But I’ll do my best a gude wife aye to be 35
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.
Lady Anne Lindsay.
CLVII
THE PROGRESS OF POESY.
A PINDARIC ODE.
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon’s harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers, that round them blow, 5