With deep-struck reverential awe*
The learned Sire and Son I saw,
To Nature's God and Nature's law
They gave their lore,

This all its source and end to draw,
That, to adore.

Brydone's brave wardt I well could spy,
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye,
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by
To hand him on,

Where many a Patriot-name on high,
And hero shone.

DUAN SECOND.

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I viewed the heav'nly-seeming Fair;
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear,
Of kindred sweet,

When, with an elder sister's air,
She did me greet.

All hail! my own inspir'd Bard!
In me thy native muse regard!
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard!
Thus poorly low!
I come to give thee such reward
As we bestow.

"Know the great Genius of this land
Has many a light aerial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,

As arts or arms they understand,

Their labours ply.

"They Scotia's race among them share; Some fire the Soldier on to dare;

Some rouse the Patriot up to bare

Corruption's heart;

Some teach the Bard, a darling care,

The tuneful art.

* Catrine, the seat of the late doctor, and present professor Stewart.

† Colonel Fullarton.

"Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, They ardent, kindling spirits pour;

Or, mid the venal senate roar,

They, sightless, stand,

To mend the honest Patriot-lore,

And grace the land.

"And when the bard, or hoary Sage, Charm or instruct the future age,

They bind the wild poetic rage

In energy,

Or point the inconclusive page
Full on the eye.

"Hence Fullarton, the brave and young;
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue;
Hence sweet harmonicus Beattie sung
His Minstrel lays ;'

Or tore, with noble ardour stung,
The Sceptic's bays.

"To lower orders are assign'd
The humbler ranks of human-kind.
The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind,
The Artisan;

All choose, as various they're inclin'd,
The various man.

"When yellow waves the heavy grain, The threat'ning storm some strongly rein, Some teach to meliorate the plain

With tillage-skill;

And some instruct the shepherd train
Blithe o'er the hill.

"Some hint the lover's harmless wile;
Some grace the maiden's artless smile;
Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil,
For humble gains,

And make his cottage-scenes beguile
His cares and pains.

"Some, bounded to a district-space,
Explore at large man's infant race,
To mark the embryotic trace

Of rustic Bard;

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,

1

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

Öf other times.

"I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar;
Or when the North his fleecy store
Drove thro' the sky,

I saw grim Nature's visage hoar,

Struck thy young eye.

"Or when the deep green-mantled earth
Warm cherish'd ev'ry 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 reapers' rustling noise, I saw thee leave their ev'ning 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 sooth thy flame.

"I saw thy pulses 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 Thompson'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 unrivalled rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
His army shade,

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 king's 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, And bound the Holly round my head: The polish'd leaves, and berries red,

Did rustling play;

And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ.

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short, but simple annals of the poor GRAY

I.

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend!
No mercenary Bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise;
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequcster'd scene;
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
What A**** in a cottage would have been;
Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween.

II.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh,
The short'ning winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,
This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,

And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward bend.

III

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

'Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher thro' To meet their Dad, wi' flichter in noise an' glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wife's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,

An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.
IV.

Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in,

At service out, amang the farmers roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neebor town;

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown,
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

V.

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers;
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears;