Busk ye, busk ye, my bony bony bride,

And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Where gat ye that bony bony bride?

Where gat ye that winfome marrow?
4. I gat her where I dare nae weil be seen,
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.
Weep not, weep not, my bony bony bride,
Weep not, weep not, my winfome marrow,
Nor let thy heart lament to leive

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Why does the weep, thy bony bony bride?
Why does fhe weep thy winfome marrow?
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

4. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep,

Lang maun fhe weep with dule and forrow,
And lang maun I nae mair weil be feen
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For the has tint her luver luver dear,
Her luver dear, the cause of forrow,
And I hae flain the comelieft fwain

That e'er pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Why runs thy ftream, O Yarrow, Yarrow red? Why on thy braes heard the voice of forrow? And why yon melancholeous weids

Hung on the bony birks of Yarrow.

What yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude?
What's yonder floats? O dule and forrow!
Tis he the comely swain I flew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wafh, O wash his wounds his wounds in tears,
His wounds in tears with dule and forrow,
And wrap his limbs in mourning weids,
And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye fifters fifters fad,
Ye fifters fad, his tomb with forrow,
And weep around in waeful wife,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.
Curle ye, curfe ye, his ufelefs ufelefs fhield,
My arm that wrought the deed of forrow,
The fatal fpear that pierc'd his breast,
His comely breaft, on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee not to lue,

And warn from fight, but, to my forrow, O'er rafhly bald a stronger arm

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow. Sweet fmells the birk, green grows, green grows Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan, [the grafs, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows Yarrow fweet? as, as fweet flows Tweed,
As green its grafs, its gowan yellow,
As fweet fmells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae the rock as mellow.

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve,
In floury bands thou him didst fetter,
Though he was fair and weil belov'd again,
Than me he never lued thee better.
Bufk ye, then bufk, my bony bony bride,
Bulk ye, bulk ye, my winfome marrow,

Bufk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow?

C. How can I bufk a bony bony bride,

How can I bulk a winfome marrow, How lue him on the banks of Tweed,

That flew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow. O Yarrow fields, may never never rain, No dew thy tender bloffoms cover, For there was bafely flain my luve,

My luve, as he had not been a lover.

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,
His purple veft, 'twas my awn feuing,

Ah! wretched me! I little little ken'd

He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white milk-white fteed,

Unheedful of my dule and forrow,

But e'er the toofal of the night

He lay a corps on the Bracs of Yarrow. Much I rejoic'd that waeful waeful day; I fang, my voice the woods returning, But lang e'er night the spear was flown

That flew my love, and left me mourning,

What can my barbarous barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage purfue me?
My luver's blood is on thy fpear,

How canft thou, barbarous man, then woo me?
My happy fifters may be may be proud,
With cruel and ungentle fcoffin,
May bid me feek on Yarrow Braes
My luver nailed in his coffin.

My brother Douglas may upbraid,

And ftrive with threatening words to muve me, My luver's blood is on thy fpear,

How canft thou ever bid me luve thee?

Yes yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love,
With bridal fheets my body cover,
Unbar ye bridal maids the door,

Let in the expected husband lover.

But who the expected husband husband is?
His hands methinks are bath'd in flaughter,
Ah me! what ghaftly spectre's yon,

Comes, in his pale fhroud, bleeding after.
Fala as he is, here lay him lay him down,
O lay his cold head on my pillow;
Take aff take aff thefe bridal weids,

And crown my careful head with willow.
l'ale tho' thou art, yet beft yet beft beluv'd,
O could my warmth to life reftore thee,
Yet lie all night between my briefts,

No youth lay ever there before thee. Pale pale indeed, O lovely lovely youth, Forgive, forgive fo foul a flaughter, And lye all night between my briefts, No youth fhall ever lye there after. A. Return return, O mournful mournful bride, Return and dry thy ufelefs forrow, Thy luver heeds nought of thy fighs,

He lyes a corps on the Braes of Yarrow.

