Look abroad through Nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove?

Mark the winds, and mark the skies;
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Sun and moon but set to rise,
Round and round the seasons go:

Why then ask of silly man,
Το oppose great Nature's plan?

We'll be constant while we can-
You can be no more, you know.

Since the above I have been out in the country taking a dinner with a friend, where I met with the lady whom I mentioned in the second page in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usual I got into song; and returning home. I composed the following:

The

The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress.

Tune-" DEIL TAK THE WARS."

SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ;

Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilka bud which Nature

Waters wi' the tears o' joy:
Now thro the leafy woods,

And by the reeking floods,

Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray ;

The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower;

The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.*

Phœbus

Variation. Now to the streaming fountain,
Or up the heathy mountain,

The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;
In twining hazel bowers

His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock, &c.

E.

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,
Nature gladdening and adorning;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When absent frae my fair,

The murky shades o' care

With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky;
But when in beauty's light,
She meets my ravish'd sight,
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart;

'Tis then I wake to life, to light and joy.*

If

you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it English enough to be understood.

I inclose

* Variation. When frae my Chloris parted,

Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,

The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky.

But when she charms my sight,

In pride of beauty's light;

When thro' my very heart

Her beaming glories dart;

'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy. E.

I inclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over is a particular acquaintance of mine. Do preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the Musical Museum. Here follow the

verses I intend for it.

THE AULD MAN.

BUT lately seen in gladsome green
The woods rejoice the day,

Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay :

But now our joys are fled,

On winter blasts awa!

Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a'.

But

my white pow, nae kindly thowe Shall melt the snaws of age;

My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,

Sinks in time's wintry rage.

Oh,

Oh, age' has weary days,
And nights o' sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,
Why com'st thou not again!

I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's collection of English songs, which you mention in your letter. I will thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please: whether this miserable drawling hotchpotch epistle has not completely tired you of my correspondence?

No.