ON PASTORAL POETRY. In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives; In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 319 dwarf But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, That ape their betters. In this braw age o' wit and lear, And rural grace; And wi' the far-famed Grecian share Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan lad There's ain; come forrit, honest Allan ! 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, 320 ON PASTORAL POETRY. Nae gowden stream through myrtles twines, While nightly breezes sweep the vines, In gowany glens thy burnie strays, daisied Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays Thy rural loves are Nature's sel'; That charm that can the strongest quell, -brook groves floods THE END. |