So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among;
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song:

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears,

As modest want the tale of wo reveals; While conscious virtue all the strain endears, And heav'n-born piety her sanction seals.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO A LADY, WHOM HE HAD OF TEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS.

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms,)
To join the friendly few;

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blas
Did nip a fairer flow'r;)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

Stil. much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store,

The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honor's part;
And, dearest gift of Heav'n below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.

The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove;
And doubly were the Poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

MISS JESSY L, DUMFRIES; WITH BOOKS
THE BARD PRESENTED HER.

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer;
That Fate may, in her fairest page,
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage
Of future bliss, enrol thy name,
With native worth and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution, still aware
Of ill-but chief, man's felon snare;
All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind:
These be thy guardian and reward,
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard.

WHICH

VERSES

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK

LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS

POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN
MARRIED.

ONCE fondly lov'd, and still remember'd 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 the Atlantic roar.

TO J. S****.

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul,
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!

I owe thee much.

BLAIR

DEAR S****, the sleest, paukie thief,
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef
Owre human hearts;

For ne'er a bosom yet was prief
Against your arts.

For me, I swear by sun and moon,

And ev'ry star that blinks aboon,

Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon,
Just gaun to see you;

And ev'ry ither pair that's done,
Mair ta'en I'm wi' you.

That auld capricious carlin, Nature,
To mak amends for scrimpit stature,
She's turn'd you aff' a human creature
On her first plan,

And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature,
She's wrote the Mana

Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme,
My barmie noddle's working prime,
My fancie yerkite up sublime,

Wi' hasty summon;

Hae ye a leisure moment's time

To hear what's comin?

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash;
Some rhyme, (vain thought!) for needfu' cash!
Some rhyme to court the countra clash,
An' raise a din;

For me, an aim I never fash;

I rhyme for fun!

The star that rules my luckless lot,
Has fated me the russet coat,

And damn'd my fortune to the groat;
But in requit,

Has bless'd me wi' a random shot
O' countra wit.

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent,
To try my fate in guid black prent:

But still the mair I'm that way bent,
Something cries, "Hoolie!

I rede you, honest man, tak tent!
Ye'll shaw your folly.

"There's ither poets, much your betters,
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters,
Hae thought they had insur'd their debtors
A' future ages;

Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters,
Their unknown pages."

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs,
To garland my poetic brows!

Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs
Are whistling thrang,

An' teach the lanely heights and howes My rustic sang.

I'll wander on wi' tentless heed,
How never-halting moments speed,
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;
Then, all unknown,

I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,

Forgot and gone!

But why, O Death, begin a tale?
Just now we're living, sound, and hale!
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, -
Heave Care o'er-side!

And large, before Enjoyment's gale,
Let's tak the tide.

This life, sae far's I understand

Is a' enchanted, fairy land,