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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,
O, pass not by !
But, with a frater-feeling strong,
Here, heave a sigh.
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 softer flame,
But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stain'd his name.
Reader, attend-whether thy soul
In low pursuit;
Know, prudent, cautious, self-control,
Is wisdom's root.
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:
I rede you tent it:
And, faith, he'll prent it.
If in your bounds ye chance to light
That's he, mark weel
And wow! he has an unco slight
O' cauk and keel.
By some auld houlet-haunted biggin,*
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'll quake at his conjuring hammer,
Ye midnight b- -es.
It's tauld he was à sodger bred,
And dog-skin wallet,
And ta'en the-Antiquarian trade,
I think they call it.
He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:
A towmont gude;
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,
Before the Flood.
Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;
O' Balaam's ass;
* Vide his antiquities of Scotland.
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,
Weel shod wi' brass.
Forbye, he'll shape you af fu' gleg
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,
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 !
They sair misca' thee;
I'd take the rascal by the nose,
Wad say, Shame fa' thee.
OF BRAUR WATER TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF
Lord, I know, your noble ear
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
Dry withering, waste my foamy streams,
* 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,
Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks,
Would then my noble master please
The sober lav'rock, warbling wild,
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,
Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
Despising worlds with all their wealth,
The flowers shall vie in all their charms
Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
Let lofty firs and ashes cool
My lowly banks o'erspread,
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest,
And, for the little songster's nest,
So may old Scotia's darling hope,
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
So may thro Albion's farthest ken,
The grace be-Athole's honest men,