Wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in anevil hour; For I maun crush amangthe stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem. Alas! it's nothy neiborsweet, The bonielark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi'spreckl'd breast! When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauldblew
Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlinferlie? Your impudence protects you sairly; I cannasay but ye struntrarely, Owregauze and lace; Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely On sic a place. Ye ugly, creepin, blastitwonner, Detested, shunn'd bysauntan' sinner, How daur ye set your fitupon her- Saefine a lady? Gaesomewhere else and seek your dinner
Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, Far dearer than the torrid plains, Where rich ananas blow! Farewell, a mother's blessing dear! A borther'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
Duan First^1 The sun had clos'd the winter day, The curless quattheir roarin play, And hunger'd maukintaenher way, To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilkstep betray Whare she has been. The thresher's weary flingin-tree, The lee-langday had tired me; And when the day had clos'd his e'e, Far i' the west, Beni'the spence, right pensivelie,
'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, That bears the name o' auld King Coil, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearin' thro' the afternoon, Twadogs, that were na thrangat hame, Forgather'd anceupon a time. The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, Was keepit for His Honor's pleasure: His hair, his size, his
Kilmarnock wabsters, fidgean' claw, An' pour your creeshienations; An' ye whaleather raxan' draw, Of a' denominations; Swithto the Ligh Kirk, ane an' a' An' there takup your stations; Then aff to Begbie's in a raw, An' pour divine libations For joy this day. Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell, Camin wi' Maggie Lauder;^1 But Oliphant^2aftmade
'Twas even-the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls hang; The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, And boreits fragrant sweets alang: In ev'ry glen the mavissang, All nature list'ning seem'd the while, Except where greenwood echoes rang, Amangthe braes o' Ballochmyle. With careless step I onward stray'd, My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
Alas! how oft does goodness would itself, And sweet affection prove the springof woe!