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Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn,
And own his work indeed divine'
Fam'd heroes, had their royal home ⚫
Haply my sires have left their shed,
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
• Miss Burnet of Monboddo.
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,
ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, On crowning his Bust, at Ednam, Roxburghshire, with Baye. [Written by desire of the poet's friend, the Earl of Buchan.] WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, Or tunes Eolian strains between : While Summer, with a matron grace, Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace The progress of the spiky blade: While Autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his aged head, And sees, with self-approving mind, Each creature on his bounty fed: While maniac Winter rages o'er
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,
Or sweeping wild, a waste of snows:
So long, sweet Poet of the Year,
Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won;
While SCOTIA, with exulting tear,
Proclaims that THOMSON was her son.
THE POET'S WELCOME
q To his illegitimate child.
THOU 's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me,
p This poem is chiefly remarkable for the grand stanzas on the castle and Holyrood with which it concludes.-Lockhart.
9. This 'Address' is omitted by Dr. Currie, and as its contents are rather of too indelicate a complexion to need elucidation, the commentator has withheld his pen.
Shall ever danton me or awe me,
My sweet wee lady,
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me
Wee image of my bonnie Betty,
As a' the priests had seen me get
What tho' they ca' me fornicator,
An auld wife's tongue 's a feckless matter
Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint,
My funny toil is now a' tint,
Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent,
Which fools may scoff at;
In my last plack thy part's be in 't—
An' if thou be what I wad hae thee,
If thou be spar'd;
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee,
Gude grant that thou may ay inherit
TO A HAGGIS."
FAIR fa' your honest, sonsies face,
Painch," tripe, or thairm :w
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
His knife see rustic labour dight,
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Then horn for horn2 they stretch an' strive
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,
Is there that o'er his French ragout,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
A kind of pudding boiled in the stomach of a cow, or sheep. Engaging, pleasing. t Above. w A small gut. x Worthy. a Bellies.
2 A spoon made of horn.
c'To split. d Grace after meat.
u Paunch. y Wipe clean. b By and by.
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
But mark the rustic, haggis-fed,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE.
My curse upon thy venom'd stang,
And thro' my lugs gies monie a twang,
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines.
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases,
Ay mocks our groan!
k Large, ample. m Tops of thistles.
h The fist.
A jerk of waters, or a thin potion that will jerk or quash like water.
PA small wooden dish with a handle.