ter; With arch-alacrity and conscious glee A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife. 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, To lay strong hold for help on bounteous 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, Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye! Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. ascends, But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. last shift, I trust meantime my boon is in thy gift: *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. 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 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. "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, Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 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; And with a would-be-roguish leer and wink. 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, |