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No other view regard !
Ev’n when the wished end's deny'd,
Yet while the busy means are ply'd,

They bring their own reward :
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,

Unfitted with an aim,
Meet ev'ry sad returning night,
And joyless morn the same,
You bustling, and justling,

Forget each grief and pain;
I listless, yet restless,
Find every prospect vain.

III.
How blest the solitary's lot,
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot,

Within his humble cell,
The cavern wild with tangling root,
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits,
Home Beside his crystal well!
Or, haply, to his ev’ning thought,

By unfrequented stream,
The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint collected dream.
While praising, and raising

His thoughts to heav'n on high,
As wand'ring, meand'ring,

He views the solemn sky.

IV.
Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd
Where never human footstep trac'd,

Less fit to play the part;
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop, and just to move,

With self-respecting art:
But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,

Which I too keenly taste,
The solitary can despise,
Can want, and yet be blest !
He needs not, he heeds not,

Or human love or hate,
Whilst I here must cry here,

At perfidy ingrate !

V.
Oh! enviable, early days,
When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,

To care, to guilt unknown!
How ill exchang'd for riper times,
To feel the follies, or the crimes,

Of others, or my own!
Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport,

Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
When manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,

That active man engage !
The fears all, the tears all,

Of dim-declining age !

WINTER.

A DIRGE.

1.
The wintry west extends his blast,

And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth

The blinding sleet and snaw :
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

And roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beast in covert rest

And pass the heartless day.

II.
64 The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast*,,?

The joyless winter-day,
Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May :
The tempest's howl, it sooths my soul,

My griefs it seems to join,
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!

* Dr. Young

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V.

Oh! enviable, early days,
When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,

To care, to guilt unknown!
How ill exchang'd for riper times,
To feel the follies, or the crimes,

Of others, or my own!
Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport,

Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
When manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,

That active man engage!
The fears all, the tears all,

Of dim-declining age!

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III.
Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty schemo

These woes of mine fulfil,
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want (0, do thou grant

This one request of mine !) Since to enjoy thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT,

Inscribed to R. A****, Esq.

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;
Vor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short but simple annals of the poor.

Gray.

I.
My lov'd, my hopour'd, much-respected friend!

No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and

praise :
you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ;
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ;

What A**** in a cottage would have been ; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I

ween!

То

II.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ;

The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black’ning trains o' craws to their re

pose:

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