Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration
Most humbly own-'tis dear, dear admiration!
In that blest sphere alone we live and move;
There taste that life of life-immortal love.-
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs,
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares---
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms,
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms?

But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions,
With bloody armaments and revolutions;
Let Majesty your first attention summon,
Ah! ça ira! the Majesty of Woman!

VERSES

Written under the Portrait of Fergusson, the Poet, in a copy of that Author's Works presented to a young Lady in Edinburgh, March 19, 1787.

CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd,
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!
O thou my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the muses,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?

THE HENPECKED HUSBAND.
CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell,
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell.-
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart:
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b-h.

LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH
LORD DAER.

THIS wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,
October twenty-third,

A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day,
Sae far I sprachleds up the brae,
I dinner'd wi' a Lord.

I've been at drucken writers' feasts,
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests,
(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ;)
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum,
When mighty Squireships of the quorum,
Their hydra drouth" did sloken."

But wi' a Lord-stand out my shin,
A Lord-a Peer-an Earl's son,

Up higher yet, my bonnet;
An sic a Lord-lang Scotch ells twa,
Our Peerage, he o'erlooks them a'
As I look o'er my sonnet!

But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r !
To show Sir Bardie's willyarty glow'r,
And how he star'd and stammer'd,
When goavan as if led wi' branks,
An' stumpin' on his ploughman shanks,
He in the parlour hammer'd.

To meet good Stuart little pain is,
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes,

Thinks I, they are but men!
But Burns, my Lord-Guid God! I doited
My knees on ane anither knoited,c

Hill.

As faultering I gaed ben !d

Crawled, or clambered on the hands and knees.

u Thirst.

i. e. He was six feet high.

8 Going, or walking. Was stupified.

w Slacken, or quench.

y Bashful look.

a A kind of wooden curb for horses c Knocked together.

d Went into the parlour.

I sidling shelter'd in a nook,
An' at his Lordship steal 't a look
Like some portentous omen;
Except good sense and social glee,
An' (what surprised me) modesty,

I marked nought uncommon.
I watch'd the symptoms of the great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,
The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see,

Mair than an honest ploughman.

Then from his Lordship I shall learn,
Henceforth to meet with unconcern
One rank as weel's another;
Nae honest, worthy man need care,
To meet with noble, youthful Daer,
For he but meets a brother.

A PRAYER.

Left in a room of a Reverend Friend's house, where the Author slept.

O THOU, dread Pow'r who reign'st above!

I know thou wilt me hear;

When for this scene of peace and love,

I make my pray'r sincere.

* Dr. Laurie, minister of Loudoun, from whom the poet received many essential favours, one of which, and none of the least, will be best explained in his own words I had taken the last farewell of my few friends-my chest was on the road to Greenock, from whence I was to embark in a few days for America. I had composed the last song, I should ever nieasure in Caledonia. The gloomy night is gathering fast, when a letter from Dr. Blacklock, to a friend of mine, (Dr. Laurie, who had sent to Dr. Blacklock a copy of our poet's works) overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion that I would meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much, that away 1 posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long shied its blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a revolution to the nadir; and a kind providence placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn.'

The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare!
To bless his little filial flock,

And shew what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush;

Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!

The beauteous seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,

Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,

Guide thou their steps alway!

When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n,
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in heav'n!

A PRAYER,

Under the pressure of violent Anguish.
O THOU, great Being! what thou art
Surpasses me to know;

Yet sure I am, that known to Thee
Are all thy works below.

Thy creature here before Thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul
Obey thy high behest.

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act
From cruelty or wrath.!

O, free my weary eyes from tears!
Or close them fast in death!

But if I must afflicted be,

To suit some wise design;
Then man my soul with firm resolves
To bear and not repine!

A PRAYER,

In the prospect of Death.

O THOU, unknown, Almighty cause
Of all my hope and fear!
In whose dread presence, ere an hour
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;
As something, loudly, in my breast
Remonstrates I have done:

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And list'ning to their witching voice
Hast often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty stept aside,

Do Thou, All-Good! for such Thou art,
In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have err'd,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION.
WHY am I loath to leave this earthly scene?

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between; Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing Is it departing pangs my soul alarms; [storms. Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode?