TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

HOU lingering star, with lessening ray,

THO

That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green,

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene.
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,-
Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaimed the speed of wingèd day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but th' impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.

My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.

IS there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-grey2, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that.

1 smooth.

2

coarse woollen cloth.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that: The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is King o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie', ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof2 for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A king can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he mauna fa's that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that;

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree1, and a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that;

That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

1 conceited fellow.

3 try.

2 blockhead.

4

pre-eminence.

BANNOCKBURN.

COTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or free-man fa'? Let him on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Let us do, or die!

THE MUSE OF SCOTLAND TO ROBERT BURNS.

LL hail! my own inspirèd Bard!

AL

In me thy native Muse regard!
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low!

I come to give thee such reward
As we bestow.

Know, the great Genius of this land
Has many a light, aërial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,

As arts or arms they understand,
Their labours ply.

Thy Scotia's race among them share
Some fire the soldier on to dare:
Some rouse the patriot up to bare
Corruption's heart:
Some teach the bard, a darling care
The tuneful art.

Some, bounded to a district-space,
Explore at large man's infant race,
To mark the embryotic trace

Of rustic bard;

And careful note each opening grace,
A guide and guard.

Of these am I-Coila my name;

And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,

Held ruling pow'r :

I marked thy embryo tuneful flame,

Thy natal hour.