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Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
Again ye 'll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

WE

A DIRGE.

HEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spied a man whose aged step

Seemed weary, worn with care;

His face was furrowed o'er with years,

And hoary was his hair.

"Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?

Began the reverend sage:

"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasures rage!

Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me, to mourn

The miseries of man.

"The sun that overhangs yon moors,

Outspreading far and wide,

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Where hundreds labour to support

A haughty lordling's pride:
I've seen yon weary winter-sun
Twice forty times return,
And every time has added proofs

That man was made to mourn.

"Oh, man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time;
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

"Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,

Supported is his right:

But see him on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn;

Then Age and Want-oh ill-matched pair!— Shew man was made to mourn.

"A few seem favourites of fate,

In Pleasure's lap carest;

Yet think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.

But, oh! what crowds in every land,
All wretched and forlorn!

Through weary life this lesson learn
That man was made to mourn.

66 Many and sharp the numerous ills
Inwoven with our frame !

More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse, and shame;

And man,

whose heaven-erected face

The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

"See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth

To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

"If I'm designed yon lordling's slave

By Nature's law designed

Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?

If not, why am I subject to

His cruelty or scorn?

Or why has man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn?

"Yet let not this too much, my son,

Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human-kind Is surely not the last!

The poor, oppressed, honest man,

Had never, sure, been born,

Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn!

"Oh, Death! the poor man's dearest friend

The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour, my aged limbs

Are laid with thee at rest!

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn!

But, oh! a blest relief to those

That weary-laden mourn!

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THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.

"Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor."- GRAY.

MY loved, my honoured, much-respected

friend!

No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end; My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise.

To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween!

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh, The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose:

The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end,

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame

ward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

Th' expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher through

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee.

His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily,

His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out, amang the farmers roun':
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neibor town:

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown,

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