"When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 'The' adored Name, "I taught thee how to pour in song, To sooth thy flame. 'I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 'Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 'Misled by fancy's meteor ray, 'By passion driven; But yet the light that led astray "Was light from heaven. 'I taught thy manners-painting strains, The loves, the ways of simple swains, 'Till now, o'er all my wide domains "Thy fame extends: And some, the pride of Coila's plains, Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow; 'Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 6 With Shenstone's art; 'Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow Warm on the heart. 'Yet all beneath the' unrivall'd rose, The lowly daisy sweetly blows; Tho' large the forest's monarch throws His army shade, 'Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 'Adown the glade. 'Then never murmur nor repine; Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; "And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 'Nor king's regard, 'Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, "A rustic Bard. To give my counsels all in one, Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 'Preserve the Dignity of Man, "With soul erect; 'And trust, the Universal Plan • Will all protect. "And wear thou this'-she solemn said, And bound the Holly round my head: The polish'd leaves, and berries red, Did rustling play; And, like a passing thought, she fled In light away. ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR, THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make a rule, The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The cleanest corn that e'er was dight For random fits o' daffin. Solomon.-Eccles. eh. vii. ver. 16. I. O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell II. Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. III. Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) IV. Think, when your castigated pulse Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o' baith to sail, It maks an unco leeway. V. See social life and glee sit down, O, would they stay to calculate The' eternal consequences; Or your more dreaded hell to state, VI. Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Before ye gie poor frailty names, VII. Then gently scan your brother man, Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang; One point must still be greatly dark, VIII. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord-its various tone, Each spring, its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. |