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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 ;
My Smith, my bosom frien';
O then befriend my Jean !
When bursting anguish tears my heart, From thee, my Jeany, must I part ?
Thou weeping answ'rest‘no !'
I for thy sake must go !
A grateful, warm adieu !
Wafts me from thee, dear shore !
I'll never see thee more !
EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ.
OF FINTRAY : ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED
ELECTION BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS.
FINTRAY, my stay in worldly strife,
Are ye as idle's I am ?
And ye shall see me try him.
I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears
Of princes and their darlings ;
And kissing barefit carlins.
Of mad unmuzzled lions ;
To every Whig defiance.
But cautious Queensberry left the war,
Besides, he hated bleeding ;
Or Ciceronian pleading.
O! for a throat like huge Mons-meg,
Beneath Drumlanrig's banner
To win immortal honour.
M'Murdo and his lovely spouse,
Led on the loves and graces :
Among their wives and lasses.
Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps,
Like Hecla streaming thunder :
And bared the treason under.
In either wing two champions fought,
The wildest savage Tory :
With Cyclopean fury.
Miller brought up th' artillery ranks,
Resistless desolation !
And threaten'd worse damnation.
To these what Tory hosts oppos’d,
Surpasses my descriving:
Like raging devils driving.
What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
Amid this mighty tulzie !
And Hell mix'd in the brulzie.
As highland craigs by thunder cleft,
Hurl down with crashing rattle
Such is the rage of battle !
The stubborn Tories dare to die;
Before th' approaching fellers :
Against the Buchan Bullers.
Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night,
And think on former daring :
All deadly gules it's bearing.
Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame,
Auld Covenanters shiver. (Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose ! Now death and hell engulf thy foes,
Thou liv'st on high for ever!)
Still o’er the field the combat burns,
But Fate the word has spoken
The Tory ranks are broken.
O that my een were flowing burns !
Her darling cubs' undoing !
And furious Whigs pursuing
What Whig but melts for good Sir James?
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 Melville melt in wailing!
Thy power is all-prevailing !'