Some weary wight, perhaps like me,
Doom'd poverty's distress to dree,
Misfortune's meagre brither;
Now dauners out beneath the starns,
Wi' plans perplexing still his harns,
To keep his banes thegither.
Now lasses start their fires to kin❜le,
And load the chimly wi' a tanle
O' bleezing coals and cinders;
Syne scowr their stoups and tankards clear, And glasses dight wi' canny care,
To grace the gentry's dinners.
Wi' clippit feathers, kame and chirle,
The gamester's cock, frae some auld burrel,
Proclaims the morning near;
Ilk chiel now frae his hammock jumps,
The floor receives their lang bare stumps,
And wives and a's asteer.
Now reek rows briskly out the lums;
Loud through the street the piper bums;
In highland vigour gay,
Doors, hatches, winnock-brods are steering;
And ev'ry ane in short's preparing,
To meet the toils o' day.
The Monkey and Bee,
A FABLE.-TO A YOUNG AUTHOR.
THE bard who'd wish to merit bays,
Should shut his ears when asses praise,
And from the real judge alone,
Expect a halter or a throne.
A Monkey who, in leisure hours,
Was wondrous fond of herbs and flow'rs,
(For once he'd worn a gard'ner's chain, But wander'd to his woods again,)
Travers'd the banks-the mountain's brow,
The lonely wilds-the valley low,
Collecting, as along he hies,
Flowers of unnumber'd tint and size,
Till hid beneath the lovely spoil,
He onward stalk'd with cheerful toil,
Thus chatting: "Now, I'll shine alone,
I'll have a garden of my own."
A spot he plans, to shew his parts, Scratches the soil-the blooms inserts. Here stuck a rose, there placed a pink; With various flowers stuffs ev'ry chink; Torn branches form his spreading shrubs, O'ertopt with stately shepherds' clubs;" Long ragged stones roll'd on the border, All placed sans root, or taste, or order. Around him throng'd the mimic crew, Amazed at the appearance new,
Survey'd the shrubs the nodding flowers,
And struck with wonder at his powers,
Pronounced him, with applauding gape,
A most expert, ingenious Ape!
"Knew man the genius you inherit,
Unbounded fame would crown your merit."
He proudly bow'd, approved their taste,
And for the town prepares in haste,
When now, amid the ragged ranks,
A Bee appear'd, with searching shanks;
From bloom to bloom she roved alone,
With hurrying flight and solemn drone.
Pug saw; and proud of such a guest,
Exclaim'd, "Say, friend, did such a feast
E'er bless thy search? Here welcome stray;
Fresh sweets shall load thee ev'ry day;
a A species of wild flowers.
"Twas I that rear'd them-all is mine;
I bore the toil, the bliss be thine."
"Conceited fool! the Bee replied,
Those pilfer'd, rootless blooms I've tried,
Nor bliss, nor sweets, repaid my pains,
Of these as void as thou'rt of brains."
She spoke; the scorching noontide came,
The garden with'ring, sunk his fame.
Lean not on Earth, 'twill pierce thee to the heart,
A broken reed at best, but oft a spear,
On its sharp point Peace bleeds and Hope expires.
BENEATH a range of elms, whose branches throw
A gloomy shade upon the path below,
There, scarcely shelter'd from the evening wind,
A youth, slow wandering, pensively reclined;
Sunk were his eyes, his visage deadly wan,
Deep, deep, he groan'd, and thus in grief began:
Blest were those times that now, alas! are fled,
When health and plenty wanton'd round my head!
When all my griefs were sunk in downy rest,
And peace and pleasure dwelt within my breast!
Then smiling swains assembled in my train,
Hung on my arm delighted with my strain,
Prest, when I spoke, with eager warmth my hand,
And begg'd the blessing but to be my friend.
Extoll'd my worth and pointed to a store
Of wealth and joy when all my toils were o'er.
My verse, they said, would cease not to inspire
While time remain'd, or mortals to admire.
Dear, dear to me were friendship's clasping arms,
But dearer far the young Lavinia's charms.
Friendship, if real, our distress may share,
But love can soothe, can sweeten every care.
Sweet were the hours that fann'd our mutual flame,
And soft the strain that breathed her charming name.
Her face, her form as beauty's self were fair,
For every grace and every charm were there.
Our thoughts were guileless, pure our growing flame,
Our minds, our wishes, and our hearts the same.
No fears could damp, no foes our hopes destroy,
But each young moment brought an age of joy.
These were the times that promis'd bliss in store,
But these, alas, will visit me no more.
Ah, why should beings frail as bark can be,
Trust the smooth calm of life's uncertain sea,
That, rising, roars around the helpless crew,
And whelms their hopes for ever from their view,
Death, whose dread frown can chill the boldest
heart,
Spread his cold horrors o'er my dearest part;
Thrice pale Lavinia panting by my side,
Moan'd out my name in accents faint, and died!
O where shall anguish fit expression find
To paint the woes of my distracted mind,
When all I loved, and all I wish'd to have,
Sunk from my arms into the yawning grave.
Kind is the world and eager to befriend
While health and success on our steps attend;
But let the tempest of misfortune roar,
We hear its offers and its vows no more.
'Twas now while ruin growl'd around my head
That all my worth and all my prospects fled,
Health, comfort, peace, and with them every friend,
Whose heart could soothe, or pity, or defend;
Ev'n hope itself, Fate calls me to forego,
And nought remains but a whole world of woe.
O Death! thou friend, thou sovereign cure indeed,
When wilt thou bid this bosom cease to bleed.
To thee I look, to thee distrest and wan,
To seal those sorrows that thy arm began;
Life wrings my soul with agonising care,
And earth can give no comfort but despair.
Here ceased he sad, and heaved the deep-felt sigh,
While fast the tears stole down from either eye;
Bleak blew the wind, the darkness blacker grew,
And slow the youth with feeble pace withdrew.
Elegy on an Unfortunate Tailor.
Wha, like true brethren o' the thumle,
Saved aye a remnant as his due ;
And ne'er was heard to grudge or grum'le,
As lang's he fan' his belly fu'.
O SIRS, he's e'en awa' indeed,
Nae mair to shape or draw a thread,
Or spin a crack, or crump his bread,
And hotch and gigle;
Or wave the elwan owre his head
To fight the beagle.
In mornings soon, ere sax o'clock,
When blankets hap a' sober fouk,
When fires are out and shoon and troke
Nae mair we'll start to heat his knock,
And roaring stoor.
Whan days war caul', near bit by bit,
Close at the glowan ribs he'd sit,
And ilka wee the eldin hit,
And gab fu' trimly;
And aye the tither mouthfu' spit
Alangst the chimly.
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