A BURLESQUE ELEGY

On the Amputation of a STUDENT's Hair, before his ORDERS.

O SAD catastrophe! O event dire !

How shall the loss, the heavy loss be borne? Or how the Muse attune the plaintive lyre, To sing of Strephon, with his ringlets shorn.

Say ye, who can divine the mighty cause, From whence this modern circumcision

རྒྱུས་

springs?

Why such oppressive and such rigid laws
Are still attendant on religious things?

Alas! poor Strephon, to the stern decree Which prunes your tresses, are you doom'd

to yield?

Soon shall your caput, like the blasted tree, Diffuse its faded honours o'er the field.

Now let the solemn sounds of mourning swell, And wake sad echoes to prolong the lay;

For hark! methinks I hear the tragic knell; This hour bespeaks the barber on his way.

O razor, yet thy poignant edge suspend; O yet indulge me with a short delay; Till I once more pourtray my youthful friend, 'Ere his proud locks are scatter'd on the clay.

'Ere the huge wig, in formal curls array'd, With pulvile pregnant, shall o'ershade his face;

Or, like the wide umbrella, lend its aid,

To banish lustre from the sacred place.

Mourn, O ye zephyrs! for, alas! no more

His waving ringlets shall your call obey! For, ah! the stubborn wig must now be

wore,

Since Strephon's locks are scatter'd on the clay.

Amanda, too, in bitter anguish sighs,
And grieves the metamorphosis to see;
Mourn not, Amanda, for the hair that lies
Dead on the ground shall be revived for
thee.

Some skilful artist of a French frizeur, With graceful ringlets shall thy temples bind,

And cull the precious relics from the floor,

Which yet may flutter in the wanton wind.

WRITTEN AT THE

HERMITAGE OF BRAID,

NEAR EDINBURGH.

WOULD you relish a rural retreat,
Or the pleasure the groves can inspire,
The city's allurements forget,

To this spot of enchantment retire.

Where a valley, and chrystaline brook, Whose current glides sweetly along, Give nature a fanciful look,

The beautiful woodlands among.

Behold the umbrageous trees

A covert of verdure have spread, Where shepherds may loll at their ease, And pipe to the musical shade :

For lo! thro' each op'ning is heard,
In concert with waters below,
The voice of a musical bird,

Whose numbers do gracefully flow.

The bushes and arbours so green,
The tendrils of spray interwove,
With foliage shelter the scene,
And form a retirement for love.

Here Venus transported may rove
From pleasure to pleasure unseen,
Nor wish for the Cyprian grove
Her youthful Adonis to screen.

Oft let me contemplative dwell

On a scene where such beauties appear; I could live in a cot or a cell,

And never think solitude near.

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