Craigdarroch began with a tongue fmooth as oily, Defiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil;

Or elfe he would mufter the heads of the clan, And once more, in claret, try which was the man.

By the gods of the ancients!" Glenriddel replies "Before I furrender fo glorious a prize, "I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More*, . "And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er."

Sir Robert, a foldier, no fpeech would pretend, But he ne'er turned his back on his foe-or his friend, Said, tofs down the Whistle, the prize of the field, And knee-deep in claret he'd die or he'd yield.

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, So noted for drowning of forrow and care;

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame,,

Than the fenfe, wit, and tafte of a fweet lovely dame...

A bard was felected to witnefs the fray,

And tell future ages the feats of the day;
A bard who detefted all fadnefs and fpleen,
And wished that Parnaffus a vineyard had been..

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, And every new cork is a new spring of joy ; . In the bands of old friendship and kindred fo fet, And the bands grew the tighter the more they were

wet.

*See Johnson's tour to the Hebrides...

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; Bright Phoebus ne'er witneffed fo joyous a corps, And vowed that to leave them he was quite forlorn, Till Cynthia hinted he'd fee them next morn.

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night,, When gallant Sir Robert, to finifh the fight, Turned o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, And fwore 'twas the way that their ancestors did.

Then worthy Glenriddel, fo cautious and fage," No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage; A High-ruling elder to wallow in wine!

He left the foul bufinefs to folks lefs divine.

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end; But who can with Fate and Quart Bumpers contend? Though Fate, faid a hero, fhould perish in light; So uprofe bright Phoebus--and down fell the knight.

Next uprofe our Bard, like a prophet in drink:"Craigdarroch, thou'lt foar when creation fhall fink; "But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, "Come-one bottle more-and have at the fublime!

"Thy line, that has ftruggled for freedom with Bruce "Shall heroes and patriots ever produce: "So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; The field thou haft won, by yon bright god of "day!"

DELIA.

FAIR the face of orient day's

Fair the tints of opening rofe;
But fairer ftill my DELIA dawns-
More lovely far her beauty blows.

Sweet the lark's wild, warbled lay;
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear:
But DELIA more delightful still
Steal thine accents on mine ear."

The flower-enamour'd busy bee
The rofy banquet loves to fip;
Sweet the ftréamlet's limpid lapfe,
To the fun-brown'd Arab's lip.

But DELIA on thy balmy lips,.
Let me no vagrant infect rove;

O let me steal one liquid kifs!

For ah! my foul is parch'd with love.

SONG..

A ROSE-BUD by my early wauk,

Adown a corn-inclofed bawk,

Sae gently bent its thorny flauk,
All on a dewy morning:

Ere twice the fhades o' dawn are fled,

In a' its crimson glory spread,

And drooping rich the dewy head,

It fcents the early morning.

Within the bufh her covert neft

A little linnet fondly preft,
The dew fat chilly on her breaft,

Sae early in the morning:

She foon fhall fee her tender brood,. The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, Awauk the early morning.

So thou dear bird young Jenny, fair,

On trembling ftring, or vocal air,

Shalt fweetly pay the tender care

That tents thy early morning.

So thou fweet rose bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, And blefs the parent's evening ray

'That watch'd thy early morning.

SONG.

MUSING

on the roaring Ocean,

Which divides my love and me;
Wearying in warm devotion,
For his weal where'er he be.

Hope and Fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to Nature's law,
Whispering spirits round my pillow,
Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom Sorrow never wounded;
Ye who never shed a tear;
Care untroubled, joy furrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.

Gentle night do you befriend me;

Downy fleep, the curtain draw g

Spirits kind, again attend me,

Talk of him that's far awa