ANTISTROPHE Plunderer of Armies! lift thine eyes, (A while forbear, ye torturing fiends;) Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends? No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; 'Tis thy trusty quondam Mate, Doom'd to share thy fiery fate; She, tardy, hell-ward plies. EPODE And are they of no more avail, O, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, While down the wretched Vital Part is driven! The cave-lodged Beggar, with a conscience clear, Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heaven. PEGASUS AT WANLOCKHEAD WITH Pegasus upon a day, Apollo, weary flying, Through frosty hills the journey lay, On foot the way was plying. Poor slipshod giddy Pegasus Obliging Vulcan fell to work, Threw by his coat and bonnet, Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, My Pegasus is poorly shod, I'll pay you like my master. SAPPHO REDIVIVUS-A FRAGMENT By all I lov'd, neglected and forgot, To those my family's once large bounty fed; My griefs, my woes, my sighs, my tears they share: In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, Mild zephyrs waft thee to life's farthest shore, "I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn Chain'd at Love's feet, they groan, his vanquish'd foes. I dare not combat, but I turn and fly: Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone; SONG-SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, Whae'er ye be that woman love, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, O Woman lovely, Woman fair! An angel form's faun to thy share, 'Twad been o'er meikle to gi'en thee mair- IMPROMPTU LINES TO CAPTAIN RIDDELL On Returning a Newspaper. YOUR News and Review, sir, I've read through and through, sir, The Papers are barren Of home-news or foreign, No murders or rapes worth the naming. Our friends, the Reviewers, Are judges of mortar and stone, sir; But of meet or unmeet, I'll boldly pronounce they are none, sir; My goose-quill too rude is To tell all your goodness Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet; Would to God I had one Like a beam of the sun, And then all the world, sir, should know it! LINES TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. Sent with some of the Author's Poems. O COULD I give thee India's wealth, Because thy joy in both would be But golden sands did never grace Then take what gold could never buy- RHYMING REPLY TO A NOTE FROM DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide, I'd rather sit wi' you than ride, Though 'twere wi' royal Geordie: And trowth, your kindness, soon and late, The Lord in Heav'n reward ye! ELLISLAND. R. BURNS. CALEDONIA-A BALLAD Tune-"Caledonian Hunts' Delight" of Mr. Gow. THERE was once a day, but old Time was then young, That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, From some of your northern deities sprung, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew: Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,"Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!" With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. Long quiet she reigned; till thitherward steers They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside; She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, The Cameleon-Savage disturb'd her repose, And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life: Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood. The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: |