For well I know thy gentle mind O LEAVE NOVELS. LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles, For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel. Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, The frank address, the soft caress, The frank address, and politesse, Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR. OU'RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier; Ay, and Bournonville too? Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? I will fight France with you, Dumourier, I will fight France with you, Dumourier : I will fight France with you, I will take my chance with you: By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier. Then let us fight about, Dumourier; Then let us fight about, Dumourier: Then let us fight about, Till freedom's spark is out, Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier. SWEETEST MAY. WEETEST May, let love inspire thee; Proof o' shot to birth or money, NE night as I did wander, Auld Ayr ran by before me, A cushat crowded o'er me That echoed through the braes. THE WINTER IT IS PAST. A FRAGMENT. HE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last, And the small birds sing on every tree; Now every thing is glad, while I am very sad, Since my true love is parted from me. The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear, But my true love is parted from me. FRAGMENT. ER flowing locks, the raven's wing, Her lips are roses wet wi' dew! THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. TUNE-" CAPTAIN OʻKEAN." HE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale; The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale: But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care? No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, A King and a Father to place on his throne? His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young The pride o' the place and its neighbour- Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw: There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'. |