Epistle to a Young Friend. The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature; But still the preaching cant forbear, Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, An atheist laugh's a poor exchange When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded; Or if she gie a random sting, It may be little minded; But when on life we're tempest-driven, A conscience but a canker, A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven Is sure a noble anchor! Adieu, dear, amiable youth! Your heart can ne'er be wanting! May prudence, fortitude, and truth Erect your brow undaunting! In ploughman phrase, "God send you speed," Still daily to grow wiser: And may you better reck the rede Than ever did th' adviser! To the Guidwife of Wauchope House. GUIDWIFE. I mind it weel, in early date, When I was beardless, young, and blate, And first could thrash the barn, Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh; And though forfoughten sair eneugh, Yet unco proud to learn: When first amang the yellow corn A man I reckon'd was, And wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass, Still shearing, and clearing, The tither stooked raw, To the Guidwife of Wauchope House. Even then, a wish (I mind its power), Shall strongly heave my breast- I turn'd the weeder-clips aside, My envy e'er could raise; But still the elements o' sang, Till on that hairst I said before, My partner in the merry core, She roused the forming strain : I see her yet, the sonsie quean, At every kindling keek, To the Guidwife of Wauchope house. Health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says, And we to share in common: The gust o' joy, the balm o' woe, Is rapture-giving woman. Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, She, honest woman, may think shame That slight the lovely dears; To shame ye, disclaim ye, For you, no bred to barn and byre, Or proud imperial purple. May losses and crosses Ne'er at your hallan ca'! My Dannie, D. TUNE-"My Nannie, O." BEHIND yon hills, where Lugar flows The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill: The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal, And owre the hills to Nannie, O. My Nannie's charming, sweet, and young, |