Now, Clootie, loup and shake your rump, Nae mair ye'll need at night to watch him, Grim glowrin' by some auld tree-stump,

And rattlin' airns in vain to catch him.

Nae mair need ye in corp-like shape,
Aneath the midnight moon lie streeket;
Nor wi' lang clauts, like ony graip,

Wauk through his bield, and doors a' steeket.

Whiles, like a cat, ye'd tread his skelf,
And range amang his plates and bannocks;
Whiles rumlin' owre his box't-up pelf,
Or chappin' awsome at his winnocks.

But a' your schemes, and a' your plots,

And a' the midnight frights ye lent him And a' the fear o' tyning notes,

Was naething, till a wife ye sent him.

"A Wife! a curse!" (quo' John, in rage,
Soon as his tickling heat abated,)
“A black, bare whore, to vex my age!"
He said, he girn't, swore, and regretted.

His dearie, glad o' siccan routh,

To mill a note was aye right ready : Aft she wad kiss his toothless mouth, While John keen ca'd her his ain lady.

When in the bed, (whare a' fouks gree)

And John laid soun' wi' Venus' capers,
She raise-lowst frae his breeks the key,
Slade up the lid, and poucht the papers.

This pass't a wee, till roused he ran,
He visited his cash,—his heav'n;
He coudna see, but trem'lin' fan'
A yearly income frae him riv'n.

;

O then what tortures tare his soul!

He groan'd, he spat, he glowrt, he shor'd out; Then rais't a most tremendous growl,

Sunk by the box, and desperate roar'd out:

"My soul-my all-my siller's fled!

Fled wi' a base confounded limmer!

O grief o' griefs! alake, my head!

My head rins roun', my een grow dimmer.

Wi' meikle, meikle faught and care,
And mony a lang night's fell vexation,
I toil'd, and watch'd to keep it there,

And now I'm left in black starvation.

My meal, like snaw afore the sin,

It's aye ga'n doon and aye beginning, Lade after lade she orders in,

And than for trash she's ever rinning.

A' day she'll drink and flyte and roar,
A' night she tears me wi' her talons,
And g gin I crawl but frae the door
I'm hunted hame wi' dogs and callans.

My sons, wi' chan'ler chasts gape roun',
To rive my gear, my siller frae me;
While lice and fleas, and vermin brown,
Thrang in my sarks, eternal flae me.

Ye precious remnants! curst to me;
Ye dearest gifts to John e'er given,
Wi' you I've lived, wi' you I'll die,
Wi' you I'll gang to H-ll or Heaven."

He spak'; and on the vera spot,

Ramt goud and notes, wi' trem❜ling hurry, In han'fu's down his gorged-up throat,

While blude lap frae his een in fury.

I saw wi' dread, and ran my lane,

To clear his throat and ease his breathing; But ere I reach't he gied a grane,

And lifeless lay alang the leathing.

A Morning Abbenture.

To hail sweet Morn, and trace the woody shore,
Where foaming Calder pours his rapid stream,
His high-hung banks, and tott'ring cliffs t' explore,
And gloomy caves, unknown to Sol's fair beam.

Three youthful swains the adjoining village left,
Ere from a chimney roll'd the lazy smoke,
Ere the lone street of silence was bereft,
Or pale-eyed morning to the view had broke.
Along a winding path they kept their way,
Where trees, embracing, hung a solemn shade;
Pass'd the old mill o'ergrown with shaggy hay,
And gain'd the summit of a rising glade.

Now, from the east, the faintly dawning morn,
With op'ning smile, adorn'd the dewy mead;
The blackbird whistled from the blooming thorn,
And early shepherd tuned his rural reed.

Gray mists were hov'ring round the mountain's brow; Through the still air murmur'd the riv'let near; The fields were glitt'ring in the morning's glow; And sweetest music thrill'd the ravish'd ear.

Smit with the charms of song, Philander stood, To hear his art by each small throat outdone; While Damon view'd the stream, grim rocks and wood,

And snatch'd the pencil to make all his own.

D

Beneath a rev'rend oak Alexis hung,

His drooping head half on his hand reclined; Borne on the Muse's wing, his soul had sprung, And left the languid, listless form behind.

Where now was Care, that gloomy, glaring fiend,
The wealthy's horror and the poor man's pain,
Who bids fierce passions tear the trembling mind,
And wakes his gnawing, his infernal train.

Fled was the spectre to some statesman's breast,
Some raving lover, or some miser's cell;
Nought now appear'd but made them inly blest,
And all around conspired their joys to swell.

Hail, happy swains! involved in rapt'rous thought,
Oh! could I leave you thus, and truly say,
That here, in peace, fair nature's charms you sought,
And thus, enrapt, you pass'd the morn away.

But truth compels, nor dare I hide your fate,

My trembling hand she guides to tell your doom,

How oft, alas! on mirth does mis'ry wait,

How oft is sunshine sunk in deepest gloom!

As on the airy steep they silent lay,

The murm'ring river foaming far below,
Young Damon's dog, as round he ranged for prey,
By some stern bull insulted, seiz'd the foe.

As when in dead of night, on the dark main,
Two en'mies meet, and awful silence keep,
Sparkles the match! then peals and cries of pain,
Arouse the night, and growl along the deep.

So burst loud roarings through the affrighted sky,
Firm Roger hung, fix'd by his nostrils deep;
Loud swell'd the war, till, from the margin high,
Both whirl'd down headlong o'er the enormous

steep.

O

How look'd our youths! they heard the thund'ring

sound,

Dash'd in the vale they saw the heroes laid; Whole crowds of rustics rudely gath'ring round, Alarm'd they saw, and through the bushes fled.

Day-Break.

SCENE-THE TOWN.

Now darkness blackens a' the streets;
The rowan e'e nae object meets,

Save yon cauld cawsey lamp,

That has survived the dreary night,
And lanely beams wi' blinking light,
Right desolate and damp.

Fore-doors and winnocks still are steeket,

M

And cats, wi' silent step, and sleeket,

Watch whare the rattons twirl;
Or met in yards, like squads o' witches,
Rive ither's hair out wi' their clutches,
An' screech wi' eldritch skirl.

Now mony a ane secure frae harm,
Lies row't in blankets snug and warm,
Amused wi' gowden dreams;

While ithers scart their sides and lugs,

Tormented wi' infernal bugs,

Thick swarming frae the seams.

Some sunk amid their kimmers' arms,
Are hugging matrimonial charms,

In bliss and rapture deep;

Some turning, curse the greeting wight
For skirling a' the live-long night,

And keeping them frae sleep.