And owre this grassy heap sing dool, Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds That weekly this area throng, among, O, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man, whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, Wild as the wave; Here pause-and, through the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name! Reader, attend-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit ; Know, prudent, cautious, self-controul, Is wisdom's root. ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTI QUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. HEAR, land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats ;— If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it: A chield's amang you, taking notes, And, faith! he 'll prent it. If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, |