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ter;

With arch-alacrity and conscious glee
(Nature may have her whim as well as we,
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it)
She forms the thing, and christens it-a poet.
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow,
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow.
A being form'd t'amuse his graver friends,
Admir'd and prais'd-and there the homage
ends:

A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife.
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life;
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give,
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live:
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan,
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own.

But honest nature is not quite a Turk, She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work.

Pitying the propless climber of mankind,
She cast about a standard tree to find;
And, to support his helpless woodbine state,
Attach'd him to the generous truly great,
A title, and the only one I claim,

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous
Graham,

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, Weak, timid landmen on life's stormy main! Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff, That never gives--tho' humbly takes enough;

The little fate allows, they share as soon, Unlike sage, proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon.

The world were blest did bless on them depend,

Ah, that the friendly e'er should want a friend!"

Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son,
Who life and wisdom at one race begun,
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule,
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool!)
Who make poor will do wait upon I should-
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're
good?

Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye!
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy!
But come ye who the godlike pleasure know,
Heaven's attribute distinguish'd-to bestow!
Whose arms of love would grasp the human

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Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows,

Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.
Mark, how their lofty independent spirit
Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit!
Seek not the proofs in private life to find;
So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song
Pity the best of words should be but wind!

ascends,

But grovelling on the earth the carol ends.
In all the clam'rous cry of starving want,
They dun benevolence with shameless front;
Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays,
They persecute you all your future days!
Ere my poor soul such deep damuation stain,
My horny fist assumes the plough again;
The piebald jacket let me patch once more;
On eighteen-pence a week, I've liv'd before.
Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that

last shift,

I trust meantime my boon is in thy gift:
That plac'd by thee upon the wish d-for height,
Where, man and nature fairer in her sight,
My muse may imp her wing for some sublim-
er flight.*

*This is our Poet's first epistle to Graham of Fin try. It is not equal to the second; but it contains too much of the characteristic vigour of its author to be sup pressed. A little more knowledge of natural history. or of chemistry, was wanted to enable him to execute

the original conception correctly.

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I hae a wife and twa wee laddies,

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ;

And think human nature they truly describe;

Have you found this, or t'other? there's more

in the wind,

As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll

find.

*Mr. Heron, author of the History of Scotland, and of various other works.

G

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Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit,

Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, Το you the dotard has a deal to say,

In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way! He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,

That the first blow is ever half the battle; That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him;

Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him; That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing You may do miracles by persevering.

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care! To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, And humbly begs you'll mind the importantnow!

To crown your happiness he asks your leave, And offers, bliss to give and to receive.

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours;

And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

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"You're one year older this important day," If wiser too-he hinted some suggestion, But twould be rude, you know, to ask the

question;

OF MONBoddo.

LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,
As that which laid the accomplish'd Burnet
low.

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown
As by his noble work the Godhead best is

known.

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves; Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens;
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes
stor'd;

And with a would-be-roguish leer and wink.
He bade me on you press this one word-Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,

think!"

To you I fly, ve with my soul accord.

Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their | Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy

worth, Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail? And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth, And not a muse in honest grief bewail?

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres ;

But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide,

Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care!

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree, So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.

foe,

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