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WRITTEN WITII A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OF FOYERS,

NEAR LOCH NESS.

AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods
The roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods,
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds,
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,
As deep-recoiling surges foam below,
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends.
Dim seen through rising mists and ceaseless showers,
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lowers.
Still, through the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid caldron boils.

Epistle to a young friend.

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,

A something to have sent you, Though it should serve nae other end

Than just a kind memento;
But how the subject-theme may gang,

Let time and chance determine ;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,

Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world fu' soon, my lad ;

And, Andrew, dear, believe me, You 'll find mankind an unco squad,

And muckle they may grieve ye: For care and trouble set your thought,

Even when your end's attain'd ; And a' your views may come to nought,

Where every nerve is strain'd