The harmony, the grace, the native ease,

That Ramsay boasts of.

His the tongue of Joy, That sounds the gratitude of gay Content. His are the strains that guileless shepherds sing, As in the dale they tend their woolly charge. His still the lay that cheers the vacant mind, While Youth sits joyous round the sparkling bowl; And his the song, that to the listening ear Sounds grateful, while the rosy milkmaid, blyth, Raises her artless note, or Industry

Chants merrily, to chase his care away.

But sweeter yet the strain that whisper'd Love,
And to the fair one told an honest tale
Of undesigning truth. This, too, was his.
Nature then treads the stage when Patie woos,
And rural life, the manners of the swains,
In easy, simple, unaffected guise :

Such garb, as guiltless Modesty has worn,
And Innocence, when, with resistless charm,
They strove to win us from the lap of Vice.

While some with zeal pourtray the maddening

bands,

That heedless rush on threatening death, to win

The doubtful laurel; or the civil broils

That rend society; Ramsay, reclin'd

Beneath some hallow'd shade, enraptur'd eyes
The artless Beauty of the rural cot,

With dewy barefoot, as she trips along,

The Summer morn, and treads the daisy down;
Or marks the winding of some wandering rill,
Whose humble tribute, purling down the dale,
In distant murmur, tinkles as it flows;
Or eyes the whirling eddies of the stream,
In playful curls, as they salute the shore
Diverging; or the flow'ret's odorous bloom,
The verdent green, the hill, the wood, the dale,
And all the spreading landscape as it smiles.

Avaunt, corroding Care, sour-looking Spleen, And Avarice, and Envy! these to minds Be doom'd, that relish not to sip, unscar'd, The Nectar of Content. Be mine to prove The golden mean, that genders smiling Ease, While Happiness sits blooming on the brow. Let me from peaceful slumber greet the dawn, With soul serene; to study, to admire Creation's glorious face, to breath in health, And joy, and fragrance, floating in the breeze. Then be my task to woo the rustic Muse; To tread where time, indented on the green, Preserves the footsteps of Edina's Bard.

Ye swains, the pride of Caledonia's fields,
That love the Muse, O, hold his Memory dear!
Whether, fair Morn, in orient fragrance, mild,
With dewy fingers, cheers the russet lawn,
And wakes each flow'ret into life and joy;
Or sober Eve, with solemn, silent step,
Steals on, and laps their beauties in her veil.

Ye rosy Maids, of healthiest, fairest hue, Fresh as the breeze that o'er your hamlet blows; In whose blyth mien a thousand Cupids play; Whose every action, every word is sweet; Sweet in his verse your every charm is sung; Nor sweeter than they are: your pouting lip, Your cheek, where undulating crimson dwells; Your eyes, inviting Love; your dimpl'd chin; Your blush, your smile, and every nameless grace.

Oft, as fond recollection, of his worth
Full conscious, calls the Poet to your mind,
Bless the kind powers that gave him to the world;
Nor hush the sighs of tenderness, that heave
When grave Reflection stamps a vanity

On all the sweets of Life; and mourns the fate
Of Heaven's best gifts; the short-liv'd, fleeting joy,
That lures the heart, torn from our warm esteem,
And bloated from the day. Mute, now, the tongue

That sung your charms; and ah! too soon these

charms,

Like clouds that vanish at the blush of dawn, Steal from the cheek, and laugh our love to scorn!

Ramsay, this tribute of applause is thine; Yet less the honour that the wreath is mine.

SONG.

DAINTY DAVY.

WHAN a' the warld hae clos'd their e'e,
Comely Davy, dainty Davy,
Come yont the green an' daff wi' me,
My charming dainty Davy.

Nae Music like thy voice can charm,
Nae pillow please me like thy arm;
Nae posset like thy kiss can warm,
My charming dainty Davy.

CHORUS.

O leese me on thy curly pow,
Comely Davy, dainty Davy;
Leese me on thy curly pow,

My charming, dainty Davy.

Tho' wintry clouds obscure the sky,
Comely Davy, dainty Davy;
Yet, what boots that to thee or I?

My Charming, dainty Davy.
We'll sit us down beneath the thorn,

An' tauk o' Luve frae e'en to morn: