THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON.

Tune-"Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!"

ADIEU! a heart-warm, fond adieu !
Dear brothers of the mystic tie!
Ye favoured, ye enlightened few,
Companions of my social joy!
Though I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',
With melting heart, and brimful eye,
I'll mind you still, though far awa'.

Oft have I met your social band,

And spent the cheerful, festive night;
Oft honoured with supreme command,
Presided o'er the sons of light:
And by that hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but craftsmen ever saw!
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write
Those happy scenes when far awa’.

May freedom, harmony, and love,
Unite you in the grand design,
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above,
The glorious Architect divine!
That you may keep th' unerring line,
Still rising by the plummet's law,
Till order bright completely shine,
Shall be my prayer when far awa'.

And you' farewell! whose merits claim,
Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heaven bless your honoured, noble name,
To Masonry and Scotia dear!
A last request permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round, I ask it with a tear,
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.

1 Sir John Whiteford, the grand master.

THE FAREWELL.1

"The valiant in himself, what can he suffer?
Or what does he regard his single woes?
But when, alas! he multiplies himself,

To dearer selves, to the loved, tender fair, --
To those whose bliss, whose being hang upon him,
To helpless children! then, oh, then he feels
The point of misery festering in his heart,
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.
Such, such am I! undone!"

THOMSON'S Edward and Eleanora.

FAREWELL old Scotia's bleak domains,
Far dearer than the torrid plains
Where rich ananas blow!

2

Farewell a mother's blessing dear!
A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!
My Jean's heart-rending throe!
Farewell, my Bess! 3 though thou 'rt bereft
Of my parental care!

A faithful brother I have left,
My part in him thou 'lt share!
Adieu too, to you too,

My Smith, my bosom frien';
When kindly you mind me,

Oh, then befriend my Jean!

What bursting anguish tears my heart!
From thee, my Jeanie, must I part!
Thou, weeping, answerest, "No!"
Alas! misfortune stares my face,
And points to ruin and disgrace,
I for thy sake must go!
Thee, Hamilton and Aiken dear,
A grateful, warm adieu!
I, with a much indebted tear,
Shall still remember you!

All hail then, the gale then,

Wafts me from thee, dear shore!
It rustles and whistles-

I'll never see thee more!

1 Written when the Poet designed to leave Scotland for the West Indies.

Jean Armour.

3 His illegitimate child,

FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.

SCENES of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu !

Bonny Doon, sae sweet and gloamin',
Fare thee weel before I gang!
Bonny Doon, whare early roaming,
First I weaved the rustic sang!

Bowers, adieu, whare Love, decoying,
First inthralled this heart o' mine,
There the saftest sweets enjoying-
Sweets that Mem'ry ne'er shall tyne!
Friends, so near my bosom ever,

Ye hae rendered moments dear;
But, alas! when forced to sever,
Then the stroke, oh, how severe !
Friends, that parting tear reserve it,
Though 'tis doubly dear to me!
Could I think I did deserve it,
How much happier would I be!
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!

LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE.

[The bank-note on the back of which these characteristic lines were written, is of the Bank of Scotland, and dated so far back as March 1, 1780.]

WAE worth thy power, thou cursèd leaf!

Fell source o' a' my woe and grief!
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass!
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction

Unaided, through thy cursed restriction.
I've seen th' oppressor's cruel smile,
Amid his hapless victim's spoil,
And, for thy potence vainly wished
To crush the villain in the dust.

For lack o' thee, I leave this much-loved shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet auld Scotland more!

VERSES TO AN OLD SWEETHEART AFTER HER

MARRIAGE.

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS PRESENTED TO THE LADY.

ONCE fondly loved, and still remembered dear!
Sweet early object of my youthful vows!
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,—
Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.

And when you read the simple, artless rhymes,
One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more-
Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes,
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's roar.

VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF.

[The following lines, which first appeared in the Sun newspaper, April, 1823, appear to have been originally written on a leaf of a copy of his poems presented to a friend.]

ACCEPT the gift a friend sincere

Wad on thy worth be pressin';
Remembrance oft may start a tear,
But oh! that tenderness forbear,

Though 'twad my sorrows lessen.
My morning raise sae clear and fair,
I thought sair storms wad never
Bedew the scene; but grief and care
In wildest fury hae made bare
My peace, my hope for ever!

You think I'm glad; oh, I pay weel
For a' the joy I borrow,

In solitude-then, then I feel
I canna to myself conceal

My deeply ranklin' sorrow.
Farewell! within thy bosom free
A sigh may whiles awaken;
A tear may wet thy laughin' e'e,
For Scotia's son-ance gay like thee,
Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken!

DESPONDENCY..

AN ODE.

OPPRESSED with grief, oppressed with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I sit me down and sigh:
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!

Dim backward as I cast my view,
What sickening scenes appear!

What sorrows yet may pierce me through,
Too justly I may fear!

Still caring, despairing,

Must be my bitter doom;

My woes here shall close ne'er,
But with the closing tomb!

Happy, ye sons of busy life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,
No other view regard!

Even when the wished end's denied,
Yet while the busy means are plyed,
They bring their own reward:
Whilst I, a hope-abandoned wight,
Unfitted with an aim,

Meet every sad returning night
And joyless morn the same;
You, bustling and justling,
Forget each grief and pain;
I, listless, yet restless,
Find every prospect vain.

How blest the Solitary's lot,
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot,
Within the humble cell,

The cavern wild with tangling roots,
Sits o'er his newly-gathered fruits,
Beside his crystal well!

Or, haply, to his evening thought,
By unfrequented stream,

The ways of men are distant brought,

A faint collected dream;

While praising, and raising

His thoughts to heaven on high,
As wandering, meandering,
He views the solemn sky.