THE VISION.

"Or when the deep green-mantl'd Earth
Warm-cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth
In ev'ry grove,

I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth

With boundless love.

"When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling noise, I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys,

And lonely stalk,

To vent thy bosom's swelling rise

In pensive walk.

"When youthful Love, warm-blushing strong,
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored Name,

I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.

"I saw thy pulse's maddening play,
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way,
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray,

By Passion driven;

But yet the light that led astray

Was light from Heaven.

"I taught thy manners-painting strains, The loves, the ways of simple swains, Till now, o'er all my wide domains

Thy fame extends;

And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
Become thy friends.

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow;
Or wake the bosom-melting throe,

With Shenstone's art; Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow Warm on the heart.

"Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows;

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
His army shade,

Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,
Adown the glade.

"Then never murmur nor repine;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
And trust me, not Potosi's mine,
Nor Kings' regard,

Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine,
A rustic Bard.

"To give my counsels all in one,-
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan;
Preserve the dignity of Man,

With Soul erect;

And trust, the Universal Plan

Will all protect.

"And wear thou this "-she solemn said,
And bound the Holly round my head;
The polish'd leaves, and berries red,
Did rustling play;

And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.

ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.

My son, these maxims make a rule,
And lump them aye thegither;

The RIGID RIGHTEOUS is a fool,

The RIGID WISE anither:

The cleanest corn that e'er was dight
May hae some pyles o' caff in;

So ne'er a fellow-creature slight

For random fits o' daffin.

Solomon.---Eccles vii. 16.

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel,
Sae pious and sae holy,

Ye've nought to do but mark and tell
Your Neebour's fauts and folly!
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,

Supply'd wi' store o' water,

The heapet happer's ebbing still,

And still the clap plays clatter.

Hear me, ye venerable Core,'
As counsel for poor mortals,

That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door,
For glaikit Folly's portals;

1

1

ADDRESS.

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,

Their donsie' tricks, their black mistakes
Their failings and mischances.

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,
And shudder at the niffer,"
But cast a moment's fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave
That purity ye pride in,

And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
Your better art o' hidin'.

Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
What raging must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop;

Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
It maks an unco leeway.

See Social life and Glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,

Till, quite transmugrify'd,' they're grown
Debauchery and Drinking:

O would they stay to calculate

Th' eternal consequences;

Or your more dreaded hell to state,
Damnation of expenses!

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames,
Ty'd up in godly laces,

Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases;

A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,
A treacherous inclination-
But, let me whisper i' your lug,

Ye're aiblins' nae temptation.

Then gently scan your brother Man,
Still gentler sister Woman;

Tho' they may gang a kennie' wrang,
To step aside is human:

One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving Why they do it;

And just as lamely can ye mark,

How far perhaps they rue it.

4

59

Unlucky. Exchange. Transformed. May be. Small matten

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us,

He knows each chord-its various tone,
Each spring-its various bias:

Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;

What's done we partly may compute,

But know not what's resisted.

1

TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.'

An honest man's the noblest work of God.-Pope.

HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil?
Or great M'Kinlay' thrawn his heel?
Or Robinson' again grown weel,

To preach an' read?
"Na, waur than a'!" cries ilka chiel,

"Tam Samson's dead!"

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane,
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane,*
An' cleed' her bairns, man, wife, an' wean,
In mourning weed;

To Death she's dearly paid the kane,*

Tam Samson's dead!

The Brethren o' the mystic level

May hing their head in woefu' bevel,

While by their nose the tears will revel,

Like ony bead;

Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel,

Tam Samson's dead!

When Winter muffles up his cloak,

And binds the mire like a rock;

When to the loughs the Curlers flock

Wi' gleesome speed,

Wha will they station at the cock?

Tam Samson's dead!

When this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl season he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields;" and expressed an ardent with to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his Elegy and Epitaph.-R. B.

A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million.-Vide The Ordination, stanza ii.-R. B.

Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that time ailing. For him, see also The Ordination, stanza ix.-R.B. Clothe. • Rent.

Herself alone.

In time o' need;

1

But now he lags on Death's hog-score,
Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately Sawmont sail,
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail,
And Eels weel ken'd for souple tail,

And Geds for greed,

Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail
Tam Samson dead!

Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks' a';
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw;*
Ye Maukins,' cock your fud fu' braw,
Withouten dread;

Your mortal Fae is now awa',

Tam Samson's dead!

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd

Saw him in shootin graith" adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd,
Frae couples freed;

But, Och! he gaed and ne'er return'd!

Tam Samson's dead!

In vain auld age his body batters;
In vain the gout his ancles fetters;
In vain the burns cam' down like waters,
An acre braid!

Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters,

"Tam Samson's dead!"

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit,
An' aye the tither shot he thumpit,
Till coward Death behind him jumpit
Wi' deadly feide;"

Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet,
Tam Samson's dead!

When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger,
But yet he drew the mortal trigger

Wi' weel-aim'd heed;

66 Lord, five!" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger;
Tam Samson's dead!

61

2 Salmon.

A distance line in curling, drawn across the rink. 'Partridges. Cheerfully crow. Hares. Tail. 7 Dress. Foud.