Изображения страниц

"THERE's ither Poets much your betters,

Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, • Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors,


A' future ages;

Now moths deform in shapeless i atters

Their unknown pages.

THEN farewel hopes o' laurel-boughs,

To garland my poetic brows!
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs

Are whistling thrang,
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes

My rustic sang


I'LL wander on with tentless heed,

How never-halting moments speed,
Till fate shall faap the brittle thread;

[blocks in formation]

I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,

Forgot and gone!

But why o' Death begin a tale? Just now we're living sound an' hale; Then top and maintop croud the fail,

Heave Care o'er-side

And large, before Enjoyment's gale,

Let's tak the tide.

This life, fae far's I understand,

Is a' enchanted fairy-land,

Where Pleasure is the Magic Wand,

That wielded right,

Maks Hours like Minutes, hand in hand,

Dance by fu’light.

The magic wand then let us wield; For, ance that five-an'-forty's speeld,


See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild,

Wi' wrinkl'd face,

Comes hoftin, hirplin owre the field,

Wi' creeping pace.

When ance life's duy draws near the gloamin,
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin ;
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin,

An’social noise ;

An' fareweel dear, deluding woman,

The joy of joys !

O LIFE! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! Cold-paufing Caution's lesson fcorning,

We frisk away.

Like school-boys at th’expected warning,

To joy and play.


[merged small][ocr errors]

WE wander there, we wander here,

We eye the rose upon the brier,

Unmindful that the thorn is near,

Among the leaves ;

And tho' the puny wound appear,

Short while it grieves,

SOME, lucky, find a flow'ry spot,

For which they never toil'd nor fwat;
They drink the sweet and eat the fat,

But care or pain.

And, haply, eye the barren hut,

With high disdain.

WITH steady aim, fome Fortune chafe; Keen hope does ev'ry finew brace; Thro'fair, thro' foul, they urge the race,

And seize the prey :


Then canie, in some cozie place,

They close the day,

AND others, like your humble servan', Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin; To right or left, eternal swervin,

They zig-zag on; Till curft with age, obfcure an' starvin,

They aften groan.

Alas! what bitter toil an' strainingBut truce, with peevish, poor complaining! Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ?

E'en let her gang! Beneath what light she has remaining,

Let's fing dur sang.

MY pen

I here fling to the door, And kneel, Ye Pow'rs! and warm implore,


• Tho'

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »