They durst nae mair than he allow'd,

That was a law:

We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd,

Willie's awa!

IV.

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,
Frae colleges and boarding-schools,
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools
In glen or shaw;

He wha could brush them down to mools,
Willie's awa!

V.

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer*
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour;
He was a dictionar and grammar

Amang them a';

I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer,

Willie's awa!

VI.

Nae mair we see his levee door
Philosophers and Poets pour,tl
And toothy critics by the score,

In bloody raw!

The adjutant o' a' the core,

Willie's awa!

• The Chamber of Commerce of Edinburgh, of which Mr. C. was Secretary.

+ Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet at Mr. C's house at breakfast.

VII.

Now worthy G*****y's Latin face,
T****r's and G*********'s modest grace;
M*K****e, S****t, such a brace

As Rome ne'er saw;

They a' maun meet some ither place,

Willie's awa!

VIII.

Poor Burns-e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin

By hoodie-craw;

Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin',

Willie's awa!

IX.

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him;
And self-conceited critic skellum

His quill may draw ;

He wha could brawlie ward their bellum,

Willie's awa!

X.

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,

And Ettrick banks now roaring red,

While tempests blaw;

But every joy and pleasure's fled,

Willie's awa!

XI.

May I be slander's common speech;
A text for infamy to preach;
And lastly, streekit out to bleach

In winter snaw;

When I forget thee! Willie Creech,

Tho' far awa!

XII.

May never wicked fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem!

He canty claw!

Then to the blessed, New Jerusalem,

Fleet wing awa!

LIBERTY,

A FRAGMENT.

THEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among,

Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, To thee I turn with swimming eyes;

Where is that soul of freedom fled?

Immingled with the mighty dead!

Beneath that hallowed turf where Wallace lies! Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death! Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep; Disturb not ye the hero's sleep,

Nor give the coward secret breath.

this the power in freedom's war
That want to bid the battle rage ?
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate,
Crushing the despot's proudest bearing,
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate,
Braved usurpation's boldest daring!

One quenched in darkness like the sinking star, And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age.

ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX.*

Now Robin lies in his last lair,

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair,
Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare,

Nae mair shall fear him;

Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care

E'er mair come near him.

To tell the truth, they seldom fash❜t him,
Except the moment that they crush't him;
For sune as chance or fate had husht 'em

Tho' e'er sae short,

Then wi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em,
And thought it sport.-

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark,

And counted was baith wight and stark,

* Ruisseaux-a play on his own name.

VOL. XXXIX.

I

Yet that was never Robin's mark

To mak a man;

But tell him he was learn'd and clark,

Ye roos'd him then!*

GUIDWIFE.

A FRAGMENT.†

I MIND it weel, in early date,
When I was beardless, young, and blate,
An' first could thresh the barn,
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh,
An' tho' fu' foughten sair eneugh,
Yet unco proud to learn.

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power)
A wish, that to my latest hour

Shall strongly heave my breast;
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake,
Some useful plan, or beuk could make,
Or sing a song at least.

The rough bur-thistle spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear,

I turn'd my weeding heuk aside,
An' spar'd the symbol dear.

* Ye roos'd-ye prais❜d.

+ March 1787.