VERSES,

Written under the portrait of Fergusson, the poet, in a copy of that author's works presented to a young Lady in Edinburgh, March 19th, 1787. I

CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd,
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure.
O thou my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the muses,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ?*

*This apostrophe to Fergusson, bears a striking affinity to one in Burns's poems, Dr, Currie's edition, vol. iii. p. 248.

O Fergusson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law's dry musty arts!

My curse upon your whunstane hearts,

Ye E'nbrugh gentry!

The tythe o' what ye waste at Cartes

Wad stow'd his pantry!

This was written before Burns visited the Scottish capital. Even without a poet's susceptibility we may feel how this prophetic parallel of Fergusson's case with his own must have pressed on the memory of our bard, when he paid this second tribute of affection to his elder brother in misfortune. E.

SONGS, &c.

EVAN BANKS.

SLOW Spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires;
To Evan Banks, with temp'rate ray,
Home of my youth, he leads the day.
Oh banks to me for ever dear!

Oh streams whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.

And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye;
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?

Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde?

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound!
Ye lavish woods that wave around,

And

1

And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;
What secret charm to mem'ry brings,
All that on Evan's border springs;

Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:
Blest stream! she views thee haste to Clyde.-

Can all the wealth of India's coast
Atone for years in absence lost?
Return ye moments of delight,
With richer treasures bless my sight!
Swift from this desert let me part,
And fly to meet a kindred heart!

Nor more may ought my steps divide

From that dear stream which flows to Clyde.

SONG.

AE fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.