No fear more, no tear more,

To ftain my lifeless face, Enclafped, and grafped Within thy cold embrace!

TO

With BEATTIE'S POEMS for a New-year's
Gift. Jan. 1. 1787.

AGAIN the filent wheels of time

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

No gifts have I from Indian coasts

The infant year to hail;

Ι

I fend you more than India boasts
In Edwin's fimple tale.

Our fex with guile and faithless love
Is charg'd, perhaps too true;
But may, dear Maid, each Lover prove
An Edwin ftill to you.

VOL. II.

EPISTLE

EPISTLE

ΤΟ Α

YOUNG FRIEND.

May 1786.

I.

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,

A Something to have sent you, Tho' it fhould ferve nae other end

Than just a kind memento ;

But

But how the fubject theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;

Perhaps, it may turn out a Sang;
Perhaps, turn out a Sermon.

Ye'll

II.

try the world foon, my lad, And Andrew dear, believe me, Ye'll find mankind an unco fquad,

And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble fet your thought,
Ev'n when your end's attained;

And a' your views may come to nought,
Where ev'ry nerve is strained.