THE FLOWER OF YARROW,

TO LADY MARY MONTGOMERY.
Go Yarrow flower, thou fhalt be bleft,
To lie on beauteous Mary's breaft;
Go Yarrow flower fo fweetly smelling,
Is there on earth so soft a dwelling?

Go lovely flower, thou prettiest flower,
That ever Imil'd in Yarrow bower;
Go daughter of the dewy morning,
With Alves' blush the fields adorning.

Go lovely rofe, what do'st thou here?
Ling'ring away thy fhort liv'd year,
Vainly fhining, idly blooming,
Thy unenjoyed fweets confuming.
Vain is thy radiant Garlies hue,
No hand to pull, no eye to view;
What are thy charms no heart defiring?
What profits beauty none admiring?

Go Yarrow flower to Yarrow maid,
And on her panting bofem laid,
There all thy native form confeffing,
The charm of beauty is poffeffing.

Come Yarrow maid from Yarrow field,
What pleasure can the defart yield?
Come to my breaft O all excelling,
Is there on earth fo kind a dwelling?
Come my dear maid, thou prettieft maid,
That ever fmil'd in Yarrow fhade;
Come fifter of the dewy morning,
With Alves' blush the dance adorning.
Come lovely maid, love calls thee here,
Linger no more thy fleeting year,
Vainly fhining, idly blooming,
Thy unenjoyed fweets confuming.
Vain is thy radiant Garlies hue,
No hand to prefs, no eye to view;
What are thy charms no heart defiring?
What profits beauty none admiring?

Come Yarrow maid with Yarrow rofe,
Thy maiden graces all disclose;
Come bleft by all, to all a bleffing,
The charm of beauty is poffeffing.

SONG.

YE fhepherds of this pleasant vale
Where Yarrow ftreams along,
Forfake your rural toils and join
In my triumphant fong.

She grants, fhe yields; one heavenly smile
Atones her long delays,

One happy minute crowns the pains
Of many fuff'ring days.
Raife, raife the victor notes of joy,

Thefe fuffering days are o'er;
Love fatiates now his boundless with
From beauties boundlefs ftore:
No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears
This rifing calm destroy,
Now every profpect smiles around
All opening into joy.

The fun with double luftre fhone
That dear confenting hour,

Brighten'd each hill, and o'er each vale
New colour'd every flower:
The gales their gentle fighs withheld,
No leaf was feen to move,

The hov'ring fongsters round were mute, And wonder hush'd the grove. The hills and dales no more refound The lambkin's tender cry; Without one murmur Yarrow stole In dimpling filence by: All nature seem'd in still repose Her voice alone to hear, That gently roll'd the tuneful wave, She spoke and bless'd my ear. Take, take, whate'er of blifs or joy You fondly fancy mine, Whate'er of joy or bless I boast Love renders wholly thine; The woods ftruck up to the foft gale, The leaves were feen to move, The feather'd choir resum'd their voice And wonder fill'd the grove. The hills and dales again refound The lambkins tender cry, With all his murmurs Yarrow trill'd The fong of triumph by; Above, beneath, around, all on Was verdure, beauty, song. 'I fnatch'd her to my trembling breast, All nature joy'd along.

SONG.

Go plaintive founds! and to the fair
My fecret wounds impart ;
Tell all I hope, tell all I fear,
Each motion in my heart.
But fhe, methinks, is lift'ning now
To fome enchanting strain;
The smile that triumphs o'er her brow,
Seems not to heed my pain.

Yes plaintive founds, yet, yet delay,
Howe'er my love repine;

Let that gay minute pafs away,
The next perhaps is thine.

Yes plaintive founds, no longer croft,
Your griefs fhall foon be o'er;
Her cheek undimpled now, has loft
The smile it lately wore.

Yes plaintive founds, the now is yours, "Tis now your time to move;

Effay to foften all her pow'rs,
And be that softness love.

