TO DR MAXWELL,

ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY.

MAXWELL, if merit here you crave,
That merit I deny :

You save fair Jessy from the grave !—
An angel could not die!

TO CHLORIS.

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

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralising 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 miisfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower :)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more;
Still much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store-
The comforts of the mind!

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

The joys refined of sense and taste,
With every Muse to rove:
And doubly were the Poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

TOAST FOR THE 12TH OF APRIL.

INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast

Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!--
That we lost, did I say? nay, IN TRUTH, that we found;
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.
The next in succession, I'll give you-the King
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
As built on the base of the great Revolution;
And longer with politics not to be crammed,
MAY Anarchy PERISH-be Tyrants condemned;
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial!

INSCRIPTION

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTREE, THE SEAT OF MR HERON.

THOU of an independent mind,

With soul resolved, with soul resigned;
Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;

Virtue alone who dost revere,

Thy own reproach alone dost fear,

Approach this shrine, and worship here.

VERSES

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIG.

As on the banks o' wandering Nith,

Ae smiling simmer-morn I strayed,
And traced its bonnie howes and haughs,
Where linties sang and lambkins played,
I sat me down upon a craig,

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream,
When, from the eddying deep below,
Uprose the Genius of the stream.

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow,
And troubled, like his wintry wave,
And deep, as sughs the boding wind

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave-
"And came you hear, my son," he cried,
"To wander in my birken shade?
To muse some favourite Scottish theme,
Or sing some favourite Scottish maid.
"There was a time, it's nae lang syne,

Ye might hae seen me in my pride,
When a' my banks sae bravely saw,

Their woody pictures in my tide;
When hanging beech and spreading elm
Shaded my stream sae clear and cool;

And stately oaks their twisted arms

Threw broad and dark across the pool;

"When, glinting through the trees, appeared

The wee white cot aboon the mill,
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek,
That slowly curled up the hill.
But now the cot is bare and cauld

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane,
And scarce a stunted birk is left

To shiver in the blast its lane."

"Alas!" said I, what ruefu' chance

Has twined ye o' your stately trees?

one

vales, uplands linnets

whistles

among birchen

not, long ago

have

above fire, smoke

cold gone

stunted birch

alone

deprived

Has laid your rocky bosom bare?

Has stripped the cleeding o' your braes?
Was it the bitter eastern blast,

That scatters blight in early spring?
Or was't the wil'fire scorched their boughs,
Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?"

"Nae eastlin blast," the sp'rite replied;
"It blew na here sae fierce and fell,
And on my dry and halesome banks
Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell:
Man! cruel man!" the Genius sighed―

As through the cliffs he sank him down-
"The worm that gnawed my bonnie trees,
That reptile wears a ducal crown."

ADDRESS,

clothing

wild-fire

eastern not so

wholesome

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT,

STILL anxious to secure your partial favour,
And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever,
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,
"Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better;
So sought a Poet, roosted ne'er the skies,
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes;
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed;
And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted.
"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes,
"I know your bent-these are no laughing times:
Can you-but, Miss, I own I have my fears-
Dissolve in pause and sentimental tears,

With laden sighs, and solemn rounded sentence;
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repentance;
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand,
Waving on high the desolating brand,

Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?"

1795.

I could no more-askance the creature eyeing,
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying?
I'll laugh, that's poz-nay, more, the world shall know it.
And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet!
Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fixed belief,
That Misery's another word for Grief;

I also think-so may I be a bride!

That so much laughter, so much life enjoyed.

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh,
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye;
Doomed to that sorest task of man alive-
To make three guineas do the work of five:
Laugh in Misfortune's face-the beldam witch!
Say, you'll be merry, though you can't be rich.
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love,
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove;

Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st in desperate thought-a rope-thy neck-
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep,
Peerest to meditate the healing leap:

Wouldst thou be cured, thou silly, moping elf!
Laugh at her follies-laugh e'en at thyself:
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific,
And love a kinder-that's your grand specific.

To sum up all, be merry, I advise;
And as we're merry, may we still be wise.

And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,
I'd bear't in mind.

servant-girl

throbbed

go

pathway

whole

troubled

seized

fellow, waistcoat

sore, shook jumped nook

more

health, welfare

more careful

entirely

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.
A BALLAD.

DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
That Scot to Scot did carry;
And dire the discord Langside saw,
For beauteous hapless Mary:
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,
Or were more in fury seen, sir,

Than 'twixt Hal and Bob* for the famous job-
Who should be Faculty's Dean, sir.

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
Among the first was numbered;
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
Commandment tenth remembered.
Yet simple Bob the victory got,
And won his heart's desire;

Squire Hal besides had in this case
Pretensions rather brassy,

For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;

So their worships of the Faculty,

Quite sick of merit's rudeness,

Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,
To their gratis grace and goodness.

In your heretic sins may you live and die,
Ye heretic Eight-and-Thirty,
But accept, ye sublime majority,
My congratulations hearty.

With your Honours and a certain King
In your servants this is striking,

The more incapacity they bring,

The more they're to your liking.

THE HERMIT.

WRITTEN ON A MARBLE SIDEBOARD, IN THE HERMITAGE BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF ATHOLE, IN THE WOOD OF ABERFELDY.

WHOE'ER thou art, these lines now reading,

Think not, though from the world receding,

I joy my lonely days to lead in

This desert drear;

That fell remorse a conscience bleeding
Hath led me here.

No thought of guilt my bosom sours;
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers;

Henry Erskine and Robert Dundas. Dundas was chosen by a majority of 123 to 88 votes.