O! why has worth so short a date!
• While villains ripen grey with time!
Muft thou, the noble, generous, great,
← Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime!
Why did I live to fee that day?
A day to me fa full of woe!
O! had I met the mortal shaft
Which laid my benefactor low!
The bridegroom may forget the bride,
Was made his wedded wife yeftreen;
The monarch may forget the crown
That on his head an hour has been;
The mother may forget the child
• That fmiles fae fweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And a' that thou haft done for me!"
SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF
THOU,
HOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'ft,
Who, fave thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'ft,.
To thee this votive off'ring I impart,
The tearful tribute of a broken heart.
The Friend thou valued'ft, I, the Patron, lov'd;
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd.
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,
And tread the dreary path to that dark world un-
known.
Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.
WHEN chapmen billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we fit boufing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The moffes, waters, flaps, and ftyles,.
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare fits our fuiky fullen dame.
Gathering her brows like gathering ftorm,,
Nurfing her wrath to keep it warm,
This truth fand honeft Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayrae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town furpaffes,
For honeft men and bonny laffes.)
O Tam! had thou but been fae wife,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice;
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, bluftering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae fober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou fat as lang as thou had filler ;
That every naig was ca'd a fhoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the L-d's houfe, even on Sunday,
Thoy drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophefied that late or foon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counfels fweet,
How mony lengthen'd fage advices,
The hufband frae the wife defpifes!
But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Faft by an ingle bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming fwats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trufty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' fangs and clatter ;-
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours, fecret, fweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queereft flories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The ftorm without might rair and ruftle,
Tam did na mind the ftorm a whistle.
Care, mad to fee a man fae happy,
E'en drown'd himfel amang the nappy;
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure ;
Kings may be bleft, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
But pleafures are like poppies fpread,..
You feize the flower, its bloom is fhed;
Or like the fnow falls in the river,
A moment white- -then melts for ever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That fit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the ftorm.-.
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;.
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-ftane,. That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ;
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