And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.

Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds That weekly this area throng,

among,

O, pass not by !

But, with a frater-feeling strong,

Here, heave a sigh.

Is there a man, whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer,

Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave;

Here pause-and, through the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn and wise to know,

And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stain'd his name!

Reader, attend-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,

Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious, self-controul,

Is wisdom's root.

ON THE LATE

CAPTAIN GROSE'S

PEREGRINATIONS

THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTI

QUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.

HEAR, land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats ;—

If there's a hole in a' your coats,

I rede you tent it:

A chield's amang you, taking notes,

And, faith! he 'll prent it.

If in your bounds ye chance to light

Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,