While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention. First, in the Sexes' intermix'd connection,

I Do confess thou art sae fair, I was been o'er the lugs in luve, Had I nafound the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, butfind Thou art so thriftless o'thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, For the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O. All on

When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtintime is near, my jo, And owsenfraethe furrow'd field Return sae dowfand weary O; Down bythe burn, where birkenbuds Wi'dew are hangin clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind Dearie O. At midnight hour, in mirkest glen, I'd rove, and ne'er be

Chorus.-The weary pund, the weary pund, The weary pund o' tow; I think my wife will end her life, Before she spin her tow. I bought my wife a staneo' lint, As gudeas e'erdid grow, And a'that she has made o' that Is aepuirpundo' tow. The weary pund, &c. There sat a bottle in a

There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; And he had a wife was the plague of his days, And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. Aeday as the carl gaed up the langglen, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; He met

O when she cam' ben she bobbed fu' law, O when she cam' benshe bobbedfu'law, And when she cam' ben, she kiss'd Cockpen, And synedenied she did it at a'. And was na Cockpen right saucy witha'? And was naCockpen right saucy witha'? In leaving the daughter of a lord, And kissin' a collier lassie

O lady Mary Ann looks o'er the Castle wa', She sawthree bonie boys playing at the ba', The youngest he was the flower amangthem a', My bonie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. O father, O father, an ye think it fit, We'll send him a year to the college yet, We'll sew a green

Ill-fated genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson! What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, To think Life's sun did sete'erwell begun To shed its influence on thy bright career. O why should truest Worthand Genius pine Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe, While titled knaves and idiot-Greatness shine In all the splendour Fortune