Plac'd at length on Chelsea's bounty, Now to langer beg thinks shame, Dreams ance mair o' smiling plenty ;Dreams o' former joys, and hame!

Hame! and a' its fond attractions
Fast to Will's warm bosom flee;
While the thoughts o' dear connexions
Swell his heart and blind his ee-

'Monster! wha could leave neglected Three sma' infants, and a wife, Naked-starving-unprotected!

Them, too, dearer ance than life!

Villain! wha wi' graceless folly
Ruin'd her he ought to save!
Chang'd her joys to melancholy,
Beggary, and perhaps, a grave !'

Starting !—wi' remorse distracted,—
Crush'd wi' grief's increasing load,
Up he bang'd; and sair afflicted,
Sad and silent took the road!

Sometimes briskly, sometimes flaggin,
Sometimes helpit, Will gat forth;
On a cart, or in a waggon,
Hirpling ay towards the north.

Tir'd ae e'enin, stepping hooly,
Pondering on his thraward fate,
In the bonny month o' July,
Willie, heedless, tint his gate.

Saft, the southlan breeze was blawing,
Sweetly sugh'd the green ake wood!
Loud the din o' streams fast fa'ing,
Strak the ear wi' thunderin thud!

Ewes and lambs on braes ran bleeting;
Linties sang on ilka tree;

Frae the wast, the sun, near setting,
Flam'd on Roslin's towers* sae hie!

Roslin's towers! and braes sae bonny!
Craigs and water, woods and glen!
Roslin's banks! unpeer'd by ony
Save the muses' Hawthornden !f

Iika sound and charm delighting;
Will (tho' hardly fit to gang)
Wander'd on through scenes inviting,
List'ning to the mavis' sang.

Faint at length, the day fast closing,
On a fragrant straeberry steep,
Esk's sweet stream to rest composing,
Wearied nature drapt asleep.

Soldier, rise!-the dews o' e'ening Gathering fa', wi' deadly scaith! Wounded soldier! if complaining, Sleep nae here and catch your death.

Traveller, waken!-night advancing
Cleads wi' grey the neeboring hill!—

Roslin Castle.

The ancient seat of the celebrated poet, William Drummond, who flourished in 1585.

Lambs nae mair on knows are dancing
A' the woods are mute and still!'

What hae I,' cried Willie, waking, "What hae I frae night to dree??Morn, thro' clouds in splendour breaking, Lights nae bright'ning hope to me!

House, nor hame, nor farm, nor stedding! Wife nor bairns hae I to see!

House, nor hame, nor bed, nor beddingWhat hae I frae night to dree'?'

Sair, alas! and sad and many

Are the ills poor mortals share!Yet, tho' hame nor bed ye hae nae, Yield nae, soldier, to despair!

What's this life, sae wae and wearie,
If Hope's bright'ning beams should fail!
See-tho' night comes dark and eerie,
Yon sma' cot-light cheers the dale!

There, tho' walth and waste ne'er riot,
Humbler joys their comforts shed;
Labour-health-content and quiet;
Mourner! there ye'll find a bed.

Wife! 'tis true, wi' bairnies smiling,
There, alas! ye needna seek--
Yet thir bairns, ilk wae beguiling,
Paint wi' smiles a mither's cheek!

A' her earthly pride and pleasure
Left to cheer her widow'd lot!

A' her warldly walth and treasure
To adorn her lanely cot!

Cheer, then, soldier! 'midst affliction
Bright'ning joys will aften shine;
Virtue aye claims Heaven's protection-
Trust to Providence divine!'

PART IV.

SWEET as Rosebank's* woods and river
Cool whan simmer's sunbeams dart,

Cam ilk word, and cool'd the fever
That lang brunt at Willie's heart.

Silent stept he on, poor fallow!
Listening to his guide before,

Owre green know, and flowery hallow,
Till they reach'd the cot-house door.

Laigh it was; yet sweet, tho' humble!
Deck'd wi' hinnysuckle round;
Clear below, Esk's waters rumble,
Deep glens murmuring back the sound.

Melville's towers,† sae white and stately,
Dim by gloamin glint to view;
Thro' Lasswade's dark woods keek sweetly
Skies sae red, and lift sae blue!

* Rosebank, near Roslin; the author's place of nativity. + Melville's Castle, the seat of the Right Honourable Henry Dundas.

Entering now, in transport mingle
Mither fond, and happy wean,
Smiling round a canty ingle

Bleising on a clean hearth-stane.

'Soldier, welcome !-come, be cheery!
Here ye'se rest, and tak your bed--
Faint,--waes me! ye seem, and weary,
Pale's your cheek, sae lately red!'

Chang'd I am,' sigh'd Willie till her; 'Chang'd, nae doubt, as chang'd can be! Yet, alas! does Jeanie Miller

Nought o' Willie Gairlace see!'

Hae ye markt the dews o' morning
Glittering in the sunny ray,
Quickly fa', when without warning

Rough blasts cam, and shook the spray?

Hae ye seen the bird fast fleeing

Drap, when pierc'd by death mair fleet? Then, see Jean, wi' colour dieing, Senseless drap at Willie's feet!

After three lang years affliction
(A' their waes now hush'd to rest,)
Jean ance mair, in fond affection,
Clasps her Willie to her breast.

Tells him a' her sad-sad sufferings!
How she wander'd, starving poor,
Gleaning pity's scanty offerings

Wi' three bairns frae door to door!