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J. S****.

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!
I owe thee much!-

DEAR S****, the sleest, paukie thief,
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef

Owre human hearts;

For ne'er a bosom yet was prief

Against your arts.

Blair.

For

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, And every star that blinks aboon, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon,

Just gaun to see you:

And ev'ry ither pair that's done,

Mair taen I'm wi' you.

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, To mak amends for scrimpit stature, She's turn'd you aff, a human creature On her first plan,

And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature,

She's wrote, the Man.

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, My barmie noddle's working prime, My fancy yerkit up sublime

Wi' hasty summon;

Hae ye a leisure moment's time

To hear what's comin?

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash,

An' raise a din;

For me, an aim I never fash;

I rhyme for fun.

The

The star that rules my luckless lot,
Has fated me the russet coat,

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat;
But in requit,

Has blest me wi' a random shot

O' countra wit.

This while my notion's taen a sklent, To try my fate in guid, black prent ; But still the mair I'm that way bent,

Something cries, Hoolie!

• I red you, honest man, tak tent!

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Ye'll shaw your folly.

There's ither poets, much your betters, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, • Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, A' future ages;

• Now moths deform in shapeless tetters, • Their unknown pages.'

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows!

Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs

Are whistling thrang,

An' teach the lanely heights an' howes

My rustic sang.

I'll wander on, with tentless heed How never-halting moments speed, Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;

Then, all unknown,

I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,

Forgot and gone!

But why o' death begin a tale ?
Just now we're living sound and hale,
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,

Heave care o'er side!

And large, before enjoyment's gale,

Let's tak the tide.

This life, sae far's I understand,

Is a' enchanted fairy land,

Where pleasure is the magic wand,

That, wielded right,

Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand,

Dance by fu' light.

The magic-wand then let us wield For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, See crazy, weary, joyless eild,

Wi' wrinkl'd face,

Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field,

Wi' creepin pace.

When

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, Then fareweel vacant careless roamin;

An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin,

An' social noise e;

An' fareweel dear, deluding woman,

The joy of joys!

O Life! how pleasant in thy morning,
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning !
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
We frisk away,

Like school-boys, at th' expected warning,
To joy and play.

We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the brier,

Unmindful that the thorn is near,

Among the leaves;

And tho' the puny

wound appear,

Short while it grieves.

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, For which they never toil'd nor swat, They drink the sweet and eat the fat,

But care or pain;

And, haply, eye the barren hut

With high disdain.