INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT OF MR. HERON, WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795. THOU of an independent mind, With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, Virtue alone who dost revere, Thy own reproach alone dost fear, Approach this shrine, and worship here. MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd! How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd, If sorrow and anguish their exit await, From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd. Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you; And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower, For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay; There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. THE EPITAPH. HERE lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam: Want only of wisdom denied her respect, Want only of goodness, denied her esteem. SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, No more, ye warblers of the wood -no more! How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? How can I to the tuneful strain attend? April, 1794 That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies. Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe! Thee, Spring, again with joys shall others greet; IMPROMPTU, ON MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTHDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1793. OLD Winter with his frosty beard, Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd, 'What have I done of all the year, Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, That brilliant gift will so enrich me, ""Tis done!' says Jove; so ends my story, But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. | And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. TO MISS JESSY LEWARS, DUMFRIES, WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER. THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, That Fate may in her fairest page, And wakeful caution still aware With native worth, and spotless fame, | So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING BEEN PROMISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY, AND THE FIRST OF COOKERY. 17th December, 1795. No more of your guests, be they titled or not, TO MR. SYME, WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER. O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind. Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. SONNET, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK IN JANUARY, WRITTEN 25TH JANUARY, 1793, THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR, R.B. AGED 34. SING on, sweet Thrush, upon the leafless bough; See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign So in lone Poverty's dominion drear Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, I thank thee, Author of this opening day! Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient skies! What wealth could never give nor take away! Yet come, thou child of poverty and care; The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share. THE friend whom wild from wisdom's | Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, way The fumes of wine infuriate send; (Not moony madness more astray;) Who but deplores that hapless friend? Ah why should I such scenes out live? Scenes so abhorrent to my heart! |