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I enclose you; a For a' that and a' that, which was never in print: it is a much superior song to mine. I have been told that it was composed by a lady.



Now spring has clad the grove


green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers : The furrow'd, waving corn is seen

Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join

Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine

The weary steps of woe !

The trout within yon wimpling burn

Glides swift, a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn

Defies the angler's art :
My life was ance that careless stream,

That wanton trout was I;
But love, wi' unrelenting beam,

Has scorch'd my fountains dry.


The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,

In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,

Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine; till love has o'er me past,

And blighted a' my bloom,
And now beneath the with'ring blast

My youth and joy consume.

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs,

And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings

In morning's rosy eye;
As little reckt I sorrow's power,

Until the flowery snare
O' witching love, in luckless hour,

Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,

Or Afric's burning zone,
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known!
The wretch whase doom is, “hope nae mair,"

What tongue his woes can tell ! Within whase bosom, save despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.




O BONNIE was yon rosy brier,
That blooms sae far frae haunt o man;

} And bonnie she, and ah, how dear!

It shaded frae the e'enin sün.

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew,

How pure amang the leaves sae green; But purer was the lover's vow

They witness'd in their shade yestreen.

All in its rude and prickly bower,

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair! But love is far a sweeter flower

Amid life's thorny path o' care.

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,

Wi’ Chloris in my arms, be mine; And I the world, nor wish, nor şcorn,

Įts joys and griefs alike resign. .

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Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the lady, whom, in so many fictitious reperies of passion,

but but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of Chloris.

'Tis Friendship’s pledge, my young, fair Friend,

Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu, (A world ’gainst peace in constant arms)

To join the friendly few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,

Chill came the tempest's lower; (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast

Did'nip a fairer flower).

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

, Still much is left behind ; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store,

The comforts of the mind!



Thine is the self-approving glow,

On conscious honour's part;
And, dearest gift of heaven below,

Thine friendship's truest heart.

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The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove:

: And doubly were the poet blest

These joys could he improve,

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This will be delivered to you by a Dr. Brianton, who has read your works, and pants for the honour of your acquaintance, I do not know the gentleman, but his friend, who applied to me for this introduction, being an excellent young man, I have no doubt he is worthy of all acceptation.


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