And may those pleasures gild thy reign, Or turn their hearts to thee; And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me! O! soon, to me, may summer-suns Let winter round me rave; And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave. TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. OF FINTRA. LATE crippled of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;) Will generous Graham list to his poet's wail? (It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,) And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade? Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The lion and the bull thy care have found, One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground: [shell, Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, In all th' omnipotence of rule and power.Foxa) and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure; The cit and polecat stink, and are secure; Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, [snug, The priest and hedge-hog in their robes are Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, [darts. Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and But Oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child-the Bard! A thing unteachable in world's skill, No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, Critics-appall'd, I venture on the name, Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame; Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes; He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, By blockheads' daring into madness stung; His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear; Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in the unequal strife, So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast; By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. O dulness! portion of the truly blest! Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest! Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. If mantling high she fills the golden cup, With sober selfish ease they sip it up; [serve, Conscious the bounteous meed they well deThey only wonder, 'some folks' do not starve. The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, And just conclude that fools are fortune's care.' So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; In equanimity they never dwell, By turns in soaring heaven, or vaulted hell. I dread the fate, relentless and severe, With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear; Already one strong hold of hope is lost, Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust; (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, And left us darkling in a world of tears :) O! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare! As market-days are wearing late, This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, O Tam! had'st thon but been sae wise, Thou would be found deep drown'd ir. Doon; Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, But to our tale: Ae market night, Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy; As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed! Or like the snow-falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Nae man can tether time or tide : The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg- Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; By this time he was cross the ford, Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil.— The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillon brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He screw'd his pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, A murderer's banes in gibbet airns ; As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew ; The dancers quick and quicker flew ; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty sark!" And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin, They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they And win the key-stane* of the brig; cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark! Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queens A' plump an' strapping, in their teens ; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush o' guid blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies! For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! But wither'd beldams auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, There was ae winsome wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core, (Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country side in fear,) Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude though sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie,— Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she cooft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,) Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! But here my muse her wing maun cour⚫ Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r : To sing how Nunnie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was and strang) And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, thought his very een enrich'd : There at them thou thy tail may toss, Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT INHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art, *It is a well known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream.-It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. |