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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 frippery deck her; Fine for a sodger

Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker
A' the wale o' lead.

I've found her still
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Aye wavering like the willow-wicker,

"Tween good and ill. Here's a little wadset Buittle's scrap o' truth,

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,

Watches like baudrons by a rattan,
Pawn'd in a gin shop

Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on
Quenching holy drouth.

Wi' felon ire;
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut onHere's armorial bearings,

He's aff like fire.
Frae the manse o' Urr;

Auld Nick! auld Nick! it is na fair,
The crest, an auld crab-apple (295)
Rotten at the core.

First showing us the tempting ware,
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,

To put us daft; Here is Satan's picture,

Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare
Like a bizzard gled,

O'hell's damn'd waft.
Pouncing poor Redcastle
Sprawlin' as a taed.

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,

And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,
Here's the worth and wisdom

And hellish pleasure ; Collieston can boast;

Already in thy fancy's eye, By a thievish midge

Thy sicker treasure !
They had been nearly lost.

Soon heel's-b'er-gowdie! in he gangs,
Buy braw trogrin, &c.

And like a sheep-head on a tangs,
Here is Murray's fragments

Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs O'the ten commands;

And muru’ring wrestle, Gifted by black Jock

As, dangling in the wind, he hangs
To get them aff his hands.

A gibbet's tassel.
Buy braw trogyin, &c.

But lest you think I am uncivil,
Saw ye e'er sic troggin?

To plague you with this drauuting drivel, If to buy ye're slack,

Abjuring a' intentions evil, Hornie's turnin' chapman

I quat ly nen :
He'll buy a'the pack.

The Lord preserve us a' frae the devil!
Buy braw troggin

Amen! Amen!
Frae the banks o' Dee;
Wha wants troggin
Let him come to me.

Ziisiription

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. (297) On Life,

Tuou of an independent mind,

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; COLONEL DE PEYSTEP. Prepard 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 Death of a Favonrite Chili. Oh what a canty warld were it,

(298)
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.

IDDRESSED TO

POSTCRIPT.

Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st 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,

Aud sair me sheuk

; Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. But by guid luck I lap a wicket,

And turn'd a neuk, The flower stem shall bloom like thy sweet 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'll tak a care o't, loud winter storm,

A tentier way; And nestled thee close to that bosom

Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,
Oh still I behold thee, all lovely in death,

For ance and aye !
Reclined on the lap of thy mother;
When the tear trickled bright, when the

short stifled breath.
Told how dear ye were aye to each other. The Ruineà faiù's Esment.
My child, thou art gone to the home of 011, meikle do I rue, fause love,
thy rest,

Oh sairly do I rue, Where suffering no longer can harm ye,

That e'er I heard your flattering tongue, Where the songs of the good, where the That e'er your face I knew.

hymns of the blest, Through an endless existence shall charm Oh, I hae tent my rosy cheeks,

Likewise my waist sae sma’; thee.

And I hae lost my lightsome heart,

That little wist a fa'. While he, thy fond parent, must sighing 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 lite'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';
My mither, she has taen the bed

Wi' thinking on my fa'.
To 3r. Nitrill,

Whene'er I hear my father's foot,
COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796.

My heart wad burst wi' pain;

Whene'er I meet my mither's ee, FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal,

My tears rin down like rain, Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;

Alas! sae sweet a tree as love
Alack! alack! the meikle diel

Sic bitter fruit should bear!
Wi' a' his witches

Alas! that e'er a bonnie face
Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel,

Should draw a sauty tear!
In my poor pouches !

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,
That one pound one, I sairly want it;
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,
It would be kind

;
And while my heart wi’ lif-blood daunted,

I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin
To thee and thine

; Domestic peace and comforts crowning

The hale design.

The Dean of the Faraltg.

A NEW BALLAD. (299)
DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,

That Scot to Scot did carry;
And dire the discord Langside saw,

For beauteous hapless Mary :
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, [job
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.

But now the cot is bare and cauld, This Hal for genus, wit, and lore,

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane, Among the first was number'd;

And scarce a stinted birk is left
But pious Bob, mid learning's store,

To shiver in the blast is lane."
Commandment ten remember'd.
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 ?”
Are qualifications saucy ;
So their worships of the “ Faculty”

“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 cliffs he sank him down Of a son of Circumcision,

“ The worm that guaw'd my bonnie trees, So may be, on this Pisgahı height,

That reptile wears a ducal crown.”
Bob's purblind, mental vision :
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet
Till for eloquence you hail him,

On the Duke of Qurrislurn. (301)
And swear he has the Angel met
That met the Ass of Balaam.

