ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE.

IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER.

SWEET naïveté of feature,

Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature,
Thou art acting but thyself.

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected,
Spurning nature, torturing art;
Loves and graces all rejected,

Then indeed thou'd'st act a part.

THE LEAGUE AND COVENANT.

THE Solemn League and Covenant

Cost Scotland blood-cost Scotland tears: But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause-If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers.

ON MISS JESSY LEWARS.

TALK not to me of savages
From Afric's burning sun,
No savage e'er could rend my heart,
As, Jessy, thou hast done.

But Jessy's lovely hand in mine,
A mutual faith to plight,

Not ev'n to view the Heavenly choir,
Would be so blest a sight.

EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWARS.

SAY, Sages, what's the charm on earth

Can turn Death's dart aside?

It is not purity and worth,

Else Jessy had not died.

THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS.

BUT rarely seen since Nature's birth,

The natives of the sky,

Yet still one Seraph's left on earth,
For Jessy did not die.

THE TOAST.

FILL me with the rosy wine,
Call a toast, a toast divine;
Give the Poet's darling flame,
Lovely Jessy be the name;
Then thou mayest freely boast,
Thou hast given a peerless toast.

THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON.

As cauld a wind as ever blew,
A caulder kirk, and in't but few;
As cauld a minister's e'er spak,
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back.

WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF

OF ONE OF MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS,
WHICH SHE HAD GIVEN HIM.

THOU flattering mark of friendship kind,
Still may thy pages call to mind
The dear, the beauteous donor:
Though sweetly female every part,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the sexes honour.
She showed her tastes refined and just
When she selected thee,

Yet deviating own I must,

For so approving me.

But kind still, I'll mind still

The giver in the gift;

I'll bless her and wiss her

A Friend above the Lift.

INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET.

THERE'S death in the cup-sae beware! Nay, more-there is danger in touching; But wha can avoid the fell snare?

The man and his wine's sae bewitching!

THE BOOK-WORMS.

THROUGH and through the inspired leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But, oh! respect his lordship's taste,
And spare his golden bindings.

ON ROBERT RIDDEL.

To Riddel, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear;

Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.

WILLIE CHALMERS.

WI' braw new branks in mickle pride,
And eke a braw new brechan,

My Pegasus I'm got astride,

And up Parnassus pechin;

Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush,
The doited beastie stammers;
Then up he gets, and off he sets
For sake o' Willie Chalmers.

I doubt na, lass, that weel kenn'd name May cost a pair o' blushes;

I am nae stranger to your fame

Nor his warm urged wishes.
Your bonie face sae mild and sweet,

His honest heart enamours,

And faith ye'll no be lost a whit,

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers.

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair,
And Honour safely back her,
And Modesty assume your air,
And ne'er a ane mistak' her :

And sic twa love-inspiring e'en

Might fire even holy Palmers ; Nae wonder then they've fatal been To honest Willie Chalmers.

I doubt na fortune may you shore Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priestie, Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore,

And band upon his breastie : But Oh! what signifies to you, His lexicons and grammars ; The feeling heart's the royal blue, And that's wi' Willie Chalmers.

Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird,
May warsle for your favour;

May claw his lug, and straik his beard,

And host up some palaver.

My bonie maid, before ye

wed

Sic clumsy-witted hammers,

Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers.

Forgive the Bard! my fond regard
For ane that shares my bosom,
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues,
For de'il a hair I roose him.
May powers aboon unite you soon,
And fructify your amours,—
And every year come in mair dear

To you and Willie Chalmers.