THE LAUREL DISPUTED;

OR, THE MERITS OF ALLAN RAMSAY AND ROBERT FERGUSSON CONTRASTED.

To set Rob's youth and inexperience by,—
His lines are sweeter, and his flights mair high;
Allan, I own, may show far mair o' art,
Rob pours at once his raptures on the heart;
The first, by labour mans our breast to move,
The last exalts to ecstasy and love;
In Allan's verse, sage sleeness we admire,
In Rob's, the glow of fancy and of fire,
And genius bauld, that nought but deep distress,
And base neglect, and want, could e'er suppress.

O hard, hard fate!—but cease, thou friendly tear,
I darna mourn my dear lo'ed Bardie here,
Else I might tell how his great soul had soar'd,
And nameless ages wonder'd and ador'd;
Had friends been kind, and had not his young breath
And rising glory, been eclipsed by Death.

But lest owre lang I lengthen out my crack,
An' Epps be wearying for my coming-back;
Let ane an' a' here, vote as they incline,
Frae heart and saul Rob Fergusson has mine.