Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep;
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze
That gently stirs the blossomed bean,
When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een.

But it's not her air, her form, her face, Though matching Beauty's fabled queen, But the mind that shines in every graceAn' chiefly in her sparklin' een.

THE BANKS OF DOON.

ORIGINAL VERSION.

YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care?

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause luve was true.

Thou 'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Oft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love;
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae off its thorny tree;

And my fause luver staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.

COME DOWN THE BACK STAIRS.

O, whistle, and I'll come

To you, my lad;

O, whistle, and I'll come
To you, my lad;

Though father and mither

EPITAPH ON MY FATHER.

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,

The tender father, and the generous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human woe;

The dauntless heart that feared no human pride; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;

'For e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side.'

EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE,

INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.

HERE lies Johnny Pidgeon:
What was his religion?
Whae'er desires to ken,

To some other warl'

Maun follow the carl,

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!

Strong ale was ablution,

Small beer persecution,―

A dram was memento mori;
But a full flowing bowl

Was the saving his soul,

And port was celestial glory.

EPITAPH ON JOHN BUSHBY,

WRITER IN DUMFRIES.

HERE lies John Bushby, honest man!
Cheat him, Devil, if you can.

EPITAPH ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;

For had ye staid whole weeks awa',
Your wives they ne'er had missed ye.

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass
To school in bands thegither,
O, tread ye lightly on his grass,
Perhaps he was your father.

EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING

ELDER.

HERE Souter Hood in death does sleep;
To Hell, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it well thegither.

EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN.

KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much-loved, much-honoured name,
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold.

EPITAPH FOR GAVIN HAMILTON.

THE poor man weeps-here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blamed:
But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be saved or damned!

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool?
Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

And drap a tear.

Is there a bard of rustic song

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng?

O, pass not by!

But, with a frater-feeling strong,

Here heave a sigh.

Is there a man, whose judgment clear
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career
Wild as the wave?

Here pause-and, through the starting tear,
Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn, and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame,

But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stained his name!

Reader, attend! Whether thy soul
Soars Fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole
In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.

AN honest man here lies at rest,
As e'er God with his image blest;
The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The friend of age, and guide of youth: