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Half-drown'd with the deluge, and frozen with fear, Apollo's mad vot'ry thus splutter'd ;

"Thou deaf, saucy scoundrel! why did'st thou not hear

The kind invocation I utter'd?

And you, ye curs'd Nine! I detest your each form,
Rank cheats ye're I know, nor shall hide it;
For those who won't shield a bare bard from the storm,
Can ne'er lend him wings to avoid it.”

So said to the village he scamper'd along,
Poor wretch, with a petrified conscience;
His prayers unanswer'd—his appetite strong,
And all his attempts gone to nonsense.

To the Famishing Bard,

FROM A BROTHER SKELETON.

Is there no patron to protect the Muse,
And hedge for her Parnassus' barren soil?

ALOFT to high Parnassus' hill,

THOMSON.

I heard thy prayer ascending swift;
And are the Nine propitious still
To grant thy wish, and send the gift?
Has kind Apollo made a shift,

To roll down from his kitchen high

A sirloin huge-a smoking lift,
To feed thy keen devouring eye?

If so, O much respected swain!

Thou'rt surely Phoebus' fav'rite bard;
Thy glitt'ring blade in fatness stain,
No more complain thy lot is hard;

E

O

Ο

And while the juice besmears thy beard,
And plumps thy meagre cor'se again,
Think what's their case who ne'er have shared
Such bliss, but pray and yawn in vain.

Yet, if regardless of thy strains,

The strumpets scorn to lend an ear—
Bestow upon thy caput brains,

But stern refuse thy belly cheer;
If through thy hollow trunk thou hear,
Oft as the steam of dinner soars,
Remurm'ring sounds of croaking fear,
And melancholy quer'lous roars.

If oft on cheerless Winter's morn,

Thou spends with thought the shiv'ring hour,
In solitary state forlorn,

Like Cruickston or the Stanley tower;
While from thy half-clad sides the shower

Of lashing rain or hail rebound,

And free thy issuing toes explore
Each miry creek, and kiss the ground.

If ills like these, for these are mine,
Attend thee like thy shadow close,
Know, E-n, that the nymphs divine,
From whom our song continual flows,
We call them blushing as the rose,
Endearing sweet, enrapt'ring fair;
They scorn for nought to take the dose,
So pay us back in sterling air.

If thou must eat, ferocious bard!
Elsewhere importune for a dinner;
Long thou may pray here, nor be heard,
And praying makes thee but the thinner.

Do like the lank, lean, ghostly sinner,
That here presumes to give advice,
Ne'er court the Muse for meat-to win her,
E'en starve, and glory in the price.
Apollo knows that three long weeks,

And pale the prospect yet appears,

On crusts of hard brown bread and leeks,
I've lived, and may for rolling years;
Yet still the Muse most kindly cheers
Each craving day and yawning night,
Soft whisp'ring ever in my ears,

"Be Fame thy belly's chief delight."
Through future ages then thy name,
The immortal goddess shall preserve;
Be this thy dear, thy envied claim,

For this extend thy ev'ry nerve;

And should that world thou strains to serve,
A ling'ring carcase food refuse,
Contemn their baseness, boldly starve,
And die a martyr for the Muse.

More consolation I might pour,

But, hark! the tempest, how it blows!
The inconstant blast, with thund'ring roar
O'er chimney tops more furious grows.
The winter drop, prone from my nose,
Hangs glist'ring in the candle's}beam,

And want and sleep's uniting throes,
Here force me to forsake my theme.

Epistle to Mr. T. Wotherspoon.

FROM Fife's rugged shore, where old ocean loud bellows,

And lofty Weyms' castlea looks down o'er the main,

a The beautiful seat of William Wemys, Esq., member of Parliament for the County of Fife.

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From midst an old hut of some poor fisher fellows,
Accept of these lines from the pedlar again.
For never again shall he chant through the bushes,
That wave over Calder or Cartha's pure stream,
Despair and distraction have murder'd his wishes,
And all his fond hopes are dispersed to a dream.

In vain o'er old Scotia, a stranger he travels,

The huge smoky city or hamlet's the same;
Here ignorance dozes, or proud grandeur revels,
And poets may starve, and be d-n'd now, for
them.

So, dear Tom, farewell! and each cheerful compa

nion,

With sorrow, I bid you a long sad adieu;

Some far distant country for life I'll remain in,
Where Mem'ry will weep while she hovers o'er

you.

So kind you have been to the fortuneless poet,
Through all the harsh stages of life he's been in,
That gratitude throbs in his bosom to show it,

Yet where shall the Muse to relate them begin. When gloomy brow'd Want, to attack my poor dwelling,

With fury advanced and merciless glare,

Your goodness dispatched the fiend loudly yelling, And snatched me to peace from the jaws of Despair.

When fortune propitiously seemed to assist me,

You leapt at the prospect and shared in my bliss ; When all these evanished and horror distressed me,

You lulled every passion and soothed me to peace. And shall I forget you? No, rave on thou tempest!

Misfortune! here pour all thy rage on my head; Though foaming with fury, around thou encampest, 'Tis friendship alone that shall force me to bleed.

Though joy from thy talk I will ne'er again borrow, Though fond, on thy face I shall never gaze more; Yet Heaven one day will relieve us from sorrow, And join us again on a happier shore.

Then, farewell, my friend, and my dearest companion,

With tears I now bid you a final adieu;

Some far distant country for life I'll remain on, Where Mem'ry shall weep while she hovers o'er you.

Happiness, an Ede.

AH! dark and dreary lowers the night,
The rocking blasts, the flashing light,
Unusual horrors form!

Unhappy he, who nightly braves
The fury of surrounding waves
Amid this dreadful storm.

And yet, though far remote from shore,
Though loud the threatening tempest roar,
And heave the yawning deep,

Hope cheers each breast, that future winds,
Shall waft them peaceful to their friends,
To comfort those that weep.

Not so with me! distrest, forlorn,

Still doomed to weep from night to morn,
My life a chain of woes.

The past, regret the present, care;
The future, black with grim despair,
Till earth shall o'er me close.

How happy they, who blest with health,
And all the generous joys that wealth,
Unstained with sadness, give;

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