Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq.

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears

Who left the all-important cares

Of princes and their darlings;

And, bent on winning borough towns,

Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns,

And kissing barefit carlins.

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode

Whistling his roaring pack abroad

Of mad unmuzzled lions;

As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd,

And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd

To every Whig defiance.

But cautious Queensberry left the war,

Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star;

Besides, he hated bleeding;

But left behind him heroes bright,

Heroes in Cæsarean fight,

Or Ciceronian pleading.

O! for a throat like huge Mons-meg,

To muster o'er each ardent Whig

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner,

Heroes and heroines commix,

All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honour.

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse,

(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!)

Led on the loves and graces:

She won each gaping burgess' heart,

While he, all-conquering, play'd his part

Among their wives and lasses.

Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps,

Tropes, metaphors and figures pour,

Like Hecla streaming thunder:

Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins,

Blew up each Tory's dark designs,

And bared the treason under.

In either wing two champions fought,

Redoubted Staig, who set at nought

The wildest savage Tory:

And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,

High-waved his magnum-bonum round

With Cyclopean fury.

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks,

The many-pounders of the Banks,

Resistless desolation!

While Maxwelton, that baron bold,

'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold,

And threaten'd worse damnation.

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd,

With these what Tory warriors clos'd,

Surpasses my descriving:

Squadrons extended long and large,

With furious speed rush to the charge,

Like raging devils driving.

What verse can sing, what prose narrate,

The butcher deeds of bloody fate

Amid this mighty tulzie!

Grim Horror girn'd-pale Terror roar'd,

As Murther at his thrapple shor'd,

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie.

As highland craigs by thunder cleft,

When lightnings fire the stormy lift,

Hurl down with crashing rattle,

As flames among a hundred woods;

As headlong foam a hundred floods;

Such is the rage of battle!

The stubborn Tories dare to die;

As soon the rooted oaks would fly

Before th' approaching fellers:

The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,

When all his wintry billows pour

Against the Buchan Bullers.

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night,

Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,

And think on former daring:

The muffled murtherer of Charles

The Magna Charta flag unfurls,

All deadly gules it's bearing.

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame,

Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham,

Auld Covenanters shiver.

(Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose!

Now death and hell engulf thy foes,

Thou liv'st on high for ever!)

Still o'er the field the combat burns,

The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;

But Fate the word has spoken.

For woman's wit and strength o' man,

Alas! can do but what they can!

The Tory ranks are broken.

O that my een were flowing burns!

My voice a lioness that mourus

Her darling cubs' undoing

That I might greet, that I might cry,

While Tories fall, while Tories fly,

And furious Whigs pursuing.

What Whig but melts for good Sir James?

Dear to his country by the names

Friend, patron, benefactor!

Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save!

And Hopeton falls, the generous brave!

And Stewart, bold as Hector!

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow;

And Thurlow growl a curse of woe;

And Melville melt in wailing

How Fox and Sheridan rejoice!

And Burke shall sing, 'O Prince, arise,

Thy power is all-prevailing!'

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar

He only hears and sees the war,

A cool spectator purely!

So, when the storm the forest rends,

The robin in the hedge descends,

And sober chirps securely.