POEMS.

Winter.

A DIRGE.

HE wintry west extends his blast,

THE

And hail and rain does blaw;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth

The blinding sleet and snaw;

While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

And roars frae bank to brae;

And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,

The joyless winter-day

Let others fear,-to me more dear

Than all the pride of May:

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil,

Here firm I rest-they must be best,

Because they are Thy Will !

Then all I want (O do Thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign!

B

JO

15

20

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death.

THOU unknown Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wandered in those paths

Of life I ought to shun

As something loudly in my breast

Remonstrates I have done

Thou know'st that Thou hast formèd me

With passions wild and strong;

And list'ning to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.

5

ΙΟ

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty stept aside,

Do Thou, All-Good!-for such Thou art

15

In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have

But-Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie.

S Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,

As

Was ae day nibblin on the tether,
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
An' owre she warsled in the ditch:
There, groanin, dying, she did lie,
When Hughoc he cam' doytin by.

20

5

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's,

Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's;

He saw her days were near-hand ended,
But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it!

He gaped wide, but naething spak.
At length poor Mailie silence brak.
'O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case!
My dying words attentive hear,
An' bear them to my Master dear.
'Tell him, if e'er again he keep
As muckle gear as buy a sheep,
Oh, bid him never tie them mair

Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,

An' let them wander at their will;
So may his flock increase, an' grow

To scores o' lambs an' packs o' woo' !

'Tell him, he was a master kin',

10

15

20

25

An' aye was guid to me an' mine;

An' now my dying charge I gie him,

6

My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him.

Oh, bid him save their harmless lives Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! But gie them guid cow-milk their fill,

Till they be fit to fend themsel';

An' tent them duly e'en an' morn,

Wi' teats o' hay, an' rips o' corn.

30

'An' may they never learn the gates

35

Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets

To slink thro' slaps, an' reave, an' steal

At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail.