VERSES

INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOW A NOBLE EARL'S PICTURE.

WHOSE is that noble, dauntless brow?
And whose that eye of fire?

And whose that generous princely mien
Even rooted foes admire?

Stranger, to justly shew that brow,
And mark that eye of fire,

Would take His hand, whose vernal tints
His other works inspire.

Bright as a cloudless summer sun,
With stately port he moves;
His guardian seraph eyes with awe
The noble ward he loves.

Among the illustrious Scottish sons
That chief thou may'st discern,
Mark Scotia's fond returning eye,-
It dwells upon Glencairn.

ΙΟ

SKETCH.

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
And still his precious self his dear delight;
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets:
A man of fashion too, he made his tour,
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, and vive l'amour;
So travell❜d monkeys their grimace improve,
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love!
Much specious lore, but little understood;
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood :
His solid sense-by inches you must tell,
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell;
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend,

Still making work his selfish craft must mend.

10

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY,

ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR.

I CALL no Goddess to inspire my strains,
A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that feigns;
Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns,
And all the tribute of my heart returns,
For boons recorded, goodness ever new,
The gift still dearer as the giver you.
Thou orb of day! thou other paler light!
And all ye many sparkling stars of night!
If aught that giver from my mind efface;
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace;
Then roll to me, along your wand'ring spheres,
Only to number out a villain's years!

I lay my hand upon my swelling breast,
And grateful would, but cannot, speak the rest.

IMPROMPTU, ON MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTHDAY,
IN NOVEMBER.

OLD Winter, with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr❜d-
'What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?
My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags, dreary slow;
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English hanging, drowning.
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil,
To counterbalance all this evil;
Give me, and I've no more to say,
Give me Maria's natal day!

That brilliant gift will so enrich me,

Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me.' 'Tis done!' says Jove; so ends my story, And Winter once rejoic'd in glory.

10

TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL.

EXTEMPORE LINES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER.

YOUR News and Review, Sir, I've read through and through, Sir,

With little admiring or blaming;

The papers are barren of home-news or foreign,
No murders or rapes worth the naming.

Our friends the Reviewers, those chippers and hewers,
Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir;

But of meet or unmeet in a fabric complete,
I'll boldly pronounce they are none, Sir.

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness
Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet;

Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun,
And then all the world, Sir, should know it!

'IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE.'

In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer,
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear
;
Above that world on wings of love I rise,
I know its worst-and can that worst despise.
'Wrong'd, injured, shunn'd, unpitied, unredrest,
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest-'
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall,
Clarinda, rich reward, o'erpays them all!

'THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE.'

THOUGH fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me,
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill;
Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me,
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.
I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able,
But if success I must never find,

Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.

'I BURN, I BURN.'

'I BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne.'
Now raving-wild, I curse that fatal night;

Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight.
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose :

Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foes;
In vain religion meets my sinking eye;

I dare not combat-but I turn and fly;

Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallow'd fire;
Love grasps his scorpions-stifled they expire!
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne,
Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone :
Each thought intoxicated homage yields,
And riots wanton in forbidden fields !

By all on high adoring mortals know!
By all the conscious villain fears below!
By your dear self!-the last great oath I swear;
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear!

10

TRAGIC FRAGMENT.

ALL devil as I am, a damned wretch,
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain,
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;
And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs

I view the helpless children of distress.
With tears indignant I behold th' oppressor
Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction,
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.
Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you;
Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity;
Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds,
Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin.
O but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends,
I had been driven forth like you forlorn,
The most detested, worthless wretch among you!
O injur'd God! Thy goodness has endow'd me
With talents passing most of my compeers,
Which I in just proportion have abus'd,
As far surpassing other common villains,

As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more.

ΙΟ

20

THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND.

CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell.
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart:
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch.

ΙΟ