Chill penury invades his favourite bower,
Blasts every scene, and withers every flower;
His warning Muse to Prudence turn'd her strain,
But Prudence sings to thoughtless bards in vain ;
Still restless Fancy drives them headlong on
With dreams of wealth, and friends, and laurels won-
On Ruin's brink they sleep, and wake undone !

And see where CALEDONIA'S Genius mourns,
And plants the holly round the grave of BURNS!
But late" its polish'd leaves and berries red

Play'd graceful round the rural Poet's head;"
And while with manly force and native fire
He wak'd the genuine Caledonian lyre,
Tweed's severing flood exulting heard her tell,
Not Roman wreaths the holly could excel;
Not Tiber's stream, along Campania's plain,
More pleas'd, convey'd the gay Horatian strain,
Than bonny Doon, or fairy-haunted Ayr,
That wont his rustic melody to share,

Resound along their banks the pleasing theme,
Sweet as their murmurs, copious as their stream:
And RAMSAY, once the HORACE of the North,
Who charm'd with varied strains the listening Forth,
Bequeath'd to him the shrewd peculiar art

To Satire nameless graces to imparts

To wield her weapons with such sportive ease,
That, while they wound, they dazzle and they please:
But when he sung to the attentive plain

The humble virtues of the Patriarch Swain,
His evening worship, and his social meal,
And all a parent's pious heart can feel;
To genuine worth we bow submissive down,
And wish the Cottar's lowly shed our own:
With fond regard our native land we view,
It's cluster'd hamlets, and its mountains blue,
Our "virtuous populace," a nobler boast
Than all the wealth of either India's coast.

Yet while our hearts with admiration burn,

Too soon we learn that " Man was made to mourn." The independent wish, the taste refin'd,

Bright energies of the superior mind,

And Feeling's generous pangs, and Fancy's glow,
And all that liberal Nature could bestow,

To him profusely given, yet given in vain ;
Misfortune aids and points the stings of pain."

How blest, when wand'ring by his native Ayr, He woo'd" the willing Muse," unknown to care! But when fond admiration spread his name,

A candidate for fortune and for fame,

Cottar for Cottager.

In evil hour he left the tranquil shade
Where Youth and Love with Hope and Fancy play'd;
Yet rainbow colours gild the novel scene,

Deceitful Fortune sweetly smil'd like JEAN;
Now courted oft by the licentious gay,
With them thro' devious paths behold him stray;
The opening rose conceals the latent thorn,
Convivial hours prolong'd awake the morn,
Even Reason's sacred pow'r is drown'd in wine,
And Genius lays her wreath on Folly's shrine;
Too sure, alas! the world's unfeeling train
Corrupt the simple manners of the swain ;
The blushing Muse indignant scorns his lays,
And fortune frowns, and honest fame decays,
Till low on earth he lays his sorrowing head,
And sinks untimely 'midst the vulgar dead!

Yet while for him, belov'd, admir'd in vain,
Thus fond Regret pours forth her plaintive strain,
While Fancy, Feeling, Taste, their griefs rehearse,
And deck with artless tears his mournful hearse,
See Cunning, Dullness, Ignorance, and Pride,
Exulting o'er his grave in triumph ride,
And boast," tho' Genius, Humour, Wit agree,
Cold selfish Prudence far excels the three;
Nor think, while groveling on the earth they go,
How few can mount so high to fall so low.

Thus Vandals, Goths, and Huns, exulting come,
Tinsult the ruins of majestic Rome.

But ye who honour Genius-sacred beam!
From holy light a bright etherial gleam,
Ye whom his happier verse has taught to glow
Now to his ashes pay the debt you owe,
Draw Pity's veil o'er his concluding scene,
And let the stream of bounty flow for JEAN!
The mourning matron and her infant train,
Will own you did not love the Muse in vain,
While Sympathy with liberal hand appears,

To aid the Orphan's wants, and dry the Widow's tears!

ADDRESSED то

MRS DUNLOP OF DUNLOP:

ON READING

BURNS'S LETTERS

TO THAT LADY.

"Thy liberal heart, and judging eye
"The flower unheeded shall descry." GRAY.

VALLESIA*, whose illustrious blood,

Deriv'd from chiefs of mighty name,

Who long their country's barrier stood,
Still glows with honour's purest flame:

Oh, long may life's declining ray

On thee with mildest radiance shine, And selfish prayers protract the day That bears thee hence to joys divine!

* This Lady is representative of that Family, from which Sir WILLIAM WALLACE derived his origin.