GRANT me, indulgent Heaven, tha… To see the miscreants feel the pai… Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures f… Till Slave and Despot be but thin…

CURSE on ungrateful man, that ca… And yet can starve the author of t… O thou, my elder brother in misfor… By far my elder brother in the Mu… With tears I pity thy unhappy fat…

THOU flatt’ring mark of friendsh… Still may thy pages call to mind The dear, the beauteous donor; Tho’ sweetly female ev’ry part, Yet such a head, and more the hear…

There’s nane that’s blest of human… But the cheerful and the gay, man, Fal, la, la, &c. Here’s a bottle and an honest frie… What wad ye wish for mair, man?

MY blessin’s upon thy sweet wee l… My blessin’s upon thy e’e-brie! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe… Thou’s aye the dearer, and dearer… But I’ll big a bow’r on yon bonie…

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows—tree. Chorus:

Loud blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes Since my young Highland rover Far wanders nations over.

WHAT needs this din about the to… How this new play an’ that new san… Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle… Does nonsense mend, like brandy, w… Is there nae poet, burning keen fo…

HERE cursing, swearing Burton li… A buck, a beau, or “Dem my eyes!” Who in his life did little good, And his last words were “Dem my b…

CA’ the yowes to the knowes, Ca’ them where the heather grows, Ca’ them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark! the mavis’ evening sang

ASK why God made the gem so smal… And why so huge the granite?'€” Because God meant mankind should… That higher value on it.

WHILE at the stook the shearers… To shun the bitter blaudin’ show’r… Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour

ONCE fondly lov’d, and still rem… Sweet early object of my youthful… Accept this mark of friendship, wa… Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now… And when you read the simple artle…

LET other heroes boast their scar… The marks of sturt and strife: And other poets sing of wars, The plagues of human life: Shame fa’ the fun, wi’ sword and g…

I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like by chance, An’ hae to learning nae pretence; Yet what the matter? Whene’er my Muse does on me glanc…