I gaz'd upon her matchless feace,
That fairer than a lily seem'd;

I mark'd the magic o' her e'e,

That wi' luive's powerfu' leetnin beam'd;

I saw her cheek of breetest red,
That, blushing, telt a lover's pain,
And seiz❜d a kiss, if 'twas a crime,
Ye Gods! oft may I sin again!

Fast flew the hours-now ruse the muin,
And telt us it was time to part;

I set her to her mudder's duir,

6

She wisper'd low, Thou's stown my heart!'.

I thro' the lattice stule a glance,

And heard her angry mudder chide: Then thought of aw a parent's cares, As frae her cottage heame I kied.

I've teasted plasures dearly bought,
And read mankind in monie a page:
But woman, woman, sweetens life,

Frae giddy youth to feeble age.

Ye fuils, aye court coy Fortune's smile;
Ye rakes, in quest of pleasure rove :
Ye drunkards, drown each sense in wine;

Be mine the dear delights of love!

July 8, 1803.

BALLAD XXXI.

RUTH.

TUNE," My auld guidman."

THE crackets were chirpin on the hearth;
Our wife reel'd gairn, and sat i'th nuik;
I tuik a whiff o' my cutty black peype;
Lal Dick by fire-leet plied his buik;
The youngermer bairns, at heeds and cross,
Sat lakin merrily in a row ;

The wind clash'd tui the entry duir,

And down the chimney fell the snow.

O!' says our weyfe, then fetch'd a seegh, Guidman, we sud reet thankfu' be! 'How monie a scwore this angry neet*, Wad like to sit wi' tee and me;

• Sae wad our dowter Ruth, I trow,

A silly peer luckless barn she's been ; For her, nae day gangs'owre my head, 'But painfu' tears gush frae my een.

*See Note XXXII.

She aye was honest and weel to see, 'I say't-she hed nae faut but yen'She off wid a taistrel sowdger lad,

And never yence sent the scribe of a pen: 'O man! we sud forget and forgive;

The brute beast for its awn 'll feel; 'Were mine awt' warl, ay ten times mair, 'I'd gi'e't to see her alive and weel.

'Whea kens, peer thing! what she's endur'd,
'Sin that sad hour she left her heame;
Thou turn'd her out; it hurt me sair,
And aw our neibors cried out shem.'

Here stopp'd our weyfe, and shuik her head,
While tears ran tricklin down her cheek;

I fan the truth o' what she said,

But de'il a word cud owther speak.

Just then the latch was lifted up;

Ay, that's a boggle!' cried out lal Ann;

In bunc'd my bairn, and, at my feet,

Cried, 'O, forgi'e me!—here's my guidman!' Our dame she shriek'd, and dropp'd her wark; I bless'd them beath-the bairns were fain;

We talk'd the stormy neet away,

And, God be prais'd, we've met again!

July 24, 1803.

BALLAD XXXII.

THE PECK O' PUNCH.

"TWAS Rob and Jock, and Hal and Jack*,

And Tom and Ned forby,

Wi' ARCHY drank a PECK O' PUNCH,

Ae neet when they were dry;

And aye they jwok'd, and laugh'd, and smuik'd, And sang wi' heartfelt glee,

66 To-night we're yen, to-morrow geane,

Saint Mary's muckle clock bumm'd eight,
When each popp'd in bis head;

But ere they rose, they'd fairly drank
The sheame-feac'd muin to bed;

And aye they jwok'd, &c.

To monie a bonny Carel lass,

The fairest o' the town,

And monie a manly British chiel,

The noggin glass went roun;

A neybor's fau'ts they ne'er turn'd owre,
Nor yence conceal'd their ain-

Had Care keek'd in, wi' wae-worn feace,

They'd kick'd him out again;

For aye they jwok'd, &c.

The daily toil, the hunter's spoil,
The faithless foreign pow'rs,

The Consul's fate, his o'ergrown state,

By turns beguil'd the hours;

And aye they laugh'd, &c.

Let others cringe, and bow the head,
A purse-proud sumph to please;

Fate, grant to me aye liberty

To mix wi' souls like these;

Then oft we'll jwoke, and laugh, and smuik, And sing wi' heartfelt glee,

66 'To-night we're yen, to-morrow geane,

66

Syne let us merry be."

November 3, 1803.