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POEMS

OF

ROBERT BURNS.

COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS

To Mr. William Tytler,

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE.

REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart,
Of Stuart, a name once respected,

A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart,
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected.

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, Let no one misdeem me disloyal;

A

poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, if that wand'rer were royal.

Still

more,

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne; My fathers have fallen to right it;

Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, That name should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in prayer for K—G— I most heartily join, The Q-, and the rest of the gentry,

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; Their title's avow'd by my country.

VOL. II.

B

But why of this epocha make such a fuss,

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But loyalty truce! we're on dangerous ground,
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter!

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,
A trifle scarce worthy your care;
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades in your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;

But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, Your course to the latest is bright.

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 fair Rachael's care to-day,

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)

SKETCH.-NEW YEAR'S DAY.

From housewife cares a minute borrow-
-That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow-
And 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 as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woful night.—
Since then, my honour'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends;
Let us th' important now employ,

And live as those that never die.

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight-life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight-pale envy to convulse),
Others may claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

11

EXTEMPORE,

ON

THE LATE MR. WILLIAM 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.

POETICAL INSCRIPTION

FOR

An Altar to Independence,

AT KERROUGHTRY, THE SEAT OF MR. HERON.

WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795.

THOU of an independent mind,

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;

Virtue alone who dost revere,

Thy own reproach alone dost fear,

Approach this shrine, and worship here.

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