ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME,

WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT.

1 INHUMAN man! curse on thy barbarous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye:
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!

2 Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field!
The bitter little that of life remains :

No more the thick'ning brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.

3 Seek, mangled wretch! some place of wonted rest, No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!

The shelt'ring rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom press'd.

4 Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.

ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON

1

ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE,

WITH BAYS.

1 WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood,
Unfolds her tender mantle green,

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood,

Or tunes Æolian strains between :

Crowning his bust:' this was in September 1790, under the auspices of the Earl of Buchan.

2 While Summer with a matron grace
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade,
Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace
The progress of the spiky blade :
3 While Autumn, benefactor kind,
By Tweed erects his aged head,
And sees, with self-approving mind,
Each creature on his bounty fed:

4 While maniac Winter rages o'er

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows:

5 So long, sweet Poet of the year!

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won:

While Scotia, with exulting tear,

Proclaims that THOMSON was her son.

EPITAPHS.

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.

HERE souter Hood in death does sleep-
To hell, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it weel thegither.

ON A NOISY POLEMIC.

BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's 1 banes:
O Death, it's my opinion,

Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitch
Into thy dark dominion!

'Jamic: Humphrey, a west country mason, fond of controversy.

ON WEE JOHNNY.1

'Hic jacet wee Johnnie.'

WHOE'ER thou art, O reader! know,
That death has murder'd Johnnie!
And here his body lies fu' low—
For soul he ne'er had ony.

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains,
Draw near with pious reverence and attend!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father, and the generous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human woe;
The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride;
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;
'For e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side.'2

FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.

KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much loved, much honour'd name.
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.

FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.

THE poor man weeps-here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blamed ;
But with such as he-where'er he be,
May I be saved or damn'd!

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

1 Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,

Wee Johnny:' Wilson, the printer of Burns' Kilmarnock edition.Virtue's side:' Goldsmith.

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

And drap a tear.

2 Is there a bard of rustic song,

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,

Oh, pass not by !

But, with a frater-feeling strong,

IIere heave a sigh.

3 Is there a man, whose judgment clear,
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,
Wild as the wave;

Here pause-and, through the starting tear,
Survey this grave.

4 The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn, and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stain'd his name!

5 Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious, self-control,

Is wisdom's root.

ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S1

PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.

16

A

1 HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;

If there's a hole in a'

your coats,

I rede you tent it:

A chiel's amang you taking notes,

And, faith! he'll prent it.

2 If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
O' stature short, but genius bright,

That's. he, mark weel-

And wow! he has an unco slight

O' cauk and keel.

3 By some auld, houlet-haunted biggiu',
Or kirk deserted by its riggin',

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in

Some eldritch part,

Wi' deils, they say, L-save's! colleaguin'
At some black art.

4 Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour,

And you deep-read in hell's black grammar,
Warlocks and witches;

Ye 'll quake at his conjuring hammer,

Ye midnight bitches.

Captain Grose:' a fat and funny Englishman, author of many works on iquities, in one of which Tam o' Shanter' first appeared.