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ON PASTORAL POETRY.
HAIL Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd!
'Mang heaps o'clavers; And och! o'er aft thy joes hae stary'd,
Mid a' thy favors !
Say, Lassie, why thy train amang,
To death or marriage;
But wi' miscarriage ?
In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives
Horatian fame :
Even Sappho's flame.
But thee, Theopocritus, wha matches ?
O’ heathen tatters :
ape their betters.
In this braw age o' wit and lear,
And rural grace;
A rival place?
Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan!
A chiel sae clever ;
But thou's for ever.
Thou paints auld nature to the nines,
Her griefs will tell!
In gowany glens thy burnie strays,
Wi' hawthorns gray,
At close o' day.
Thy rural loves are nature's sel ;
O' witchin love,
The sternest move.
ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR,
Between the Duke of Argyle and the Egrl of Mar.
« O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
" Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? " Or ware ye at the Sherra-muir,
“ And did the battle see, man?”
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
The red-coat lads wi' black cockades
To meet them were na slaw, man ;
The great Argyle led on his files,
'Till fey men died awa, man.
But had you seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man,
And covenant true blues, man ;
They fled like frighted doos, man.
“ O how deil Tam can that be true ?
“ The chace gaed frae the north, man; “ I saw myself, they did pursue
66 The horsemen back to Forth, man; “ And at Dunblane in
ain sight, They took the brig wi' a' their might, “ And straught to Stirling winged their flight ; “ But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut ; “ And mony a huntit, poor red-coat
“ For fear amaist did swarf, man."