Some Wee Short Hour Ayont The Twal.

When Chill November's Surly Blast Made Fields And Forests Bare.

The Poor Inhabitant Below Was Quick To Learn And Wise To Know And Keenly Felt The Friendly Glow And Softer Flame; But Thoughtless Follies Laid Him Low, And Stain'd His Name!

That Hour O' Night's Black Arch The Keystane.

Suspense Is Worst Than Disappointment.

The Trout In Yonder Wimpling Burn - That Glides, A Silver Dart, - And, Safe Beneath The Shady Thorn, - Defies The Anglers Art.