Some Wee Short Hour Ayont The Twal.

The Voice Of Nature Loudly Cries,and Many A Message From The Skies,that Something In Us Never Dies.

At Length His Lonely Cot Appears In View, Beneath The Shelter Of An Aged Tree; Th' Expectant Wee-things, Toddling, Stacher Thro' To Meet Their Dad, Wi' Flichterin Noise An' Glee.

And Wild-scatter'd Cowslips Bedeck The Green Dale.

Ambition Is A Meteor-gleam; Fame A Restless Airy Dream; Pleasures, Insects On The Wing Round Peace, Th' Tend Rest Flow'r Of Spring.

Go Fetch To Me A Pint O' Wine, An' Fill It In A Silver Tassie.