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Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van,
A lady fair ;
Will whyles do mair.
But to conclude my silly rhyme,
To weans and wife,
Of human life.
My compliments to sister Beckie ;
As e'er tread clay!
I'm yours for ay.
SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND, ON NEW-YEAR
No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
Ye sprightly youths, quite Aush with hope and
spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, To you the dotard has a deal to say, In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way! He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, That the first blow is ever half the battle ; That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him ; Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him; That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, You may do miracles by persevering.
Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care !
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,
for our sincere, though haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours ; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feed it.
ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET,
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,
In vain ye faunt in summer's pride, ye groves ;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more !
Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens ;
Ye mossy streams with sedge and rushes stor'd; Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
To you I fiy, ye with my soul accord.
Princes whose cumb’rous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And not a muse an honest grief bewail ?
We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, (spheres;
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.
The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care : So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree,
So from it ravish’d, leaves it bleak and bare.
IMITATION OF AN OLD JACOBITE
By yon castle wa’ at the close of the day,
The church is in ruins, the state is in jars,
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd:
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame-
SONG OF DEATH.
Scene-field of battle; time of the day-evening; the wound
ed and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following Song.
FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye
skies, Now gay with the bright setting sun; Farewell, loves and friendship, ye dear, tender ties,
Our race of existence is run!
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go, frighten the coward and slave ; Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,
No terrors hast tliou to the brave !
Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : Thou strik'st the young hero—a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
In the field of proud honour-our swords in ou
hands, Our King and our country to save While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
0! who would not rest with the brave !