For well I know thy gentle mind
Disdains art's gay disguising;
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd,
The voice of nature prizing.

O LEAVE NOVELS.

LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles,
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel;
Such witching books are baited hooks

For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel.

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons,
They make your youthful fancies reel,
They heat your brains and fire your veins,
And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel.

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung,
A heart that warmly seems to feel;
That feeling heart but acts a part,
"Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel.

The frank address, the soft caress,
Are worse than poison'd darts of steel,

The frank address, and politesse,

Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel.

ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER.

A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR.

OU'RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier;
You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier;
How does Dampiere do?

Ay, and Bournonville too?

Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier?

I will fight France with you, Dumourier,

I will fight France with you, Dumourier :

I will fight France with you,

I will take my chance with you:

By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier.

Then let us fight about, Dumourier;

Then let us fight about, Dumourier:

Then let us fight about,

Till freedom's spark is out,

Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier.

SWEETEST MAY.

WEETEST May, let love inspire thee;
Take a heart which he desires thee;
As thy constant slave regard it;
For its faith and truth reward it.

Proof o' shot to birth or money,
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie;
Not high-born, but noble-minded,
In love's silken band can bind it!

NE night as I did wander,
When corn begins to shoot,
I sat me down to ponder
Upon an auld tree root:

Auld Ayr ran by before me,
And bicker'd to the seas;

A cushat crowded o'er me

That echoed through the braes.

THE WINTER IT IS PAST.

A FRAGMENT.

HE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,

And the small birds sing on every tree; Now every thing is glad, while I am very

sad,

Since my true love is parted from me.

The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at
rest,

But my true love is parted from me.

FRAGMENT.

ER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wet wi' dew!
Oh, what a feast her bonnie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner!

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.

TUNE-" CAPTAIN OʻKEAN."

HE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,

The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale;

The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care?

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice,

A King and a Father to place on his throne? His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find

none.

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn,
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn:
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial,
Alas! I can make you no sweeter return!

IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young
Belles,

The pride o' the place and its neighbour-
hood a',

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,
In Lon❜on or Paris they'd gotten it a':

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine,

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw: There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'.