.

be seen,

.

Page.
No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 274
Now Nature hangs her mantle green,

172
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,

225
Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns, 155
O cam you here the fight to shun,

269
O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! 168
O had the malt thy strength of mind,

282
O leeze me on my spinning wheel,

245
O Luve will venture in where it daur na weel

248
O May, thy morn was ne'er so sweet,

256
O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 242
O my luve's like a red, red rose,

258
Oppress’d with grief, oppress'd with care, 99
O rough, rude, ready-witted R******,

146
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,

231
O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above! 118
O Thou great Being, what thou art,

115
O thou pale orb, that silent shines,

96
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend !
O Thou, unknown, almighty cause,

112
O thou, whatever title suit thee,

42
O Thou, who kindly dost provide,

292
O wat ye wha's in yon town,

257
O wha is she that loes me?

287
O were I on Parnassus' hill,

234
ye wha are sae guid yoursel,

67
Oye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 187
Raving winds around her blowing,

227
Rever'd defender of beauteous Stuart,

263
Right, sir! your text I'll

prove

41
Sad thy tale, thou idle page,

192
Scenes of woe, and scenes of pleasure,

293
Sensibility how charming,

292
She's fair and fause that causes my smart,

252
Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, 281
Sir, as your mandate did request,

276
Some books are lies frae end to end,
Stay, my charmer, can you leave me?

226
Stop, passenger! my story's brief,

171
Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,

199

116

it true,

24

.

.

Page.
The Catrine woods were yellow seen,

235
The day returns, my bosom burns,

233
The friend whom wild from wisdom's way, 284
The gloomy night is gath’ring fast,

160
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 233
The lovely lass o' Inverness,

255
The man, in life, wherever plac'd,

114
The poor man weeps, here G***n sleeps, 188
There was once a day, but old Time was then
young,

264
There was three kings into the east,

149
The simple bard, rough at the rustic plough, 30
The smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 253
The sun had clos'd the winter day,

59
The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 237
The wind blew hollow frae the hills,

176
The wintry west extends his blast,

101
They snool me sair, and haud me down, 245
Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling!

226
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,

280
This day, Time winds the exhausted chain, 271
Thou of an independent mind,

273
'Thou whom chance may hither lead,

165
Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,

178
***** To Crochallan came,

273
'Twas in that place o? Scotland's isle,

1
Turn again, thou fair Eliza,

247
Upon a simmer Sunday morn,

17
Upon that night, when fairies light,

74
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,

117
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,

87
What can a young lassie, what shall a young
lassie,

243
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,

89
When chapman billies leave the street,

179
When chill November's surly blast,

109
When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 293
When Guildford good our pilot stood,

151
Where, braving angry winter's storms,

230
Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,

254
While briers and woodbines budding green,

133

.

Page.
While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake,

137
While virgin spring, by Eden's flood,

186
While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw, 92
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,

187
Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? 112
Why, ye tenants of the lake,

196
Willie Wastle dwelt on Tweed,

250
Wilt thou be my dearie ?

251
With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,

63
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

249
Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires,

1

POEMS,

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH.

THE TWA DOGS.

A TALE.

'TWAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, Upon a bonnie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, Forgather'd ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar, Was keepit for his honour's pleasure : His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; But whalpit some place far abroad, Where sailors gang to fish for cod.

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar,
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar:
But though he was o’high degree,
The fient a pride na pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin.
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he was stan't, as glad to see him,
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie,
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,
Vol. III.

A