What aspects old Time in his progress has worn,
What ties cruel Fate, in my bosom has torn.

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd!
And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd!
Life is not worth having with all it can give—
For something beyond it poor man sure must live.

I REIGN IN JEANIE'S BOSOM

Louis, what reck I by thee,

Or Geordie on his ocean?
Dyvor, beggar louns to me,
I reign in Jeanie's bosom !

Let her crown my love her law,
And in her breast enthrone me,
Kings and nations-swith awa'!
Reif randies, I disown ye!

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE

It is na, Jean, thy bonie face,
Nor shape that I admire;
Altho' thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awauk desire.

Something, in ilka part o' thee,
To praise, to love, I find,
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.

Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
Than, if I canna make thee sae,

At least to see thee blest.

Content am I, if heaven shall give
But happiness to thee;

And as wi' thee I'd wish to live,
For thee I'd bear to die.

AULD LANG SYNE

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

Chorus. For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!
And surely I'll be mine!

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary fit,
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,

Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And there's a hand, my trusty fere!

And gie's a hand o' thine!

And we'll tak a right gude-willie waught, For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

MY BONIE MARY

Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go,

A service to my bonie lassie.
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry;

The ship rides by the Berwick-law,

And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,

The glittering spears are ranked ready: The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes deep and bloody; It's not the roar o' sea or shore,

Wad mak me langer wish to tarry! Nor shouts o' war that's heard afarIt's leaving thee, my bonie Mary!

THE PARTING KISS

HUMID seal of soft affections,
Tenderest pledge of future bliss,
Dearest tie of young connections,
Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss!

Speaking silence, dumb confession,
Passion's birth, and infant's play,
Dove-like fondness, chaste concession,
Glowing dawn of future day!

Sorrowing joy, Adieu's last action,

(Lingering lips must now disjoin), What words can ever speak affection So thrilling and sincere as thine!

WRITTEN IN FRIARS CARSE HERMITAGE ON NITHSIDE

THOU whom chance may hither lead,

Be thou clad in russet weed,

Be thou deckt in silken stole,

Grave these counsels on thy soul.

Life is but a day at most,

Sprung from night,—in darkness lost;
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour,

Fear not clouds will always lour.

As Youth and Love with sprightly dance, Beneath thy morning star advance,

Pleasure with her siren air

May delude the thoughtless pair;

Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup,
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up.

As thy day grows warm and high,

Life's meridian flaming nigh,

Dost thou spurn the humble vale?

Life's proud summits would'st thou scale?
Check thy climbing step, elate,

Evils lurk in felon wait:
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold,

Soar around each cliffy hold!

While cheerful Peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among.

As the shades of ev'ning close,
Beck'ning thee to long repose;

As life itself becomes disease,
Seek the chimney-nook of ease;

There ruminate with sober thought,

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought,
And teach the sportive younkers round,
Saws of experience, sage and sound:
Say, man's true, genuine estimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,

Is not, art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?

Did many talents gild thy span?
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one?
Tell them, and press it on their mind,
As thou thyself must shortly find,
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n,
To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n,
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise-
There solid self-enjoyment lies;
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base.

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep,-
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
Night, where dawn shall never break,
Till future life, future no more,
To light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before.
Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide!
Quod the Beadsman of Nithside.

THE POET'S PROGRESS
A Poem in Embryo.

THOU, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign;
Of thy caprice maternal I complain.

The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, The horned bull, tremendous, spurns the ground;