But, if the lover's raptured hour
Shall ever be your lot,

Forbid it, every heavenly power,
You e'er should be a stot!'

Tho', when some kind, connubial dear,
Your butt-and-ben2 adorns,

The like has been, that you may wear
A noble head of horns!

And in your lug, most reverend James,
To hear you roar and rowte,

Few men o' sense will doubt
your claims
To rank amang the nowte!*

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,

Wi' justice they may mark your head-
"Here lies a famous bullock!"

TO A LOUSE,

On seeing one on a lady's bonnet at church.

HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin" ferlie ?"
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt' rarely

Owre gauze and lace;

Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

8

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner,
How dare you set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!

Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.

10

Swith, in some beggar's haffet" squattle;"
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle

- An ox.-2 The country kitchen and parlor.-3 To bellow.-4 Black cattle. 5 Crawling. A term of contempt.-7 To walk sturdily.-8 A contemptuous appellation.-9 Feet.-10 Get away.-11 The side of the head.-12 To sprawl.

Wi' ither kindred, jumpin' cattle,

In shoals and nations;

Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye 're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils,' snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've get on it,

The vera tapmost, towering height
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as onie grozet;2
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,'

Or fell, red smeddum,*

I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o 't,

Wad dress your droddum!"

I wad na be surprised to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;"

Or aiblins' some bit duddies boy,
On's wyliecoat;9

But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie,

How dare ye do 't?

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread! 10
Ye little ken what curséd speed

The blastie's makin'!
Thae" winks and finger-ends I dread,
Are notice takin'!

O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!

It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion:

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,

And e'en devotion !

1 Trimmings.-2 Gooseberry.- Rosin.-4 Powder.- Breech.-6 An ancient head-dress.-7 Perhaps.- Ragged. A flannel vest.-10 Abroad.— 11 Those.

ODE,

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS.

DWELLER in yon dungeon dark,
Hangman of creation! mark
Who in widow-weeds appears,
Laden with unhonor'd years,
Noosing with care a bursting purse,
Baited with many a deadly curse!

STROPHE.

View the wither'd beldam's faceCan thy keen inspection trace

OF

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace?
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows,

Pity's flood there never rose.

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save,
Hands that took-but never gave.

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,

Lo! there she goes-unpitied and unblest!
She goes-but not to realms of everlasting rest!

ANTISTROPHE.

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, (Awhile forbear, ye torturing fiends,) Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends? No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; 'Tis thy trusty quondam mate,

Doom'd to share thy fiery fate,

She, tardy, hell-ward plies.

EPODE.

And are they of no more avail,
Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year?
In other worlds can Mammon fail,
Omnipotent as he is here?

Oh, bitter mockery of the pompous bier,
While down the wretched vital part is driven!
The cave-lodged beggar, with a conscience clear,
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heaven.

MONODY

ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE.

How cold is that bosom which folly once fired! How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd!

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired! How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd!

If sorrow and anguish their exit await,

From friendship and dearest affection removed, How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate

Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unloved!

Loves, Graces, and Virtue, I call not on you;
So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear;
But come all ye offspring of Folly so true,

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier.

We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower, We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed; But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower,

For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed.

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay: Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre;

There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from her ire.

THE EPITAPH.

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam;
Want only of wisdom denied her respect,
Want only of goodness denied her esteem.

ELEGIES.

ELEGY ON MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO.

LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,

As Burnet, lovely, from her native skies;
Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow,
As that which laid the accomplish'd Burnet low.

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!

In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens;
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored.
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
To you I fly-ye with my soul accord.

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail?

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres ;

But like the sun eclipsed at morning tide,

Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,
That heart now sunk, a prey to grief and care;
So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon agéd tree,
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.