I've sent you here by Johnie Simpson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,
An' Reid, to common sense appealing,
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled,
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic jargon tir'd,
An' in the depth of science mir'd,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives an' wabsters see an' feel;
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly,
Peruse them an' return them quickly;
For now I'm grown sae cursed douse,
I pray an' ponder butt the house,
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin,
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston;
Till by an' by, if I haud on,
I'll grunt a real Gospel groan:
Already I begin to try it,
To cast my een up like a pyet,
When by the gun she tumbles o'er,
Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore;
Bae shortly you shall see me bright,
A burning an' a shining light.

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks,

[sky, The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the starry The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, And shooting meteors caught the startling eye.

The paly moon rose in the livid east,

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form, In weeds of wo that frantic beat her breast, And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm.

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd:
Her form majestic droop'd in pensive wo,
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war;

Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world.