Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Stil. much is left behind; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, The comforts of the inind! Thine is the self-approving glow, The joys refin'd of sense and taste, TO A YOUNG LADY, MISS JESSY L, DUMFRIES; WITH BOOKS THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, WHICH VERSES WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED. ONCE fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, TO J. S****. Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul, I owe thee much. BLAIR DEAR S****, the sleest, paukie thief, For ne'er a bosom yet was prief For me, I swear by sun and moon, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon, And ev'ry ither pair that's done, That auld capricious carlin, Nature, And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme, Wi' hasty summon; Hae ye a leisure moment's time To hear what's comin? Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash; For me, an aim I never fash; I rhyme for fun! The star that rules my luckless lot, Has bless'd me wi' a random shot This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, But still the mair I'm that way bent, Something cries, "Hoolie I rede you, honest man, tak tent! "There's ither poets, much your betters, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, Hae thought they had insur'd their debtors A' future ages; Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs An' teach the lanely heights and howes My rustic sang. I'll wander on wi' tentless heed, I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, Forgot and gone! But why, O Death, begin a tale? And large, before Enjoyment's gale. This life, sae far's I understand Is a' enchanted, fairy land. Where Pleasure is the magic wand Maks hours, like minutes, hand in hand, The magic wand then let us wield, Wi' wrinkled face, Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, An' fareweel dear, deluding Woman, O life! how pleasant in thy morning! Like school-boys, at th' expected warning We wander there, we wander here, And, though the puny wound appear, Short while it grieves. Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, For which they never toil'd nor swat; |