Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold,

Soar around each cliffy hold!

While cheerful Peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among.

As the shades of ev'ning close,
Beck'ning thee to long repose;
As life itself becomes disease,
Seek the chimney-nook of ease:
There ruminate with sober thought,

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought,
And teach the sportive younkers round,
Saws of experience, sage and sound:
Say, man's true, genuine estimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,
Is not, art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Did many talents gild thy span?
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one?
Tell them, and press it on their mind,
As thou thyself must shortly find,
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n,
To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n,
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise-
There solid self-enjoyment lies;
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base.

Thus resign'd, and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep-
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
Night, where dawn shall never break,

WRITTEN IN FRIARS CARSE HERMITAGE

Till future life, future no more,
To light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before.
Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide!
Quod the Beadsman of Nithside.

THE DAY RETURNS1

THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet:
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;

Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heav'n gave me more-it made thee mine!

While day and night can bring delight
Or Nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part
The iron hand that breaks our band,

It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart!

1 Written on the anniversary of Burns' meeting "one of the happiest and worthiest couples in the world, Robert Riddell, Esq., of Glenriddell, and his lady. At their fireside I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the houses of fashionable people in this country put together; and to their kindness and hospitality I am indebted for many of the happiest hours of my life."—R.` B.

GLENRIDDELL'S FOX

GLENRIDDELL'S FOX

THESE things premised, I sing-a Fox Was caught among his native rocks, And to a dirty kennel chained,

How he his liberty regained.

Glenriddell! a Whig without a stáin, A Whig in principle and grain, Couldst thou enslave a free-born creature, A native denizen of Nature?

How couldst thou, with a heart so good (A better ne'er was sluiced with blood), Nail a poor devil to a tree,

That ne'er did harm to thine or thee?

SONNET ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT
RIDDELL,

OF GLENRIDDELL AND FRIARS CARSE

No more, ye warblers of the wood! no more;
Nor pour your descant grating on my soul;
Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar.

How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend! How can I to the tuneful strain attend?

That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies.

Yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe,
And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier:
The man of worth-and hath not left his peer!
Is in his 'narrow house,' for ever darkly low.

Thee, Spring! again with joy shall others greet;
Me, memory of my loss will only meet.