Thairs nae licht in my lady's bowir,
Thairs nae licht in my hall;
Nae blink shynes round my fairly fair,
Nor ward stands on my wall.
Quhat bodes it? robert, thomas say,
Nae answer fits their dreid.
Stand back, my sons, I'll be zour gyde,
But by they past with speid.
As fast I haif sped owre Scotlands faes,
There ceist his brag of weir,
Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame,
And maiden fairly fair.
Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir
He wist not zit with dreid;
Sair schuke his body, sair his limbs,
And all the warrior fleid.
ODE
ON LYRIC POETRY.
BY DR. AKENSIDE.
Once more I join the Thespian quire,
And taste th' inspiring fount again:
O parent of the Græcian lyre,
Admit me to thy secret strain.——
And lo! with ease my step invades
The pathless vale and opening shades,
Till now I spy her verdant seat;
And now at large I drink the sound,
While these her offspring, list'ning round,
By turns her melody repeat.
I see anacreon smile and sing:
His silver tresses breathe perfume;
His cheek displays a second spring
Of roses taught by wine to bloom.
Away, deceitful cares, away!
And let me listen to his lay!
While flow'ry dreams my soul employ;
While turtle-wing'd the laughing hours
Lead hand in hand the festal pow'rs,
Lead Youth and Love, and harmless Joy.
Broke from the fetters of his native land,
Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords,
With louder impulse, and a threat'ning hand,
The [22]Lesbian patriot smites the sounding chords:
Ye wretches, ye perfidious train,
Ye curst of Gods and free-born men,
Ye murd'rers of the laws,
Tho' now you glory in your lust,
Tho' now you tread the feeble neck in dust,
Yet time and righteous jove will judge your dreadful cause.