Ceafe plaintive founds, your task is done,
That anxious tender air

Proves o'er her heart the conqueft won,
I fee you melting there.

Return ye fmiles, return again,
Return each sprightly grace;
I yield up to your charming reign,
All that enchanting face.

I take no outward fhow amifs,
Rove where they will her eyes,
Still let her fmiles each fhepherd blefs,
So the but hear my fighs.

SONG.

You ask me, charming fair,
Why thus I penfive go?
From whence proceeds my care,
What nourishes my woe?

Why feek'ft the cause to find
Of ills that I endure?
Ah! why fo vainly kind
Unless refolved to cure?
It needs no magic art,

To know whence my alarms;
Examine your own heart,

Go read them in your charms.
Whene'er the youthful quire,
Along the vale advance,
To raife at your defire,

The lay, or form the dance;
Beneficent to each,

You fome kind grace afford,
Gentle in deed or speech,
A smile or friendly word.
Whilft on my love you put
No value;-or the fame,
As if my fire was but
Some paltry village flame.
At this my colour flies,

My breaft with forrow heaves, The pain I would disguise,

Nor man nor maid deceives.
My love ftands all display'd,
Too ftrong for art to hide;
How foon the heart's betray'd
With such a clue to guide!
How cruel is my fate,

Affronts I could have borne,
Found comfort in your hate,

Or triumph'd in your scorn.

But whilft I thus adore,

I'm driven to wild despair;
Indifference is more

Than raging love can bear.

EPITAPH ON LORD NEWHALL.

To fame let flatt'ry the proud column raise,
And guilty greatnefs load with venal praife,
This monument for nobler ufe defign'd
Speaks to the heart, and rises for mankind;
Whose moral ftrain, if rightly understood,
Invites thee to be humble, wife and good.
Learn here of life, life's every facred end,
Hence form the father, husband, judge and friend:
Here wealth and greatnefs found no partial grace;
The poor look'd fearless in th' oppreffors face:
One plain good meaning through his conduct ran,
And if he err'd, alas! he err'd as man.
If then unconscious of so fair a fame

Thou read'ft without the wifh to be the fame, Though proud of titles, or of boundless store, Bblood ignoble, and by wealth made poor, read; fome vice perhaps thou may'st resign, ey'n that momentary virtue thine,

Heav'n in thy breast here work its first effay, Think on this man, and pass unblam'd one day.

EPITAPH ON LORD BINNING. BENEATH this facred marble ever fleeps For whom a father, mother, confort weeps; Whom brothers, fifters, pious griefs pursue, And children's tears with virtuous drops bedew: The loves and graces grieving round appear, Ev'n mirth herself becomes a mourner herc; The ftranger who directs his steps this way Shall witness to thy worth, and wond'ring fay, Thy life, though fhort, can we unhappy call! Sure thine was bleft, for it was focial all: O may no hostile hand this place invade, For ever facred to thy gentle fhade, Who knew in all life's offices to please; Join'd tafte to virtue, and to virtue ease; With riches bleft did not the poor disdain; Was knowing, humble, friendly, great, humanes By good men honour'd, by the bad approv'd, And lov'd the muses, by the mufes lov'd; Hail! and farewell, who bore the gentleft mind, For thou indeed haft been of human kind.

EPITAPH ON LORD BARGENY.

Go hence inftructed from this early urn,
Wife as you weep, and better as you mourn:
This urn, where titles, fortune, youth repofe:
How vain the fleeting good that life bestows!
Learn age, when now it can no more fupply,
To quit the burden, and confent to die;
Secure, the truly virtuous never tell,
How long the part was acted, but how well:
Youth, ftand convicted of each foolish claim,
Each daring wifh of lengthen'd life and fame;
Thy life a moment, and thy fame a breath,
The natural end, oblivion and death:
Hear then this folemn truth, obey its call,
Submifs adore, for this is mankind's all.

