VERSES WRITTEN AT SELKIRK. AULD chuckie Reekied 's sair distrest, Down droops her ance weel burnisht crest, Nae joy her bonnie buskite nest Can yield ava,

f

Her darling bird that she lo'es best,
Willie's awa!

O Willie was a witty wight,&

And had o' things an uncoh slight;

Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight,

And trig an' braw:

But now they 'll buskk her like a fright,

Willie 's awa!

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd,
The bauldest o' them a he cow'd;1

They durst nae mair than he allow'd,
That was a law:

We 've lost a birkiem weel worth gowd
Willie 's awa!

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,
Frae colleges, and boarding schools,
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools,
In glen or shaw; p

He who could brush them down to mools,
Willie 's awa!

The brethren o' the Commerce-chaumer

May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; He was a dictionar and grammar

Amang them a';

I fear they 'll now mak mony a stammer,

Nae mair we see his levee door
Philosophers and poets pour,a

And toothy critics by the core,

In bloody raw!

The adjutant o' a' the score,

Willie 's awa!

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face,
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace;
M'Kenzie, Stuart, such a brace,

As Rome ne'er saw;
They a' maunt meet some ither place,
Willie 's awa!

Poor Burns-e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, He cheepsu like some bewilder'd chicken, Scar'd frae its minniew and the cleckenx

By hoodie-craw;

Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin',

Willie 's awa!

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd, girnin'a blellum,b
And Calvin's fock are fit to fell him;
And self-conceited critic skellumd

His quill may draw;

He wha could brawliee ward their bellum,
Willie 's awa!

Up wimpling, stately Tweed I 've sped,

And Eden scenes on chrystal Jed,

And Etrick banks now roaring red,

While tempests blaw;

But ev'ry joy and pleasure 's fled,

Willie 's awa!

May I be slander's common speech;

A text for infamy to preach;

And, lastly, streekith out to bleach
In winter snaw;

When I forget thee! Willie Creech,
Tho' far awa!

May never wicked fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a pow1 as auldk 's Methusalem!
He canty claw!!
Then to the blessed, new Jerusalem,
Fleet wing awa!

LIBERTY.-A FRAGMENT.

THEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among-
Thee fam'd for martial deed and sacred song-
To thee I turn with swimming eyes;
Where is that soul of freedom fled?
Immingled with the mighty dead!

Beneath that hallow'd turf where Wallace lies!
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death!
Ye babbling winds in silence sweep;
Disturb not ye the hero's sleep,
Nor give the coward secret breath.-
Is this the power in freedom's war
That wont to bid the battle rage?
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate,
Crushing the despot's proudest bearing,
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate,
Braved usurpation's boldest daring!
One quench'd ch'd in darkness like the sinking star,
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age.

THE VOWELS. A TALE.

'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are The noisy domicile of pedant pride; [plied, Where Ignorance her darkening vapour throws, And cruelty directs the thickening blows;

Upon a time, Sir Abece the great,
In all his pedagogic powers elate,
His awful chair of state resolves to mount,
And call the trembling vowels to account.

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight,

But, ah! deform'd, dishonest to the sight!
His twisted head look'd backward on his way,
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted, ai!

Reluctant, E stalk'd in; with piteous grace
The justling tears ran down his honest face!
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own,
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne!
The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound;
And next the title following close behind,
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd.

The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded Y! In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply: The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground!

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, The wailing minstrel of despairing woe; Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew!

As trembling U stood staring all aghast, The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, In helpless infant's tears he dipp'd his right, Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight.

FRAGMENT,

Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox.

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite; How virtue and vice blend their black and their

white;

How genius, the illustrious father of fiction, Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction-

1 sing: If these mortals, the critics, should bustle,
I care not. not I, let the critics go whistle. [glory
But now for a patron, whose name and whose
At once may illustrate and honour my story.
Thou first of our orators, first of our wits;
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere

lucky hits;

With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so

strong,

No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong;
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright,
No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right;
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses,
For using thy name offers fifty excuses.

Good L-d, what is man! for as simple he looks, Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks; With his depths and his shallows, his good and

his evil,

labours,

All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely [its neighbours: 'That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up Mankind are his show-box-a friend, would you [shew him. Pull the string, ruling passion, the picture will What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, Mankind is a science defies definitions.

know him?

[him;

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, And think human nature they truly describe; Have you found this, or t'other? there's more in

the wind,

As by one drunken fellow his comrades you 'll find.
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan,
In the make of that wonderful creature call'd Man,
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim,
Nor even two different shades of the same,