THE

FIRST PSALM.

THE man, in life wherever plac'd,

Hath happiness in store,

Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor learns their guilty lore!

Nor from the seat of Scornful Pride Casts forth his eyes abroad,

But with humility and awe

Still walks before his GOD.

That man shall flourish like the trees Which by the streamlets grow; The fruitful top is spread on high, And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast,

For why? that GOD the good adore Hath giv'n them peace and rest; But hath decreed that wicked men

Shall ne'er be truly blest.

ΤΟ

RUIN.

I.

ALL hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word,
The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,

I see each aimed dart;
For one has cut my dearest tye,
And quivers in my heart.

Then low'ring, and pouring,
The Storm no more I dread;
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning,
Round my devoted head.

TO RUIN.

II.

And thou grim Pow'r, by life abhorr'd,
While life a pleasure can afford,
Oh! hear a wretch's pray'r
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid;
To close this scene of care!
When shall my soul, in silent peace,
Resign life's joyless day;
My weary heart its throbbings cease,
Cold mould'ring in the clay;

No fear more, no tear more,

To stain my lifeless face,
Enclasped, and grasped
Within thy cold embrace!

A TOAST.

At a meeting of the Dumfriesshire Volunteers, held -to commemorate the anniversary of Rodney's Victory, April 12th 1782, BURNS was called upon for a Song, instead of which he delivered the following lines extempore.

INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we

lost:

That we lost, did I say nay, by heav'n that we found,
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.
The next in succession, I'll give you the King,
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
As built on the base of the great Revolution;
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd,
'Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd;
And who wou'd to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial.
Kk

VOL. I.

ON THE

BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR,

Between the Duke of Argyle, and the Earl of Mar.

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun,

Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?

the Sherra-muir,

Or were ye at t

le see, man ??

And did the battle

I saw the battle sair an teugh,

And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh,
My heart for fear gae sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,
clans frae wood

9.

in tartan duds,

Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.

The red-coat lads wi' black cockades
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
And monie a bouk did fa', man: