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THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young,

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, From some of your northern deities sprung,

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign,

And pledg’d her their godheads to warrant it good.

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,

The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew : Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,

« Whoe'er shall provoke thee th' encounter shall


With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her fav’rite resort,

Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn,

Long quiet she reigned ; 'till thitherward steers

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : * Repeated, successive, for many long years,

They darken’d the air, and they plunder'd the land: Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry,

They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; She took to her hills and her arrows let fly,

The daring invaders they fled or they died.

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north,

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore:* O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevailid,

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd,

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. §

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* The Romans. + The Saxons. 1 The Danes.

§ Two famous battles in which the Danes or Norwegians were defeated.

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose,

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion and strife; Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose,

And robb’d him at once of his hopes and his life: * The Anglian lion, the terror of France,

Oft prowling, ensánguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But,-taught by the bright Caledonian lance,

He learned to fear in his own native wood.

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Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd and free,

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run: For brave Caledonia immortal must be ;

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun:
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll chuse,

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base;
But brave Caledonia's the hypotenuse;
Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them

always. of


* The Highlanders of the Isles.

+ This singular figure of poetry, taken from the mathematics, refers to the famous proposition of Pythagoras, the 47th of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, the square of the hypotenuse is always equal to the squares of the two other sides.


The following Poem was written to a Gentleman who had sent him a news-paper, and offered to

continue it free of expense.

yet had



KIND Sir, I've read your paper through,
And faith, to me, 'twas really new!
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ?
This mony a day I've grain’d and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin ;
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin;
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
If Venus yet


his Or how the collieshangie works Atween the Russians and the Turks; Or if the Swede, before he halt, Would play anither Charles the twalt : If Denmark, any body spak o't; Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin ; How libbet Italy was singin ; If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, Were sayin or takin aught amiss : Or how our merry lads at hame, In Britain's court kept up the game :


How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin,
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin,
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were rar'd,
Or if bare a- yet were tax'd ;
The news o' princes, dukes and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds and opera-girls ;
If that daft buckie, Geordie W***s,
Was threshin still at hizzies tails,
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
And no a perfect kintra cooser.
A' this and mair I never heard of;
And but for you I might despair'd of.
So gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' gude things may attend you !

Ellisland, Monday morning, 1790.


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