And wear thou this!-she solemn said,
And bound the Holly round my head:
The polish'd leaves and berries red,
Did rustling play;

And, like a passing thought, she fled

In light away.

A DREAM.

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason, But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted treason.

[On reading in the public papers, the Laureat's Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee; and in his dreaming fancy made following

GUID-MORNIN' to your Majesty!

May Heav'n augment your blisses,
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see,
A humble poet wishes!

My Bardship here, at your levee,
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,

Amang thaeh birth-day dresses

Sae fine this day.

I see ye 're complimented thrang
By monie a lord and lady;
God save the king! 's a cuckoo sang
That's uncok easy said ay;
The Poets too, a venal gang,

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready,
Wad gar ye trowl ye ne'er do wrang,
But ay unerring steady,

On sic a day.

For me! before a monarch's face,

Ev'n there I winnam flatter

For, neither pension, post, nor place,
Am I your humble debtor;
So, nae reflection on your grace,
Your kingship to bespatter;
There's monie waur" been o' the race,
And aiblins ane been better

Than you this day.

'Tis very true, my sov'reign King,
My skill may weel be doubted;
But facts are chiels that winna ding,P
An' downaq be disputed :
Your royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e'en right reft an' clouted,
And now the third part of the string,
And less, will gang about it

Than did ae day.

Far be't frae me that I aspire
To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,

To rule this mighty nation!

But, faith! I muckle" doubt, my Sire,

Ye've trusted ministration

To chaps, wha in a barn or byrew

Wad better fill'd their station

Than courts yon day.

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace

Her broken shins to plaster;
Your sair taxation does her fleece,
Till she has scarce a tester;

For me, thank God, my life's a lease,

Nae bargain wearing faster,

Or, faith! I fear, that wi' the geese,

I shortly boost to pasture

Worse.

• Perhaps one.

Your dominions.

I' the craft some day. Will not give way. o Cannot. s Torn and patched.

& Written in allusion to the recent loss of America. u Much. Must needs. y Croft, prass field.

A cow stable.

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,
When taxes he enlarges,
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,
A name not envy spairges,2)
That he intends to pay your debt,
An' lessen a' your charges;
But, G-d sake! let nae saving-fit
Abridge your bonnie bargesa

An' boats this day.

Adieu, my liege! may freedom geckb
Beneath your high protection;
An' may ye rax corruption's neck,
An' gie her for dissection!

But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,
In loyal, true affection,
To pay your Queen, with due respect,

My fealty an' subjection

This great birth-day.

Hail, Majesty most excellent!

While nobles strive to please ye,

Will ye accept a compliment

A simple Poet gies ye?

Thae bonnie bairn-time,d Heav'n has lent,

Still higher may they heezee ye

In bliss, till fate some day is sent,

For ever to release ye

Frae care that day.

For you, young Potentate o' Wales,

I tell your Highness fairly,

Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails,

I'm tauld you're driving rarely;
But some day ye may gnaw your nails,

An' curse your folly sair'y,

s soils or disparages. c Stretch.

a

of the

the navy.. b Hold up her head,

That e'er you brak Diana's pales,
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie,

By nignt or day

Yet aft a ragged cowtef's been known
To mak a noble aiver;&

So, ye may doucelyh fill a throne,
For a' their clish-ma-claver:
There, him at Agincourt wha shone,
Few better were or braver;
An' yet wi' funny queer Sir John,
He was an uncom shaver

For monie a day.

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,

Wad been

a

Altho' a ribbon at your lugn
dress completer: com
As ye disown yon paughty dog
That bears the keys of Peter,
Then swith ! an' get a wife to hug,
Or, trouth! ye'll stain the mitre

Some luckless day.

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn,
Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious galley, stem an' stern,
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern
Your hymeneal charter,
Then heave aboard your grapple airn,
An' large upo' her quarter,

Come full that day.

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a',
Ye royal lasses dainty,
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,
An' gie you lads a plenty :
But sneer na British boys awa',

For kings are unco scant" ay;
An' German gentles are but sma',
They're better just than want ay
On onie day.

God bless you a', consider now,
Ye're unco muckle dautet:W
But, ere the course o' life be thro',
It may be bitter sautet:*
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,
That yet hae tarrow'd2 at it :
But or the day was done, I trow,
The laggen they hae clautetb

Fu' clean that day.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.

O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs,
That led th' embattled Seraphim to war.-Milton.

O THOU! whatever title suit thee,
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches,

Spairgesc about the brunstane cootie, d

To scaude poor wretches!

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,f

And let poor damned bodies be;