,
yore, To tell Maria her Esopus' fate.
And vernin'd Gipsies litter'd heretofore.
Why Lonsdale thus, thy wrath on vagrants “Alas! I feel I am no actor here !"
pour; 'Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear
Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale
Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale; | And make a rast monopoly of hell ? Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy Thou know'st the virtues cannot hate thee poll’d,
worse; By barber woven, and by barber sold, | The vices also, must they club their curse ? Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest
Or must no tiny sin to others fall, care,
Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all ? Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. The hero of the mimic scene, no more, Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares; I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar;
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares.
As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, I “ 'Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story,
OF FINTRY. (281)
[join'd, Aud thy still matchless tongue that conquers 1 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers all reply.
Accept the gift;-tho' humble he who gives,
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.
So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast, zonnet,
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among; ON THE DEATII OF CAPTAIN RIDDEL OF
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,
Or love ecstatic wake his serarh song. GLENRIDDEL, APRIL, 1794. (279) No more, ve warblers of the wood-110 more! | Or pity's notes in luxury of tears, Nor pour your descant, grating, on my
As modest want the tale of woe reveals ; soul:
While conscious virtue all the strain endears, Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy ver
And hoaven-born piety her sanction seals. More welcome were to me grim Winter's
wildest roar. How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your
The Vowels, dves?
A TALE. Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my Twas where the birch and sounding thong How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? That strain flow's round th' untimely tomb The
mo The noisy domicile of pedant pride; wiiere Riddel lies !
Where ignorance her dark ning vapour Yes, pour, ye warhlers, pour the notes of woe! throws,
And soothe the Virtues weeping on his bier: | And cruelty directs the thick’ning blows; The Man of Worth, who has not left his Upon a time, Sir A-be-ce the great, peer,
In all his pedagogic powers elate, Is in his “narrow house" for ever darkly low. His awful chair of state resolves to mount,
And call the trembling vowels to account. Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others
greet, Me, mem’ry of my loss will only meet. But, ah! deform’d, dishonest to the sight!
His twisted head look'd backward on his way,
And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, ai!
Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race ON MRS RIDDEL'S BIRTH-DAY. (280) The jostling tears ran down his honest face!
That name, that well-worn name, and all his Old Winter, with his frosty beard,
own, Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne; “What have I done of all the year,
The Pedant stifles keen the Roman sound To bear this hated doom serere ?
Not all his mongreldiphthongs can compound; Mly cheerless suns no pleasure know;
And wext the title following close behind, Night's horrid car drags, dreary slow;
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd My dismal months no joys are crowning, But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded, Y?
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply: Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil,
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, To counterbalance all this evil;
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the Give me, and I've no more to say, Give me Maria's natal day !
ground! That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, In rueful apprehension enter'd 0, Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me.” | The wailing minstrel of despairing woe;
Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert,
Juuress Might there have learnt new inysteries of SPOKEN BY 'MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEME his art;
NIGHT (282), So grim, deform’d, with horrors entering U, STILL anxious to secure your partial favour. His dearest friend and brother scarcely | And not less anxious, sure, this night, than knew!
ever, As trembling U stood staring all aghast, A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, \ 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, | better; Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, sight.
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes;
And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted.
“Ma'am, let me tell you,” quoth my man of ANE day, as Death, that grusome carle,
[times : Was driving to the tither warl'
“I know your bent-these are no laughing A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad,
Can you—but Miss, I own I have my
fears And mony a guilt-bespotted lad; Black gowns of each denomination,
Dissolve in sighs—and sentimental tears, And thieves of every rank and station,
With laden breath, and soleni-rounded From him that wears the star and garter,
[Repentance; To him that wintles in a halter :
Rouse from his sluggish słumbers, fell Ashamed himsel' to see the wretches,
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches,
Waving on high the desolating brand, “By G-, I'll not be seen behint them,
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty Nor 'mang the sp’ritual core present them,
land ?” Without, at least, ane honest man,
I could no more—askance the creature To grace this d--d infernal clan."
[crying? By Adamhill a glance he threw,
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for “I God !" quoth he, “I have it now, I'll laugh, that's poz-nay more, the world There's just the man I want, i' faithi !"
shall know it; And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet!
Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my tix'd belief,
I also think-so may I be a bride!-
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd TO MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, | Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sjøh. MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.
Still under bleak Alisfortune's blasting eye; SENSIBILITY how charming,
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alivemo Thou, my friend, canst truly tell: To make three guineas do the work of five: But distress with horrors arming,
Laugh in Misfortune's face-the beldam Thou hast also known too well!
witch!Fairest flower, behold the lily,
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. Blooming in the sunny ray:
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast See it prostrate on the clay.
strove; Hear the wood-lark charm the forest,
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st in desperate thought-a rupe Telling o'er his little joys:
thy neckHapless bird! a prey the surest,
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, To each pirate of the skies.
