Sidor som bilder

By saunt, by sinner, loathed as odd

Disdained and shunned Till sheltered by the friendly sod

By devils dunned.

That poverty will tame a bear,
Let yon poor worthless wight declare,
And curse the leechin' pranks o’ Air,

And sich and wail
How few a dinner noo will spare,

Or hear his tale.

Still, wha for him can pity plead,
Wha ne'er yet sympathised in need,
But when a brother begged for bread,

He gave a stone ?
In his a Haman's doom we read,

And Justice own.

Except like D- , that ace o' fellows, Noo pechin' at the devil's bellows, Though merited, he missed the gallows

But och nae mair; His punishment, his Cain looks tell us,

He scarce can bear.

But stop, my Pegasus; be wise-
We personalities despise.
Should ony such here recognise,

I will be vex't,

[merged small][ocr errors]

And that is gas; in order right
It follows next, hail to its light !
That cheers the murkiest Winter night,

To ane and a';
Wi' it, can ony mouthin' wight

Noo find a flaw?

Yet will the miscreants loud compleen,
Anent our bonnie lamps at e'en ?
Foul fa' your impudence and spleen,

To say they twinkle,
Like honest rulers, far atween-

Fie! Mr Drinkwell.

Again my Muse her temper loses,
As she to them your worth discloses:
O ye immortal virtuoses,

Ne'er mind their havers, While common sense her faith reposes

On your endeavours.

But mark me, ilk commissioned chap,
I'll show ye hoo to shut their trap:
Ye hae a feather i' your cap,

Baith bright and trim, Point to Leet Green, I wad a bap,

'Twill douce their glim.

Weel may ye do't wi' muckle mense,
Aye wi' unblushin' confidence,
There ony blockhead at a glance,

Will own your merit, And praise ye, sirs, as men o' sense

And public spirit.

What was it ere your reign began ?
A common lazaret-a ban-
A waste conveniency for man

Pursued by nature,
When every filthy devil ran,

And needfu' creature.

But, sirs, ance mair I beg ye hear,
The question's delicate I fear;
About the “ready” will they speer,

Ye ken the clink;
What right hae they to interfere,

Or e'en to think?

What hae they dune wi' this and that,
Is really cuttin't unco fat;
Hae they nae private cares, I wat

And vouch anew; Then why should every bungling flat

Thus meddle you?

But, sirs, I'm sick o'this effusion,
Sae to your honour, in conclusion,

I'd to the papers mak allusion:

I think it fit; There satisfaction to profusion

They'll yearly get.

Hence now we part-shake hands" Guid-day,"
And lang may ye be spared, I pray,
Our burgh sceptre right to sway,

And rule us a'
And keep your enemies at bay,

By dint o’law.


TAIL, loveliest blossom of the Spring,
S Sweet little skipping, happy thing,
Young native of the fleecy fold,
Of modesty the living mould,
Dear type of gentleness unfeigned,
Incarnate innocence unstained,
Bright symbolising, as we find,
The Lamb who bled for human-kind;
Hence round thy honoured name entwine
Associations all divine.
How free, how unalloyed indeed
Thy gambols o'er the flowery mead !

Unlike to me, with thee the past
No sorrows, no regrets o'ercast,
Nor fears the future pall for thee:
How blessed, alas ! compared with me;
Pleased with the present—it alone:
The passing hour is all thy own!
Ah ! how secure, whate'er betide,
Reclining by affection's side,
Luxuriating, as thy wont,
At Nature's bland maternal fount;
Or culling wantonly the blade
Beneath the fragrant hawthorn's shade.
Skip on, skip on! thrice dear to me
Thy freaks and frolics, mirth and glee,
Whose charms mysterious soft impart
A holy freshness to the heart,
Awaking joys which else had slept,
As if its strings an angel swept.
But, ah! sweet charming creature, here
How brief, how fleeting thy career !
What though the future Mercy veil
What ills await thee to assail,
How dark the hour that dooms indeed
Such innocence and bliss to bleed;
Ah! soon beneath the ruthless blade
A mangled wreck shalt thou be laid.

« FöregåendeFortsätt »