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With Beattie's Poems as a New-Year's Gift,

January 1, 1787.

AGAIN the silent wheels of time

Their annual round have driv'n, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime,

Are so much nearer heav'n.

No gifts have I from Indian coasts

The infant year to hail;
I send you more than India boasts,

In Edwin's simple tale.

Our sex with guile and faithless love
Is charg'd, perhaps, too true;

dear maid, each lover prove
An Edwin still to you.


But may,

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Written on the blank leaf of a Book, presented to

her by the Author.

BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay,
Blooming on thy early May,
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r,
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r!
Never Boreas' hoary path,
Never Eurus' pois' nous breath,
Never baleful stellar lights,
Taint thee with untimely blights!
Never, never reptile thief
Riot on thy virgin leaf!
Nor even Sol too fiercely view
Thy bosom blushing still with dew!

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem,
Richly deck thy native stem;
Till some evening, sober, calm,
Dropping dews, and breathing balm,
While all around the woodland rings,
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings;
Thou amid the dirgefül sound,
Shed thy dying honors round,
And resign to parent earth
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.




Residing on the banks of the small river Devon, in Clackmannanshire, but whose infant years were spent in Ayrshire.

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon With green-spreading bushes, and flow'rs bloom

ing fair; Bat the boniest flower on the banks of the Devon

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower,

In the gay, rosy morn as it bathes in the dew! And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing as yer usher the dawn! And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn.

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,

And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green vallies

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.


To a Young Lady, with a present of Songs.

HERE, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,

In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join’d, Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives,

Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast

Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among; But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,

Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song: Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears,

As modest want the tale of wo reveals; While conscious virtue all the strain endears,

And heav'n born piety her sanction seals.


Written on the blank leaf of a copy of his Poems, presented to a Lady, whom he had often celebrated under the name of Chloris.

'Tis Friendship’s pledge, my young fair friend,

Nor thou the gift refuse,
Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu,
(A world ’gainst peace in constant arms)

To join the friendly few.
Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,

Chill came the tempest's lower;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast

Did nip a fairer flower.)
Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

Still much is left behind;
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store,

The comforts of the mind!
Thine is the self-approving glow,

On conscious honor's part;
And, dearest gift of Heaven helow,

Thine friendship's truest heart.
The joys refin'd of sense and taste,

With every Muse to rove: And doubly were the Poet blest

These joys could he improve.

VERSES, Written on the blank leaf of a copy of his Poems,

presented to an old Sweetheart, then married. Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear,

Sweet early object of my youthful vows, Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere;

Friendship :-—'tis all cold duty now allows:

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