ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG NAMED ECHO. IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Now half-extinct your powers of song, Ye jarring screeching things around, SONG. Tune, I am a man unmarried."* O, ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass, Ay, and I love her still, And whilst that virtue warms my breast I'll love my handsome Nell. Tal lal de ral, &c. As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 'The like I never saw. This was our Poet's first attempt. A bonnie lass, I will confess, But without some better qualities But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, And what is best of a', Her reputation is complete, She dresses ay sae clean and neat, Both decent and genteel; And then there's something in her gait Gars ony dress look weel. A gaudy dress and gentle air "Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 'Tis this enchants my soul; For absolutely in my breast She reigns without control. Tal lal de ral, &c. C c 2 INSCRIPTION TO THE MEMORY OF FERGUSSON. HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET, Born September 5th, 1751-Died 16th October, 1774. No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, {vale: The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morn ing, [dale: And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care? No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, A king and a father to place on his throne? His right are these hills and his right are these valleys, [none. Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn: Your deeds prove so loyal in hot bloody trial, Alas! can I make you no sweeter return? EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. WHEN Nature her great master-piece design'd, And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, Her eye, intent on all the mazy plan, She form'd of various parts the various man. Then first she calls the useful many forth; Makes a material for mere knights and squires; Then marks the'unyielding mass with grave designs, The order'd system fair before her stood, Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter; But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, And, to support his helpless woodbine state, A title, and the only one I claim, To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, Unlike sage, proverb'd, Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. |