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Quench, a gin shontruth,
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD.
195 Here its stuff and lining,
Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, Cardoness's head;
And in paste gems and fuppery deck her; Fine for a sodger
Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker
I've found her still
"Tween good and ill.
Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, Pawn'd in a gin shop
Watches like baudrons by a rattan,
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on
Wi' felon ire;
Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut onHere's armorial bearings,
He's aff like fire.
Auld Nick! auld Nick! it is na fair,
First showing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,
To put us daft;
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare
O'hell's damn'd waft.
Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,
And hellish pleasure ;
Already in thy fancy's eye,
Thy sicker treasure !
Soon heel’s-o'er-gowdie! in he gangs,
And like a sheep-head on a tangs,
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs
And murd'ring wrestle,
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs
A gibbet's tassel.
But lest you think I am uncivil,
To plague you with this draunting drivel, If to buy ye're slack,
Abjuring a' intentions evil, Hornie's turnin' chapman
1 at 11ly pen : He'll buy a' the pack.
The Lord preserve us a' frae the devil!
FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. (297) On Life,
Tuou of an independent mind,
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTEP.
Prepar'd Powers proudest frown to brave, (296) DUMFRIES, 1796.
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave; My honoured colonel, deep I feel
Virtue alone who dost revere, Your interest in the poet's weal :
Thy own reproach alone dost fear, Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel
| Approach this shrine, and worship here, The steep Parnassus, Surrounded thus by bolus pill, And potion glasses.
On the Deaty of a Fafanrite Child. Oh what a canty warld were it, Would pain and care and sickness spare it; And fortune favour worth and merit, Oh sweet be thy sleep in the land of the As tkey deserve !
My dear little angel, for ever; [grave, (And aye a rowth roast beef and claret; For ever--oh no! let not man be a slave, Syne wha wad starve ?)
His hopes from existence to sever.
Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st |
POSTCRIPT. thy head,
Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, In the dark silent mansions of sorrow,
And by fell death was nearly nicket; The spring shall return to thy low narrow Grim loan! he got me by the fecket, bed,
And sair me sheuk; Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. But by guid luck I lap a wicket. The flower stem shall bloom like thy sweet
And turn'd a neuk. seraph form,
But by that health, I've got a shore o't, Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom, | And by that life. I'm promised mair o't When thou shrunk'st frae the scowl of the My hale and weel. I tak a care o't. loud winter storm,
A tentier way;
For ance and aye !
short stifled breath, Told how dear ye were aye to each other. The Ruined Plaid's Lament. My child, thou art gone to the home of Ou, meikle do I rue, fause love, thy rest,
Oh sairly do I rue, Where suffering no longer can harm ye, That e'er 1 heard your flattering tongue, Where the songs of the good, where the That e'er your face I knew. hymns of the blest,
Oh, I hae tent my rosy cheeks, Through an endless existence shall charm
Likewise my waist sae sma'; thee.
And I hae lost my lightsome heart, While he, thy fond parent, must sighing
That little wist a fa'. sojourn,
Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer Through the dire desert regions of sorrow,
O'mony a saucy quean; O'er the hope and misfortune of being to
When, gin the truth were a' hut kent, mourn,
Her life's been warse than mine. And sigh for this life's latest morrow.
Whene'er my father thinks on me,
He stares into the wa';
Wi' thiuking on my fa'.
Whene'er I hear my father's foot,
Whene'er I meet my mither's ee, FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal,
My tears rin down like rain,
Alas! sae sweet a tree as love
Sic bitter fruit should bear!
Alas! that e'er a bonnie face
Should draw a sauty tear!
The Dean of the Farnltg.
A NEW BALLAD. (299)
DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
. That Scot to Scot did carry; So may the auld year gang out moaning And dire the discord Langside saw, To see the new come laden, groaning,
For beauteous hapless Mary :
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,
Or were more in fury seen. Sir. Ciob Domestic peace and comforts crowning Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous The hale design.
| Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.
This Hal for genus, wit, and lore,
But now the cot is bare and cauld,
Its branchy shelter's lost and gane,
And scarce a stinted birk is lest
To shiver in the blast is lane." Yet simple Bob the victory got,
“ Alas!" said I, “what ruefu' chance And won his heart's desire;
Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees? Which shows that Heaven can boil the pot, Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? Though the devil's --- in the fire.
Has stripp'd the cleeding o' your braes ?
Was it the bitter eastern blast, Squire Hal besides had in this case
That scatters blight in early spring ? Pretensions rather brassy,
Or was't the wil'fire scorched their boughs, For talents to deserve a place
Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?”
"Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied: Quite sick of merit's rudeness,
"It blew na here sae fierce and fell, Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, And on my dry and whalesome banks To their gratis grace and goodness.
Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell:
Man! cruel man!" the genius sigh'd As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight
As through the cliff's he sank him down Of a son of Circumcision,
“The worm that guaw'd my bonnie trees, So may be, on this Pisgal height,
That reptile wears a ducal crown."
On tlje Duke af Qurrnslurn. (301)
How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace
Once great in martial story?
His forbears' virtues all contrasted
The very name of Douglas blasted
His that inverted glory.
