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University of Virginia Library

The Poems of Robert Fergusson

Edited by Matthew P. McDiarmid

Fergusson, Robert (1750-1774)

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ELEGY, On the Death of Mr David Gregory, late Professor of Mathematics in the University of St Andrews.

SONGS FROM ARTAXERXES.

I.

PASTORAL I. MORNING.

II.

PASTORAL II. NOON.

III.

PASTORAL III. NIGHT.

On the cold Month of April 1771.

A SATURDAY's EXPEDITION.

The DECAY of FRIENDSHIP.

Written at the Hermitage of Braid, near Edinburgh.

A Burlesque Elegy on the amputation of a Student's Hair, before his Orders.

FASHION. A POEM.

The RIVERS of SCOTLAND.

The TOWN and COUNTRY Contrasted.

On the DEATH of Mr THOMAS LANCASHIRE, Comedian.

CONSCIENCE. An ELEGY.

The King's Birth-Day in Edinburgh.

On the Death of Dr Toshack of Perth, a great humourist.

DAMON to his FRIENDS.

The Canongate Play-house in Ruins.

The PEASANT, the HEN and young DUCKS.

To Mr Guion, Comedian, for his Panegyric on Dr Walker, &c.

CALLER OYSTERS.

To Mr Robert Fergusson.

Answer to Mr J. S.'s Epistle.

On seeing a Lady paint herself.

Against repining at Fortune.

Epitaph on General Wolfe.

Epigram on the Epitaphs for General Wolfe.

To the Tron-kirk Bell.

Character of a Friend, in an Epitaph which he desired the Author to write.

The Delights of Virtue.

Lines addressed to Gavin Wilson.

A Tavern Elegy.

Mutual Complaint of Plainstanes and Causey, in their Mother-tongue.

The Rising of the Session.

The Sow of Feeling.

Epilogue, spoken by Mr Wilson, at the Theatre-royal, in the Character of an Edinburgh Buck. Written by R. Fergusson.

ODE to the BEE.

The Farmer's Ingle.

The Ghaists: A Kirk-yard Eclogue.

To R. FERGUSSON.

To ANDREW GRAY.

On seeing a Butterfly in the Street.

Hame Content. A Satire.

A Mournful Ditty from the Knight of Complaints

On seeing a Collection of Pictures painted by Mr Runciman .

On James Cumming.

Ode to the Gowdspink

An Expedition to Fife and the Island of May, on board the Blessed Endeavour of Dunbar, Captain Roxburgh Commander.

To the Principal and Professors of the University of St Andrews, on their superb treat to Dr Samuel Johnson.

On the Music-bells playing yesterday forenoon, prior to Brown and Wilson's execution, on the Deacons being presented to Council.

Elegy on John Hogg, late Porter to the University of St Andrews.

A POEM TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

To Sir John Fielding, on his Attempt to suppress the Beggar's Opera

To Dr Samuel Johnson:

Epigram on seeing Scales used in a Mason Lodge.

Epigram on a Lawyer's desiring one of the Tribe to look with respect to a Gibbet.

EPIGRAM written Extempore, at the desire of a Gentleman who was rather ill-favoured, but who had a beautiful Family of Children.

On the Author's intention of going to Sea.

Epigram on James Boswell, Esq.; and Dr. Samuel Johnson being confined to the Isle of Sky.

The Sitting of the Session.

A DRINK ECLOGUE.

To my Auld Breeks.

Rob. Fergusson's Last Will.

Lines written to Collector Charles Lorimer.

Codicile to Rob. Fergusson's Last Will.

HORACE, Ode XI. Lib. I.

The AUTHOR's LIFE.

ODE to DISAPPOINTMENT.

JOB, Chap III. Paraphrased.

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APPENDIX A. SONGS FROM THE ROYAL SHEPHERD.

[From Act I. Scene II.]

[From Act I. Scene III.]

[From Act I. Scene VI.]

[From Act I. Scene VII.]

[From Act I. Scene VIII.]

[From Act II. Scene IV.]

[From Act II. Scene V.]

[From Act II. Scene VII.]

[From Act II. Scene IX.]

[From Act III. Scene I.]

[From Act III. Scene III.]

[From Act III. Scene IV.]

[From Act III. Scene V.]

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[From Act II. Scene IX.]

QUARTETTO

Amint.

Ah! Eliza, did you know
How you fill my breast with woe,
You'd cease to wound my heart,
Or cruel sounds impart.
Hear me, then, ye Fates above,
Send fresh comfort to my love,
And crown my soul with peace,
Her mind with friendly ease.

234

Eliza.

While shepherds cruel prove,
Slighting their former love,
Tell me, Amintas, then,
Are you still that humble swain,
Who by me your flocks wou'd feed,
Playing on your tuneful reed;
Am I banish'd from your mind?
Shall I no more favour find?

Amint. and Agen.

Lets away, and sigh alone,
All our former peace is gone;
Joy fills the peasants breast,
They alone are truly blest;
When the Nobles' births are crost,
And in many troubles lost.
Don't move us with your tears,
Free our sad soul from fears.

Tham.

Are the Fates so unkind?
Are our vows out of mind?
Are you so cruel grown,
Your true lover to disown?
Tell my why you thus complain,
Frowning on us with disdain?
Shall we our sufferings know,
The source of all our woe?

CHORUS.

Cruel Fortune, cease to frown,
Take again your subtle crown;
Let gay looks from lovers dart,
And enliven every heart:
Let our souls be freed from grief,
And each lover find relief;
That Shepherds ever may be blest,
And Shepherdesses sweet carest.