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ELEGY ON MR. DAVID GREGORY.

Sae weels he'd fley the students a',
Whan they were skelpın at the ba' :
They took leg-bail, and ran awa'

Wi' pith and speed: We winna get a sport sae braw,

Sin' Gregory's dead.

Great 'casion hae we a' to weep,
And cleed our skins in mourning deep,
For Gregory death will fairly keep,

To tak his nap:
He'll till the resurrection sleep,

As sound's a tap.

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THE

DAFT DAYS.

Now mirk December's dowie face Glowrs owre the rigs wi' sour grimace, While, thro' his minimum o' space

The bleer-e'ed sun, Wi' blinkin light and stealin pace,

His race doth rua.

Frae naked groves nae birdie sings ; To shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings; The breeze nae od'rous flavour brings,

Frae Borean cave ; And dwynin Nature droops her wings,

Wi' visage grave.

THE DAFT DAYS.

Mankind but scanty pleasure glean
Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
Whan Winter, 'midst his nippin train,

Wi frozen spear,

Sends drift owre a' his bleak domain,

And guides the weir.

Auld Reikie ! thou’rt the canty hole ;
A bield for mony a cauldrife soul,
Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,

Baith warm and couth;
While round they gar the bicker roll,

To weet their mouth.

Whan merry Yule-day comes, I trow,
You'll scantlins find a hungry mou;
Sma' are our cares, our stamacks fou

O'gusty gear,
And kickshaws, strangers to our view

Sin' fairn-year.

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THE DAFT DAYS.

Ye browster wives ! now busk ye braw,
And fling your sorrows far awa';
Then, come and gie's the tither blaw

O reaming ale,
Mair precious than the Well o' Spa,

Our hearts to heal.

Then, tho' at odds wi' a' the warl,
Amang oursels we'll never quarrel ;
Tho' Discord gie a canker'd snarl,

To spoil our glee,
As lang's there's pith into the barrel,

We'll drink and gree.

Fiddlers ! your pins in tempér fix,
And roset weel your fiddle-sticks ;
But banish vile Italian tricks

Frae out your quorum ; Nor fortes wi' pianos mix ;

Gie's Tullochgorum.

TIE DAFT DAYS.

For nought can cheer the heart sae weel,
As can a canty Highland reel;
It even vivifies the heel

To skip and dance : Lifeless is he wha canna feel

Its influence.

Let mirth abound; let social cheer
Invest the dawnin o' the year ;
Let blithsome Innocence appear,

To crown our joy : Nor Envy, wi' sarcastic sneer,

Our bliss destroy.

And thou, great god of Aquavitæ !
Wha sways the empire o' this city ;
Whan fou, we're sometimes capernoity;

Be thou prepar'd
To hedge us frae that black banditti,

The City Guard.

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