LONG life, my Lord, and health be yours, To keep the Highland hounds in sight; Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire And save the honour o' the nation? They and be d- d! what right hae they The young dogs, swinge them to the labour; A seat, I'm sure ye're weel deservin't; June 1st, Anno Mundi, 5790. Tament of Mary Queen of rats, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now Nature hangs her mantle green Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing; The merle, in his noontide bow'r Makes woodland echoes ring: The primrose down the brae; ! My son my son! may kinder stars Upon thy fortune shine! And may those pleasures gild thy reign, God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Oh soon, to me, may summer-suns Let winter round me rave : And the next flow'rs that deck the spring The Whistle. (263). I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth, No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, [remained; Which now in his house has for ages Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, The jovial contest again have renew'd. Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear as flaw; [law; Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; [wines. And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, Desiring Glenriddle to yield up the spoil; Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, [the man. And once more, in claret, try which was "By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, "Before I surrender so glorious a prize, I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More (265), [times o'er." And bumper his horn with him twenty Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, [or his friend, But he ne'er turned his back on his foeSaid, toss down the whistle, the prize of the field, [yield. And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, [care; So noted for drowning of sorrow and But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame [lovely dame. Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet A bard was selected to witness the fray, And tell future ages the feats of the day; A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, | In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves; Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. core, The dinner being o'er the claret they ply, And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy; In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, [they were wet. And the bands grew the tighter the more Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er; Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a [forlorn, And vow'd that to leave them he was quite Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, [fight, When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. shore, Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens, Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail? And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth, And not a muse in honest grief bewail We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres ; But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care; So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree; So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. Lament FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN (266.) THE wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, Laden with years and meikle pain, His locks were bleached white with time, "Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing Can gladness bring again to me. I am a bending aged tree, That long has stood the wind and rain; THIRD EPISTLE TO MR. GRAHAM. But now has come a cruel blast, And my last hold of earth is gane: Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; But I maun lie before the storm, And ithers plant them in my room. I've seen sae mony changefu' years, On earth I ain a stranger grown; I wander in the ways of men, Alike unknowing and unknown: Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, I bear alane my lade o' care, Lie a' that would my sorrows share. His country's pride! his country's stay- For a' the life of life is dead, And hope has left my aged ken, On forward wing for ever fled. Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! The voice of woe and wild despair; Awake! resound thy latest lay Then sleep in silence evermair! And thou, my last, best, only friend, That fillest an untimely tomb, Accept this tribute from the bard Lines 185 SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, BART., OF THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, To thee this votive offering I impart, Third Epistle to Mr. Graham, OF FINTRY. LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, (It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her Thou, Nature, partial Nature! I arraign; Thou brought'st from fortune's mirkest Of thy caprice maternal I complain. gloom. In poverty's low barren vale Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round; Nae ray of fame was to be found: While villains ripen grey with time; A day to me so full of woe!- That on his head an hour has been; That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me!” The lion and the bull thy care have found, One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground: Thou givs't the ass his hide, the snail his shell, [cell; Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his The priest and hedgehog in their robes are darts; But, oh! thou bitter stepmother and hard, A thing unteachable in world's skill, worn, And those, alas! not Amalthea's horn : In naked feeling, and in aching pride, Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, must wear: His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast : Oh dulness! portion of the truly blest! They only wonder "some folks" do not starve. With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, And just conclude that "fools are fortune's care." (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, And left us darkling in a world of tears): Oh! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish, pray'r!Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare! Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown; And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down; May bliss domestic smooth his private path, Give energy to life, and soothe his latest breath, [death! With many a filial tear circling the bed Fourth Epistle to Mr. Graham, OF FINTRY ON RECEIVING A favour. (268) I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns; Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns, And all the tribute of my heart returns, For boons accorded, goodness ever new, The gift still dearer, as the giver, you. Thou orb of day! thou other paler light! And all ye many sparkling stars of night; If aught that giver from my mind efface, If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace; Then roll to me, alang your wandering spheres, Only to number out a villain's years! WHILE Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings; While quacks of state must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention. First, in the sexes' intermixed connection, One sacred Right of Woman is protection. The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate, Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. |