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Till in some miry slough he sunk is,

Ne'er mair to rise.

When Masons' mystic word an' grip,
In storms an' tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,

Or, strange to tell ! The youngest Brother ye wad whip

Aff straught to hell!

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair’d, An' all the soul of love they shar'd

The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird,

In shady bow'r:

Then you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog!
Ye came to Paradise incog.
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue,

(Black be your fa!) An' gied the infant warld a shog,

'Maist ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz

'Mang better fo'k, Ano sklented on the man of Uz

Your spitefu' joke?

An' how ye gat him' i' your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house an' hall,
While scabs an' blotches did him gall,

Wi' bitter claw,
An' lows'd his ill tongu’d, wicked Scawl,

Was warst ava?

But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce,
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,

Down to this time,
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,

In

prose or rhyme.

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin,
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin,

To your black pit;
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,

An' cheat you yet.

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But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
Owad ye tak a thought an' men'!
Ye aiblins might I dinna ken-

Still hae a stake
I'm wae to think upo' yon den,

Ev'n for your sake! •

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH.

WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I
maun crush amang

the stoure

Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my pow'r,

Thou bonnie gem.

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie Lark, companion meet!
Bending thee ʼmang the dewy weet!

Wi' spreckl'd breast,
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet

The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble, birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid the storm,
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth

Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield;
But thou beneath the random bield

O'clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

*There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies !

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betray'd,

And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid

Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd !
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n

To mis'ry's brink,
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven,

He, ruin'd, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn’st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine-no distant date;

Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate

Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,

Shall be thy doom!

TAM O' SHANTER.

A TALE.

When chapman billies leave the street, . And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses.)

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;

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