While Autumn, benefactor kind, While maniac Winter rages o'er The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 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. O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, The pitying heart that felt for human wo; 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 ON A FRIEND. AN honest man here lies at rest, 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, 'Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, But, with a frater-feeling strong, Is there a man whose judgment clear, Here pause, The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, But thoughtless follies laid him low, Reader, attend-whether thy soul 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 o' meikle love, And ward o' monie a pray'r, What heart o' stane wad thou na move, November hirples o'er the lea, And gane, alas! the shelt'ring tree, May He who gives the rain to pour, May He, the friend of wo and want, But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, Fair on the summer morn; Unshelter'd and forlorn. Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, Unscath'd by ruffian hand; And from thee many a parent stem 1 LINES ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT, A WILE WHY, ye tenants of the lake, Conscious, blushing for our race, Would be lord of all below; Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, Tyrant stern to all beside. The eagle from the cliffy brow, |