O, a' ye bards on bonie Doon! An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! Come, join the melancholious croon

O' Robin's reed!

His heart will never get aboon

His Mailie dead.

ΤΟ

J. SMITH.

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!
I owe thee much!·

BLAIR.

DEAR SMITH, the sleest, paukie thief,
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef

Owre human hearts ;

For ne'er a bosom yet was prief
Against your arts.

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon

Just gaun to see you;

And ev'ry ither pair that's done,

Mair taen I'm wi' you.

That

That auld capricious carlin, nature, To mak amends for scrimpit stature, She's turn'd you aff, a human creature On her first plan,

And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature,

She's wrote, the Man.

Just now I've taen the fit o'rhyme, My barmie noddle's working prime, My fancy yerkit up sublime

Wi' hasty summon :

Hae ye a leisure-moment's time

To hear what's comin?

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash,

For me, an aim I never fash;

I rhyme for fun.

The star that rules my luckless lot, Has fated me the russet coat,

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat;

But in requit,

Has blest me wi' a random shot

O' countra wit.

This while my notion's taen a sklent, To try my fate in guid, black prent ; But still the mair I'm that way bent,

Something cries, Hoolie!

'I red you, honest man, tak tent!

• Ye'll shaw your folly.

There's ither poets, much your betters,
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters,
'Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors,
'A' future ages;

• Now moths deform in shapeless tatters,
• Their unknown pages.'

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows!

Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs

Are whistling thrang,

An' teach the lanely heights an' howes
My rustic sang.

I'll wander on, with tentless heed How never-halting moments speed, Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;

Then, all unknown,

I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,

Forgot and gone!

But

But why o' death begin a tale?
Just now we're living sound and hale,
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,

Heave care o'er side!

And large, before enjoyment's gale,

Let's tak the tide.

This life, sae far's I understand,

Is a' enchanted fairy land,

Where pleasure is the magic wand,

That, wielded right,

Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand,
Dance by fu' light.

The magic-wand then let us wield ; For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, See crazy, weary, joyless eild,

Wi' wrinkl'd face,

Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field,

Wi' creepin pace.

;

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ;

An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin,

An' social noise;

An' fareweel dear, deluding woman,

The joy of joys!

O Life!