For instance, there's yoursel just now,
God knows, an unco calf.
And should some patron be so kind,
As bless you wi' a kirk,
I doubt na, sir, but then we'll find,
Ye're still as great a stirk.
But, if the lover's raptur'd hour,
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power,
You e'er should be a stot!
Tho' when some kind connubial dear
Your but-and-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
And, in your lug, most reverend James,
To hear
you roar and rowt,
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims
To rank amang the nowt.
And when ye're number'd wi' the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,
With justice they may mark your head-
"Here lies a famous bullock!"
MOTTO PREFIXED TO THE
AUTHOR'S FIRST PUBLICATION
THE Simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art,
He pours the wild effusions of the heart;
And if inspir'd, 'tis Nature's pow'rs inspire;
Her's all the melting thrill, and her's the kindling
fire.
Want of LINES TO MR JOHN KENNEDY FAREWELL, dear friend! may guid luck hit you, And 'mang her favourites admit you:
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him,
And deil that thinks to get you,
Good Lord, deceive him!
LINES TO AN OLD SWEETHEART
ONCE fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear,
Sweet early object of my youthful vows,
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,
Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.
And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more,
Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes,
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar.
LINES WRITTEN ON A BANKNOTE
WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf,
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief;
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass,
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass:
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy curst restriction:
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile
Amid his hapless victim's spoil;
And for thy potence vainly wished,
To crush the villain in the dust:
For lack o' thee, I leave this much-lov'd shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.
Wr' braw new branks in mickle pride,
And eke a braw new brechan,
My Pegasus I'm got astride,
And up Parnassus pechin;
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush
The doited beastie stammers; Then up he gets, and off he sets, For sake o' Willie Chalmers.
I doubt na, lass, that weel-ken'd name
May cost a pair o' blushes;
I am nae stranger to your fame,
Nor his warm-urgèd wishes.
Your bonie face, sae mild and sweet,
His honest heart enamours;
And faith ye'll no be lost a whit,
Tho' wair'd on Willie Chalmers.
Auld Truth hersel' might swear yeʼre fair,
And Honour safely back her;
And Modesty assume your air,
And ne'er a ane mistak her:
And sic twa love-inspiring een
Might fire even holy palmers;
Nae wonder then they've fatal been
To honest Willie Chalmers.
I doubt na fortune may you shore
Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priestie,
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore,
And band upon his breastie :
But oh! what signifies to you
His lexicons and grammars?
The feeling heart's the royal blue,
And that's wi' Willie Chalmers.
Some gapin, glowrin countra laird
May warsle for your favour;
May claw his lug, and straik his beard,
And hoast up some palaver:
My bonie maid, before
Sic clumsy-witted hammers,
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp
Awa wi' Willie Chalmers.
Forgive the Bard! my fond regard
For ane that shares my bosom,
Inspires my Muse to gie 'm his dues,
For deil a hair I roose him.
May powers aboon unite you soon,
And fructify your amours,-
And every year come in mair dear
Το you and Willie Chalmers.
PRAYER.-O THOU DREAD
POWER
O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above,
I know thou wilt me hear,
When for this scene of peace and love
I make this prayer sincere.
The hoary Sire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleas'd to spare ;
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush,
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish.
The beauteous, seraph sister-band-
With earnest tears I pray-
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,
Guide Thou their steps alway.
When, soon or late, they reach that coast,
O'er Life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in Heaven!
FRAGMENT ON SENSIBILITY
RUSTICITY'S ungainly form
May cloud the highest mind
But when the heart is nobly warm,
The good excuse will find.
Propriety's cold, cautious rules
Warm fervour may o'erlook:
But spare poor sensibility
Th' ungentle, harsh rebuke.
WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS FOR A NEW-YEAR'S GIFT,
JAN. 1, 1787
AGAIN the silent wheels of time
Their annual round have driven,
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