No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, The Genius of the stream in front appears, corn; [show, Then Winter's time-bleached locks did hoary By Hospitality with cloudless brow; Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide; Benevolence, with mild benignant air, A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: To rustic Agriculture did bequeath At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. V. He taks but for the fashion; Spare them nae day. VI. Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, For lapfu's large o' gospel kail An' runts o' grace, the pick and wale, VII. Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, Oh, rare to see our elbucks wheep, VIII. Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, . Has shored the Kirk's undoin', Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8. Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25. To every New Light" mother's son, Like oil, some day. THE CALF. TO THE REV. MR On his Text, MALACHI, ch. iv. ver. 2 "And they shall go forth, and grow up, like CALVES of the stali.” RIGHT SIR! your text I'll prove it true, An' should some Patron be so kind, I doubt nae, Sir, but then we'll find, But, if the Lovers raptur'd hour Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, Your but-and-ben adorns, The like has been that you may wear A noble head of horns. And in your lug, most reverend James And when ye're number'd wi' the dead Wi' justice they may mark your head'Here lies a famous Bullock ! ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, O THOU! whatever title suit thee, To scaud poor wretches Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, An' let poor damned bodies be; New Light is a cant phrase in the West of Scotland, for those religious opinions which Dr Taylor of Nor wich has defended so strenuously. Ye, like a rash-bush stood in sight, Wi' waving sough. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An nighted Trav'llers are allured An aft your moss-traversing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late and drunk is; The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkeys Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, When Masons' mystic word an' grip, In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell; The youngest Brother ye wad whip Aff straught to hell! Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love they shared, The raptured hour, Sweet on the frgrant flowery swaird In shady bower: Then you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog! An' gied the infant world a shog, D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz, Ye did present your smoutie phiz 'Mang better folk, When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick—quaick— | An' sklented on the man of Uz Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, On whistling wings. Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' lowsed his ill tongued wicked Scawl, But a' your doings to rehearse, Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', Some luckless hour will send him linkin', To your black pit; * Vide Milton, book vi. 'An' neist my yowie, silly thing, Guid keep thee frae a tether string! THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. O' may thou ne'er forgather up AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. As Mailic, at her lambs thegither, Wi' glowrin' een, and lifted han's, 'O thou, whase lamentable face 'Tell him, if e'er again he keep 'Tell him, he was a master kin', An' aye was guid to me an' mine : An' now my dying charge I gie him, My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. O bid him save their harmless lives, Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives But gie them guid cow milk their fill, Till they be fit to fend themsel'; An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, Wi' teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. A neebor herd-callan. It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 'Thro' a' the town she trotted by him; I wat she was a sheep o' sense, Thro' thievish greed. |