But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye,
Though e'er sae puir,

Na, even though limpin' wi' the spavie
Frae door to door.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spied a man whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;

His face was furrowed o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair,

"Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?”
Began the reverend sage:

"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage?

Or haply, prest with cares and woes,

Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me, to mourn
The miseries of man.

"The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Outspreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride:
I've seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty times return,
And every time has added proofs
That man was made to mourn.

"Oh, man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time;
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

"Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:

But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn;

Then age and want-oh ill-matched pair!-
Show man was made to mourn.

poor

"A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure's lap carest;

Yet think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest

But, oh what crowds in every land,
All wretched and forlorn!
Through weary life this lesson learn-
That man was made to mourn.

"Many and sharp the numerous ills
Inwoven with our frame !

More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse, and shame;

And man,

whose heaven-erected face

The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

"See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

"If I'm designed yon lordling's slave-
By Nature's law designed-
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?

If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?

Or why has man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn?

"Yet let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of human kind
Is surely not the last!

The poor, oppressed, honest man

Had never, sure, been born,

Had there not been some recompense

To comfort those that mourn!

"Oh, Death! the poor man's dearest friend

The kindest and the best!

Welcome the hour my aged limbs

Are laid with thee at rest!

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,

From pomp and pleasure torn!

But, oh! a blest relief to those

That, weary-laden, mourn !"

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.

Oh Prince! oh chief of many throned powers,
That led the embattled seraphim to war.-MILTON.
GREAT is thy power, and great thy fame;
Far ken'd and noted is thy name;
And though yon lowin' heugh's thy hame,
Thou travels far;

And, faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion,

For prey a' holes and corners tryin';

known flaming hollow

slow

bashful, easily scared

sometimes

Whyles on the strong-winged tempest flyin',

Tirlin' the kirks;

Whyles in the human bosom pryin',
Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my reverend grannie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or where auld ruined castles, gray,
Nod to the moon,

Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way
Wi' eldritch croon.

When twilight did my grannie summon,
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman!
Aft yont the dike she's heard you bummin',
Wi' eerie drone;

Or, rustlin', through the boortries comin',
Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,

The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light,

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright

Ayont the loch,

Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight,

Wi' waving sough.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,

uncovering

hideous moan

grave

wall, buzzing dreary elder-trees

one

glancing

rush sound

fist

Each bristled hair stood like a stake,

When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick, frightful, hoarse

And in kirkyards renew their leagues
Owre howkit dead.

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain,

May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain;
For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen

By witching skill

fluttered

ragwort

over excavated

country churn

taken

And dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen petted, twelve, become

As yell's the bill.

*

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
And float the jinglin' icy boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction;

And 'nighted travellers are allured
To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is:
The bleezin', wILD, mischevious monkeys
Delude his eyes,

Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.

When mason's mystic word and grip,
In storms and tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!

The youngest brother ye wad whip
Aff straught YOURSEL.

Langsyne, in Eden's bonny yard,
When youthfu' lovers first were paired,
And all the soul of love they shared,
The raptured hour,

Sweet on the fragrant flowery swaird,
In shady bower.

Then you, ye auld sneck-drawing dog!
Ye came to Paradise incog.,

And played on man a cursed brogue,
(Black be your fa!)

And gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruined a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smootie phiz
'Mang better folk,

And sklented on the man of Uzz
Your spitefu' joke?

And how ye gat him i' your thrall,

And brak him out o' house and hall,

milkless, bull

thaws

water-spirits

Will o' the Wisp

blazing

more

sward

old stealthy

trick

gave, shake

[hair

smoked cothes, withered

dirty

glanced

Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.

And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin',
A certain' bardie's rantin', drinkin',
Some luckless hour will send him linkin'

beat, Lowland, [Highland

know

suddenly

perhaps

TO JAMES SMITH.

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

DEAR Smith, the slee'est, 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.

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

Just gaun to see you;

And every ither pair that's done,
Mair ta'en I'm wi' you.

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

And in her freaks, on every feature
She's wrote, the Man.

Just now I've ta'en 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 neighbour's name to lash;

sly, wheedling

robbery

spell

proof

Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash;
Some rhyme to court the country clash,

And raise a din;

twinkles

shoes

going

other

more taken

woman stinted

yeasty

fermented

gossip

D