TO THE SAME.

....

LET Poets sing the flowing bowl,
The sparkling glass, the jovial soul—
Sae will I too, but still express,
My hatred of a foul excess-

Ye'll tell me tho', and faith its true
"Ye hae yoursel' been aften fou,”

That weel I ken, and therefore may
Wi' greater truth its evils say-

I grant that while we're round the nappy,
We're great, and brave, in short, we're happy :

The jest, the glee, the mirthfu' sang

Wi' pleasure gies ilk heart a bang.
And cou'd we but just then gie owre,
And reason rule the social hour-
A' wad be weel-but oh sad chance!
When once the drink begins to dance,
Awa flies sense-and noise, and din,
Welcome back folly, shame, and sin.

I

Now see how draught on draught's encreas'd, 'Till man now haley lost, turns beast.

Stap here, my muse, nae comments mair we need

The man that's drunk's a beast-Oh man tak'

heed!

How now he suffers the next day,
Wi' aching heart I'm gaun to say:
A fever-ague-and sair head-
Nervous as aspin leaf-half dead.

Mouth black, and face as whites the wa',
Shins broken wi' some ugly fa',

Ee'en sunk-purse sunk too warst of a',-
Suppose we close this bonny picture,

Wi' comforts o' a curtain lecture.

I've mark'd it in my memory's trunk,
Never, again John, to get drunk.

て

SONG.

TUNES." YELLOW HAIR'D LADDIE" AND "DAINTY DAVY."

WHEN first maggie's ee its soft joys did im

part,

And love's subtle snare fand the road to my

heart,

Unused to its arts, and the homage its paid, In innocent lays I address'd the fair maid.

But waes me I forgot to speer,

Senseless laddie, senseless laddie.
O Maggie's muckle land and gear,
Unco senseless laddie.

For had I but ha' kend o' they,
I might as weel ha' gone my way,
And sought a bride some ither day,

I kend na' this poor laddie.

Must love then forever be bought and be sold? Must that tender passion be barter'd for gold? If sae i'll ne'er purchase, those joys I must find,

Wha's centre's the heart, and wha's source is the mind.

Sae Maggie wi' your tochar gang,

Dorty lassie, dorty lassie,

I'll tak my cogie, sing my sang,
Nor think upo' ye lassie.

I now can rant wi' heart at ease,

Gang whar I like, and when I please,

Ye never mair shall dare to tease

Me wi' your tochar lassy.

TO MY FRIEND

ALEXANDER R-GLE.

ON VISITING A FAVORITE SPRING OF HIS AT HAVRE-DE-GRACE.

ALEC' I've been to see thy spring,
It's praises aft my muse shall sing,
I'll name the hill, fra' which it passes,
As my adopted famed Pernassus.
And while great poets clime the nine,
Yon humbler bonny brow be mine,

And

yon wee whimpling burn shall be
The famed pierean stream for me;
There will I sing of rosy hours,
Of nature's favorite modest flowers,
And shou'd I tak' a laftier bound,
I'll sing thee liberty around;

The birds that chirm fra' tree to tree,

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