Not costly things brought frae afar, Nor those fair Straths, that water'd are Eat down the flow'ry braes, 'Whaever, by his canny fate, With riches, that hitches Him high aboon the rest Of sma' folk, and a' folk 'For me, I can be well content And cantily had up my crest, May he then but gie then Quite a', and seek nae mair! THE RESPONSE OF THE ORACLE. To keep thy saul frae puny strife, Whispered Our Will concerning thee Mair speer na! and fear na ; 'That face, alas! no more is fair; Dark are mine eyes, now closed in death; 'The hungry worm, my sister is! 'But, hark! The cock has warned me hence! A long and last Adieu! Come, see, false man! how low she lies, Now, birds did sing, and Morning smile He hied him to the fatal place, And stretched him on the green grass turf, And thrice he called on MARGARET's name! Then laid his cheek to the cold earth; GIVE me a Lass with a lump of land; Or black, or white, it makes not whether! I'm off with Wit! and Beauty will fade! And Blood alone is not worth a shilling! But she that's rich, her market 's made; For ev'ry charm about her is killing! Give me a Lass with a lump of land; Should love turn dead, it will find pleasure! Laugh on who likes; but there's my hand! I hate, with poortith, though bonny, to meddle! Unless they bring cash, or a lump of land; They'se never get me to dance to their fiddle! There's meikle good love in bands and bags! LOVE tips his arrows with woods and parks, And castles, and riggs, and moors, and meadows; And nothing can catch our modern Sparks THE TEST OF LOVE. To A FRIEND, WHO FANCIED HIMSELF IN LOVE. OFT hast thou told me, DICK! in friendly part, That the usurper Love has seized thy heart, But thou art young! and, like our sanguine race In their full vigour, mayst mistake thy case! For, trust me! Love, that inmate of the mind, Is very much mistaken by Mankind! For which, too often, is misunderstood The sudden rage and madness of the blood. Thus, every common Rake his flame approves ; And when he's lewd and rampant, thinks he loves! But I, who in that study am grown old, How does this tyrant lord it in thy mind? What symptoms of his empire dost thou find? Dost thou within perceive the growing wound? Does thy soul sicken, while thy body's sound? Does, in thy thought, some blooming Beauty reign; Whose strong Idea mingles joy with pain? |