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace
Discarded remnant of a race

Once great in martial story?
Verses

His forbears' virtues all contrasted

The very name of Douglas blasted-
ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR

His that inverted glory.
DRUMLANRIG. (300)
As on the banks o' wandering Nith

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore;
Ane smiling simmer-moru i strayed,

But he has superadded more, And traced its bonnie howes and haughs,

And sunk them in contempt;

Follies and crimes have stain'd the name, Where linties sang and lambkins play'd, 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.

Versrs fa Sahn filMurdo, Esq. Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow,

[WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS.) (302.) And troubled, like his wintry ware, And deep, as sighs the boding wind

Oh, could I give thee India's wealth

As I this trifle send, Amang his eaves, the sig li he gave And came ye here, my son,” he cried,

Because thy joy in both would be

To share them with a friend.
To wander in my birken shade?
To muse some favourite Scottish theme, But golden sands did never grace
Or sing some favourite Scottish maid.

The Heliconian stream; “ There was a time, it's nae lang syne,

Then take what gold could never buy

An honest Bard's esteem.
Ye might hae seen me in iny pride,
When a' my banks sae bravely saw
Their woody pictures in my tide;

On Fr. It hurti.
When hanging beech and spreading elm

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool; And stately oaks their twisted arms 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!

INSCRIBED ON A PANE OF GLASS IN

HIS HOUSE.

Smpromptu on Willir Strmart, (303) YOU'RE welcome, Willie Stewart, You're welcome, Willie Stewart, There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half sae welcome's thou art. Come, bumpers high, express your joy,

The bowl we maun renew it; The tappit-hen gae bring her ben,

To welcome Willie Stewart.
May foes be strang, and friends be slack,

Ilk action may he rue it;
May woman on him turn her back,

That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price,

Were ye as poor as I.
There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would na gie her in her sark,
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;

Ye need na look sae high.

To Miss Jessi Lewars.

(WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS.] THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, And with them take the Poet's prayerThat Fate may in her fairest page, With ev'ry kindliest, best presage Of future bliss enrol thy name: With native worth, and spotless fame, And wakeful caution still aware Of ill-but chief, man's felon snare; 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.

Montgomery's Peggy. (305)

TUNE-Galla-Water. 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. When o'er the hill beat surly storms,

And winter nights were dark and rainy; I'd seck some dell, and in my arms

I'd shielter dear Montgomery's Peggy. Were I a baron proud and high,

And horse and servants waiting ready, Then a’'twad gie o' joy to me,

The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy.

Bunny Prggy Sllisunt. (306)
TUNE-Braes o' Balquhidder.

CHORUS,
I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

And I'll kiss thee o'er again;
And I'll kiss thee, yet, yet,

My bonnie Peggy Alison;
Ilk care and fear, when thou art near,

I ever mair defy them, O; Young kings upon their hansel throne

Are no sae blest as I am, O!

Tibbir, I hae srrn thr Dan. (304)

TUNE-Invercauld's Reel.
Oh Tibbie, I hae seen the day

Ye wad na been sae shy;
For lack o' gear ye slighted me,

But, trowth, I care na by.
Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,

But fient a hair care I.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o'clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,

Whene'er ye like to try.
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,

That looks sae proud and high.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head another airt,

And answer him fu' dry.
But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,

Be better than the kye.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,

I clasp my countless treasure, 0, I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,

Than sic a moment's pleasure, O! And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,

I swear I'm thine for ever, O! And on thy lips I seal my vow,

And break it shall I never, O!

Erre's ta thn Pralth, my Bonny Lass.

TUNE-Laggan Burn. HERE's to thy health, my bonnie lass,

Guid night, and joy be wi' thee; I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,

To tell thee that I loe thee:

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. I ken they scorn my low estate,

But that does never grieve me;
But I'm as free as any he,

John Barlegrarı.
Sma' siller will relieve me.
I count my health my greatest wealth,

A BALLAD. (308)
Sae long as I'll enjoy it:
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,

THERE were three kings into the east,
As lang's I get employment.

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 : Tho' they seein fair, still have a care, They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head;
They may prove worse than I am.
But at twilit night, when the moon shines | And they hae sworn a solemn oath
bright,

John Barleycorn was dead.
My dear, 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.
The sultry suns of summer came,

And he grew thick and strong;
Young Peggy. (307)

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 The rosy dawn, the springing grass,

Show'd he began to fail. With early gems adorning:

His colour sicken'd more and more,
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams

He faded into age;
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,

And then his enemies began
And cheer each fresh'nıing 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' admiring gazer's sight,

They tied him fast upon a cart, And sweetly tempt to taste theni :

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 cudyell’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
Such sweetness would relent her

With water to the brim;
As blooming spring unbends the brow They heaved in John Barleycornig
Of surly, savage winter.

There let him sink or swim.

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