Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that:

For a' that and a' that,

His ribband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o' sense, and pride o'
worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the
earth'

May bear the gree, and a' that
For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that;
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

STANZAS IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.

WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene!

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?

Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between:

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid re

newing storms;

Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ?

For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in

arms:

I tremble to approach an angry God,

And justly smart beneath his sinavenging rod.

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence!"

Fain promise never more to disobey;

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent;

But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

FAREWEEL TO NANCY.

AE fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge
thee!

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Who shall say that fortune grieves him,

While the star of hope she leaves him!

Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met- or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken hearted!

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge
thee,
[thee.
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage

[From To the Unco Guid.]

GOD, THE ONLY JUST JUDGE.

THEN gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Tho' they may gang a kennie wrang,
To step aside is human:

One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving Why they do it;
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far perhaps they rue it.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us,

[tone, He knows each chord-its various Each spring its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it;

What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.

HIGHLAND MARY.

YE banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry; For there I took my last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the
clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary.

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling
glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly! And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Ma y.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spied a man, whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;
His face was furrowed o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?

Began the reverend sage; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,

Or youthful pleasure's rage? Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man.

The sun that overhangs yon moors, Outspreading far and wide, Where hundreds labor to support

A haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter-sun

Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proofs

That man was made to mourn.

O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force give nature's law
That man was made to mourn.