AN EXPEDITION TO FIFE,

AND THE ISLAND OF MAY, ON BOARD THE BLESSED ENDEAVOUR

OF DUNBAR, CAPTAIN ROXBURGH COMMANDER.1

LIST, O ye slumberers on the peaceful shore,
Whose lives are one unvariegated calm

Of stillness and of sloth! And hear, O nymph!
In heaven yclepit Pleasure; from your throne
Effulgent send a heavenly radiant beam,

That, cheer'd by thee, the Muse may bend her way;
For from no earthly flight she builds her song,
But from the bosom of green Neptune's main
Would fain emerge, and, under Phoebe's reign,
Transmit her numbers to inclining ears.

Now when the choiring songsters quit the groves,
And solemn sounding whisp'rings lull the spray
To meditation sacred, let me roam

O'er the blest floods that wash our natal shore,
And view the wonders of the deep profound,
While now the western breezes reign around,
And Boreas, sleeping in his iron cave,
Regains his strength and animated rage,
To wake new tempests and inswell new seas.
And now Favonius wings the sprightly gale;
The willing canvass, swelling with the breeze,
Gives life and motion to our bounding prow,
While the hoarse boatswain's pipe shrill sounding far,
Calls all the tars to action. Hardy sons!
Who shudder not at life's devouring gales,
But smile amidst the tempest's sounding jars,
Or 'midst the hollow thunders of the war:

1 Vid. Life prefixed.

Fresh sprung from Greenland's cold, they hail with joy The happier clime, the fresh autumnal breeze

By Syrius guided to allay the heat

That else would parch the vigour of their veins.
Hard change, alas! from petrifying cold
Instant to plunge to the severest ray

That burning Dog-star or bright Phoebus sheds.
Like comet whirling through th' ethereal void,
Now they are reddened with the solar blaze,
Now froze and tortured by the frigid zone.

Thrice happy Britons! whose well temper'd clay
Can face all climes, all tempests, and all seas.
These are the sons that check the growing war;
These are the sons that hem Britannia round
From sudden innovation, awe the shores,

And make their drooping pendants hail her queen
And mistress of the globe. They guard our beds,
While fearless we enjoy secure repose,

And all the blessings of a bounteous sky.
To them in fev'rous adoration bend,

Ye fashion'd Macaronies! whose bright blades
Were never dimm'd or stain'd with hostile blood,
But still hang dangling on your feeble thigh,
While through the Mall or Park you show away,
Or through the drawing-room on tiptoe steal.
On poop aloft, to messmates laid along,
Some son of Neptune, whose old wrinkled brow
Has bay'd the rattling thunder, tells his tale
Of dangers, sieges, and of battles dire,
While they, elate with success of the day,
Cheer him with happy smiles, or bitter sighs,
When fortune with a sourer aspect grins.

Ah! how unstable are the joys of life;

The pleasures, ah! how few-Now smile the skies

With visage mild, and now the thunders shake,
And all the radiance of the heavens deflower.
Through the small op'ning of the mainsail broad,
Lo, Boreas steals, and tears him from the yard,
Where long and lasting he has played his part.
So suffers Virtue. When in her fair form
The smallest flaw is found, the whole decays.
In vain she may implore with piteous eye,
And spread her naked pinions to the blast.
A reputation maim'd finds no repair

Till death, the ghastly monarch, shuts the scene.
And now we gain the May, whose midnight light,
Like vestal virgins' off'rings undecay'd,

To mariners bewilder'd acts the part

Of social friendship, guiding those that err
With kindly radiance to their destined port.

Thanks, kindest Nature! for those floating gems, Those green-grown isles, with which you lavish strew Great Neptune's empire. But for thee, the main Were an uncomfortable mazy flood.

No guidance then would bless the steersman's skill,
No resting place would crown the mariner's wish,
When he to distant gales his canvass spreads,
To search new wonders. Here the verdant shores
Teem with new freshness, and regale our sight
With caves that ancient time, in days of yore,
Sequester'd for the haunt of Druid lone,
There to remain in solitary cell

Beyond the power of mortals to disjoin
From holy meditation. Happy now

To cast our eyes around from shore to shore,
While by the oozy caverns on the beach
We wander wild, and listen to the roar
Of billows murmuring with incessant noise.

And now, by fancy led, we wander wild
Where o'er the rugged steep the buried dead
Remote lie anchor'd in their parent mould;
Where a few fading willows point the state
Of man's decay. Ah, death! where'er we fly,
Whether we seek the busy and the gay,
The mourner or the joyful, there art thou.
No distant isle, no surly swelling surge,

E'er awed thy progress, or controll'd thy sway,
To bless us with that comfort, length of days,
By all aspired at, but by few attain'd.

To Fife we steer, of all beneath the sun The most unhallow'd 'midst the Scotian plains! And here, sad emblem of deceitful times! Hath sad hypocrisy her standard borne. Mirth knows no residence, but ghastly fear Stands trembling and appall'd at airy sights. Once, only once! Reward it, O ye powers! Did Hospitality, with open face, And winning smile, cheer the deserted sight, That else had languish'd for the blest return Of beauteous day, to dissipate the clouds Of endless night, and superstition wild, That constant hover o'er the dark abode. O happy Lothian! Happy thrice her sons! Who ne'er yet ventured from the southern shore, To tempt misfortune on the Fifan coast, Again with thee we dwell, and taste thy joys, Where sorrow reigns not, and where every gale Is fraught with fullness, blest with living hope, That fears no canker from the year's decay.

ON THE MUSIC BELLS PLAYING YESTERDAY FORENOON, PRIOR TO BROWN AND WILSON'S EXECUTION, ON THE DEACONS BEING PRESENTED TO COUNCIL.

["Yesterday afternoon, John Brown and James Wilson were executed in the Grass-market, pursuant to the sentence of the high court of justiciary, for the murder of Adam Thomson in Carnwathmuir, and their bodies delivered to the professor of anatomy for dissection.-They were both only about 26 years of age: Brown was upwards of six foot high, and remarkably strong, and both of them were well-made. They had made several efforts to escape from prison, in which they were as often detected; but when they found every attempt vain, they seemed reconciled to their fate, and at last, by the assiduity and persuasive influence of the clergyman who attended them, they were brought to a sense of their guilt, and a confession of the crime for which they were condemned. At the place of execution Brown addressed the audience in a short but pathetic speech, and both of them behaved in a manner suitable to their unhappy circumstances."]

HAPPY the folks that rule the roast!
Our council men are cheerful;
To mirth they now devote each toast,
And bells fill ev'ry ear full.

When man's condemn'd to suffer death
For his unlicens'd crimes,

Instead of psalms they quit their breath
To merry-making chimes.