To combat joyful health and calm repose,
Which from an equal warmth and plenty flows.

Yet rather, O great Ruler of the day! Bear me to Weygate, or to Hudfon's Bay, Than fcorch me on those dry and blasted plains, Where rays direct inflame the boiling veins Of gloomy negroes, who 're oblig'd to breathe A thicken'd air, with peftilential death; Where range out o'er th' inhofpitable wastes, The hunger-edg'd and fierce devouring beasts; Where ferpents crawl which fure destruction bring, Or in th' envenom'd tooth or forked fting; Where fleeting fands ne'er yield t' industrious toil, The golden fheaf, or plants for wine and oil: Health must be here a ftranger, where the rage Of fev'rish beams forbids a lengthen'd age.

Ye Dutch! enjoy your dams, your bulwarks boast,

And war with Neptune for a fandy coaft,
Whilft frighted by these deep tumultuous powers,
You scarce dare fleep in your fubaqueous bowers:
Raife high your beds, and fhun your croaking
frogs,

And battle with tobacco-fmoke your fogs;

Soak on your ftoves, with fpirits charge your

veins,

To ward off agues and rheumatic pains.

E

Let

Let the proud Spaniard ftrut on naked hills, And vainly trace the plain for crystal rills. Starve on a fallad or a garlic head,

Pray for his daily roots, not daily bread;

Be four, and jealous of his friend and wife,
Till want and spleen cut fhort his thread of life.

Whilst we on our aufpicious island find Whate'er can please the sense or cheer the mind. Bleft queen of ifles! with a devout regard, Allow me to kneel down and kifs thy fward, Thy flow'ry fward, and offer Heav'n a vow, Which gratitude and love to thee make due; If e'er I from thy healthful limits stray, Or by a wifh, or word, a thought betray Against thy int'reft or thy fair renown, May never Daphne furnish me a crown; Nor may the first-rate judges of our ifle Or read, or on my blythfome numbers smile.

Thalia here, fweet as the light, retir'd, Commanding me to fing what fhe 'd infpir'd, And never mind the glooming critics bray : The fong was her's-fhe fpoke-and I obey.

AN ODE

ON THE BIRTH OF THE MArquis of DRUMLANRIG.

HELP me, fome god, with fic a muse

As Pope and Granvile aft employ, That I may flowing numbers chuse, To hail the welcome princely boy.

But, bred up far frae fhining courts,
In moorland glens, where nought I fee,
But now and then fome landart lass,

What founds polite can flow frae me?

Yet, my blyth lass, amang the lave,
With honeft heart her homage pays;

Tho' no fae nice fhe can behave,

Yet always as she thinks fhe fays.

Arife, ye nymphs, on Nitha's plains,
And gar the craigs and mountains ring;

Rouse up the fauls of a' the swains,

While you the lovely infant fing.

Keep halyday on ilka howm,

With gowan garlands gird your brows;
Out o'er the dales in dances roam,

And fhout around the jovial news.

By

By the good bennison of Heav'n,

To free you frae the future fright Of foreign lords, a babe is given

To guard your int'reft and your right.

With pleasure view your prince, who late
Up to the state of manhood run,
Now, to complete his happy fate,
Sees his ain image in a fon.

A fon, for whom be this your pray❜r,
Ilk morning foon as dawn appears;
God grant him an unmeafur'd fkair
Of a' that grac'd his great forbeers:

That his great fire may live to fee
Frae his delightfu' infant fpring
A wife and stalwart progeny,

To fence their country and their king.

Still blefs her Grace frae whom he fprung, With blythsome heal her ftrength renew, That throw lang life the may be young, And bring forth cautioners enow.

Watch well, ye tenants of the air,
Wha hover round our heads unfeen,

Let dear Drumlanrig be your care,

Or when he lifts or steeks his een.

Ye hardy heroes, whase brave pains
Defeated ay th' invading rout,
Forfake a wee th' Elyfian plains,

View, fmile, and blefs your lovely sprout.

Ye fair, wha 've ken'd the joys of love, And glow with chearfu' heal and youth, Sic as of auld might nurse a Jove,

Or lay the breast t' Alcides' mouth;

The best and bonniest of ye a'

Take the sweet babie in your arms: May he nought frae your bofom draw, But nectar to nurse up his charms.

Harmoniously the notes express,
When finging you his dumps debar,
That difcord never may impress
Upon his blooming mind a jar.

Sound a' the poet in his ears,

E'en while he's hanging at the breast: Thus moulded, when he comes to years, With an exalted guft he'll feaft

On lays immortal, which forbid

The death of Douglas' doughty name;

Or in oblivion let lie hid

The Hydes, their beauty and their fame.