III No Bard nor lover's rapture this In fancies vain and shallow ! She is, so come my soul to bliss, The Lovely Isabella! TO SYMON GRAY SYMON GRAY, you're dull to-day! II Dear Symon Gray, the other day I could not then just ascertain III But now to-day, good Mr. Gray, Tried all my skill, but find I'm still IV We auld wives' minions gie our opinions, Solicited or no ; Then of its fauts my honest thoughts I'll give-and here they go : V Such damn'd bombást no age that's past So, Symon dear, your song I'll tear, TO MISS FERRIER I NAE heathen name shall I prefix Frae Pindus or Parnassus; Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks For rhyme-inspiring lasses. Edinburgh knocks II Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three Made Homer deep their debtor; But gien the body half an e'e, Nine Ferriers wad done better! daughters given; fellow would have WHEN dear Clarinda, matchless fair, First struck Sylvander's raptur'd view, He gaz'd, he listened to despair Alas! 'twas all he dared to do. II Love from Clarinda's heavenly eyes III That heart, already more than lost, His IV pangs the Bard refus'd to own, Tho' half he wish'd Clarinda knew ; But Anguish wrung the unweeting groanWho blames what frantic Pain must do? V That heart, where motley follies blend, VI The Muse his ready quill employ'd; VOL. II. H VII The chill behest disarm'd his Muse, Till Passion all impatient grew : He wrote, and hinted for excuse, ''Twas 'cause he'd nothing else to do.' VIII But by those hopes I have above! IX O, could the Fates but name the price If human art or power could do! X Then take, Clarinda, friendship's hand Wednesday night SYLVANDER. |