BOOK III.

FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARY.

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 flower,

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!

May'st thou long sweet crimson gem,
Richly deck thy native stem;
Till some evening, sober, calm,
Dropping dews, and breathing balm,
While all around the woodland rings,

And ev'ry bird y requiem sings ;

Thou, amid the dirgeful sound,
Shed thy dying honors round,
And resign to parent earth

The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.

VERSES

ON A YOUNG LADY, RESIDING ON THE BANKS OF THE SMALL RIVER DEVON, IN CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT WHOSE INFANT YEARS WERE SPENT IN AYRSHIRE

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, With green spreading bushes, and flow'rs blooming

fair;

But the boniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower,

In the gay, rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew! And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill, hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn! And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn.

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,

And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

TO MISS L

WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS AS A NEW-YEAR'S GIFT, 'AN‹ UARY 1, 1787.

AGAIN the silent wheels of time

Their annual round have driv'n,
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime,
Are so much nearer heav'n.

No gifts have I, from Indian coasts,
The infant year to hail;

I send you more than India boasts,
In Edwin's simple tale.

Our sex with guile and faithless love
Is charg'd, perhaps too true;
But may, dear maid, each lover prove
An Edwin still to you.

VERSES

TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS,

HERE, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd,
Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives,

Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.

So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among;
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song:

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears,

As modest want the tale of wo reveals; While conscious virtue all the strain endears, And heav'n-born piety her sanction seals.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO A LADY, WHOM HE HAD OF◄ TEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS.

"TIs Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms,)
To join the friendly few;

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blas
Did nip a fairer flow'r ;)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

Stil. much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, –

The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honor's part;
And, dearest gift of Heav'n below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.

The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove;
And doubly were the Poet blest,
These joys could he improve

MISS JESSY L

TO A YOUNG LADY,

DUMFRIES; WITH BOOKS WHICH

THE BARD PRESENTED HER.

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer;
That Fate may, in her fairest page,
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage
Of future bliss, enrol thy name,
With native worth and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution, still aware
Of ill- but chief, man's felon snare;
All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind:
These be thy guardian and reward,
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard.