Plenty fhall cultivate ilk fcawp and moor, Now lea and bare, because the landlord 's poor. On fcroggy braes fhall akes and ashes grow, And bonny gardens clad the brecken how. Do others backward dam the raging main *, Raifing on barren fands a flow'ry plain ?

By us then fhou'd the thought o' 't be endur'd,
To let braid tracts of land lie unmanur'd?
Uncultivate nae mair they fhall appear,

But shine with a' the beauties of the year;
Which start with ease frae the obedient foil,
And ten times o'er reward a little toil.

Alang wild fhores, where tumbling billows break,

Plenifht with nought but shells and tangle wreck,
Braw towns fhall rife, with fteeples mony a ane,
And houses bigget a' with eftler ftane;
Where schools polite fhall lib'ral arts display,
And make auld barb'rous darkness fly away.

Now Nereus rifing frae his wat'ry bed,
The pearly drops hap down his lyart head;
Oceanus with pleasure hears him fing,
Tritons and Nereids form a jovial ring,
And, dancing on the deep, attention draw,
While a' the winds in love, but fighing, blaw.

The

* The Dutch have gained a great deal from the fea.

The fea-born prophet fang, in sweetest strain, "Britons, be blyth; fair queen of ifles, be fain; "A richer people never saw the fun.

Gang tightly throw what fairly you 've begun, Spread a' your fails and streamers in the wind, "For ilka pow'r in fea and air 's your friend; "Great Neptune's unexhausted bank has store. "Of endless wealth, will gar yours a' run o'er." He fang fae loud, round rocks the echoes flew, " "Tis true," he faid; and they return'd, ""Tis "true."

1715.

ON THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN,

APRIL 1715.

Now do I prefs among the learned throng,
To tell a great eclipfe in little fong.

At me nor scheme nor demonftration ask,
That is our Gregory's or fam'd Halley's † task;
'Tis they who are converfant with each star,
We know how planets planets' rays debar;
This to pretend, my mufe is not fo bold,
She only echoes what she has been told.

Our rolling globe will scarce have made the fun Seem half-way up Olympus to have run, When night's pale queen, in her oft changed way, Will intercept in direct line his ray,

And make black night ufurp the throne of day.
The curious will attend that hour with care,

And with no clouds may hover in the air,
To dark the medium, and obftruct from fight
The gradual motion and decay of light;

Whilst

*Mr. Gregory, profeffor of mathematics in Edinburgh.

Fellow of the Royal Society, London.

According to the Copernican fyftem.

Whilst thoughtless fools will view the water-pail, To fee which of the planets will prevail;

For then they think the fun and moon make war, Thus nurses' tales oft-times the judgment mar.

When this ftrange darkness overshades the plains,

"Twill give an odd surprise t' unwarned swains; Plain honest hinds, who do not know the cause, Nor know of orbs, their motions or their laws, Will from the half-plough'd furrows homeward bend,

In dire confufion, judging that the end
Of time approacheth: thus poffeft with fear,
They'll think the gen❜ral conflagration near.
The traveller, benighted on the road,
Will turn devout, and fupplicate his God.
Cocks with their careful mates and younger fry,
As if 't were ev'ning, to their roofts will fly.
The horned cattle will forget to feed,

And come home lowing from the graffy mead.
Each bird of day will to his neft repair,
And leave to bats and owls the dusky air:
The lark and little robin's fofter lay
Will not be heard till the return of day.
Now this will be great part of Europe's cafe,
While Phebe 's as a mask on Phoebus' face.
The unlearn'd clowns, who don't our æra know,
From this dark Friday will their ages fhow;

As

As I have often heard old country men

Talk of dark Monday, and their ages then.

Not long fhall laft this strange uncommon gloom, When light difpels the ploughman's fear of doom; With merry heart he 'll lift his ravish'd fight

Up to the heav'ns, and welcome back the light.
How juft's the motions of these whirling spheres,
Which ne'er can err while time is met by years!
How vaft is little man's capacious foul,

That knows how orbs thro' wilds of æther roll!
How great 's the pow'r of that omnific hand,
Who gave them motion by his wife command,
That they should not, while time had being, stand!