Forbye, he 'll shape you aff, fu’gleg,
The cut of Adam's philibeg;
The knife that nicket Abel's craig

He'll prove you fully,
It was a faulding jocteleg,

Or lang-kail gullie.

But wad ye see him in his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three

Guid fellows wi' him;
And port, O port! shine thou a wee,

And then ye'll see him!

Now, by the pow’rs o’verse and prose! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! Whae'er o’thee shall ill suppose,

They sair misca' thee; I'd take the rascal by the nose,

Wad say, Shame fa' thee!

TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS,

A VERY YOUNG LADY.

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK, PRESENTED

TO HER BY THE AUTHOR.

and gay,

BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young Blooming on thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, Chilly shrink in sleety show'r!

Never Boreas' hoary path,
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath,
Never baleful stellar lights,
Taint thee wish untimely blights!
Never, never reptile thief
Riot on thy virgin leaf!
Nor even Sol too fiercely view
Thy bosom blushing still with dew!

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem,
Richly deck thy native stem;
Till some ev’ning, sober, calm,
Dropping dews, and breathing balm,
While all around the woodland rings,
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings;
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound,
Shed thy dying honours round,
And resign to parent earth
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.

SONG.

ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,

And waste my soul with care; But ah! how bootless to admire,

When fated to despair!

Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair,

To hope may be forgiv'n;
For sure 'twere impious to despair,

So much in sight of Heav'n.

OX READING, IN A NEWSPAPER,

THE DEATH OF JOHN MLEOD, ESQ.

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND

OF THE AUTHOR'S.

Sad thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms:
Death tears the brother of her love

From Isabella's arms.

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew

The morning rose may blow; But cold successive noontide blasts

May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smil'd;
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds

Succeeding hopes beguil'd.

Fate oft tears the bosom chords

That nature finest strung: So Isabella's heart was form'd,

And so that heart was wrung.

Dread Omnipotence alone,

Can heal the wound he gave;
Can point the brimful grief-worn eye

To seenes beyond the grave,

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,

And fear no withering blast; There Isabella's spotless worth

Shall happy be at last.

TAE

HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR

WATER*

TO THE

NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE.

My Lord, I know, your noble ear

Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear

Your humble Slave complain.
How saucy Phæbus' scorching beams,

In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering waste my foamy streams,

And drink my cryst / tide.

The lightly-jumping glowriū trouts,

That thro' my waters play,
If, in their random, wanton spouts,

They near the margin stray ;

• Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque ani beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want o* trees and shrubs.

VOL. XXXVIII.

A a

If, hapless chance! the linger lang,

I'm scorching up to sta'low, They're left the whitening stanes amang,

In gasping death to vallow.

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,

As Poet B**** camc
That, to a bard 1 should be seen

Wi' half my channel dry:
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,

Even as I was he shor d me; But had I in my glory beeil,

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

a

Here, foaming down the sl elvy rocks,

In twisting strength I rin; There, high my boiling torrent smokes,

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : Enjoying large each spring and well

As nature gave them me, I am, altho' I say 't mysel,

Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master ple.se

To grant' my hihear wishes, He'll shade my bart wi' tow'ring trees,

Alid bornie spading lushes ; Deli, eit do:bly then, my Lord,

Lin!l wander on my banks, isten mony a grateful bird

B turn you tuneful thanks.

? sober laverock, warbling wild,

Shall to the skies aspire ;