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Epistle to Davie.

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts!

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,

And flattery I detest,)

This life has joys for you and I,

And joys that riches ne'er could buy,

And joys the very best.

There's a' the pleasures o' the heart,

The lover and the frien';

Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part,
And I my darling Jean!

It warms me, it charms me,
To mention but her name :

It heats me, it beets me,

And sets me a' on flame!

Oh, all ye powers who rule above!
O Thou, whose very self art love!
Thou know'st my words sincere!
The life-blood streaming through my heart,
Or my more dear immortal part,

Is not more fondly dear!

When heart-corroding care and grief

Deprive my soul of rest,

Her dear idea brings relief

And solace to my breast.

Thou Being, all-seeing,

Oh, hear my fervent prayer!
Still take her, and make her
Thy most peculiar care!

All hail! ye tender feelings dear!
The smile of love, the friendly tear,

The sympathetic glow!

Long since, this world's thorny ways
Had number'd out my weary days,

Had it not been for you!

Fate still has blest me with a friend,

In every care and ill;

And oft a more endearing band,

A tie more tender still.

It lightens, it brightens

The tenebrific scene,

To meet with, and greet with
My Davie or my Jean!

Oh, how that name inspires my style! The words come skelpin', rank and file, Amaist before I ken!

The ready measure rins as fine

As Phoebus and the famous Nine

Were glowerin' owre my pen. My spaviet Pegasus will limp, . Till ance he's fairly het;

And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp,

And rin an unco fit:

But lest then, the beast then,

Should rue this hasty ride,

I'll light now, and dight now
His sweaty, wizen'd hide.

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WHY, ye tenants of the lake,

For me your watery haunts forsake?

Tell me, fellow-creatures, why

At my presence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys,

Parent, filial, kindred ties ?—
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free:
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,

Busy feed, or wanton lave;

Or, beneath the sheltering rock,

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Bide the surging billow's shock.

Conscious, blushing for our race,
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace.
Man, your proud usurping foe,

Would be Lord of all below:

Plumes himself in freedom's pride,
Tyrant stern to all beside.

The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
Marking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels :

But man, to whom alone is given
A ray direct from pitying Heaven,

Glories in his heart humane

And creatures for his pleasure slain.
In these savage, liquid plains,
Only known to wandering swains,

Where the mossy rivulet strays,

Far from human haunts and ways;

All on nature you depend,

And life's poor season peaceful spend.

Or, if man's superior might

Dare invade your native right,

On the lofty ether borne,

Man with all his powers you scorn:

Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,

Other lakes and other springs;

And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his slave.

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