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Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woeful night-

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends, · On this poor being all depends ;

Let us th' important now employ,
And live as those who never die.
Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight pale envy to convulse)
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

EXTEMPORE,

EXTEMPORE,

ON THE LATE MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE,

Author of the Philosophy of Natural History, and

Member of the Antiquarian and Royal Societies of Edinburgh.

To Crochallan came* The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same; His bristling beard just rising in its might, 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night, His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd A head, for thought profound and clear, un

match'd; Yet thó' his caustick wit was biting, rude, His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

POETICAL

* Mr. Smellie, and our poet, were both members of a club in Edinburgh, under the name of Crochallan Fencibles.

E.

POETICAL INSCRIPTION

FOR

AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE,

At Kerroughtry, the Seat of Mr. Heron.

(Written in Summer, 1795.]

Thou of an independent mind,
With soul resolv’d, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;
Virtue alone who dost revere,
Thy own reproach alone dost fear,
Approach this shrine, and worship here.

SONNET,

SONNET,

On the Death of ROBERT RIDDEL, Esq.

of Glen Riddel,

April, 1794.
No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more,

Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul:
Thou young-eyed spring, gay in thy verdant

stole, More welcome were to me grim winter's wildest

roar.

How can ye charm, ye

flow'rs, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend:

How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where

Riddel lies.*

Yes,

* Robert, Riddel, Esq. of Friars' Carse, a very worthy character, and one to whom our bard thought himself under many obligations. It is a curious circumstance, that the two concluding lines express a sentiment exactly similar to one of the most beautiful passages in the “ Pastor Fido," from the 7th to the 10th line of the Monologue, at the opening of the third Act; yet Burns had no acquaintance with Guarini's work. Feeling dictates to genius in all ages, and all countries, and her language must be often the same.

E.

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe,
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier ;
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer,
Is in his “ narrow house" for ever darkly low.

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet, Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet.

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