EPITAPH ON SIR JAMES SUTTIE. THIS unambitious ftone preferves a name To friendship fanctify'd, untouch'd by fame, A fon this rais'd, by holy duty fir'd, Thefe fung a friend, by friendly zeal infpir'd. No venal falfehood ftain'd the filial tear; Unbought, unafk'd, the friendly praise fincere Both for a good man weep; without offence, Who led his days in ease and innocence. His tear rofe honeft; honeft rofe his fmile; His heart no falfchood knew, his tongue no guile; A fimple mind with plain just notions fraught, Nor warp'd by wit, nor by proud fcience taught, Nature's plain light ftill rightly understood, That never hefitates the fair and goodWho view'd felf balanc'd from his calm retreat, The ftorms that vex the bufy and the great, Unmingling in the fcene, whate'er befel Pity'd his fuff'ring kind, and wifh'd 'em well: Careless if monarchs frown'd, or statesmen fimil'd His purer joy, his friend, his wife or child; Conftant to act the hofpitable part, Love in his look, and welcome in his heart; Such unpriz'd bleffings did his life employ, The focial moment, the domeftic joy,

A joy beneficent, warm, cordial, kind,
That leaves no doubt, no grudge, no fting behind:
'The heart-born rapture that from virtue fprings,
The poor man's portion, God withheld from kings.
This life at decent time was bid to ceafe,
Finish'd among his weeping friends in peace.
Go traveller, with his fhade eternal reft,
Go, be the fame, for this is to be bleft.

EPITAPH ON MRS. COLQUHOUN OF
LUSS.

UNBLAM'D, O facred fhrine, let me draw near; A fifter's afhes claim a brother's tear.

[fpare;

No femblant arts this copious fpring fupply, "Tis nature's drops, that fwell in friendship's eye; O'er this fad tomb fee kneeling brothers bend, Who wail a fifter, that excell'd a friend; A child like this each parent's with engage, Grace of his youth and folace of his age: Hence the chafte virgin learn each pious art Who fighs fincere to blefs a virtuous heart, The faithful youth, when Heaven the choice infpires, Such hope the partner of his kind defires. Oh early loft! yet early all fulfill'd, Each tender office of wife, fifter, child; All these in early youth thou hadst obtain'd; The fair maternal pattern yet remain'd; Heav'n fought not that-elfe Heav'n had bid to To thine fucceeds now Providence's careAmidft the pomp that to the dead we give, To footh the vanity of thofe that live, Receive thy deftin'd place, a hallow'd grave; 'Tis all we can beftow, or thou can't crave. Be these the honours that embalm thy name, The matron's praife, woman's beft filent fame; Such to remembrance dear, thy worth be found, When queens, and flatterers filcep forgot around, 'Till awful founds fhall break the folemn reft; Then wake amongst the bleft, for ever bleft. Meanwhile upon this flone, thy name fhall live, Sure heaven will let this pious verse survive.

EPITAPH ON MRS. KEITH.

WHATE'ER all-giving nature could impart,
Whate'er or charm'd the eye, or warm'd the heart,
Beauty, by candid virtue still approv'd,
Virtue, by beauty render'd moft belov'd;
Whate'er kind friendship, or endearing truth,
For bleft old age had treafur'd up in youth;
What bleft old age, in its laft calm adieu,
Might with applaufe and confcious joy review,
Reposes here to wake in endless blifs,
Too early ravilh'd from a world like this!
Where fair examples frike, but not inspire
To imitate the virtues all admire:
Yet liften, virgins! to this faving flrain,
If the has liv'd-let her not die in vain.

EPITAPH ON MRS. HEPBURN. STAY, paffenger; this stone demands thy tear; Here reft the hopes of many a tender year: Our forrow now-fo late our joy and praife! Loft in the mild Aurora of her days.

What virtues might have grac'd her fuller day! But ah! the charm juft fhown and fnatch'd away.' Friendship, love, nature, all reclaim in vain ; Heav'n when it wills, refunes its gifts again.

