Nae langer grane, nor fyke, nor daidle,
But brandish ye the-langshank'd ladle,
That magic wand that has the knack ay
To mak us a' sae pleas'd and cracky;
That Moses' rod that weets ilk mouthie
And maks streams gush for hearts that's drowthic,
And has the double power, sae curious!
To mak some chiels baith pleas'd and furious!
Now, as I've heard some hair-brain'd hempy
Growl whan your chappin bottle's empty,*
And roar, and swear, wi' aiths that's sinfu',
For what's ay ca'd-anither spoonfu' ;'
To satisfy sic maws rapacious,
I herewi' send o' size capacious
A bottle prim'd, my dainty callan,
Somewhat mair than half a gallon
O' precious gear, Ive lang been huntin,
Till caught at last frae Wattie Br-n.
Fill then-and drink!-and banish dread
O' after sair wame, or sair head;
There's naithing here, our harns to daver,
But rare auld stuff to mak us claver;
For here I swear in rhyming letter,
-n me! if e'er ye tasted better!
IN Roslin's bowers bloom fragrant flowers,
On Yarrow's banks they're mony;
Whar Kirtle* flows ance stately rose
The sweetest flower o' ony!
I've travel'd east, I've travel'd west,
I've been 'mang groves o' myrtle;
Tho' flowers bloom'd fair, nane could compare
Wi' the sweet Rose o' Kirtle.
In secret glade it rais'd its head,
And fair its leaves spread blooming!
And as they spread, they fragrance shed
A' Kirtle's banks perfuming!
Lur'd by its fame, the young anes came
(Some came frae west the Shannon)
And ilk ane swore, nae flower before
Bloom'd like the rose o' Annan.-
But wise anes knew a death-worm grew
Deep at its roots consuming;
And while they sigh'd, they mournfu' cried,
The rose will fade that's blooming!"
"Twas then Fate said, 'frae native glade
We'll pu' the pride o' Kirtle;
In warmer bower we'll plant the flower,
And skreen it round wi' myrtle.'
* A small, beautiful stream in Annandale.
Sae Fate updrew the flower, and flew
Where Mersey's stream runs flowing;
There, skreen'd frae harm, they plant it warm,
For there love's beams were glowing!
Fair, fair it spread! and gratefu' shed
Its healing balms, sweet smelling!
And as they flew, affliction knew
Blest health was near his dwelling.
Oh! had ye been where I hae seen
This rose 'mang myrtles blooming,
Ye wad hae sworn nae canker worm
Was fast its roots consuming:-
But, welladay! looks will betray!
And death love's joys will sever!
Ere midnight hour, death nipt the flower!
Its sweets are-gane for ever!
Ye, wha can smile at Life's fause guile,
While health's warm sun shines beamy,
Learn, that the flower o' Mersey's bower
Was Lucy's peerless Jemmie;
And ye wha mourn at Currie's urn,t
Or weep by Mersey's river,
Learn, that the rose that virtue blows,
Though dead, will--bloom for ever.
*The river that runs past Liverpool.
Dr. James Currie, late of Liverpool.
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