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" Some, bounded to a district-space, Explore at large man's infant race, To mark the embryotic trace

of rustic bard; And careful note each op’ning grace,

A guide and guard.

Of these am I-Coila my name; And this district as mine I claim, Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,

Held ruling power: I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame,

Thy natal hour.

“ With future hope, I oft would gaze, Fond, on thy little early ways, Thy rudely caroll'd, ehiming phrase,

In uncouth rhymes, Fir'd at the simple, artless lays

Of other times.

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Delighted with the dashing roar ; Or when the north his fleecy store

Drove thro' the sky, I saw grim nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.

“ Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth

In ev'ry grove, I saw thee eye the gen’ral mirth

With boundless love.

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, Call’d forth the reaper's rustling noise, I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys,

And lonely stalk,
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise

In pensive walk.
Vol. III.


“ When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,

Th’adored Name, I taught thee how to pour


To soothe the 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,

Become thy friends.

" Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow; Or wake the bosom-melting throe,

With Shenstone's art; Or pour with Gray, the moving flow

Warm on the heart.

“ Yet all beneath th' 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 rustie 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.




My son, these maxims make a rule,

And lump them aye thegither ;
The rigid righteous is a fool,

The rigid wise anither :
The cleanest corn that e'er was digkt

May hae some pyles o'caff in ;
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o' daffin.

Solomon.-Eccles. ch. vii. ver, 16.

ye wha are sae guid yoursel,

Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell

Your neebour's fauts and folly!
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,

Supply'd wi' store o' water, The heapet happer's ebbing still,

And still the clap plays clatter.

II. Hear me, ye venerable core,

As counsel for poor mortals,
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door

For glaikit Folly's portals ;
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,

Would here propone defences,
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,

Tbeir failings and mischances,

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,

And shudder at the differ,
But cast a moment's fair regard,

What maks the mighty differ;
Discount what scant occasion gave,

That purity ye pride in,
And (wbat's aft mair than a' the lave)

Your better art o' hiding.

Think, when your castigated pulse

Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,

That still eternal gallop ;
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,

See social life and glee sit down,

All joyous and unthinking, "Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown

Debauchery and drinking:
would they stay to calculate

Th' eternal consequences;
Or your more dreaded hell to state,

D-mnation of expenses !


Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,

Ty'd up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor frailty names,

Suppose a change o' cases ;
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,

A treacherous inclination-
But, let me whisper i' your lug,

Ye're aiblins nae temptation.'

Then gently scan your brother man,

Still gentler sister woman ;
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,

To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark,

The moving why they do it : And just as lamely can ye mark,

How far perhaps they rue it.

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 computes

But know not what's resisted.

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