Might there have learnt new mysteries of his

art;

So grim, deformed, with horrors entering, U His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew!

As trembling U stood staring all aghast,

The pedant in his left hand clutched him fast, In helpless infants' tears he dipped his right, Baptised him eu, and kicked him from his sight.

ON PASTORAL POETRY.

HAIL Poesie! thou Nymph reserved!

In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved
Frae common-sense, or sunk enerved

'Mang heaps o' clavers;

babblings

And och ower aft thy joes hae starved, favorites Mid a' thy favours!

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang,
While loud the trump's heroic clang,
And sock or buskin skelp alang

To death or marriage,

Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang
But wi' miscarriage?

trip

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives;
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives;
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives
Horatian fame;

In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives
E'en Sappho's flame.

dwarf

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches?
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches;
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches sparkling
O' heathen tatters:

I pass by hunders, nameless wretches,

That ape their betters.

In this braw age o' wit and lear,
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair
Blaw sweetly in its native air

And rural grace ;

And wi' the far-famed Grecian share
A rival place?

Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan

There's ain; come forrit, honest Allan!

lad

forward

Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, skulk — door

A chiel sae clever;

The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan,

But thou's, for ever!

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines,
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;

Nae gowden stream through myrtles twines,
Where Philomel,

While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
Her griefs will tell!

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, daisied-brook
Where bonny lasses bleach their claes;
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,
Wi' hawthorns gray,

Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays
At close o' day.

Thy rural loves are Nature's sel';
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell;
Nae snap conceits; but that sweet spell
O' witchin' love,

That charm that can the strongest quell,
The sternest move.

groves

floods

THE END.

Apology to Mr. Riddel for a Rudeness offered his
Wife

DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK

Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie
Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman