THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, SONNET, written on the 25th of January, 1793, the Birth-day of the Author, on hearing a Thrush sing in a morning Walk. SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough; So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. I thank thee, Author of this opening day! Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies! Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, What wealth could never give nor take away! Yet come, thou child of poverty and care; The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share.. EXTEMPORE, to Mr. S**E, on refusing to dine with him, after having been promised the first of Company, and the first of Cookery; 17th December, 1795. No more of your guests, be they titled or not, Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, TO Mr. S** E, with a Present of a Dozen of Porter. O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind, Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 6 Tune, Push about the Jorum.' APRIL, 1795. DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat? Fall de rall, &c. O let us not like snarling tykes For never but by British hands The kettle o' the kirk and state, Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, Fall de rall, &c. The wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch his true-born brother, POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796. FRIEND of the poet, tried and leal, Alake, alake, the meikle deil Wi' a' his witches Are at it, skelpin! jig and reel, In my poor pouches. I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, That one pound one, I sairly want it: If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, It would be kind; And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, I'd bear't in mind. So may the auld year gang out moaning To thee and thine ; Domestic peace and comforts crowning The hale design. POSTSCRIPT. Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, And sair me sheuk; But by guid luck I lap a wicket, And turn'd a neuk. But by that health, I've got a share o't, Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't, Sent to a gentleman whom he had offended. THE friend whom wild from wisdom's way, The fumes of wine infuriate send ; (Not moony madness more astray ;) Who but deplores that hapless friend? |