EPITAPH ON MISS SETON,

INTERRED IN THE CHAPEL OF SETON-HOUSE.

IN thefe once hallowed walls' neglected shade,
Sacred to piety and to the dead,
Where the long line of Seton's race repofe,
Whofe tombs to wifdom, or to valour rofe;
Though now a thankleis age, to flavery prone,
Paft fame defpifing, carelefs of its own,
Records no more; each public virtue fled,
Who wifely counsell'd, or who bravely bled.
Though her: the warrior fhield is hung no more,
But every violated trophy tore,
Heav'ns praife, man's honour, fhare one fhameful
God and his image both alike forgot.
To this fweet maid a kindred place is dus;
Her earth fhall confecrate thefe walls anew;
The mufe that liftens to defert alone,
Snatches from fate, and feals thee for her own.

ЕРІТАРН.

COULD this fair marble to the world impart
Half of the woes that rend a husband's heart,
Could it be taught to look with nature's eye,
Like friendship cou'd it breathe the tender figh,
With each dear rapture bid the bofom glow,
Love e'er cou'd taste, or tenderness beftow,
Then might it tow'r unblam'd amid the skies,
And not to vanity, but virtue rise.

Its nobleft pomp, the humble eye endure,
And pride, when most it swell'd, here find a cure
Ceafe then-nor at the fovereign will repine;
It gives, we blifs; it fnatches, we refign:
To earth what came from earth returns again,
Heav'n fram'd th' immortal part above to reign.

EPITAPH ON MR. CUNNINGHAM OF
CRAIGENDS.

A SON, a wife, bade the plain marble arife;
Beneath the facred fhade a good man lies.
In Britain's fenate long unblam'd he fate,
And anxious trembled for her doubtful fate :
Above all giddy hopes, all selfish ends,
His country was his family and friends.
Children! weep not, thus cruelly b.reft;
The fair example of his life is left;
Another far more lafting, fafc estate
Than e'er defcended from the rich and great;
Theirs fall to time or fortune foon a prey;
Or the poor gift of kings, kings fnatch away:
Your bleft fucceffion never can be lefs,
Still as you imitate you ftill poffefs.

ON A SUMMER-HOUSE IN MY OWN
GARDEN.

WHILST round my head the zephyrs gently play.
To calm reflection 1 refign the day;
From all the fervitudes of life releast,
I bid mild friendship to the fober feast;
Nor beauty banifh from the hallow'd ground,
She enters here to folace not to wound;
All elfe excluded from the facred spot,
One half detefted, and one half forgot:
All the mad human tumult, what to m
me?
Here chafte Calliope, I live with thee.

t

ON A DIAL, IN MY GARDEN.

ONCE at a potent leader's voice it stay'd;
Once it went back when a good monarch pray'd.
Mortals, howe'er we grieve, howe'er deplore,
The flying fhadow fhall return no more.

ON AN OBELISK IN MY GARDEN.

Wiew all around, the works of power divine,
Inquire, explore, admire, extol, refign;
This is the whole of human kind below,
Tis only giv'n beyond the grave to know.

INSCRIPTION ON A DOG.

CALM tho' not mean, courageous without rage,
Serious not dull, and without thinking fage;
Pleas'd at the lot that nature has affign'd,
Snarl as I lift, and freely bark my mind;
As churchman wrangle not with jarring fpite,
Nor ftatefman like carrefling whom I bite;
View all the canine kind with equal eyes,
dread no maftif, and no cur defpife.
True from the first, and faithful to the end,
balk no miftrefs, and forfake no friend.
My days and nights one equal tenor keep,
Fail but to eat, and only wake to fleep.
Thus ftealing along life I live incog
A very plain and downright honeft dog.

THE WISH.

