TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that: Ye see yon birkie,' ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; His riband, star, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o sense, and pride o' worth, Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that; That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. Now spring has clad the groves in green, O why thus all alone are mine 1 Conceited fellow. 2 Blockhead, 4 May be conquerors, • Try. 347 The trout within yon wimpling burn And safe beneath the shady thorn My life was once that careless stream; But love, wi' unrelenting beam, Has scorch'd my fountain dry. The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Was mine: till love has o'er me past, And now beneath the withering blast, The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, As little reckt I sorrow's power, O' witching love, in luckless hour, O had my fate been Greenland snows, Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known! The wretch whase doom is, "Hope nae mair!" What tongue his woes can tell? Within whose bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell. CLARINDA. CLARINDA, mistress of my soul, To what dark cave of frozen night Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 1 WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER, ETC. We part-but by these precious drops No other light shall guide my steps, She, the fair sun of all her sex, 349 WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. TUNE "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT." WHY, why tell thy lover, Bliss he never must enjoy? Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie? O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers, THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, "Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!" With tillage, or pasture, at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore:2 As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.' The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life: Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood. Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse; Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them always.* 1 The Romans. 2 The Saxons and Danes. 3 Two famous battles in which the Danes or Norwegians were defeated.-Currie. This singular figure of poetry refers to the 47th proposition of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, the square of the hypothenuse is always equal to the square of the two other sides.-Currie. ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 351 ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR.' TUNE "THE CAMERONIAN RANT." "O CAM ye here the fight to shun? And did the battle see, man?" 3 Wha glaum'd' at Kingdoms three, man. The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, The great Argyle led on his files, They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, But had you seen the philibegs, When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs, "O how deil, Tam, can that be true? I saw mysel, they did pursue The horsemen back to Forth, man; 1 This poem, I am pretty well convinced, is not my brother's, but more ancient than his birth.-G. B. 5 Clothes. 8 Marked for death. 10 Doves. |