INVOCATION TO THE SHADE OF ROBERT TANNAHILL, THE UNFORTUNATE BARD OF RENFREWSHIRE. COMPOSED IN THE WOOD OF SKERMALIE. Friend to the wretch whom every friend forsakes, I woo thee, Death! Life, and its joys, I leave to those that prize them PORTEUS. THE grey stone on the dead man's breast, Dear in rememb'rance is to me; Reclined on which, we wont to rest, And muse on life's uncertainty. "Twas there by thee a vow was made, To which I witness was alone, If first beneath the green turf laid, Death's secrets thou wouldst soon make known. Tall waves the wild flower o'er thee now; If from each congregated grief Death can the wretched mortal free, Why should he turn from such relief, And fear so much to follow thee? LINES FOR THE ALBUM AT HAILY, NEAR LARGS. ADDRESSED TO A. HAMILTON, ESQ. WHEN in the sun's departing ray Than Fancy figures Fairy Land; The snowy clouds in clusters fly, I often lean, to list the oar Plied gently far along the shore; And mark him turn his rolling eye But when the sea, in sad turmoil, It seem'd as water demons there * The ferryman between Largs and the Isle of Cumbray. |