'Some, bounded to a district-space, And careful note each op'ning grace, A guide and guard. Of these am I-Coila my name; And this district as mine I claim, Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, Held ruling pow'r: I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, Thy natal hour. With future hope, I oft would gaze, Fond, on thy little early ways, Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, In uncouth rhymes, Fir'd at the simple, artless lays Of other times. 'I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Drove thro' the sky, I saw grim nature's visage hoar Struck thy young eye. 'Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth Warm cherish'd every 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 evening 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 the' unrivall'd rose, 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, ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make a rule, The rigid wise anither: The cleanest corn that e'er was dight For random fits o' daflin. SOLOMON.-Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. OYE wha are sae guid yoursel, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals, I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, And shudder at the niffer, But cast a moment's fair regard, And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) Think, when your castigated pulse Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, See social life and glee sit down, Oh, would they stay to calculate Or your more dreadful hell to state, Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, |