Or nobly die, the second glorious part (The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward); O never, never, Scotia's realm desert! But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard. [THE writer, well known in his time under his nom de plume of "Peter Pindar," rendered himself conspicuous by his humour and satire, but he has left a few things full of truth and pathos: from these we select A this favourite little poem. "Peter Pindar's" writings for the most part have lost their interest from the temporary and personal character of their subjects, but their raciness and point, whilst the application was apparent, rendered him famous, and his repute is an established historical one. miniature portrait of him by Lethbridge is in the National Collection. Wolcot's most completed writings are his “Lyric Odes to Royal Academicians" and "The Louisad."] THE HE old Shepherd's dog, like his master, was grey, His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue ; Yet where'er Corin went, he was follow'd by Tray; Thus happy through life did they hobble along. When, fatigued, on the grass the Shepherd would lie, Placed his head on his lap, or lay down at his feet. When Winter was heard on the hill and the plain, At length, in the straw Tray made his last bed— To lick Corin's hand he rear'd up his weak head, ever. Not long after Tray did the Shepherd remain, Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend; And, when dying, thus feebly was heard the poor swain : "O bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend!" But now your brow is bald, John, John Anderson my jo, John, Now we maun totter down, John, WHEN THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. HEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning, I left the lines and tented field, Where lang I'd been a lodger, My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor but honest sodger. A leal, light heart was in my breast, I thought upon the banks o' Coil, |