So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, As modest want the tale of wo reveals; While conscious virtue all the strain endears, And heav'n-born piety her sanction seals. VERSES WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO A LADY, WHOM HE HAD OF TEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS. 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 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,) Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Stil. much is left behind; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, The comforts of the mind! Thine is the self-approving glow, The joys refin'd of sense and taste, TO A YOUNG LADY, MISS JESSY L, DUMFRIES; WITH BOOKS THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, WHICH VERSES WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN ONCE fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, TO J. S****. Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul, I owe thee much. BLAIR DEAR S****, the sleest, paukie thief, For ne'er a bosom yet was prief For me, I swear by sun and moon, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon, And ev'ry ither pair that's done, That auld capricious carlin, Nature, And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme, Wi' hasty summon; Hae ye a leisure moment's time To hear what's comin? Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash; For me, an aim I never fash; I rhyme for fun! The star that rules my luckless lot, And damn'd my fortune to the groat; Has bless'd me wi' a random shot This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, But still the mair I'm that way bent, I rede you, honest man, tak tent! "There's ither poets, much your betters, Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs An' teach the lanely heights and howes My rustic sang. I'll wander on wi' tentless heed, I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, Forgot and gone! But why, O Death, begin a tale? And large, before Enjoyment's gale, This life, sae far's I understand Is a' enchanted, fairy land, |