Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is buta day at most, Sprung from night,-in darkness lost; Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, Fear not clouds will always lour. As Youth and Love with sprightly dance, Beneath thy

His face with smile eternal drest, Just like the Landlord's to his Guest's, High as they hang with creaking din, To index out the Country Inn. He looked just as your sign-post Lions do, With aspect fierce, and quite as harmless too. A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, The very image of

Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, And Queen of Poetesses; Clarinda, take this little boon, This humble pair of glasses: And fill them up with generous juice, As generous as your mind; And pledge them to the generous toast, "The whole of human kind!" "To those who love us!" second fill; Butnot to those whom

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Saeloud and shill's I hear the blast- I'm sure it's winter fairly. Chorus.-Up in the morning's nofor me, Up in the morning early; When a' the hills are covered wi'snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly. The birds sit chitteringin the thorn, A'day

My heart was anceas blithe and free As simmerdays were lang; But a bonie, westlin weaver lad Has gart me change my sang. Chorus.-To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids, To the weaver's gin ye go; I redeyou right, gangne'er at night, To the weaver's gin ye go. My mithersent me to the town,

The blude-red rose at Yulemay blaw, The simmerlilies bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest sea; But an auld man shall never daunton me. Refrain.-To daunton me, to daunton me, And auld man shall never daunton me. To daunton me, and me saeyoung, Wi' his fauseheart and flatt'ring tongue, That is the thing

My godlike friend-nay, do not stare, You think the phraseis odd-like; But God is love, the saints declare, Then surely thou art god-like. And is thy ardour still the same? And kindled still at Anna? Others may boast a partial flame, But thou art a volcano! Ev'n Wedlock asks not love beyond Death's tie-dissolving portal;

The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last And the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree; Now ev'ry thing is glad, while I am very sad, Since my true love is parted from me. The rose upon the breer, bythe waters running clear, May have charms for the linnet orthe bee;

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, The horned bull, tremendous, spurns the ground; The lordly lion has enough and more, The forest trembles at his very roar; Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, The puny wasp, victorious,

Humid seal of soft affections, Tenderest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss! Speaking silence, dumb confession, Passion's birth, and infant's play, Dove-like fondness, chaste concession, Glowing dawn of future day! Sorrowing joy, Adieu's last action, (Lingering lips must now disjoin), What words can ever speak affection So