Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, For Matthew was a bright man. If thou at friendship's sacred ca', Wad life itself resign, man; Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', For Matthew was a kind man. If thou art staunch without a stain, Like the unchanging blue, man, This was a kinsman o' thy ain, For Matthew was a true man. If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, And ne'er guid wine did fear, man, This was thy billie, dam, and sire, For Matthew was a queer man, If ony whiggish whingin sot, LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Now blooms the lily by the bank, I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Fu' lightly raise I in the morn, LATE crippled of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;) Will generous Graham list to his poet's wail? (It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,) And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade? Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The lion and the bull thy care have found, One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground: [shell, Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, In all th' omnipotence of rule and power.Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; The cit and polecat stink, and are secure ; Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, [snug, The priest and hedge-hog in their robes are Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, [darts. Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and But Oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child-the Bard! A thing unteachable in world's skill, No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, Critics-appall'd, I venture on the name, Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame; Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes; He backs to teach, they mangle to expose. His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, By blockheads' daring into madness stung; His well won bays, than life itself more dear, By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear; Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in the unequal strife, So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast; By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. O dulness! portion of the truly blest! Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest! Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. If mantling high she fills the golden cup, With sober selfish ease they sip it up; [serve, Conscious the bounteous meed they well deThey only wonder, 'some folks' do not starve. The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, And just conclude that fools are fortune's care.' So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; In equanimity they never dwell, By turns in scaring heaven, or vaulted hell. I dread the fate, relentless and severe, With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear; Already one strong hold of hope is lost, Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust; (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, And left us darkling in a world of tears :) O! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare! Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown, And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down! May bliss domestic smooth his private path; Give energy to life; and sooth his latest breath, With many a filial tear circling the bed of death' "Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF "In poverty's low barren vale; GLENCAIRN. THE wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods That way'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord, Whom death had all untimely ta'en. He lean'd him to an ancient aik, His locks were bleached white wi' time, "Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, Can gladness bring again to me. "I am a bending aged tree, That long has stood the wind and rain; But now has come a cruel blast, And my last hald of earth is gane: Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; But I maun lie before the storm, And ithers plant them in my room. "I've seen sae mony changefu' years, On earth I am a stranger grown; I wander in the ways of men, Alike unknowing and unknown: Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, I bear alane my lade o' care, For silent, low on beds of dust, Lie a' that would my sorrow share. "And last, (the sum of a' my griefs !) His country's pride, his country's stay: In weary being now I pine, For a' the life of life is dead,, And hope has left my aged ken, On forward wing for ever fled. Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round; Tho' oft I turn'd the wistful eye, Nae ray of fame was to be found: Thou found'st me like the morning sun That melts the fogs in limpid air, The friendless bard and rustic song, Became alike thy fostering care. "O! Why has worth so short a date? A day to me so full of woe! "The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen; The monarch may forget the crown That on his head an hour has been; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me!" LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART. WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever❜st, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, To thee this votive offering I impart, "The tearful tribute of a broken heart." The friend thou valued'st, I the patron lov'd; His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. We'll mourn till we too go as he is gone, And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. TAM O'SHANTER: A TALE. Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. Gawin Douglas, WHEN Chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, K As market-days are wearing late, This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises ! But to our tale: Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely: And at his elbow, souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; And aye the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious; The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy; As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed! Or like the snow-falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Nae man can tether time or tide: The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg- Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; By this time he was cross the ford, Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil.The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillon brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He screw'd his pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. Coffins stood round like open presses, A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew ; The dancers quick and quicker flew ; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty sark!" And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When, pop! she starts before their nose; Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin, They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they And win the key-stane of the brig; cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queens But wither'd beldams auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, But here my muse her wing maun cour. There at them thou thy tail may toss, Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son take heed: Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT INHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art, *It is a well known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream.-It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he fails in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. |