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FAREWELL, old Scotia's bleak domains, Far dearer than the torrid plains

Where rich ananas blow! Farewell, a mother's blessing dear! A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear !

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! Farewell, my Bess ! tho’ thou’rt bereft

Of my parental care ;
A faithful brother I have left,
My part in him thou'lt share !
Adieu too, to you too,

My Smith, my bosom frien’;
When kindly you mind me,

O then befriend my Jean !

When bursting anguish tears my heart, From thee, my Jeany, must I part ?

Thou weeping answ'rest 'no!'
Alas! misfortune stares my face,
And points to ruin and disgrace,

I for thy sake must go !
Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,

A grateful, warm adieu !
1, with a much-indebted tear,
Shall still remember you !
All-hail then, the gale then,

Wafts me from thee, dear shore !
It rustles, and whistles,

I'll never see thee more !





FINTRAY, my stay in worldly strife,
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life

Are ye as idle's I am ?
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,
O’er Pegasus I'll Aling my leg,

And ye shall see me try him.

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears
Who left the all-important cares

Of princes and their darlings;
And, bent on winning borough towns,
Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns,

And kissing barefit carlins.
Combustion thro' our boroughs rode
Whistling his roaring pack abroad

Of mad unmuzzled lions ;
As Queensberry buff and blue unfurld,
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurld

To every Whig defiance.

But cautious Queensberry left the war,
Th’unmanner'd dust might soil his star ;

Besides, he hated bleeding ;
But left behind him heroes bright,
Heroes in Cæsarean fight,

Or Ciceronian pleading.


O! for a throat like huge Mons-meg,
To muster o'er each ardent Whig

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner
Heroes and heroines commix,
All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honour.

MʻMurdo and his lovely spouse,
(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!)

Led on the loves and graces :
She won each gaping burgess' heart,
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part

Among their wives and lasses.

Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps,
Tropes, metaphors and figures pour,

Like Hecla streaming thunder :
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs,

And bared the treason under.

In either wing two champions fought,
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought

The wildest savage Tory :
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
High-waved his magnum-bonum round

With Cyclopean fury.

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks,
The many-pounders of the Banks,

Resistless desolation !
While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold,

And threaten'd worse damnation.

To these what Tory hosts oppos’d,
With these what Tory warriors clos'd,

Surpasses my descriving:
Squadrons extended long and large,
With furious speed rush to the charge,

Like raging devils driving.

What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
The butcher deeds of bloody fate

Amid this mighty tulzie !
Grim Horror girn'd-pale Terror roar'd,
As Murther at his thrapple shor'd,

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie.

As highland craigs by thunder cleft,
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,

Hurl down with crashing rattle
As flames among a hundred woods;
As headlong foam a hundred floods ;

Such is the rage of battle !

The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly

Before th' approaching fellers :
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,
When all his wintry billows pour

Against the Buchan Bullers.

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night,
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,

And think on former daring :
The muffied murtherer of Charles
The Magna Charta flag unfurls,

All deadly gules it's bearing.

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame,
Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham,

Auld Covenanters shiver. (Forgive, forgive, much wrongd Montrose ! Now death and hell engulf thy foes,

Thou liv'st on high for ever !)

Still o'er the field the combat burns,
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;

But Fate the word has spoken
For woman's wit and strength o' man,
Alas! can do but what they can !

The Tory ranks are broken.

O that my een were flowing burns !
My voice a lioness that mourns

Her darling cubs' undoing !
That I might greet, that I might cry,
While Tories fall, while Tories fly,

And furious Whigs pursuing

What Whig but melts for good Sir James?
Dear to his country by the names

Friend, patron, benefactor ! Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! And Hopeton falls, the generous brave !

And Stewart, bold as Hector !

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow;
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ;

And Melville melt in wailing !
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice!
And Burke shall sing, 'O Prince, arise,

Thy power is all-prevailing!'

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