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SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
WITH THE FOREGOING POEM.
Thou who thy honor as thy God rever’st,
THICKEST night o'erhangs my dwelling!
Howling tempests o'er me rave!
Still surround my lonely cave.
Crystal streamlets gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Suit not my distracted mind.
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honor's war we strongly waged,
But the Heavens denied success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend;
But a world without a friend !
THE CHEVALIER’S LAMENT.
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning ;
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale :
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care ?
No flow'rs gayly springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.
The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice,
A king and a father to place on his throne ? His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.
But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn, --
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot, bloody trial.
THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE
“ Roslin Castle.”
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
The Autumn mourns her rip’ning corn
'Tis not the surging billows' roar,
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
Farewell! old Coila's hills and dales,
FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.
SCENES of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew, Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
Bonie Doon, sae sweet and gloamin,
Fare thee weel before I gang! Bonie Doon, whare, early roaming,
First I weav'd the rustic sang !
Bow’rs, adieu, whare Love, decoying,
First inthrall’d this heart o' mine, There the safest sweets enjoying,
Sweets that Mem’ry ne'er shall tyne !
Friends, so near my bosom ever,
Ye hae render'd moments dear
But, alas ! when forc'd to sever,
Then the stroke, O how severe !
Friends! that parting tear, reserve it,
Tho' 'tis doubly dear to me;
How much happier would I be!
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Now a sad and last adieu !
THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST.
JAMES’S LODGE, TARBOLTON.
ADIEU! a heart-warm, fond adieu!
Dear brothers of the mystic tye!
Companions of my social joy!
Pursuing fortune's sliddery ba',
I'll mind you still, tho’ far awa'.
Oft have I met your social band,
And spent the cheerful, festive night;