Advanced, grim threat'ning, to deform those plains, Where wealth and peace and boundless commerce reigns,
Blest be the arm that scourged him from our shore, And bade our hopes to blossom as before.
The warrior sheathed in steel and drenched in blood,
May scatter death where towns and hamlets stood,
May see around the flaming horrors rise,
And hear, well pleased, expiring wretches' cries;
These to his savage bosom may convey
A short-lived joy that darkens with the day;
But he, whose gracious and assisting hand
Spreads wealth and pleasure o'er a smiling land;
Bids cities rise, internal troubles cease,
And pours the balm of liberty and peace.
To him the peasant, whistling o'er the soil,
The yellow fields, the reapers' rustling toil,
The noisy bustling town, the crowded port,
Where mingling nations with their stores resort.
These to his heart a tide of rapture roll,
That warms, sublimes, and dignifies the soul.
To you, M'Dowal, whose unbounded heart
Exults, to all, those blessings to impart ;
To you each bosom heaves with grateful sighs,
For you the warmest of our wishes rise;
That Heaven, indulgent, may for ever shed
Health, peace and pleasure round your honoured head, Long, long to rise amid your humble swains,
The hope, the guard, and glory of our plains.
ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE SAILOR AND LOUSE.
HAIL! thou whose great aspiring soul
Can range no doubt from pole to pole,
Creation's ample house,
Yet deigns to memorate the name,
And roll in the records of fame,
Thy bosom foe a-Louse.
Transporting bard! how didst thou light
On such a tale to fire thy sight,
Such beauties to express?
How couldst thou to our raptured view,
Discover such a scene? so new !-
Forgive me if I guess.
Perhaps in some dark, dirty den,
Long had'st thou pined and chewed thy pen, When, wond'rous inspiration!
The gray inhabitants of hair,
That itched thee ceaseless here-and-there,
Claimed all thy contemplation.
Impatient to be found in verse,
Around thy hulk, thick-thronged and fierce,
The restless creatures hurried,
Till thou for want of nobler theme,
Was forced to immortalize their name,
On pain of being worried.
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE SPANIEL, MALICIOUSLY
How soon are blessings snatched away!
Our friends around us smile to-day,
But oft ere morning's early ray,
Salute the shore;
We see them stretched, pale, lifeless clay,
To please no more!
Poor Cupid! fondest friend I knew;
To me, how kind! how matchless true!
Whose frolics oft my laughter drew,
Though grief deprest,
By Death's envenomed steel pierced through,
Has breathed his last.
But had the traitor void of art,
Produced the death denouncing dart,
And calmly aimed it at his heart,
Still panting warm;
One piteous look had staid the smart,
And fixed his arm.
Yet think not since his debt is paid,
I mourn the dear departed shade;
No 'neath yon apple-tree he's laid,
To rise again;
Nor shall the youth or infant maid,
Escape his pain.
Each year when Spring her reign resumes,
Then Cupid from his bed of glooms,
Shall spread the scarlet-tinctured blooms,
In glorious view,
While bees amid the rich perfumes,
Rove murm'ring through.
When Autumn comes serene and slow,
And ruddy berries clustering glow,
When with ripe fruit the loadened bough,
Bends to the swaird,
Then Cupid swells the loveliest show,
In Johnny's yard.
And though in apples now he rise,
Yet swift and keen his arrow flies;
For soon as e'er your ravished eyes
Gaze on his growth,
The blushing cheek and wond'rous size,
Would bless your mouth.
To a Sealed Letter.
Now little folded pregnant leaf,
On thee for once my joy, my grief,
My hopes and fears await;
Now shall misfortune cease to growl,
Or black despair assault my soul,
And fix my hapless fate.
Oh! may some angel, guardian aid!
In robes celestial, sweet arrayed,
Unknown, unseen descend,
And while thou opens on his eyes,
Soft whisper the poor poet's sighs,
And bid him be a friend.
Then shall the Muse outstretch her wing,
And fired with joy exulting sing
The bounty of the giver;
Yet if stern Fortune so ordain,
That all my flatt'ring hopes are vain,
Here, sorrow! dwell for ever.
On a Departed Drunkard.
BORIO lies beneath this table,
Bacchus, view the sight and weep;
Spite of all thy art was able,
Porter's lulled him fast asleep.
Silent now the tongue of thunder,
Dormant lies the arm of brass,
Every sentence sunk our wonder,
Every action crowned the ass.
Morpheus! curse on thy intruding,
Blest was he ere thou appeared;
Snuff in vain 'gainst thy deluding,
All his fiery forces reared.
See! he wakes his eye-lids glimmer_
He struggles, faultering, to get free;
Ah! he sinks-come, push the brimmer,
Jolly god! 'twixt thee and me.
OCCASIONED BY SEEING TWO MEN SAWING TIMBER IN THE
OPEN FIELD, IN DEFIANCE OF A FURIOUS STORM.
My friends, for G-d sake! quit your wark,
Nor think to war a wind sae stark;
Your saw-pit stoops, like wan's, are shaking,
The very planks and deals are quaking;
You're tempin' Providence, I swear,
To raise your graith sae madly here.
Now, now you're gone!-Anither blast
Like that, and a' yer sawing's past!
Come down, ye sinner!-grip the saw
Like death, or trouth, ye'll be awa'.
Na, na, ye'll saw though hail and sleet
Wreathe ower your breast, and freeze yer feet
Hear how it roars, and rings the bells;
The carts are tum'ling round themsels;
The tile and thack, and turf up whirls;
See yon brick lum!-down, down it hurls.-
But wha's yon staggering ower the brae,
Beneath a lade o' buttled strae;
Be wha he will, poor luckless b-h!
His strae and him's baith in the ditch.
The sclates are hurling down in hun'res,
The dading door and winnock thun'ers.—
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