« ForrigeFortsett »
The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorlands whistles shill,
And maun I still, &c.
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And maun I still, &c.
And raging bend the naked tree;
When nature all is sad like me!
And bear the scorn that's in her ele!
An' it winna let a body be*.
Tune, “ Roslin Castle."
* We cannot presume to alter any of the poems of our bard, and more especially those printed under his own direction; yet it is to be regretted that this chorus, which is not of his own composition, should be attached to these fine stanzas, as it perpetually interrupts the train of sentiment which they excite.
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
III. 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear : But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.
IV. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes ! My peace with these, my love with those The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr. Vol. III.
Tune, “ Gilderoy."
And from my native shore ;
A boundless ocean's roar :
Between my love and me,
My heart and soul from thee;
The maid that I adore !
We part to meet no more!
While death stands victor by,
And thine that latest sigh !
Tune, “Goodnight and joy be wi' you
Dear brothers of the mystic tye !
Companions of my social joy! Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',
With melting heart, and brimful eye,
I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'.
And spent the chearful, festive night;
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'!
Unite you in the grand design,
The glorious Architect divine !
Still rising by the plummet's law,
Shall be my pray'r when far awa'.
Justly, that highest badge to wear !
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’.
! Prepare, my dear brethren, to the taverni
No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
III. Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse ; There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; But see you the crown how it waves in the air, There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care.
V. I once was persuaded a venture to make ; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.
VI. “ Life's cares they are comforts*"-a maxim laid
down By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the
black gown; And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; For a big-belly'd bottle 's a heav'n of care.
A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge.
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow,
* Young's Night Thoughts.