Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, While Summer, with a matron grace, While Autumn, benefactor kind, While maniac Winter rages o'er The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows. So long, sweet Poet of the year! Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; While Scotia, with exulting tear, Proclaims that THOMSON was her son. NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME THE noble Maxwells and their powers And they declare Terreagles fair, Tho' stars in skies may disappear, The weary night o' care and grief So dawning day has brought relief, FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE Tune-" Carron Side." FRAE the friends and land I love, Frae my best belov'd I rove, Never mair to taste delight: Ease frae toil, relief frae care; Brightest climes shall mirk appear, Friendship, love, and peace restore, Till Revenge, wi' laurel'd head, Bring our banished hame again; And ilk loyal, bonie lad Cross the seas, and win his ain. SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION FAREWEEL to a' our Scottish fame, To mark where England's province stands— What force or guile could not subdue, Is wrought now by a coward few, But English gold has been our bane— O would, or I had seen the day That Treason thus could sell us, But pith and power, till my last hour, We're bought and sold for English gold Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! YE JACOBITES BY NAME YE Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear, Ye Jacobites by name, Your fauts I will proclaim, Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear. What is Right, and What is Wrang, by the law, by the law? What is Right, and what is Wrang, by the law?. A short sword, and a lang, A weak arm and a strang, for to draw. What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar? What makes heroic strife, famed afar? What makes heroic strife? To whet th' assassin's knife, Or hunt a Parent's life, wi' bluidy war? Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state, Then let your schemes alone, in the state. Then let you schemes alone, Adore the rising sun, And leave a man undone, to his fate. I HAE BEEN AT CROOKIEDEN I HAE been at Crookieden, My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, Satan sits in his black neuk, My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, O KENMURE'S ON AND AWA, WILLIE O KENMURE'S on and awa, Willie, O Kenmure's on and awa: An' Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! There's no a heart that fears a Whig, Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! There's ne'er a coward o' Kenmure's blude, O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie, O Kenmure's lads are men; Their hearts and swords are metal true, And that their foes shall ken. They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie; Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! And here's the flower that I loe best, EPISTLE TO, JOHN MAXWELL, ESQ., OF TERRAUGHTY On His Birthday. HEALTH to the Maxwell's veteran Chief! This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o' prief, Scarce quite half-worn. This day thou metes threescore eleven, (The second-sight, ye ken, is given To ilka Poet) On thee a tack o' seven times seven Will yet bestow it. |