My lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble slave complain, How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, And drink my crystal tide.^1 The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts, That thro' my waters play, If, in their random, wanton spouts,
Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name Shall nolonger appear in the records of Fame; Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, Says, the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel!
O Thou whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou yongroan?-proceed nofurther, 'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther.
Why, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? Tell me, fellow-creatures, why At my presence thus you fly? Why disturb your social joys, Parent, filial, kindred ties?- Common friend to you and me, yature's gifts to all are free: Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, Busy feed, orwanton lave; Or, beneath the
Sad thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella's arms. Sweetly deckt with pearly dew The morning rose may blow; Butcold successive noontide blasts May lay its beauties low. Fair on Isabella's morn The sun propitious smil'd; But, long erenoon, succeeding clouds Succeeding hopes beguil'd.
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, redwith dashing rains, The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains; Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan; The hollow caves return a hollow moan. Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, Ye
When, by a generous Public's kind acclaim, That dearest meed is granted-honest fame; Waen here your favour is the actor's lot, Nor even the man in private life forgot; What breast so deadto heavenly Virtue's glow, But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe? Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, It needs no
Rattlin', Roarin' Willie^1 As I cambyCrochallan, I canniliekeekit ben; Rattlin', roarin' Willie Was sittin at yon boord-en'; Sittin at yonboord-en, And amanggudecompanie; Rattlin', roarin' Willie, You're welcome hameto me!
Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling! Howling tempests, o'er me rave! Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, Roaring by my lonely cave! Crystal streamlets gently flowing, Busy haunts of base mankind, Western breezes softly blowing, Suit not my distracted mind. In the cause of Right engaged, Wrongs injurious to redress, Honour's war we strongly waged, But the Heavens
When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, First struck Sylvander's raptur'd view, He gaz'd, he listened to despair, Alas! 'twas all he dared to do. Love, from Clarinda's heavenly eyes, Transfixed his bosom thro' and thro'; But still in Friendships' guarded guise, For more the demon fear'd to do. That heart, already more than lost, The imp