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.

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.

1

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,