Nae man can tether time or tide.

Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever . . .

The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts, That thro' my waters play.

Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon; Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.

Ambition is a meteor-gleam; Fame a restless airy dream; Pleasures, insects on the wing Round Peace, th' tend rest flow'r of spring.

Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!