Then stood to blaw;

But just thy step a wee thing hastit,

Thou snoov’t awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairntime a’,

Four gallant brutes as e’er did draw;

Forbye sax mae I’ve sell’t awa,

That thou hast nurst:

They drew me thretteen pund an twa,

The vera warst.

Monie a sair darg we twa hae wrought,

An wi the weary warl’ fought!

An monie an anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat!

Yet here to crazy age we’re brought,

Wi something yet.

An think na, my auld trusty servan’,

That now perhaps thou’s less deservin,

An my auld days may end in starvin;

For my last fow,

A heapet stimpart, I’ll reserve ane

Laid by for you.

We’ve worn to crazy years thegither;

We’ll toyte about wi ane anither;

Wi tentie care I’ll flit thy tether

To some hain’d rig,

Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,

Wi sma’ fatigue.

LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!

Fell source o a’ my woe and grief,

For lack o thee I’ve lost my lass,

For lack o thee I scrimp my glass!

I see the children of affliction

Unaided, through thy curs’d restriction.

I’ve seen the oppressor’s cruel smile

Amid his hapless victim’s spoil;

And for thy potence vainly wish’d,

To crush the villain in the dust.

For lack o thee, I leave this much-lov’d shore,

Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more!

THE FAREWELL

The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?

Or what does he regard his single woes?

But when, alas! he multiplies himself,

To dearer selves, to the lov’d tender fair,

To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,

To helpless children, – then, Oh then he feels

The point of misery festering in his heart,

And weakly weeps his fortunes like a coward:

Such, such am I! – undone! –

– THOMSON’S Edward and Eleanora

Farewell, old Scotia’s bleak domains,

Far dearer than the torrid plains,

Where rich ananas blow!

Farewell, a mother’s blessing dear

A brother’s sigh, a sister’s tear.

My Jean’s heart-rending throe!

Farewell, my Bess! tho thou’rt bereft

Of my paternal care,

A faithful brother I have left,

My part in him thou’lt share!

Adieu too, to you too,

My Smith, my bosom frien’

When kindly you mind me,

O, then befriend my Jean!

What bursting anguish tears my heart?

From thee, my Jeany, must I part?

Thou, weeping, answ’rest – ‘No!’

Alas! misfortune stares my face,

And points to ruin and disgrace,

I for thy sake must go!

Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,

A grateful, warm adieu:

I with a much-indebted tear

Shall still remember you!

All-hail then, the gale then,

Wafts me from thee, dear shore!

It rustles, and whistles

I’ll never see thee more!

REPLY TO A TRIMMING EPISTLE RECEIVED FROM A TAYLOR

What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch

To thresh my back at sic a pitch?

Losh, man, hae mercy wi your natch!

Your bodkin’s bauld:

I didna suffer half sae much