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arms.

There's themes enough in Caledonian story,

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

TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SEYT THE POET A Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED 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 here, even here, he first unsheath'd the This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,

How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ? sword,

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

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, ruin ?

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 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's ' If Denmark, ony body spak o't;

Would play anither Charles the Twalt:

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 !
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, Or how our merry lads at hame,

Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss,
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 Would take the muses servants by the If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin’; hand;

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,

yet were tax'd ; Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them, Or if bare 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,

Was threshin' still at hizzies tails; Wink hard and say the folks hae done their

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

And na o' perfect kintra cooser.

A' this and majr I never heard of,
tion
Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, And but for you I might despair'd of.
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack,

So gratefu', back your news I send you,

And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! And warsle Time, and lay him on his back! 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 Ilirholsan. (245) We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,

like, But like gude mithers, shore before you But now she's floating down the Nith,

As ever trod on airn;
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.

Aud wanting e'en the skin.

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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,

aw, 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.
To My 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 christenis 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 charmis,

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.

Yet frequently unhecded in his own.
Oh, since within thy little space,
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 tlie tuneful muses' hapless train,

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

That never gives--tho'humbly takes enough;

The little fate allows, they share as soon, WHEN Nature her great masterpiece designed, 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, tliat “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 shouldEach 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!

OF FINTRY.

race:

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

(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.
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, To send a lad to Lon'on town,

They met upon a day,
Backward, abash'd, to ask thy friendly aid?

And mony a knight, and mony a laird,
I know my need, I know thy giving hand,

Their errand fain would gae.
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command;
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 gae;
mine!

[flows, But nae ane could their fancy please,
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely O ne'er a ane but twae.
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging 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,

And meikle he wad say, But grovelling on the earth the carol ends.

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

Would bid to him guid day.
They dun benevolence with shameless front;
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, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for
height,

Now, wham to choose, and wham refuse,

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.
TIERE 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 hring 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 Maggy by the banks o' Nith, For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair,
A dame with pride eneugh,

And fools o change are fain;
And Marjory o’the Monylochs,

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.

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. M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, (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 savage Tory.
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
High wav'd his magnum bonum round

With Cyclopean fury.

Sae how this weighty plea may end,

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

May look weel to himsel.

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 ta Jtlr. 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.

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 !

Combustion through our boroughs rode Whistling his roaring pack abroad,

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

To every Whig defiance.

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.

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 fight

Or Ciceronian pleading.

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)

CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS.

181

Lo, from the shares of death's deep night, 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 combat 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 jinglin' jackets,

Wad haud the Lotliians three in tackets, Dear to his country by the names

A towmont guid;
Friend, Patron, Benefactor ?
Not Pulteny's wealth can Pulteny save!

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,

Before the Flood.
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave !
And Stuart bold as Hector!

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;

Auld Tubalcain's tire-sliool and fender: Thou, Pitt, shall rue this overthrow, And Thurlow growl a curse of woe,

That which distinguished the gender

O' Balaam's ass ; And Melville melt in wailing!

A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice!

Veel shod wi' brass,
And Burke shall sing, "Oh prince, arise !
Thy power is all-prevailing!

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,

The cut of Adam's philabeg ;
For your poor friend, the Bard afar,
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,

Or lang-kail gully.
The robin in the hedge descends
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 Groses 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 o' thee shall ill suppose, If there's a hole in a' your coats,

They sair misca' thee;

I'd take the rascal by the nose,
I rede you tent it:

Wad
A chield's amang you taking notes,

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

say,

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