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TO

MISS CRUICKSHANKS,

A VERY YOUNG LADY:

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK,

PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR.

BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay,
Blooming on thy early May,
Never may'st thou, lovely Flow'r,
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r!
Never Boreas' hoary path,
Never Eurus’ pois'nous breath,
Never baleful stellar lights,
Taint thee with untimely blights!
Never, never, reptile thief
Riot on thy virgin leaf!

Nor even Sol too fiercely view
Thy bosom blushing still with dew!

Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem, Richly deck thy native stem; Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, Dropping dews, and breathing balm, While all around the woodland rings, And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings; Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, Shed thy dying honours round, And resign to parent earth The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.

ON

READING IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH

OF

JOHN MʻLEOD, ESQ.,

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR

FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR's.

Sad thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms :
Death tears the brother of her love

From Isabella's arms.

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew

The morning rose may blow;
But cold successive noontide blasts

May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smil'd; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds

Succeeding hopes beguild.

Fate oft tears the bosom chords

That nature finest strung: So Isabella's heart was form’d,

And so that heart was wrung.

Dread Omnipotence, alone,

Can heal the wound He gave; Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes

To scenes beyond the grave.

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,

And fear no withering blast; There Isabella's spotless worth

Shall happy be at last.

THE

HUMBLE PETITION

OF

BRUAR WATER *

TO THE

NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE.

My Lord, I know your noble ear

Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear

Your humble slave complain,

* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful ; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.

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