KEMBLE, thou cur’st my unbelief For Moses and his rod; At Yarico’s sweet nor of grief The rock with tears had flow’d.

STILL anxious to secure your par… And not less anxious, sure, this n… A Prologue, Epilogue, or some suc… 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if… So sought a poet, roosted near the…

O Thou! whatever title suit thee— Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie, Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threa… Then let the louns beware, Sir; There’s wooden walls upon our seas… And volunteers on shore, Sir: The Nith shall run to Corsincon,

The gloomy night is gath’ring fast… Loud roars the wild inconstant bla… Yon murky cloud is filled with rai… I see it driving o’er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor,

SING on, sweet thrush, upon the… Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to… See aged Winter, 'mid his surly r… At thy blythe carol, clears his fu… So in lone Poverty’s dominion dre…

THE LAMP of day, with-ill presa… Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the west… Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’… And hollow whistled in the rocky c… Lone as I wander’d by each cliff…

If ye gae up to yon hill—tap, Ye’ll there see bonie Peggy; She kens her father is a laird, And she forsooth’s a leddy. There Sophy tight, a lassie brigh…

THERE 1 was a lad was born in K… But whatna day o’ whatna style, I doubt it’s hardly worth the whil… To be sae nice wi’ Robin. Chor.—Robin was a rovin’ boy,

As I was a—wand’ring ae morning i… I heard a young ploughman sae swee… And as he was singin’, thir words… There’s nae life like the ploughma… The lav’rock in the morning she’ll…

BEHOLD the hour, the boat, arri… My dearest Nancy, O fareweel! Severed frae thee, can I survive, Frae thee whom I hae lov’d sae we… Endless and deep shall be my grief…

Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Es… Let not Ambition mock their usefu… Their homely joys and destiny obsc… Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainf… The short and simple annals of the…

As I was a-wand’ring ae morning i… I heard a young ploughman sae swee… And as he was singin’, thir words… There’s nae life like the ploughma… The lav’rock in the morning she’ll…

My Son, these maxims make a rule, An’ lump them aye thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither: The cleanest corn that ere was dig…

THERE was a wife wonn’d in Cock… Scroggam; She brew’d gude ale for gentlemen; Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.