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AIR.
See the smoking bowl before us!

Mark our jovial ragged ring!
Round and round take up the chorus,
And in raptures let us sing.

A fig for those by law protected !

Liberty's a glorious feast !
Courts for cowards were erected,

Churches built to please the priest.

What is title? what is treasure ?

hat is reputation's care ? If we lead a life of pleasure,

'Tis no matter how or where,

With the ready trick and fable,

Round we wander all the day? And at night, in barn or stable,

Hug our doxies on the hay.

Does the train-attended carriage

Through the country lighter rove? Does the sober bed of marriage

Witness brighter scenes of love?

Life is all a variorum,

We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about decorum

Who have characters to lose.

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!

Here's to all the wandering train! Here's our ragged brats and callets!

One and all cry out-Amen!

A WINTER NIGHT. WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure, Sharp shivers through the leafless bower; When Phoebus gi'es a short-lived glower

Far south the lift,
Dim darkening through the flaky shower,

Or whirling drift:
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked,

Wild-eddying swirl,
Or through the mining outlet bocked,

Down headlong hurl.

List’ning the doors an' winnocks rattle,
I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle

O' winter war,
And through the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle,

Beneath a scar.

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing,
That, in the merry months o' spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,

What comes othee?
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing,

An' close thy ee? E'en you on murdering errands toiled, Lone from your savage homes exiled, The blood-stained roost and sheep-cote spoiled,

My heart forgets, While pitiless the tempest wild

Sore on you beats.

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign,
Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain;
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,

Rose in my soul,
When on my ear this plaintive strain,

Slow, solemn, stole:
'Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter biting frost!
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!
Not all your rage, as now, united shows
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,

Vengeful malice unrepenting,
Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows!

See stern Oppression's iron grip,
Or mad Ambition's gory hand,
Sending, like bloodhounds from the slip,
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land !
E'en in the peaceful rural vale,

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
How pampered Luxury, Flattery by her side,

The parasite empoisoning her ear,

With all the servile wretches in the rear,
Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ;

And eyes the simple rustic hind,
Whose toil upholds the glittering show,
A creature of another kind,

Some coarser substance, unrefined,
Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below.

Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe,
With lordly Honour's lofty brow,
The powers you proudly own?
Is there, beneath Love's noble name,
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim,
To bless himself alone ?

Mark maiden innocence a prey
To love-pretending snares;
This boasted Honour turns away,

Shunning soft Pity's rising sway,
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers !

Perhaps, this hour, in Misery's squalid nest,

She strains your infant to her joyless breast, And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast!

Oh, ye, who, sunk in beds of down,
Feel not a want but what yourselves create,
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Ill-satisfied keen Nature's clam'rous call,
Stretched on his straw he lays himself to sleep,
While, through the ragged roof and chinky wall,
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!
Think on the dungeon's grim confine,
Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine!
Guilt, erring man, relenting view!
But shall thy legal rage pursue
The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel Fortune's undeservèd blow?
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress,
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !'

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer

Shook off the pouthery snaw,
And hailed the morning with a cheer,

A cottage-rousing craw.

But deep this truth impressed my mind

Through all his works abroad,
The heart benevolent and kind,

The most resembles God.

TO A LOUSE,
ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH.

HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie'
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely

Owre gauze and lace;
Though faith, I fear ye dine but sparely

On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saunt an' sinner,
How are ye set your fit upon her,

Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your

dinner
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred jumpin' cattle,

In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle

Your thick plantations.
Now haud ye there, ye 're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rels, snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right

Till ye've got on it,
The vera tapmost, towering height

O' Miss's bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and grey as onie grozet ;
Oh, for some rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't,

Wad dress your droddum!

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