The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn, and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stained his name!

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.

FROM THE EPISTLE TO MRS. SCOTT OF WAUCHOPE.

I mind it weel, in early date,

When I was beardless, young, and blate,
An' first could thresh the barn,
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh,
An' tho' forfoughten' sair eneugh,
Yet unco2 proud to learn :
When first amang the yellow corn
A man I reckon'd was,

And wi' the lave3 ilk merry morn
Could rank my rig and lass,
Still shearing and clearing
The tither stooked raw",
Wi' claivers, an' haivers",
Wearing the day awa:

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power),
A wish that, to my latest hour,

Shall strongly heave my breast;
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake,
Some usefu' plan, or book could make,

Or sing a sang at least.

' barley.

The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear 1,

I turned the weeding-hook aside,
An' spared the symbol dear :
No nation, no station,

My envy e'er could raise;
A Scot still, but 2 blot still,
I knew nae higher praise.

But still the elements o' sang
In formless jumble, right an' wrang,
Wild floated in my brain;

'Till on that har'st I said before,
My partner in the merry core,

She roused the forming strain:
I see her yet, the sonsie3 quean,
That lighted up my jingle,
Her witching smile, her pauky een,
That gart my heart-strings tingle;
I fired, inspired,

At ev'ry kindling keek,
But bashing, and dashing,
I feared aye to speak.

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

Bonie lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go,

Bonie lassie, will ye go,

To the Birks of Aberfeldy?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,

Or lightly flit on wanton wing,

In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

2 without.

• look.

$ comely.

The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's,
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The Birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers
The Birks of Aberfeldy.

Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

Tune- Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey.'

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,

For there the bonie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best;

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between;

By day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw', or green;
There's not a bonie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

I wood.

AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?

Chorus.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup of kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn,

From morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere',

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

1 companion.

' draught.

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent1;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

TAM GLEN.

Tune-' The mucking o' Geordie's Byre.'

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity;

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow,
In poortith 2 I might mak a fen'3;
What care I in riches to wallow,

If I maunna marry Tam Glen ?

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,

'Guid-day to you,'-brute! he comes ben:

He brags and he blaws o' his siller;

But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

1 smooth.

2

poverty.

8 make a shift.