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While Autumn, benefactor kind,

By Tweed erects his aged head,
And sees, with self-approving mind,

Each creature on his bounty fed ;

While maniac Winter rages o'er

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows:

So long, sweet poet of the year,

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; While Scotia, with exulting tear,

Proclaims that Thomson was her son !

EPITAPH

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

Oye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains,

Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend; Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,

The tender father, and the gen'rous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human wo;

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe,

“For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."

Goldsmith

FOR R. A., ESQ.

Know thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much lov’d, much honor'd name;
(For none that knew him need be told,)
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold.

ON A FRIEND.

An honest man here lies at rest,
As e'er God with his image blest;
The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The friend of age, the guide of youth:
Few hearts, like his, with virtue warm’d,
Few heads with knowledge so inform’d;
If there's another world, he lives in bliss ;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

Is there a whim-inspir’d fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,

Let him draw near:

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

And drap a tear.

'Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng,

O, pass not by! But, with a frater-feeling strong,

Here heave a sigh.

Is there a man whose judgment clear,
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave;
Here pause, — and, thro’ the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below
Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame;
But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stain'd his name!

Reader, attend — whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkly grubs this earthly hole,

In low pursuit;
Know, prudent, cautious self-control

Is wisdom's root

VERSES

ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN IN

PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS.

SWEET flowret, pledge of meikle love,

And ward o' monie a pray'r,
What heart o stane wad thou na move,

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!

November hirples o'er the lea,

Chill on thy lovely form;
And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree,

Should shield thee frae the storm.

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May He who gives the rain to pour,

And wings the blast to blaw,
Protect thee frae the driving show'r,

The bitter frost and snaw !

May He, the friend of wo and want,

Who heals life's various stounds,
Protect and guard the mother-plant,

And heal her cruel wounds.

But late she flourish’d, rooted fast,

Fair on the summer morn;
Now, feebly bends she in the blast,

Unshelter'd and forlorn.

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Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,

Unscath’d by ruffian hand;
And from thee many a parent stem
Arise to deck our land.

LINES

ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT, A WILD

SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OUGATERTYRE.

Why, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your watry haunt forsake ?
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly ?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free !
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, .
Busy feed or wanton lave;
Or, beneath the shelt'ring rock,
Bide the surging billow's shock.

Conscious, blushing for our race,
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace;
Man, your proud, usurping foe,
Would be lord of all below;
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,
Tyrant stern to all beside.

The eagle from the cliffy brow,
Marking you, his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels;
But man, to whom alone is giv'n
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n,

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