The cowte wad let naebody steer him, Now it was late in the ev❜ning, And bughting time was drawing near; Gude guide's! saw ye ever the like o't? What's yon that it hauds in its han'? They're a' but a rickle o' sticks; Quo' Maggie, Come buy us our fairing, A DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. WHAT! is there ill news, ye're so sad, That thy blue bonnet's pull'd o'er thy brow? Poor Robin is dead, And the plowman weeps over his plow, And the plowman weeps over his plow. Is his pipe mute for aye, and for aye, No more shall we 'tend to his song? Beneath the green sod, Poor Robin they've laid all along, Poor Robin they've laid all along. Adieu then, the forest and hill, And farewell the vallies and grove! And the vallies ring still, Still echo his ditties of love, Still echo his ditties of love. The sad sound of echo I'll shun, Its dying notes live on my mind; Leave your country's feeling behind. A a Still the blackbird will sing on the thorn, And the lark early carol on high, Will chaunt Robin's verse with a sigh, Will chaunt Robin's verse with a sigh. Soft lies on his bosom the turf, Rest his ashes unmingled and pure! And his much-lov'd remains aye secure! And his much-lov'd remains aye secure. WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. WHERE shall the lover rest, From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Borne down by the flying, With groans of the dying. Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying. Her wings shall the eagle flap, His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it,— Never, O never. Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never. THE BEGGAR BOY. LONG I've been an orphan poor, Spent and weary, down I lie, And with cold and hunger die. Daughters of charity, sons of humanity, O pity, O pity, the poor beggar boy. No care nurs❜d my growing years, Charity, Charity, celestial maid! * The force of the appeals to our sensibility contained in this little piece, may, perhaps, be most strikingly illustrated by the following most remarkable philippic of BURNS against poverty."O Poverty! thou half-sister of death, thou cousin-german of hell! where shall I find force of execration equal to the amplitude of thy demerits? Oppressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the practice of every virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, implores a little-little aid to support his existence, from a stony-hearted son of Mammon, whose sun of prosperity never knew a cloud; and is by him denied and insulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of sentiment, whose heart glows with independence, and melts with sensibility, inly pines under the neglect, or writhes in bitterness of soul under the contumely of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by thee, the son of genius, whose ill-starred ambition plants him at the tables of the fashionable and polite, must see in suffering silence his remark neglected, and his person despised, while shallow greatness, in his idiot at tempts at wit, shall meet with countenance and applause. Nor is it only the family of worth that have reason to complain of thee: the children of folly and vice, though in common with thee the offspring of evil, smart equally under thy rod. Owing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposition and neglected education, is condemned as a fool for his dissipation, despised and shunned as a needy wretch, when his follies as usual bring him to want; and when his unprincipled necessities drive him to dishonest prac tices, he is abhorred as a miscreant, and perishes by the justice |