My sister Kate cam up the gate

Wi crowdie unto me, man ;
She swoor she saw some rebels run

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man :
Their left-hand general had nae skill,
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebers blood to spill ;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o’ brose ; all crying woes,

And so it goes you see, man.

They've lost some gallant gentlemen,

Amang the Highland clans, man;
I fear my lord Panmure is slain,

Or fallen in whiggish hands, man:
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right ;
But mony bade the world gude-night ;
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell,
By red claymores, and muskets knell,
Wi' dying yell, the torics fell,

And whigs to hell did flee, man.*

SKETCH.

* This was written about the time our bard made his tour to the Highlands, 1787.

E.

SKETCH

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

To MRS. DUNLOP.

THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again:
I see the old, bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair'd machine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.

The absent lover, minor heir,
In vain assail him with their prayer,
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds;

Coila's

Coila's fair Rachel's care to day,*
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray ;)
From housewife cares a minute borrow
- That grandchild's cap

will do tomorrowAnd join with me a moralizing, This day's propitious to be wise in. First, what did yesternight deliver ? « Another

for ever.” And what is this day's strong suggestion ? “ The passing moment's all we rest on!" Rest on--for what? what do we here? Or why regard the passing year? Will time, amus’d with proverb'd lore, Add to our date one minute more ? A few days may-a few years must Repose us in the silent dust, Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? Yes--all such reasonings are amiss !. The voice of nature loudly cries, And many a message from the skies, That something in us never dies : That on this frail, uncertain stațe, Hang matters of eternal weight: That future-life in worlds unknown Must take its hue from this alone ;

Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woeful night-
Since then, my honor'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends ;
Let us th' important now employ,
And live as those who never die.
Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight life's sorrow's to repulse,
A sight pale envy to convulse)
Others now claim your chief regard ;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

EXTEMPORE EXTEMPORE,

On the late Mr. William Smellie, autbor of the Philosopby of Natural History, and member of the Antiquarian

and Royal Societies of Edinburgh.

To Crochallan came * The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same; His bristling beard just rising in its might, 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night, His uncombed grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd, A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd ; Yet tho' his caustick wit was biting, rude, His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

POETICAL

* Mr Smellie, and our poet, were both members of a club in Edinburgh, under the name of Crochallan Fencibles.

E.