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Here mettled men my muse maintain,
And ilka beauty is my friend;

Which keeps me canty, brisk, and bein,
Ilk wheeling hour,

And a sworn fae to hatefu' spleen,

And a' that's sour.

But bide ye, boy, the main's to say;
Clarinda, bright as rising day,

Divinely bonny, great and gay,

Of thinking even,

Whase words, and looks, and smiles, display Full views of heaven:

To rummage nature for what's braw,
Like lilies, roses, gems, and snaw,
Compar'd with hers, their lustre fa',
And bauchly tell

Her beauties, she excels them a',
And 's like hersell:

As fair a form as e'er was blest
To have an angel for a guest;
Happy the prince who is possest
Of sic a prize,

Whose virtues place her with the best
Beneath the skies:

O sonsy Gay! this heavenly born,
Whom ev'ry grace strives to adorn,
Looks not upon thy lays with scorn;
Then bend thy knees,

And bless the day that ye was born
With arts to please.

She says thy sonnet smoothly sings,

Sae

ye may craw and clap your wings, And smile at ethercapit stings,

With careless pride,

When sae much wit and beauty brings
Strength to your side.

Lilt up your pipes, and rise aboon
Your Trivia, and your Moorland tune,
And sing Clarinda late and soon,

In towring strains,

Till gratefu' gods cry out, "Well done!" And praise thy pains.

Exalt thy voice, that all around

May echo back the lovely sound,
Frae Dover cliffs with samphire crown'd,
To Thule's shore,

Where northward no more Britain's found,
But seas that rore.

Thus sing;-whilst I frae Arthur's height,
O'er Cheviot glowr with tired sight,
And langing wish, like raving wight,
To be set down,

Frae coach and sax baith trim and tight,
In London town.

But lang I'll gove and bleer my ee,
Before, alake! that sight I see;
Then (best relief) I'll strive to be
Quiet and content,

And streek my limbs down easylie
Upon the bent.

There sing the gowans, broom, and trees,
The crystal burn and westlin breeze,
The bleeting flocks and bisy bees,
And blythsome swains,

Wha rant and dance, with kiltit dees,
O'er mossy plains.

Farewell;-but ere we part, let's pray,
God save Clarinda night and day,
And grant her a' she'd wish to ha'e,
Withoutten end.-

Nae mair at present I've to say,
But am your friend.

AN EPISTLE TO JOSIAH BURCHET,

ON HIS BEING CHOSEN MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.

My Burchet's name well pleas'd I saw
Amang the chosen leet,

Wha are to give Britannia law,

And keep her rights complete.

O may the rest wha fill the house
Be of a mind with thee,
And British liberty espouse;
We glorious days may see.

The name of patriot is mair great
Than heaps of ill-won gear;

What boots an opulent estate,

Without a conscience clear?

While sneaking sauls for cash wad trock
Their country, God, and king,

With pleasure we the villain mock,
And hate the worthless thing.

With a' your pith, the like of you,
Superior to what's mean,

Shou'd

gar the trockling rogues look blue, And cow them laigh and clean.

Down with them,-down with a' that dare
Oppose the nation's right;
Sae may your fame, like a fair star,
Through future times shine bright.

Sae may kind heaven propitious prove,
And grant whate'er ye crave;

And him a corner in your love,
Wha is your humble slave.

TO MR. DAVID MALLOCH,

ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM SCOTLAND.

SINCE fate, with honour, bids thee leave
Thy country for a while,
It is nae friendly part to grieve,

When powers propitious smile.

The task assign'd thee's great and good,
To cultivate two Grahams,

Wha from bauld heroes draw their blood,
Of brave immortal names.

Like wax, the dawning genius takes
Impressions thrawn or even;
Then he wha fair the moulding makes,
Does journey-work for heaven.

The sour weak pedants spoil the mind
Of those beneath their care,

Who think instruction is confin'd
To poor grammatic ware.

But better kens my friend, and can
Far nobler plans design,

To lead the boy up to a man

That's fit in courts to shine.

Frae Grampian heights (some may object)
Can you sic knowledge bring?
But those laigh tinkers ne'er reflect,
Some sauls ken ilka thing,

With vaster ease, at the first glance,
Than misty minds that plod
And thresh for thought, but ne'er advance
Their stawk aboon their clod.

But he that could, in tender strains,

Raise Margaret's plaining shade, (1)
And paint distress that chills the veins,
While William's crimes are red;

Shaws to the world, cou'd they observe,
A clear deserving flame :—

(1) "William and Margaret," a ballad, in imitation of the old manner, wherein the strength of thought and passion is more observed than a rant of unmeaning words.

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