Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky, The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. The paly moon rose in the livid east. And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast, And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd: Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, "My patriot son fills an untimely grave!" With accents wild and lifted arms-she cried; "Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride. "A weeping country joins a widow's tear; The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; The drooping arts surround their patron's bier; And grateful science heaves the heart-felt sigh! "I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; "My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, "And I will join a mother's tender cares, Thro' future times to make his virtues last; That distant years may boast of other Blairs! She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. IMPROMPTU ON CARRON IRON WORKS WE cam na here to view your warks, In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to hell, It may be nae surprise: But when we tirl'd at your door Your porter dought na hear us; Sae may, shou'd we to Hell's yetts come, TO MISS FERRIER Enclosing the Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair. NAE heathen name shall I prefix, Frae Pindus or Parnassus; Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three But, gien the body half an e'e, Nine Ferriers wad done better! Last day my mind was in a bog, A creeping cauld prosaic fog Do what I dought to set her free, Ye turned a neuk-I saw your e'e- The mournfu' sang I here enclose, And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose, WRITTEN BY SOMEBODY ON THE WINDOW Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin. HERE Stuarts once in glory reigned, And laws for Scotland's weal ordained; A race outlandish fills their throne; An idiot race, to honour lost; Who know them best despise them most. THE POET'S REPLY TO THE THREAT OF A My imprudent lines were answered, very petulantly, by somebody, I believe, a Rev. Mr. Hamilton. In à MS., where I met the answer, I wrote below : WITH Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel THE LIBELLER'S SELF-REPROOF1 RASH mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame; Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, Says, the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel! VERSES WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL Over the Chimney-piece, in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth. ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view.- The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste, Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell; Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods— Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 1 These are rhymes of dubious authenticity.-Lang. Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, Chorus.-Bonie lassie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go, Bonie lassie, will ye go To the birks of Aberfeldy! Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes, Bonie lassie, &c. The little birdies blythely sing, Bonie lassie, &c. The braes ascend like lofty wa's, O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws- Bonie lassie, &c. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, |