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"There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betray'd,

And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid

Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd !
Unskilful he to note the card ·

Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n

To mis'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven,

He, ruin'd, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn’st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine--no distant date;

Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate

Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,

Shall be thy doom!

Full are drives, elate

Till crush

TAM O' SHANTER.

A TALE.

When chapman billies leave the street, - And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate ; While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses.)

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober ;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ;
That ev'ry naig was caʼd a shoe on; .
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the L-d's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday.
She prophesy'd, that late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how.mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises !

But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter:
And ay the ale was growing better :
The landlady and Tam grew gracious ;
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious :
The souter tauld his queerest stories ;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:

The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drown'd himself amang the nappy;
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o' treasure, .
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o’life victorious !

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ! Or like the snow-falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. . Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattlin show'rs rose on the blast: The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep; and lang, the thunder bellow'd; That night, a child might understand, The deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, A better never lifted leg,

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;'
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares ;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry~

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters 'fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods !
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.-

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ;
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil!
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.

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