I think it strange that Guion sage, DAMON TO HIS FRIENDS. A BALLAD. THE billows of life are supprest, Dame Fortune and I are agreed; For the goddess has kindly decreed, Now riches will ope the dim eyes, To view the increase of my store; And many my friendship will prize Who never knew Damon before. But those I renounce and abjure, Who carried contempt in their eye: May poverty still be their dower That could look on misfortune awry! 1 The above Epigram was written on reading several very encomiastic Verses on Dr. Webster, which appeared in the Scots Magazine for July 1772, &c. Guion was equally an admirer of Fergusson. Ye powers that weak mortals govern, Keep pride at his bay from my mind; O let me not haughtily learn To despise the few friends that were kind! For theirs was a feeling sincere ; 'Twas free from delusion and art; O may I that friendship revere, And hold it yet dear to my heart! By which was I ever forgot? It was both my physician and cure, That still found the way to my cot, Although I was wretched and poor. 'Twas balm to my canker-tooth'd care, Attend, ye kind youth of the plain! You cannot be deaf to the strain, 1 I have chose a soft sylvan retreat, Bedeck'd with the beauties of spring; Around my flocks wander 2 and bleat, While the musical choristers sing. I force not the waters to stand 1 Var. sweet. 2 Var. nibble. But a river at Nature's command, Meanders both limpid and pure. She's the goddess that darkens my bowers She tutors my shrubs and my flowers, What a pleasing diversified group Of trees has she spread o'er my ground! She has taught the grave larix to droop, And the birch to deal odours around. For whom has she perfumed my groves? For whom has she cluster'd my vine? If friendship despise my alcoves, They'll ne'er be recesses of mine. He who tastes his grape juices by stealth, O come! and with Damon retire Amidst the green umbrage embower'd! Your mirth and your songs to inspire, Shall the juice of his vintage be pour'd. O come, ye dear friends of his youth! To say 'twas preserved for your sake. THE CANONGATE PLAY-HOUSE IN RUINS. A BURLESQUE POEM. [This Theatre' stood behind the south line of the street, opposite to the head of New Street. It was founded in 1746 by Ryan of Covent Garden, London: but was only first used under the royal licence on 9th December, 1767. A new 'Theatre' being built in 1768 in the New Town, the humble 'Canongate' was almost immediately after left to ruin. It was in this "Theatre' that the 'Gentle Shepherd' of Ramsay was first publicly represented, and where subsequently Home's ‘Douglas' was first privately represented with such a Corps Dramatique as is unlikely ever to "tread the Stage again."] YE few, whose feeling hearts are ne'er estranged Of chaos, and of hell-O! with thy blazing torch Shall with their luscious virtues charm the sense Of taste and smell. No more the gaudy beau, With flavoriferous sweets shall chase away For lo! those sacred walls, that late were brush'd Are now become the sport of wrinkled time! Or gender in the beams, that have upheld O Shakspeare! where are all thy tinsell'd kings, Here shepherds, lolling in their woven bowers, Their loves accompanied with clangour strong |