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The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong,
That no one should him wrong.
When he grew wan and pale;
Show'd he began to fail.
He faded into age;
To show their deadly rage.
And cut him by the knee;
Like a rogue for forgerie.
And cudgell'd him full sore;
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
With water to the brim,
There let him sink or swim.
To work him further woe,
They toss'd him to and fro.
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller used him worst of all,
For he crush'd him 'tween two stones,
And drank it round and round;
Their joy did more abound.
50 For if you do but taste his blood,
’T will make your courage rise.
'T will heighten all his joy;
Though the tear were in her eye.
Each man a glass in hand;
THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER.
TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOL.
My Lord, I know your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Your humble slave complain,
In flaming summer-pride,
And drink my crystal tide.
5 228 THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER.
The lightly-jumpin', glowrin' trouts, staring
10 If, in their random, wanton spouts,
They near the margin stray;
I'm scorching up so shallow,
In gasping death to wallow.
Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
As Poet Burns came by,
Wi' half my channel dry:
Ev'n as I was he shored me;
He, kneeling, wad adored me.
Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 25
In twisting strength I rin;
30 I am, although I say 't mysel, Worth gaun a mile to see.
going Would then my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,
You 'll wander on my banks,
And listen mony a grateful bird
40 The sober laverock, warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire; The gowdspink, music's gayest child, goldfinch
Shall sweetly join the choir: The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, linnet 45
The mavis mild and mellow;
In all her locks of yellow.
50 And coward maukins sleep secure,
Low in their grassy forms:
To weave his crown of flowers;
55 From prone descending showers. And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,
60 The flowers shall vie in all their charms
The hour of heaven to grace,
To screen the dear embrace.
65 Some musing bard may stray, And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,
And misty mountain, grey ;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
Mild-chequering through the trees, '70
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.
My lowly banks o'erspread,
My craggy cliffs ador;
The close embowering thorn.
Your little angel band,
Their honour'd native land !
To social-flowing glasses,
EPITAPH ON MRS. MASON. TAKE, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear:
Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave: To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care
Her faded form; she bow'd to taste the wave, And died. Does youth, does beauty, read the line? 5
Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm ? Speak, dead Maria ! breathe a strain divine :
Ev’n from the grave thou shalt have power to charm,