Who knows how the fashions may alter ? The doctrine to-day that is loyalty sound, To-morrow may bring us a halter! I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, But accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard, Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, And ushers the long dreary night; But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, Your course to the latest is bright. ON A YOUNG LADY RESIDING ON THE BANKS OF THE SMALL RIVER DEVON, IN CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT WHOSE INFANT YEARS WERE SPENT IN AYRSHIRE. HOW pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair! But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, Let Bourbon exult in his gay-gilded lilies, And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF LORD PRESIDENT DUNDAS. LONE on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, She sank, abandoned to the wildest wo. Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, Mark ruffian Violence, distained with crimes, As guileful Fraud points out the erring way : The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong : Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, A FAREWELL TO CLARINDA, ON LEAVING EDINBURGH. CLARINDA, mistress of my soul, The measured time is run ! To what dark cave of frozen night We part - but, by these precious drops That fill thy lovely eyes! No other light shall guide my steps She, the fair sun of all her sex, CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF JOHNSON'S MUSEUM. WHISTLE AND I'LL COME TO YE, MY LAD. H whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad, Он Oh whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad; Though father and mother and a' should gae mad, Oh whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad. Come down the back stairs when ye come to court me, Come down the back stairs when ye come to court me, Come down the back stairs, and let naebody see; And come as ye were na coming to me. MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. TUNEM Pherson's Rant. AREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong, FA The wretch's destinie! Macpherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. |