On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies
A" ye wha live by sowps o" drink, A" ye wha live by crambo-clink, A" ye wha live and never think, Come, mourn wi" me!
Our billie "s gien us a" a jink, An" owre the sea!
Lament him a" ye rantin core, Wha dearly like a random splore; Nae mair he"ll join the merry roar; In social key; For now he"s taen anither sh.o.r.e.
An" owre the sea!
The bonie la.s.ses weel may wiss him, And in their dear pet.i.tions place him: The widows, wives, an" a" may bless him Wi" tearfu" e"e; For weel I wat they"ll sairly miss him That"s owre the sea!
O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy b.u.mmle, Wha can do nought but fyke an" fumble, "Twad been nae plea; But he was gleg as ony wumble, That"s owre the sea!
Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An" stain them wi" the saut, saut tear; "Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee: He was her Laureat mony a year, That"s owre the sea!
He saw Misfortune"s cauld nor-west Lang mustering up a bitter blast; A jillet brak his heart at last, Ill may she be!
So, took a berth afore the mast, An" owre the sea.
To tremble under Fortune"s c.u.mmock, On a scarce a bellyfu" o" drummock, Wi" his proud, independent stomach, Could ill agree; So, row"t his hurdies in a hammock, An" owre the sea.
He ne"er was gien to great misguidin, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; Wi" him it ne"er was under hiding; He dealt it free: The Muse was a" that he took pride in, That"s owre the sea.
Jamaica bodies, use him weel, An" hap him in cozie biel: Ye"ll find him aye a dainty chiel, An" fou o" glee: He wad na wrang"d the vera deil, That"s owre the sea.
Farewell, my rhyme-composing billie!
Your native soil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily, Now bonilie!
I"ll toast you in my hindmost gillie, Tho" owre the sea!
Song--Farewell To Eliza
Tune--"Gilderoy."
From thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native sh.o.r.e; The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean"s roar: But boundless oceans, roaring wide, Between my love and me, They never, never can divide My heart and soul from thee.
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, The maid that I adore!
A boding voice is in mine ear, We part to meet no more!
But the latest throb that leaves my heart, While Death stands victor by,-- That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh!
A Bard"s Epitaph
Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this gra.s.sy heap sing dool, And drap a tear.
Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pa.s.s not by!
But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh.
Is there a man, whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life"s mad career, Wild as the wave, Here pause--and, thro" the starting tear, Survey this grave.
The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn the wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain"d his name!
Reader, attend! whether thy soul Soars fancy"s flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit: Know, prudent, cautious, self-control Is wisdom"s root.
Epitaph For Robert Aiken, Esq.
Know thou, O stranger to the fame Of this much lov"d, much honoured name!
(For none that knew him need be told) A warmer heart death ne"er made cold.
Epitaph For Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
The poor man weeps--here Gavin sleeps, Whom canting wretches blam"d; But with such as he, where"er he be, May I be sav"d or d.a.m.n"d!
Epitaph On "Wee Johnie"
Hic Jacet wee Johnie.
Whoe"er thou art, O reader, know That Death has murder"d Johnie; An" here his body lies fu" low; For saul he ne"er had ony.
The La.s.s O" Ballochmyle
Tune--"Ettrick Banks."
"Twas even--the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls hang; The zephyr wanton"d round the bean, And bore its fragrant sweets alang: In ev"ry glen the mavis sang, All nature list"ning seem"d the while, Except where greenwood echoes rang, Amang the braes o" Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray"d, My heart rejoic"d in nature"s joy, When, musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanc"d to spy: Her look was like the morning"s eye, Her air like nature"s vernal smile: Perfection whisper"d, pa.s.sing by, "Behold the la.s.s o" Ballochmyle!"
Fair is the morn in flowery May, And sweet is night in autumn mild; When roving thro" the garden gay, Or wand"ring in the lonely wild: But woman, nature"s darling child!
There all her charms she does compile; Even there her other works are foil"d By the bonie la.s.s o" Ballochmyle.
O, had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho" shelter"d in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotland"s plain!
Thro" weary winter"s wind and rain, With joy, with rapture, I would toil; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonie la.s.s o" Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb the slipp"ry steep, Where frame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine: Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks or till the soil; And ev"ry day have joys divine With the bonie la.s.s o" Ballochmyle.