THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the poet's prayer;
That fate may in her fairest page,
With every kindliest, best presage
Of future bliss enrol thy name :
With native worth, and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution still aware
Of ill-but chief, man's felon snare;
All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind-
These be thy guardian and reward;
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard.

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;
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain:
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,
At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow.

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,
And cook'ry the first in the nation;

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,
Is proof to all other temptation.

TO Mr. S** E, with a Present of a Dozen of Porter.

O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit,
"Twere drink for first of human kind,
A gift that e'en for S**e were fit.

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries.

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

6

Tune, Push about the Jorum.'

APRIL, 1795.

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the loons beware, Sir,
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, Sir.
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
And Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally!

Fall de rall, &c.

O let us not like snarling tykes
In wrangling be divided;
Till slap come in an unco loon
And wi' a rung decide it.
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Amang oursels united;

For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs he righted.
Fall, de rall, &c.

The kettle o' the kirk and state,
Perhaps a claut may fail in't;
But deil a foreign tinkler loun
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.

Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it;
By heaven the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it.

Fall de rall, &c.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch his true-born brother,
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,
May they be damned together!
Who will not sing, 'God save the King,'
Shall hang as high's the steeple;
But while we sing, ‘God save the King,'
We'll ne'er forget the People.

POEM,

ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF EXCISE,

DUMFRIES, 1796.

FRIEND of the poet, tried and leal,
Wha wanting thee, might beg or steal;

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 see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin

To thee and thine ;

Domestic peace and comforts crowning

The hale design.

POSTSCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,
And by fell death was nearly nicket:
Grim loun! he gat me by the fecket,

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,
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't,
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't
A tentier way:

Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,
For ance and aye.

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?