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Let him draw near:

And drap a tear.

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

Is there a bard o' rustic song,

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,

O, pass not by !

But, with a frater-feeling strong,

Here, heave a sigh.
Is there a man, whose judgment clear,
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave;

Here pause--and, through the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame,

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stain'd his name.

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,

In low pursuit;

Know, prudent, cautious, self-control,

Is wisdom's root.

ON THE

LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S

PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.

HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,

Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats:
If there's a hole in a' your coats,

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I rede you tent it:
A chield's amang you, taking notes,

And, faith, he'll prent it.

If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
U' stature short, but genius bright,

That's he, mark weel

And wow! he has an unco slight

O' cauk and keel.

By some auld houlet-haunted biggin,*
Or Kirk deserted by its riggin,

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in

Some eldritch part,

Wi' deils, they say, L-d safe's! colleaguin

At some black art.

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer,
Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamor,
And you deep read in hell's black grammar,
Warlocks and witches;

Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,

Ye midnight b- -es.

It's tauld he was à sodger bred,
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;
But now he's quat the spurtle blade,

And dog-skin wallet,

And ta'en the-Antiquarian trade,

I think they call it.

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:
Busty airn caps and jingling jackets,+
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,

A towmont gude;

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,

Before the Flood.

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender;
That which distinguished the gender

O' Balaam's ass;

* Vide his antiquities of Scotland.
↑ Vide his treatise on ancient armour and weapons.

A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,

Weel shod wi' brass.

Forbye, he'll shape you af fu' gleg
The cut of Adam's philibeg;
The knife that nicket Abel's craig

He'll prove you fully,

It was a faulding jocteleg,

Or lang-kail gullie.—

But wad ye see him in his glee,

For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three

Gude fellows wi' him;

And port, O port! shine thou a wee,

And then ye'll see him!

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose !
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose!—
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,

They sair misca' thee;

I'd take the rascal by the nose,

Wad say, Shame fa' thee.

THE

HUMBLE PETITION

OF BRAUR WATER TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF

My

ATHOLE.

Lord, I know, your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain;

Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear

Your humble slave complain,

How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
In flaming summer-pride,

Dry withering, waste my foamy streams,
And drink my crystal tide.

* Braur Falls, in Athole,are exceedingly picturesqe and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.

The lightly-jumpin glowrin trouts,
That thro' my waters play,
If, in their random wanton spouts,
They near the margin stray;
If, hapless chance they linger lang,
I'm scorching up to shallow,
They're left the whitening stanes amang,
In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
As poet Burns came by,
That to a bard I should be seen
Wi' half my channel dry:
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,
Ev'n as I was he shor'd me:
But had I in my glory been,
He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks,
In twisting strength I rin;
There, high my boiling torrent smokes,
Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
Enjoying large each spring and well
As Nature gave them me,
I am, altho' I say't mysel,
Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,
He'll shade my banks wi' towering trees,
And bonnie spreading bushes.
Delighted doubly then, my Lord,
You'll wander on my banks,
And listen monie a grateful bird,
Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire;

The gowdspink, music's gayest child,

Shall sweetly join the choir :

The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,

The mavis mild and mellow;

The robin pensive autumn cheer,

In all her locks of yellow.

This too a covert shall ensure,
To shield them from the storm;
And coward maukin sleep secure,
Low in her grassy form.

Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
To weave his crown of flow'rs;
Or find a sheltering safe retreat,
From prone descending show'rs.
And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,

Despising worlds with all their wealth,
As empty idle care :

The flowers shall vie in all their charms
The hour of heaven to grace,
And birks extend their fragrant arms
To screen the dear embrace.

Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking dewy lawn,
And misty mountain, gray;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
Mild-chequering through the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let lofty firs and ashes cool

My lowly banks o'erspread,
And view, deep-bending in the pool,
Their shadows' wat'ry bed.

Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest,
My craggy cliffs adorn;

And, for the little songster's nest,
The close embow'ring thorn.

So may old Scotia's darling hope,
Your little angel band,

Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
Their honour'd native land!

So may thro Albion's farthest ken,
To social-flowing glasses,

The grace be-Athole's honest men,
And Athole's bonnie lasses !'

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