Peerest to meditate the healing leap: Dearly bought, the hidden treasure, Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf! Finer feelings can bestow;
Laugh at her follies-laugh e'en at thyself: Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure. Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, Thrill the deepest notes of woe. And love a kinder-that's your grand specific.
To sum up all, be merry, I advise; | And as we're merry, may we still be wise.
193 Tu Chlaris. (283)
Ballads on 7tr. Drron's Elrrfions. 'Tis Friendship’s pledge, my young, fair
(BALLAD FIRST] (284.). Nor thou the gift refuse, [friend, | WHOM will you send to London town, Nor with unwilling ear attend
To Parliament and a' that? The moralising muse.
Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that? Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,
For a' that, and a' that, Must bid the world adieu,
Thro' Galloway and a' that; (A world ’gainst peace in constant arms)
Where is the laird or belted knight To join the friendly few.
That best deserves to fa' that? Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, Chill came the tempest's lower;
And wha is't never saw that? (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met Did nip a fairer flower.)
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, and a' that, Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Here's Heron yet for a' that! Still much is left behind;
The independent patriot, Still nobler wealth hast thou in store
The honest man, and a' that. The comforts of the mind!
Tho' wit and worth in either sex, Thine is the self-approving glow,
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that; On conscious honour's part;
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix And, dearest gift of heaven below.
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. Thine friendship’s truest heart.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that! The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
The independent commoner With every muse to rove:
Shall be the man for a' that. And doubly were the poet blest,
But why should we to nobles jouk?
And is't against the law that?
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi’ ribbon, star, and a' that..
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills. Unfolds her tender mantle green,
Wi' uncle's purse and a' that; Or pranks the sod in frolic mood,
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, Or tunes Eolian strains between:
A man we ken, and a' that, While Summer with a matron grace
For a' that, and a' that, Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!: Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace
For we're not to be bought and sold The progress of the spiky blade:
Like naigs, and nowt, and a' that.
Then let us drink the Stewartry, While Autumn, benefactor kind,
Kerroughtree's laird, and, a' that, By Tweed erects his aged head,
Our representative to be, And sees, with self-approving mind,
For weel he's worthy a'that. Each creature on his bounty fed:
For a' that, arid a' that, While maniac Winter rages o'er
Here's Heron yet for a' that! The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,
A House of Commons such as he, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,
They would be blest that saw that. Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows:
(BALLAD SECOND.] So long, sweet Poet of the year! Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won;
The Elertion. While Scotia, with exulting tear,
Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin' there;
And oh, how the heroes will swear!
And there will be Murray commander, | And there will be trusty Kerroughtree, And Gordon the battle to win;
Whose honour was ever his law, Like brothers they'll stand by each other, If the virtues were packed in a parcel, Sae knit in alliance an' sin.
His worth might be sample for a'. And there will be black-lippit Johnnie (285), / And can we forget the auld major,
The tongue o' the trump to them a'; Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys, An' he get na hell for his haddin',
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other, The deil gets na justice ava';
Him only 'tis justice to praise, And there will be Kempleton's birkie, And there will be maiden Kilkerran, A boy no sae black at the bane,
And also Barskimming's guid knight, But, as for his fine nabob fortune,
And there will be roarin Birtwhistle,
Will mingle the Maxwells in droves; She's gotten the heart of a Busby,
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, and Walie,
Sculdudd'ry and he will be there,
For.the devil the prey will despise. Sodgerin' gunpowder Blair.
Then hey the chaste interest o’ Broughton, New christ’ning towns far and near;
And hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! Abjuring their democrat doings,
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, By kissing the - O’a peer;
In Sodoin 'twould make bim a king; And there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous,
And hey for the san.tified Murray, Whose honour is proof to the storm,
Our land who wichapels has stor'd; To save them from stark reprobation,
He founder'd his horse among harlots,
But gied the auld naig to the Lord.
An E.rrrllent Fleu õnng,
TUNE--Buy broom besoms,
Wha will buy my troggin (290),
Fine election ware; To say in St. Stephen's the morn.
Broken trade o' Broughton, And there will be lads o' the gospel,
A' in high repair. Muirhead wha's as guid as he's true:
Buy braw troggin, And there will be Buittle's apostle,
Frae the banks o' Dee; Wha's more o' the black than the blue.;
IVho wants troggin And there will be folk from St. Mary's,
Let him coine to me. A house o' great merit and note,
There's a noble Earl's The deil ane but honours them highly
Fame and high renown (291),
For an auld sang-
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's the worth o' Broughton (292), His merit had won him respect :
In a needle's ee: And there will be rich brother nabobs,
Here's a reputation Tho' nabobs yet men of the first,
Tint by Balmaghie. (293) And there will be Coliieston's whiskers,
Buy braw trovgin, &c. And Quintin, o'lads not the warst.
Here's an honest conscience And there will be stamp-office Johnnie, Might a prince adorn ;
Tak tent how ye purchase a dram; [(289; Frae the downs o' TinwaldAnd there will be gay Cassencarrie,
So was never worn. (294) And there will be gleg Colonel Tam;
Buy braw troggin, &c.