Thou paints auld nature to the nines,*
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,
Where Philomel,

While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
Her griefs will tell!

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes; Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,

Wi' hawthorns gray,

Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays
At close o' day,

Thy rural loves are nature's sel;
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell;
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell
O' witchin love;

That charm that can the strongest quell,

The sternest move,

SKETCH.

* To the nines-exactly.

E.

SKETCH.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

To MRS. DUNLOP.

THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again:
I see the old, bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair'd machine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.

The absent lover, minor heir,

In vain assail him with their prayer;
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds:

Coila's

Coila's fair Rachel's care to day,'

And blooming Keith 's engaged with Gray ;) From housewife cares a minute borrow-That grandchild's cap will do to-morrowAnd join with me a moralizing,

This day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
"Another year is gone for ever."

And what is this day's strong suggestion?
"The passing moment's all we rest on!"
Rest on-for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may-a few years must-
Repose us in the silent dust.
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies:
That on this frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight:
That future life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;

Whether

This young lady was drawing a picture of Coila, from

the Vision, p. 99.

Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woeful night-
Since then, my honor'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends;
Let us th' important now employ,

And live as those who never die.

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,

(A sight life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight pale envy to convulse)

Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward,

EXTEMPORE,

EXTEMPORE

ON THE LATE MR. WM. SMELLIE,

Author of the Philosophy of Natural History, and Member of the Antiquarian and Royal Societies of Edinburgh.

To Crochallan came*

The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same;
His bristling beard just rising in its might,
"Twas four long nights and days to shaving night;
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd
A head for thought profound and clear, un-
match'd:

Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

* Mr. Smellie, and our poet, were both members of a club in Edinburgh, under the name of Crochallan Fencibles.

POETICAL