When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with High

land rage;

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs,
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares;
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd,
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd!
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart.

The Genius of the Stream in front appears,

A venerable Chief advanc'd in years;

His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd,
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound.

Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye;
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn;
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow:

Next followed Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;*
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,

A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair;"
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode,
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode:10
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath,
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath

The broken, iron instruments of death:

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.

8 A compliment to the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, on the Feal or Faile,

a tributary of the Ayr.

9 Mrs. Stewart of Stair, an early patroness of the poet.

10 The house of Professor Dugald Stewart.

FRAGMENT OF SONG

THE night was still, and o'er the hill
The moon shone on the castle wa';
The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang
Around her on the castle wa';
Sae merrily they danced the ring.
Frae eenin' till the cock did craw;
And aye the o'erword o' the spring
Was "Irvine's bairns are bonie a'."

EPIGRAM ON ROUGH ROADS

I'm now arrived-thanks to the gods!—
Thro' pathways rough and muddy,
A certain sign that makin roads
Is no this people's study:

Altho' I'm not wi' Scripture cram'd,
I'm sure the Bible says

That heedless sinners shall be damn'd,
Unless they mend their ways.

PRAYER-O THOU DREAD POWER

Lying at a reverend friend's house one night, the author left the following verses in the room where he slept :

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.

She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

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!

FAREWELL SONG TO THE BANKS OF AYR

Tune-" Roslin Castle."

"I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.”—R. B.

THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,

I see it driving o'er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatt'red coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn
By early Winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,

She sees the scowling tempest fly:!
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave;
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.

'Tis not the surging billow's roar,
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore;
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear:
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!

Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those:
The bursting tears my heart declare-
Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr!

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE

My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang,
An' thro' my lug gies sic a twang,

Wi' gnawing vengeance,

Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or agues freeze us,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeeze us,
Our neibor's sympathy can ease us,

Wi' pitying moan;

But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases

They mock our groan.

Adown my beard the slavers trickle,
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle,
To see me loup,

An', raving mad, I wish a heckle.

Were in their doup!

In a' the numerous human dools,
Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools,
Or worthy frien's rak'd i' the mools,-
Sad sight to see!

The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Thou bear'st the gree!

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Where a' the tones o' misery yell,
An' ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, TOOTHACHE, surely bear'st the bell,
Amang them a'!

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes o' discord squeel,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel

In gore, a shoe-thick,

Gie a' the faes o' SCOTLAND'S weal

A towmond's toothache!

LINES ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER1

THIS wot ye all whom it concerns,

I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,

October twenty-third,

A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day,

Sae far I sprackl'd up the brae,

I dinner'd wi' a Lord.

1 At the house of Professor Dugald Stewart.