Now to her berth the ship draws nigh,
We take in fail-fhe feels the tide;
"Stand clear the cable"-is the cry,
The anchor's gone, we fafely ride.
The watch is fet, and through the night,
We hear the feaman with delight,

Proclaim" ALL'S WELL!"

SONG IN THE FARMER,

ERE around the huge oak that o'ershadows yon mill, The fond ivy had dar'd to entwine,

Ere the church was a ruin, that nods on the hill, Or a rook built his neft on the pine;

Could I trace back the time, a far diftant date,
Since
my forefathers toil'd in this field;

And the farm I now hold on your honour's eftate,
Is the fame that my grandfather till'd.

He dying, bequeath'd to his fon a good name,
Which, unfullied, defcended to me;

For my child I've preferv'd it,unblemish'd with fhame,
And it still from a spot shall be free.

MISS FORBES'S FAREWELL TO BANFF.

FAREWELL ye fields an' meadows green, The bleft retreats of peace an' love,

Aft have 1 filent ftol'n from hence,

With my young fwain, a while to rove.
Sweet was our walk, mair sweet our talk,
Amang the beauties of the spring,
And aft we'd lean us on a bank,
To hear the feather'd warblers fing.

The azure sky, the hills around,
Gave double beauty to the scene,
The lofty fpires of Banff in view,
On every fide the waving grain.
The tales of love my Jamie told,
In fuch a faft an' moving ftrain,
Hath fo engag'd my tender heart,
I'm loth to leave the place again.

But if the fates will be fae kind,
As favour my return once more,
For to enjoy the peace o' mind,
In those retreats I had before.
But farewell Banff! the nimble fteeds,
Doth bear me hence, I must away,
Yet time perhaps may bring me back,
To part nae mair from scenes fo

gay.

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT

BURNS.

IS there for honest poverty,

Wha hangs his head and a' that, The coward flave we pass him by, And dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obfcure and a' that, The rank is but the guinea-ftamp,. The man's the goud for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that:
Gie fools their filk, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinfel fhew, and a' that;

An honeft man, though ne'er fae poor,

Is chief o' men for a' that.

Ye fee yon birkię, ca'd a lord,

Wha ftruts, and ftares, and a' that, Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a cuif for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

His ribband, far, and a' that;
A man of independent mind,
Can look, and laugh at a' that.

The king can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that,
But an honeft man's aboon his might,
Guid-faith he manna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

His dignities, and a' that;
The pith o' fenfe, and pride o' worth,
Are grander far than a' that.

Then let us pray, that come it may,

As come it fhall, for a' that;

That fenfe and worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, and a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that; Whan

man, and man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be, and a' that.

ROSLIN RUINS.

AT dead of night, the hour when courts
Thro' the wild maze of pleasure rove,
And Mira joins th' infnaring fports,
While art affumes the voice of love;
To Roflin's ruins I repair,

A folitary wretch forlorn,

To mourn unfeen, unpitied there
My hapless love, her cruel fcorn.

No found of joy disturbs my train,
No hind is whistling on the hill;
No herdfman winding o'er the plain,
No maiden finging by the rill.

Efk, murm'ring thro' the darkfome pines,
Reflects the moon's uncertain beams;

While through the clouds fhe faintly fhines, In fancy's eye the pale ghoft gleams.

Not fo the night, that in thy halls
Once, Roflin! danc'd in joy along;
The owl now fcreams within thy walls,
That echoed mirth's infpiring fong.
Where bats now flit on dufky wings,
Th' empurpled feaft was wont to flow;
And beauty danc'd in graceful rings,
Where now the dank weeds baleful grow.