THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. TUNE-Humours of Glen. THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, [vale; The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morn ing, [dale: And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care? [singing, No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dared could it merit their malice, A king and a father to place on his throne? His right are these hills and his right are these valleys, [find none. Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn: Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, Alas! can I make you no sweeter return? EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE, THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY. THE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning, And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, Astonish'd! confounded! cry'd Satan, by G-d, I'll want 'im, ere I take such a d -ble load'. EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS. O THOU whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose had turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan?-proceed no further, 'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murder. 1 Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself, with the greatest good humour, on the singular rotundity of his figure. 1 EPITAPHS. ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. HERE Souter Will in death does sleep; Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, ON A NOISY POLEMIC. BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes: Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin b-tch, ON WEE JOHNNY. Hic jacet wee Johnny. WHOE'ER thou art, O reader, know, That death has murder'd Johnny! An' here his body lies fu' low For saul he ne'er had ony. EPITAPHS. 223 FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. The pitying heart that felt for human woe; FOR R. A. ESQ. KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame FOR G. H. ESQ. THE poor man weeps-here G- -n sleeps, But with such as he, where'er he be, 1 Goldsmith. A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, And owre this grassy heap sing dool, Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, But, with a frater-feeling strong, Is there a man, whose judgment clear Here pause-and, thro' the starting tear, The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, But thoughtless follies laid him low, Reader, attend-whether thy soul Know, prudent, cautious, self-control, |