To sum up all, be merry, I advise;

And as we're merry, may we still be wise.

VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY,' WITH A PRESENT
OF SONGS.

HERE, where the Scotish Muse immortal lives,
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd,
Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives,
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.
So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among!
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song;

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears,

As modest Want the tale of woe reveals;
While conscious Virtue all the strain endears,
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals!

POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY.'

HAIL, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd!3
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd

'Mang heaps o' clavers;

And och! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd,

'Mid a' thy favours!

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang,
While loud, the trump's heroic clang,
And sock or buskin skelp alang

To death or marriage;

Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang
But wi' miscarriage?

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives;
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives;
Wee Pope, the knurlin,' 'till him rives
Horatian fame;

In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives
Even Sappho's flame.

1 Daughter of Mr. Graham, of Fintry.

Gilbert Burns doubted the authenticity of these verses, but surely without reason.

3 Collins.

4 Dwarf.

ON PASTORAL POETRY.

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches?
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches;
Squire Pope but busks' his skinklin' patches
O' heathen tatters.

I pass by hunders, nameless wretches,

That ape their betters.

In this braw age o' wit and lear,

Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair
Blaw sweetly in its native air

And rural grace;

And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share
A rival place?

Yes! there is ane, a Scottish callan-
There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan!
Thou need na jouk' behint the hallan,
A chiel sae clever;

The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tantallan,
But thou's for ever:

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines,
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,
Where Philomel,

While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
Her griefs will tell!

In gowany glens' thy burnie strays,
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes;
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,

Wi' hawthorns grey
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays
At close o' day.

Thy rural loves are nature's sel';

Nae bombast spates" o' nonsense swell;
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell

O' witchin' love,

That charm that can the strongest quell—

The sternest move.

183

*Dresses.

* Small.
• Daisied dales.

• Stoop.

The name of a castia • Torrents.

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF THE LAST EDITION OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM HE HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS.'

"TIs Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend
The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms)
To join the friendly few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower,
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower.)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Still much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store-
The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part;
And, dearest gift of Heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.

The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With ev'ry muse to rove:
And doubly were the poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE.

REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart,

Of Stuart, a name once respected,

A name, which to love, was the mark of a true heart,
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected!

1 Jean Lorimer.

NEW-YEAR DAY.

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye,
Let no one misdeem me disloyal;

A

poor

friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne;
My fathers have fallen to right it;

Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
That name should he scoffingly slight it.

185

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry;

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine;
Their title's avow'd by my country.

But why of this epocha make such a fuss,
That gave us the Hanover stem?

If bringing them over was lucky for us,
I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.

But, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground,
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter.

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,
A trifle scarce worthy your care;

But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades in your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;

But you like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
Your course to the latest is bright.

SKETCH.-NEW-YEAR DAY.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

THIS day Time winds th' exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again,
I see the old, bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair'd machine
To wheel the equal, dull routine.
The absent lover, minor heir,
In vain assail him with their prayer.

Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's' with the hounds;
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila's fair Rachel's' care to-day,

And blooming Keith's' engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow—
-That grandchild's cap will make to-morrow--
And join with me a-moralizing;

This day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
Another is gone
year
for ever. 99

And what is this day's strong suggestion?
"The passing moment's all we rest on."
Rest on-for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may, a few years must,
Repose us in the silent dust;
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies;
That on this frail, uncertain state
Hang matters of eternal weight;
That future life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as Heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as Misery's woful night.-

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends;

Let us th' important Now employ,

And live as those that never die.

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,

(A sight life's sorrows to repulse;
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;)
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

1 Major, afterwards General Andrew Dunlop, second son of Mrs.

Dunlop.

2 Miss Rachel Dunlop.

* Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter.