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Their ance-lo'ed master

-O, my Jamie dear!

Forgie, forgie this ither starting tear

Their ance lo'ed master, won by Coila's plains,
Forgets, I fear, his former neibour swains.

O, Jamie! ilka day wi' ills is rife :
What unco chainges in the round o' life!
Ane may be hale, an' weel in health the day,
An' disna ken the morn gin he'll be sae.

Ane wi' twa three social Friends convene,
may,

To crack a while, an' spend a sunless e'en ;
An' disna ken, but, or an owk or twa,
He'll part wi' ane, an' ablins lose them a'.
Sic is the case, an' eithly may we see,
The like has happen'd baith to you an' me.
What herd sae harden'd, but maun sorrow feel,
part wi' sic an unco kindly chiel?

Το

Our lambs, our kids, our meads, our Nymphs an' a', Are left to mourn their Robin gane awa!

JAMIE.

He's just preferr'd-my Johnie, greet nae mair, He's just preferr'd the banks, an' braes o' Ayr. May be some wily lass has had the airt, Wi' spells, an' charms, to win our Robin's heart; An' hauds him, wi her Glaumour gift,sae fell, That, tho' he wad, he coudna break the spell. We maun pit up wi't, lad, an', sin' we maun, We'll bear the trouble, just as weel's we can.

THE TRAVELLER.

FROM THE GERMAN.

Quid quisque vitet nunquam homini satis
Cautum est in horas.-

Who can his future woe forsee?

Who from the impending danger flee?

WHEN gloomy winter rul'd the year,
And Day, with clouds invested, rose
O'er Nature dark and drear;

From cheerless, and disturb'd repose,
Rous'd by the storm, along the waste
A weather-beaten Trav❜ller past:
Weary, and wet, the waste he trod,
And cheerless was the road:

The rushing rain, in torrents fell:

Each big, brown, swollen brook Adown its chok'd up channel roar'd : With many a wishful look,

And long, and eager he explor'd,

To find some Friendly cell;

Where he might shun the lashing rain;
But Friendly cell he sought in vain.

HOR.

FRAN.

His tearful eye

He lifts, in prayer, to Jove on high,
That he the roaring tempest's rage
Would deign, in mercy, to assuage:
But, ah! in vain address'd the sky-
Jove disregards his cry.

Louder, and louder blew the blast ;

In larger torrents pour'd the rain:

The way-worn Traveller, aghast,

Began, in fretful murmur, to complain : "'Tis thus the gods, for whom our victims bleed, Regardless of our need;

Amid our sad distress, severe,

Refuse to lend a pitying ear;

And, of their power in vain parade,
Delight to torture those they made."
But, as Heaven will'd, at last,

He reach'd the verge of a lone, dismal wood:
"Here," said the wretch, in peevish mood,
"I'll find that shelter from the blast,
Which Heaven, in weakness, or in pride,
Has to my pray'r deny'd."

Plunging amid the shade,

He seeks the kindly shelter of the glade;

Nor for that kindly shelter given,

Allow'd one grateful thought to rise to heaven.

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But, scarce his foot the forest made,
When, from behind a brake, in haste,

A robber sprung: the trembling wretch, afraid,
Flew forth, in terror, o'er the dreary waste.

Bending his bow,

The robber aim'd a deadly shaft to throw : Relax'd, and injur'd by the rain,

The moisten'd cord he drew in vain:

Short of his aim he sees his arrow fall;

While, o'er the wild, in sad affray,
The frighted Trav❜ller sped away,
Whom now, nor wind, nor rains appal
Like Death's terrific form:

Dreading the danger scarcely past,
No more he dreads the rueful blast,

Or reinless fury of the storm.

And, while his bosom throbs with fear,
These words from Heaven broke, awful, on

his ear:

Presumptuous Mortal! from this caution given, Muse on the care, as on the power of Heaven; Nor dare again to deprecate the flood,

Which Heaven, you see, hath made a mean for good

Had not that string been injur'd by the rain,
From instant Death thou shouldst have fled in vain:
And, be this truth imprest upon thy mind,-

If Heaven be powerful, Heaven is also kind."

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