Here, hopeless here, in grim despair I lie,
Lash'd by the fierce, the growling midnight sky;
Far from the reach of any human aid,

Here, sunk in clay, my shivering limbs are laid;
And here my cares for ever will I close;
This night shall finish my long train of woes,
And some lone trav'ller, struck with dread remorse,
Start at the sight of my pale stiffen'd cor'se."
So said, he stretch'd him in the plashy clay,
Closed his fix'd eyes and bade adieu to day.

"And died he?" no! fate curs'd him still with breath, And ev'n withheld that gloomy blessing, death. He groan'd-and thrice, in agonizing strife, Unlock'd his eyes, but found he still had life. Mean-time along the road, in swift approach, Sudden advanced a furious rattling coach; The neighing steeds before the lashing whip, Loud clattering, flew adown the rapid steep. Our hero heard, and starting all aghast, Aside himself, and trailing budget cast,

While harsh, the huge machine shot loud rethundering past.

Then raising up his load, in sullen state,
Resolved no more to curse resisting fate;
A distant light appear'd from some lone cot,
And thither joy'd, his way he plodding sought;
Was kindly welcomed to their homely fare;
Hung o'er the hearth, and talk'd away his care.

From this, my friend, one maxim you may glean, Ne'er of misfortunes grudgingly complain; Boldly to struggle, shows a courage bright, For none but cowards sink beneath the weight, And those who gain fame, fortune, or the fair, Rise o'er despondence, and contemn despair.

Second Epistle to Mr. James Dobie.

Edinburgh,

WHILE rains are blatt'ring frae the south,

And down the lozens seeping,

And hens in mony a cauld closs-mouth,

Wi' hinging tails are dreeping,

The Muse and me,

Wi' friendly glee,

Hae laid our heads thegither,

Some rhyme to pen,

Syne bauldly sen'

To you the jingling blether.

Auld Reekie for this month and mair,
Has held me in her bosom ;

Her streets a' streaming like a fair,

Wi' mony a beauteous blossom;

Their bosoms whilk,

Seen through the silk,

Heav'd up sae blest uneven,

Maist gars me swear,

To tempt us here

Jove drapt them down frae heaven.

Here strutting wi' their glitt'ring boots,
And fluttering a' wi' ruffles,

The coxcomb keen to rax his boots,
Alang the plainstanes shuffles :

Wi' sweet perfumes,

Like apple blooms,

He fills the air aroun';

His hale employ,

How to enjoy

The pleasures of the town.

Fair as the gay enrapt'ring Nine,
That tread the famed Parnassus,

And ranged in mony a glorious line,

Appear the bouncing lasses;

Whase shape, adzooks!

And killing looks,

And claes like e'ening cluds,

Wad hermits fire

Wi' fond desire,

To leave their caves and woods.

Here mony a wight frae mony a place,
At mony an occupation,
Exhibits mony a groosome face,

In hurrying consternation;

Some shaking bells,

Some hammering stells,

Some cobblin' shoon in cloysters;

66

Here coaches whirling,

There fish-wives skirling,

Whay'll buy my cauler oysters?”

But, see yon dismal form that louts,
Black crawling owre a midding,
Thrang scarting cinders up, and clouts,
That i' the awse lie hidden;

While round her lugs,

Poor starving dogs,

Glowre fierce wi' hungry gurle;

She wi' a clash

O' dirt or awse,

Begins a horrid quarrel.

Sic creatures dauner auld and clung,
Whan morning rises gawsey;

And mony a hutch o' human dung

Lies skinkling owre the cawsey:

Out-through't wat shod,
I've aften trod,

Some tubfu' down might thun'er.

O shocking theme! but, sir, to you
I leave the moralizing,

Ye hae the pictures in your view
Mair orthodox than pleasing.

Farewell a wee;

Lang may ye be

Wi' fortune blest in season,

Within your arms

To clasp the charms

That kings wad joy to gaze on.

Invocation.

BRIGHT Phœbus had left his meridian height,

And downwards was stealing serene,

The meadows breathed odour, and slowly the night Was sadd'ning the midsummer scene;

When down from his garret, where many a long day Hard poverty held the poor sinner,

A pale tattered poet pursued his lone way,

To lose thought of care-and of dinner.

The lark high in air warbled out her sweet notes, The cuckoo was heard from the hill;

Each thicket re-echo'd with musical throats,

And gay glanced the murmuring rill.

Enrapt with the prospect, the bard gazed around, Where Flora her treasures had wasted,

Thrice smote his full breast-raised his eyes from the ground,

And thus great Apollo requested:

"O thou who o'er Heaven's empyrean height,
Swift whirls on the chariot of day;

Thou father of music, thou fountain of light,
Propitiously hear while I pray.

Let no surly clouds, I beseech thee, let none
The mild, lucid hemisphere rise in,

Till down to the verge of old ocean thou'rt gone,
And Thetis receives thee rejoicing.

With bright'ning ideas my fancy inspire,
To wing the Parnassian mountain;

Ye thrice sacred Nine, your kind aid I require,
To taste of the ravishing fountain.

Breathe softer, kind zephyrs, oh! pity my clothes,
Nor rave so"-thus far flow'd his song,

For low'ring and dismal the horizon rose,
And clouds roll'd tumultuous along.

The birds all affrighted shrunk mute from the spray,
Hoarse murm'rings were heard from the river;
A black horrid gloom overspread the sad day,
And made our poor poet to shiver.

Swift full in his face the dread flaming ball flash'd, Down rush'd a fierce torrent of rain;

And loud o'er his head grumbling thunder-bolts crash'd,

Re-bellowing from earth back amain.

Beneath an old hedging for shelter he crawl'd,

And clung by a shooting of birch;

Crash went the weak branch, and the wretch, while

he bawl'd,

At once tumbled squash in the ditch.