Ir join'd to make up virtue's glorious tale, A weak, but pious aid can aught avail, Each facred ftudy, each diviner page That once infpir'd my youth, fhall footh my age. Deaf to ambition, and to intereft's call; Honour my titles, and enough my all; No pimp of pleasure, and no flave of state, Serene from fools, and guiltlefs of the great, Some calm and undisturb'd retreat I'll choose Dear to myfelf and friends. Perhaps the mufe da May grant, while all my thoughts her charms emIf not a future fame, a prefent joy.

[ploy,

Pure from each feverish hope, each weak defire;
Thoughts that improve, and flumbers that infpire,
Aftedfaft peace of mind, rais'd far above
The guilt of hate and weakneffes of love;
Studious of life, yet free from anxious care;
To others candid, to myfelf fevere;
Filial, fubmiffive to the fovereign will;
Glad of the good, and patient of the ill;

I'll work in narrow fphere, what heaven approves,
Abating hatreds, and increafing loves.

My friendship, ftudies, pleasures, all my own,
Alike to envy, and to fame unknown:
Such in fome bleft afylum let me lie,

Take off my fill of life, and wait, not wish to die.

A SOLILOQUY.

IN IMITATION OF HAMLET.

My anxious foul is tore with doubtful ftrife,
And hangs fufpended betwixt death and life:
Life! death! dread objects of mankind's debate;
Whether fuperior to the fhocks of fate,
To bear its fierceft ills with ftedfaft mind,
To nature's order piously refign'd,

Or, with magnanimous and brave disdain,
Return her back th' injurious gift again.
O! if to die, this mortal buftle o'er,
Were but to clofe one's eyes, and be no more;
From pain, from sickness, forrows, fafe withdrawn,
In night eternal that shall know no dawn;
This dread, imperial, wondrous frame of man,
Loft in ftill nothing, whence it first began:
Yes, if the grave fuch quiet could fupply,
Devotion's felf might even dare to die,
Left hapless victors in the mortal strife,
Through death we ftruggle but to fecond life.
But, fearful here, though curious to explore,
Thought paufes, trembling on the hidden shore :
What fcenes may rife, awake the human fear;
Being again retum'd, and God more near;
If awful thunders the new gueft appall,
Or the foft voice of gentle mercy call.
This teaches life with all its ills to please,
Afflicting poverty, fevere disease ;
To loweit infamy gives power to charm,
And ftrikes the dagger from the boldest arm.
Then, Hamlet, ceafe; thy rafh refolves forego
God, nature, reafon, all will have it fo;
Learn by this facred horror, well fuppreft,
Each fatal purpose in the traitor's breast.
This damps revenge with falutary fear,
And ftops ambition in its wild career,
Till virtue for itfelf begin to move,
And fervile fear exalt to filial love.
Then in thy breaft let calmer paffions rife,
Pleas'd with thy lot on earth, abfolve the skies.
The ills of life fee friendship can divide;
See angels warring on the good man's fide.
Alone to virtue happiness is given,

On earth self-satisfy'd, and crown'd in heaven.

A SOLILOQUY.

WROTE IN JUNE 1746.

MYSTERIOUS innate of this breaft,
Enkindled by thy flame;

By thee my being's best expreft,
For what thou art I am.

With thee I claim celestial birth,
A fpark of heaven's own ray;
Without thee fink to vileft earth,
Inanimated clay.

Now in this fad and difmal hour
Of multiply'd distress,

Has any former thought the power
To make thy forrows lefs.

When all around thee cruel fnares
Threaten thy deftin'd breath,
And every sharp reflection bears
Want, exile, chains or death.

Can ought that past in youth's fond reign Thy pleafing vein restore,

Lives beauty's gay and feftive train
In memory's foft ftore?

Or does the mufe? 'Tis faid her art
Can fierceft pangs appease,
Can the to thy poor trembling heart
Now fpeak the words of peace?

Yet fhe was wont at early dawn
To whisper thy repose,

Nor was her friendly aid withdrawn
At grateful evening's clofe