CALEDONIA.

THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young,
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
From some of your northern deities sprung,
(Who knows not that brave Caledonia 's divine?)
From Tweed to the Orcadès was her domain,
To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would:
Her heavenly relations there fixèd her reign,
And pledged her their godheads to warrant it good.
A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,

The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew;
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore-
'Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!'
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort,

Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn. Long quiet she reigned; till thitherward steers

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand; Repeated, successive, for many long years

They darkened the air and they plundered the land; Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They'd conquered and ruined a world beside: She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly,

The daring invaders they fled or they died. The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north,

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore! The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore:

O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevailed;
No hearts could appease them, no arms could repel:

But brave Caledonia in vain they assailed,

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.

The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose,
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;
Provoked beyond bearing, at last she arose,

And robbed him at once of his hopes and his life: The Anglian lion, the terror of France,

Oft prowling, ensanguined the Tweed's silver flood;
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance,
He learned to fear in his own native wood.

Thus bold, independent, unconquered, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run:
For brave Caledonia immortal must be;

I'll

prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun :Rectangle-triangle the figure we'll choose;

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse;

Then ergo, she 'll match them, and match them always.

WELCOME TO GENERAL DUMOURIER.

YOU'RE Welcome to despots, Dumourier;
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier.
How does Dampierre do?

Ay, and Bournonville too?

Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier?
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;
I will fight France with you,

I will take my chance with you;
By my soul, I'll dance a dance with

you,

Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,

Till freedom's spark is out,

Dumourier.

Then we'll be damned, no doubt, Dumourier.

IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY?

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden grey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that:
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A king can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might-
Guid faith he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that;

The pith o' sense and pride o' worth
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

BONNIE PEG-A-RAMSAY.

CAULD is the e'enin' blast
O' Boreas o'er the pool,
And dawin it is dreary

When birks are bare at Yule.

O cauld blaws the e'enin' blast
When bitter bites the frost,
And in the mirk and dreary drift
The hills and glens are lost.

Ne'er sae murky blew the night
That drifted o'er the hill,

But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay
Gat grist to her mill.

O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET?

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet?

Or art thou wakin', I would wit?

For love has bound me hand and foot,

And I would fain be in, jo.

O, let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
For pity's sake this ae night;
O, rise and let me in, jo.

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, Nae star blinks through the driving sleet; Tak pity on my weary feet,

And shield me frae the rain, jo.

The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.

HER ANSWER.

O TELL na me o' wind and rain!
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain!
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo.

I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
And ance for a' this ae night,
I winna let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wanderer pours,
Is nocht to what poor she endures
That's trusted faithless man, jo.

The sweetest flower that decked the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed:

Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.

The bird that charmed his summer-day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey:
Let witless, trusting woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.