Robert Anderson Poems

Who made me first, when, where, but few can tell,
Tho' I'm made daily for each beau and belle;
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O spare that insect, thoughtless boy!
Let weakness still thy pity claim:
Delight to save, but ne'er destroy,
So shall compassion bless thy name.
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When May--scented zephyrs breathe gladness around,
Enliv'ning the meadow and grove,
And in each mossy cottage Contentment is found,
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Ned Flint was lov'd by all the ship,
Was tender--hearted, bold, and true;
Cou'd work his way, or drink his flip,
With e'er a seaman in the crew.
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Say, have you seen my Sandy fair,
Ye shepherds tell me true?
Last night he left me in despair,
And, sighing, cried adieu.
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Go, winds, and whisper to my fair,
Adorn'd with ev'ry pleasing grace;
Tell her this bosom pants with care,
Since I beheld her beauteous face.
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I've seen thirty Summers strow flow'rs i' the glen,
But annuder blithe Summer I'll ne'er see again!
I've hed monie wooers, frae clown to the beau,
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In yon fair town, where Lagan's lazy stream
Steals softly past, and men of commerce dream;
Where wealth, where fashion, hold the gay levee,
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There's Harraby and Tarraby,
And Wigganby beseyde;
There's Oughterby and Souterby,
And bys beath far and weyde;--
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MATTHEW.
What, Gabriel! come swat thy ways down on the Sattle,
I lang for a bit of a crack;
Thy granson I sent owre the geate for some 'bacco--
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