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What is a lordling's pomp? - -a cumbrous load,
Disguising of the wretch of human-kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd!

XX.

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may the hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And, O! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,

A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle.

XXI.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part;

(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never Scotia's realm desert;

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,

In bright succession rise, her ornament and guard'

VERSES.

WRITTEN IN FRIAR'S-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITH-SIDE

THOU whom chance may hither lead,

Be thou clad in russet weed,

Be thou deck'd in silken stole,

Grave these counsels on thy soul

Life is but a day at most,
Sprung from night, in darkness lost;
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour,

Fear not clouds will always low'r.

As youth and love, with sprightly dance,
Beneath thy morning star advance,
Pleasure with her siren air

May delude the thoughtless pair;
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup,
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up.

As thy day grows warm and high,

Life's meridian flaming nigh,

Dost thou spurn the humble vale?

Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale?

Check thy climbing step, elate,

Evils lurk in felon wait;

Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold,

Soar around each cliffy hold,

While cheerful peace, with linnet song,

Chants the lowly dells among.

As the shades of evening close,
Beck'ning thee to long repose;
As life itself becomes disease,
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease;
There ruminate with sober thought,

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought;
And teach the sportive younkers round,
Laws of experience, sage and sound.
Say, Man's true, genuine estimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,
Is not, Art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Did many talents gild thy span ?
Or frugal nature grudge thee one?
Tell them, and press it on their mind,
As thou thyself must shortly find,
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n
To virtue or to vice is giv'n.
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise,
There solid self-enjoyment lies;
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways,
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base.

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep;
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake
Night where dawn shall never break,
Till future life, future no more,
To light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before!

Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide' Quod the Beadsman of Nith-side

A PRAYER,

UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.

O THOU great Being! what thou art
Surpasses me to know;

Yet sure I am, that known to Thee
Are all thy works below.

Thy creature here before Thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul
Obey thy high behest.

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act
From cruelty or wrath!

O, free my weary eyes from tears,
Or, close them fast in death!

But if I must afflicted be,

To suit some wise design;

Then man my soul with firm resolves
To bear and not repine!

A PRAYER,

IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.

O THOU, unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;-

As something, loudly in my breast,
Remonstrates I have done;-

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Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And list'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty stept aside,

Do Thou, All Good! -for such Thou art, In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good! and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive '

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