We camna here to view your warks, In hopes to be mairwise, But only, lest we gangto hell, It may be naesurprise: Butwhen we tirl'd at your door Your porter doughtnahear us; Saemay, shou'd we to Hell's yetts come, Your billy Satan sairus!
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, "No storied urn nor animated bust;" This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way, To pour her sorrows o'er the Poet's dust. Additional Stanzas She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate; Tho' all the powers of song thy fancy fired, Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state,
Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, I pity much his case, Unless he comes to wait upon The Lord their God, His Grace. There's naethinghere butHighland pride, And Highland scab and hunger: If Providence has sent me here, 'Twas surely in his anger.
A' The lads o' Thorniebank, When they gaeto the shore o' Bucky, They'll step in an'taka pint Wi'Lady Onlie, honest Lucky. Chorus.-Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky; I wish her sale for her gudeale, The best on a'the shoreo' Bucky. Her house sae bien, her curchsaeclean I watshe is a
Chorus.-Bonie lassie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go, Bonie lassie, will ye go To the birks of Aberfeldy! Now Simmerblinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlets plays; Come let us spend the lightsome days, In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonie lassie, &c. While o'er their heads the hazels hing, The
Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; Tillfull he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As high in airthe bursting torrents flow, As deep recoiling surges foam below, Prone down the rockthe whitening sheet descends, And viewles Echo's ear, astonished, rends.
My heart is wae, and uncowae, To think upon the raging sea, That roars between her gardens green An' the bonie Lass of Albany. This lovely maid's of royal blood That ruled Albion's kingdoms three, But oh, alas! for her bonieface, They've wrang'd the Lass of Albany. In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde There
Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, Lovely Burns has charms-confess: True it is, she had one failing, Had a woman ever less?
Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came; The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout the same; His bristling beard just rising in its might, 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night: His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd; Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting-rude, His