Hope tells, another day may bring them ease;
But hope too oft deceives the giddy brain.
Be patient, sons of sickness; mindful still

That virtuous deeds, though scorn'd by Mammon's train,

Will meet a sure reward. Remember, too,
The Ruler of the winds can only grant
A healing balm to sorrow or disease.

The thousand cares which agitate frail man,
During the glare of day, are hush'd to rest.
Emotions dire of envy, pangs of pride,
Tortures of jealousy, and fears of want;
Doubts, sorrows, pains, fancied perplexities,
Loves ill-requited, friendships unreturn'd,
A while are all forgotten..

1

On his couch,

Encanopied with velvet, the proud Prince,

Who conquers kingdoms, millions keeps in awe,
And revels on the lap of luxury,

Tastes not more sweets than doth the wretch low born,
Who nestles in his straw.

Then since 'tis thus,

That not ev'n honors, pow'r, or pride of birth,

Yea, all the wealth Golconda's mountains yield,
Can smooth the brow of care; why will frail man
Repining, fret his few, short years away?

Let me, whate'er the ills I'm doom'd to bear,
Spite of the proud man's scorn, the wise one's sneer,
Be thankful, ever, to the KING OF KINGS!

TEA.

Let Gripus ill-got gow'd ay hoard;
Let dainties deck ilk glutton's board;
Gie trinkums to yon pamper'd lord,

Ambition's slave!

Wi' hamely fare, a table stor'd,
Is a' I crave!

HEART-CHEERIN' bev'rage, weel-brew'd TEA, Souchong-Imperial, or Bohea

Or leel, or sad, I lo❜e to see

Thy dark streams flow;

To young and auld, ay dear thou'lt be,

Care's welcome foe!

Tho' slander raves, while o'er thee set,
An' maks weak heartless bodies fret;

Just sae, o'er dear-bought wines, when met

A drouthie crew,

Puir modest worth can seldom get

The tribute due..

Peace to his saul, wha brought thee o'er
First to auld Albion's craggy shore; (4)
Ne'er dreamt the chiel, the shrub he bore
By cuifs despis'd,

While wild woods wave, and billows roar,
Will ay be priz'd.

While monie tuim the reemin stoup,
That thraws the strangest on his doupe,
How happy they, wha form a groupe,

Thy balm to share!

Thou, nor destroy'st the puir man's hope,
Nor adds to care.

Thou serv'st for drink-thou serv'st for meat-(5) To king and cottar thou'rt a treat;

Frae tiny weeans, lispin' sweet,

To age bent down,

'Mid Norlan frosts, or Suthern heat,

Weel art thou known.

To fam'd SAM JOHNSON (6) thou wert dear!

HOWARD (7) to sordid int'rest blind,
Wha sought to succour a' mankind,
In thee cou'd ay a solace find,

When welcom❜d hame;

For thou wert gien to soothe the mind

Prais'd be thy name!

O'er thee, I've studied monie a sang,
When blasts blew wild, and nights were lang
Such, wisdom's chiels may ay think wrang;
Spite o' their lear,

Wha rhymes to gie grim vice a bang,

Has nought to fear!

O'er thee, I've tasted luive's pure joy,
An' aft suppress'd the risin' sigh:

Nae mair the wee deceitfu' boy

Can cause alarms;

His powerfu' dart I dare defy,

An' beauty's charms!

O'er thee, I've griev'd for monie a wight,
An' schem'd to mak his sorrows light:

While I hae pow'r R. A. to write,

Be this my plan,

The lave to help, but ne'er to slight

Puir luckless man!