ON THE BIRTH OF THE MARQUIS OF DRUMLANRIG.

Help me, some god, with sic a muse
As Pope and Granvile aft employ,
That I may flowing numbers chuse,
To hail the welcome princely boy.

But, bred up far frae shining courts,
In moorland glens, where nought I see,
But now and then some landart lass,
What sounds polite can flow frae me?

Yet, my blyth lass, amang the lave,
With honest heart her homage pays;
Tho' no sae nice she can behave,
Yet always as she thinks she says.

Arise, ye nymphs, on Nitha's plains,
And gar the craigs and mountains ring;
Rouse up the sauls of a' the swains,
While you the lovely infant sing.

Keep halyday on ilka howm,
With gowan garlands gird your brows;
Out o'er the dales in dances roam,
And shout around the jovial news.

By the good bennison of Heav'n,
To free you frae the future fright
Of foreign lords, a babe is given
To guard your int'rest and your right.

With pleasure view your prince, who late
Up to the state of manhood run,
Now, to complete his happy fate,
Sees his ain image in a son.

A son, for whom be this your pray'r,
Ilk morning soon as dawn appears;
God grant him an unmeasur'd skair
Of a' that grac'd his great forbeers:

That his great sire may live to see
Frae his delightfu' infant spring
A wise and stalwart progeny,
To fence their country and their king.

Still bless her Grace frae whom he sprung,
With blythsome heal her strength renew,
That throw lang life she may be young,
And bring forth cautioners enow.

Watch well, ye tenants of the air,
Wha hover round our heads unseen,
Let dear Drumlanrig be your care,
Or when he lifts or steeks his een.

Ye hardy heroes, whase brave pains
Defeated ay th' invading rout,
Forsake a wee th' Elysian plains,
View, smile, and bless your lovely sprout.

Ye fair, wha 've ken'd the joys of love,
And glow with chearfu' heal and youth,
Sic as of auld might nurse a Jove,
Or lay the breast t' Alcides' mouth;

The best and bonniest of ye a'
Take the sweet babie in your arms:
May he nought frae your bosom draw,
But nectar to nurse up his charms.

Harmoniously the notes express,
When singing you his dumps debar,
That discord never may impress
Upon his blooming mind a jar.

Sound a' the poet in his ears,
E'en while he's hanging at the breast:
Thus moulded, when he comes to years,
With an exalted gust he'll feast

On lays immortal, which forbid
The death of Douglas' doughty name;
Or in oblivion let lie hid
The Hydes, their beauty and their fame.