Still the blackbird will sing on the thorn,

Robin Gray,
And the lark early carol on high,

But the lowly lodg'd swain,

As he scatters his grain,
Will chaunt Robin's verse with a sigh,

Well a well a day,
Will chaunt Robin's verse with a sigh.
Soft lies on his bosom the turf,

Robin Gray,
Rest his ashes unmingled and pure!

May the tomb of his urn

Caledonia adorn,
And his much-lov'd remains aye secure!

Well a well a day!
And his much-lov'd remains aye secure.


WHERE shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,

Under the willow.
Eleu loro, fc. Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;

There, thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,

Never, O never.
Eleu loro, 8c. Never, O never.
Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle,

With groans of the dying.
Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.
Her wings shall the eagle flap,

O’er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever ;
Blessing shall hallow it,-

Never, O never.
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never.

THE BEGGAR BOY. Long I've been an orphan poor, Craving pity at your door: Spent and weary, down I lie, And with cold and hunger die.

Daughters of charity, sons of humanity, O pity, O pity, the poor beggar boy.

No care nurs'd my growing years,-
No friend wip'd the flowing tears;
Father, mother, all are gone,
Left a beggar boy forlorn!

Daughters of charity, &c.
Charity, Charity, celestial maid !
Dart a sunbeam in the shade;
Light an outcast such as me,
A wand'ring son of misery!

Daughters of charity, &c. *


* The force of the appeals to our sensibility contained in this little piece, may, perhaps, be most strikingly illustrated by the following most remarkable philippic of Burns against poverty.. “O Poverty! thou half-sister of death, thou cousin-german of hell! where shall I find force of execration equal to the amplitude of thy demerits ? Oppressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the practice of every virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, implores a little little aid to support his existence, from a stony-hearted son of Mammon, whose sun of prosperity knew a cloud; and is by him denied and insulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of sentiment, whose heart glows with independence, and melts with sensibility, inly pines under the neglect

, or writhes in bitterness of soul under the contumely of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by thee, the son of genius, whose ill-starred ambition plants him at the tables of the fashionable and polite, must see in suffering silence his remark neglected

, and his person despised, while shallow greatness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall meet with countenance and applause. Nor is it only the family of worth that have reason to complain of thee: the children of folly and vice, though in common with thee the offspring of evil, smart equally under thy rod. Owing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposition and neglected education, is condemned as a fool for his dissipation, despised and shunned as a needy wretch, when his follies as usual bring him to want ; and when his unprincipled necessities drive him to dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a miscreant, and perishes by the justice


Tune-" Good night and joy be wi" you a'." Adieu! a heart-warın, fond adieu !

Dear brothers of the mystic tye! Ye favoured, enlighten’d few,

Companions of my social joy: Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,

Pursuing fortune's slipp’ry ba', With melting heart, and brimful eye,

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa.

Oft have I met your social band,

And spent the cheerful festive night;
Oft, honour'd with supreme command,

Presided o'er the sons of light;
And, by that hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but craftsmen ever saw !
Strong mem’ry on my heart shall write

Those happy scenes when far awa.

May freedom, harmony, and love,

Únite you in the grand design,
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above,

The glorious Architect Divine !

of his country. But far otherwise is the lot of the man of family and fortune. His early follies and extravagance are spirit and fire; his consequent wants are the embarrassinents of an honest fellow; and when, to remedy the matter, he has gained a legal commission to plunder distant provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, he returns, perhaps, laden with the spoils of rapine and murder; lives wicked and respected, and dies a ******* and a lord.”

A a 3

That you may keep th' unerring line,

Still rising by the plummet's law, Till order bright completely shine,

Shall be my pray'r when far awa. And you

farewell! whose merits claim, Justly, that highest badge to wear, Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,

To masonry and Scotia dear! A last request permit me here,

When yearly ye assemble a', One round, I ask it with a tear,

To him, the Bard that's far awa.


TUNE—" Hey tuttie taitie.
Wide o'er Bannock’s heathy wold
Scotland's deathful banners roll’d,
And spread their wings of sprinkled gold

To the purpling east:
Freedom beam'd in ev'ry eye;,
Devotion breath'd in ev'ry sigh:
Freedom heav'd their souls on high,

And steeld each hero's breast.
Charging, then, the coursers sprang;
Sword and helmet clashing rang ;
Steel-clad warriors' mixing clang

Echo'd round the field. Deathful see their eye-balls glare! See the nerves of battle bare ! Arrowy tempests cloud the air,

And glance from ev'ry shield.

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