But he has superadded more, And traced its bonnie howes and haughs,
And sunk them in contempt; Where linties sang and lambkins play'd,
Follies and crimes have stain'd the name, *sat me down upon a craig,
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim, And drank my fill o' fancy's dream,
From ought that's good exempt. When, from the eddying deep below, Uprose the genius of the stream.
Verses fa Jahn JiL® Purào, Esq. Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, And troubled, like his wintry wave,
(WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS.) (302.)
OH, could I give thee India's wealth Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave
As I this trifle send, “And came ye here, my son," he cried,
Because thy joy in both would be “To wander in my birken shade?
To share them with a friend. To muse some favourite Scottish theme, But golden sands did never grace
Or sing some favourite Scottish maid. “There was a time, it's nae lang syne,
Then take what gold could never buyYe might hae seen me in iny pride,
An honest Bard's esteem.
On Mc. FL*Jurda.
INSCRIBED ON A PANE OF GLASS IN And stately oaks their twisted arms
HIS HOUSE. Threw broad and dark across the pool !
BLEST be M'Murdo to his latest day!
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray; "When glinting, through the trees, appeared No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care, The wee white cot aboon the mill,
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair! And peacefu' rose its ingle reek,
Oh, may no son the father's honour stain, That slowly curled up the hill.
| Nor ever daughter give the mother pain!
Impromptu on Willie ätewart, (303) But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, YOU'RE welcome, Willie Stewart,
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; You're welcome, Willie Stewart,
The deil a ane wad spier your price, There's ue'er a flower that blooms in May,
Were ye as poor as I. That's half sae welcome's thou art.
There lives a lass in yonder park, Come, bumpers high, express your joy,
I would na gie her in her sark, The bowl we maun renew it;
For thee, wi' a'thy thousan' mark;
Ye need na look sae high.
Hlontgomery's Pengo. (305)
TUNE-Galla-Water. That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart.
ALTHO'my bed were in yon muir
Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,
Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy; That Fate may in her fairest page,
I'd seck some dell, and in my arms With ev'ry kindliest, best presage
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. Of future bliss enrol thy name:
Were I a baron proud and high, With native worth, and spotless fame,
And horse and servants waiting ready, And wakeful caution still aware
Then a' 'twad yie o' joy to me, Of ill—but chief, man's felon snare;
The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy. All blameless joys on earth we find, And all the treasures of the mind These be thy guardian and reward; So prays thy faithful friend the Bard.
Bannu Progy Allison. (306)
TUNE,Braes o' Balquhidder.
I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
And I'll kiss thee d'e
And I'll kiss thee, yet, yet,
Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, Yestreen I met you on the moor,
I ever mair defy them, O; Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Young kings upon their hansel throne Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
Are no sae blest as I am, O! But fient a hair care I.
When in my arms, wi' a'thy charms, I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
I clasp my countless treasure, 0, Because ye hae the name o'clink,
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, That ye can please me at a wink,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, 0 ! Whene'er ye like to try.
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
I swear I'm thine for ever, O! Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never, O!
Erre's to thy Health, my Bonny Lass, And answer him fu' dry.
TUNE-Laggan Burn. But if he hae the name o' gear,
HERE's to thy health, my bonnie lass, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Guid night, and joy be wi' thee; Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door, Be better than the kye.
To tell thee that I loe thee:
199 Oh dinna think, my pretty pink,
Detraction's eye no aim can gain, But I can live without thee:
Her winning powers to lessen; I vow and swear I dinna care
And fretful envy grins in vain How lang ye look about ye.
The poison'd tooth to fasten. Thou’rt aye sue free informing me
Ye pow'rs of honour, love and truth, Thou hast nae mind to marry;
From ev'ry ill defend her; I'll be as free informing thee
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth, Nae time hae I to tarry.
The destinies intend her: I ken thy friends try ilka means,
Still fan the sweet connubial flame Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Responsive in each bosom, Depending on some higher chance
| And bless the dear parental name But fortune may betray thee.
With many a filial blossom.
But that does never grieve me;
A BALLAD. (308)
THERE were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
John Barleycorn should die. And aye until ye try them :
They took a plough and plough'd him down, Tho' they seein fair, still have a care, They may prove worse than I am.
Put clods upon his head; But at twilit night, when the moon shines And they hae sworn a solemn oath bright,
John Barleycorn was dead. My dea:, I'll come and see thee;
But the cheerful spring came kindly on For the man that loes his mistress weel,
And show'rs began to fall; Nae travel makes him weary.
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm’d wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong. TUNE--Last time I came o'er the Muir.
The sober autumn enter'd mild, Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
When he grew wan and pale ; Her blush is like the morning,
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age; And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And then his enemies began And cheer each fresh’ning flower.
To show their deadly rage. Her lips, more than the cherries bright, They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, A richer dye has graced them;
And cut him by the knee! They charm th' admiriny gazer's sight,
They tied him fast upon a cart, And sweetly tempt to taste them:
Like a rogue for forgerie. Her smile is, as the evening mild,
They laid him down upon his back, When feather'd tribes are courting,
And cudgell'd him full sore; And little lambkins wanton wild,
They hung him up before the storm In playful bands disporting.
And turn'd him o'er and o'er. Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
There let him sink or swim.