Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day,
And blo oming Keith's engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow
-That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow-
And join with me a-moralising,
This day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
'Another year is gone for ever."
And what is this day's strong suggestion
"The passing moment's all we rest on !"
Rest on-for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will time, amused with proverbed lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may-a few years must-
Repose us in the silent dust.
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies:
That on this frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight:
That future life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woeful night.
Since, then, my honoured, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends,
Let us th' important now employ,
And live as those who never die.
Though you, with days and honours crowned,
Witness that filial circle round
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight, pale envy to convulse),
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.
SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW-YEAR'S-DAY
EVENING, 1790.
No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the pity
Though, by the by, abroad why will you roam?
Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
But not for panegyric I appear,
1 come to wish you all a good new-year!
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
The sage grave ancient coughed, and bade me say
"You're one year older this important day."
If wiser, too-he hinted some suggestion,
Eut 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
He bade me on you press this one/word-" think! "
Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit,
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,
To you the dotard has a deal to say,
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way:
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
That the first blow is ever half the battle;
That though some by the skirt may try to snatch him,
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by persevering.
Last, though not least in love, ye youthful fair,
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care!
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,
And humbly begs you'll mind the important now!
To crown your happiness he asks your leave,
And offers bliss to give and to receive.
For our sincere, though haply weak endeavours,
With grateful pride we own your many favours;
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it,
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.
PROLOGUE FOR MR SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT
NIGHT, DUMFRIES.
WHAT need's this din about the town o' Lon'on,
How this new play and that new sang is comin'?
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?
Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported?
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame,
Will try to gie us songs and plays at hame?
For comedy abroad he needna toil,
A fool and knave are plants of every soil;
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece
To gather matter for a serious piece;
There's themes enough in Caledonian story,
Would show the tragic Muse in a' her glory.
Is there no daring bard will rise, and teli
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell?
Where are the Muses fled that could produce
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce;
Now here, even here, he first unsheathed the sword
Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord;
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing,
Wrenched his dear country from the jaws of ruin?
O for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene,
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen!
Vain all the omnipotence of female charms
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad rebellion's arms
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman,
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman:
A woman-though the phrase may seem uncivil-
As able and as cruel as the devil!
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page,
But Douglasses were heroes every age:
And though your fathers, prodigal of life,
A Douglas followed to the martial strife,
Perhaps if bowl's row right, and Right succeeds,
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads!
ye hae generous done, if a' the land
Would take the Muses' servants by the hand;
Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them,
And where ye justly can commend, commend them;
And aiblins when they winna stand the test,
Wink hard, and say the folks hae done their best!
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution
Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation,
Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack,
And warsle Time, and lay him on his back!
For us and for our stage should ony spier,
'Wha's aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here?"
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow,
We have the honour to belong to you!
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as you like,
make, blow strive with
any ask
But like gude mithers, shore before you strike.
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us,
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks:
WE'VE NOCHT TO GIE! we're poor-ye'se get but thanks, nothing,
TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT THE POET A NEWSPAPER,
AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE.
KIND Sir, I've read your paper through,
And, faith, to me 'twas really new!
How guessed ye, sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day I've graned and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin',
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin';
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks;
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the Twalt:
If Denmark, anybody spak o't;
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't;
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britian's court kept up the game
How Royal George, AND THEM AROUND HIM,
Was managing St Stephen's quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin',
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ;
How Daddie Burke the plea was cookin',
If Warren Hasting's neck was yeukin';
A' this and mair I never heard of,
And but for you I might despaired of.
So gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you!
ELLISLAND, Monday morning, 1790.
groan, yawned know muddy contention
ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON.
"Should the poor be flattered?"-SHAKSPEAKE.
But now his radiant course is run,
For Matthews course was bright:
His soul was like the glorious sun,
A matchless, heavenly light!
HE'S gane he's gane! he's frae us torn,
The ae best fellow e'er was born!
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn
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