Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, I rede you tent it: And, faith, he'll prent it. If in your bounds ye chance to light ., ,T Dil Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, Inglo stesso Tod'I O'stature short, but genius bright, That's he, mark weel- wurde And wow! he has an unco sleight O' cauk and keel. !!!!!T By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, Some eldrich part, At some black art. Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, Warlocks and witches; Ye midnight b es. It's tauld he was a sodger bred, VOITA Join us. And dog-skin wallet, I think they call it. He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets; A towmont guid; Before the Flood. Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; O’ Balaam's ass; 1.' Weel shod wi' brass. Forbye, he'll shape you aff fu' gleg, He'll prove you fully, Or lang-kail gullie. But wad ye see him in his glee, Guid fellows wi' him : And then ye'll see him! prose! Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and They sair misca’ thee; Wad say, Shame fa’ thee! WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK, PRE SENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHN MʻLEQD, ESQ. BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR's. SAD thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: From Isabella's arms. The morning rose may blow; May lay its beauties low. The sun propitious smil'd; Succeeding hopes beguil'd. That nature finest strung: at frel'l po jebul Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes To scenes beyond the grave. And fear no withering blast; 1 19 Shall happy be at last. 111, |