THE RISING OF THE SESSION.

The canny hours o' rest may please,

Instead o' siller:

: Hain'd mu'ter hauds the mill at ease,

And fends the miller.

Blithe may they be wha wanton play
In Fortune's bonny blinkin ray,

Fu' weel can they ding dool away,

Wi' comrades couthy,

And never dree a hungert day,

Or e'enin-drouthy.

Ohon the day! for him that's laid
In dowie poortith's cauldrife shade;
Aiblins owre honest for his trade,

He racks his wits,

How he may get his buik weel clad,

And fill his guts.

VOL. II.

Ꮮ

THE RISING OF THE SESSION.

The farmers' sons, as yap as sparrows, Are glad, I trow, to flee the barras,

And whistle to the pleugh and harrows

At barley seed:

What writer wadna gang as far as

He could for bread.

After their yokin, I wat weel

They'll stoo the kebbuck to the heel ; Eith can the pleugh-stilts gar a chiel

Be unco vogie,

Clean to lick aff his crowdy-meal,

And scart his cogie.

Now mony a fallow's dung adrift
To a' the blasts beneath the lift;

And tho' their stamack's aft in tift,

In vacance time,

Yet seenil do they ken the rift

O' stappit wame.

THE RISING OF THE SESSION.

Now gin a notar shou'd be wanted, You'll find the pillars gayly planted; For little thing protests are granted

Upo' a bill,

And weightiest matters covenanted

For half a gill.

Nae body taks a mornin drib
O' Holland gin frae Robin Gibb;
And tho' a dram to Rob's mair sib

Than is his wife,

He maun tak time to daut his Rib,

Till siller's rife.

This vacance is a heavy doom

On Indian Peter's coffee-room,
For a' his china pigs are toom;

Nor do we see

In wine the sucker biskets soom

As light's a flee.

THE RISING OF THE SESSION.

But stop, my Muse, nor mak a mane,
Pate does na fend on that alane;

He can fell twa dogs wi' ae bane,

Tho' gude joot binna kent to rumble

Your wame within.

You needna grudge to draw your breath

For little mair than half a reath ;.

Than, gin we a' be spar'd frae death,

We'll gladly prie

Fresh noggans o' your reaming graith

Wi' blithesome glee.

LEITH RACES.

IN July month, ae bonny morn

When Nature's rokelay green Was spread owre ilka rig o' corn, To charm our rovin een ;

Glowrin about, I saw a quean,

The fairest 'neath the lift:

Her een were o' the siller sheen ;
Her skin, like snawy drift,

Sae white that day.

"Ye wha hae sung o' Hallow-fair,

" Her Winter's pranks, and play; “Whan on Leith-sands the racers rare "Wi' Jocky louns are met,

"Their orra pennies there to ware,

And drown themsels in debt

Fu' deep that day."