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TO JOHN TAYLOR.
Apollo weary flying,
On foot the way was plying.
Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus
Was but a sorry walker ;
To get a frosty calker.
Threw by his coat and bonnet,
Sol paid him with a sonnet.
Pity my sad disaster ;
I'll pay you like my master.
LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK NOTE.
THE LOYAL NATIVES' VERSES. YE sons of sedition, give ear to my song, Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell pervade every
throng, With Crackn the attorney, and Mundell the quack, Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack.
These verses were handed over the table to Burns at a convivial meeting, and he endorsed the subjoined reply:
BURNS-EXTEMPORE. YE true ‘Loyal Natives,' attend to my song, In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; From envy and hatred your corps is exempt ; But where is your shield from the darts of contempt?
REMORSE. Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, Beyond comparison the worst are those That to our folly or our guilt we owe. In every other circumstance, the mind Has this to say-It was no deed of mine ;' But when to all the evil of misfortune This sting is added— Blame thy foolish self !' Or worser far, the pangs of keen Remorse ; The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guiltOf guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others; The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us, Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin ! O burning hell! in all thy store of torments, There's not a keener lash ! Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,
THE TOAD-EATER. WHAT of earls with whom you have supt,
And of Dukes that you dined with yestreen? Lord ! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,
Though it crawl on the curls of a Queen.
And faith I am gay and hearty!
I am as fu' as Bartie :
Expect me o' your party,
'IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE.' IN vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, Point out a cens’ring world, and bid me fear ; Above that world on wings of love I rise, I know its worst-and can that worst despise. "Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd ; unpitied, unredrest, The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest.' Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all !
THOUGH fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me,
She promis'd fair and perform’d but ill ;
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. —
But if success I must never find,
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.
'I BURN, I BURN.? 'I BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn, By driving winds the crackling flames are borne,' Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night ; Now bless the hour which charm’d my guilty sight. In vain the laws their feeble force oppose : Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd
In vain religion meets my sinking eye ;
By all on high adoring mortals know !
EPIGRAM ON A NOTED COXCOMB.
His chicken heart so tender;
His scull will prop it under.
TAM THE CHAPMAN.
As Tam the Chapman on a day
TO DR. MAXWELL.
That merit I deny :
An Angel could not die.
Now health forsakes that angel face,
Nae mair my Dearie smiles ; Pale sickness withers ilka grace,
And a' my hopes beguiles.