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 EGLINTON PARK MEETING, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 By JOHN RAMSAY, 
 
 Yet all beneath the unrivalled rose 
 
 The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 
 
 Though large the forest's monarch throws 
 
 His array shade, 
 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 
 
 Adown the glade. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 STIRLING, KENNEY & CO.; 
 
 J. DUNCAN, LONDON; DAVID ROBERTSON, GLASGOW J 
 H. CRAWFORD AND SON, KILMARNOCK. 
 
 MDCCCXLIII. 
 
 [Price I'hrce Shillings and Sixpence. J
 
 KILMARNOCK— PRINTED BY H.CRAWFORD AKD SON.
 
 INDEX TO POEMS. 
 
 PAQB 
 
 Adventure, An, 139 
 
 Agricultural Apprentices, On some ill-bred, . 247 
 
 Arran, from the Sea, . . . . . . 1 89 
 
 Auclians i\Iansion-House, On visiting, . . 193 
 
 Auchinleck-House, Written beside, . . . 233 
 
 Bard, The, 102 
 
 Battle of Killicrankie, 190 
 
 Cairntable, Written on a view of, . . . 243 
 Carpet Factory Subscx'iption Ball, Written on 
 
 seeing a, 245 
 
 Chambers, Esq., Verses to Robert, . . . 191 
 
 Christ weeping over Jerusalem, ... 53 
 
 Clergyman going home intoxicated, On seeing a, . 147 
 
 Commercial Distress, Wiitten during, . . 219 
 
 Death and the Sexton, 1 13 
 
 Death of Hugh Adam, Student, On the, . . 168 
 
 Death of Mr. George Osborne, On the, . -. 160 
 
 Doou, Scene on the Banks of, . . . . 237 
 
 Dream, 123 
 
 Dundonald Castle, Address to, ... 38 
 
 Dundonald, Evening Meditations on the Heights of, 163 
 
 Eglinton Park Meeting, 9 
 
 Eliza, Lines to, 181 
 
 Epigram, 246 
 
 Epitaph on Mr. John Ingram, R.A., . . . 244 
 
 Epitaph on Peter Lucas, 249 
 
 Epitaph on C — rl — s L — k — t, .... 250 
 
 Epitaph on Johnny White, .... 249 
 
 Epistle to Mrs. Hamilton, of Parkhill, . • . 195 
 
 Epistle to Mr. Ilol)ert Brown, Kirkhill, . . 224 
 
 Epistle to John Stirling, Darvel, .... 177 
 
 Epistle to Eliza, 206 
 
 Excitement, Written in a moment of, . . . 242 
 
 Extempore, 245 
 
 i'asteu's-E'cn in l^ilraarnock, The Sports of, . 81 
 
 Father's Grave, Extempore by my, . . . 236 
 
 Formalist, The, 203 
 
 Fragment, 231 
 
 84.1634
 
 IV INDEX. 
 
 Fragment, 238 
 
 Fragment, 240 
 
 Fragment, 241 
 
 Hannah Hedgehog, 221 
 
 Happy Five, Tlie, 250 
 
 Hardie and Baird, On visiting the Grave of, . 199 
 
 Help's Elegy, 185 
 
 Hughie Spiers, or the Wonder of the Nineteenth 
 
 Century, 108 
 
 Inch, On ISfr. J., 248 
 
 Jamie Allan, 246 
 
 Kilmarnock-House, Written near, . . . 208 
 
 Knox, On Mr. Patrick, 248 
 
 Landlady, To a portly, 248 
 
 Life of the Aiitdior, 5 
 
 Lines to my Eldest Son, 175 
 
 Lines for a Valentine, 201 
 
 Loudoim Campaign, The, 58 
 
 Loudoun Castle, On passing, .... 243 
 
 Loudoun Hill, , . 236 
 
 ]\Ielancholy, Written under the impression of, 242 
 
 Melrose Abbey, Written in, 219 
 
 Midnight Thoughts, 212 
 
 Musings by the Clj^de, 70 
 
 Nobleman's Gate, Written on a, . . . 247 
 
 Old Cumnock, On being Shaved in, . . . 202 
 
 On Mr. Lamb deceiving Jlr. Shejjherd, . . 249 
 
 Palmyra, The Ruins of, 229 
 
 Poet, What is most descriptive of a, . . 211 
 
 Redbreast shot, On seeing a, .... 183 
 
 Roman Camp, Written on a, . . . . 210 
 
 Sandy that wons in the Aird, .... 253 
 
 Summer Evening, 236 
 
 Tannahill, On reading the Life of, ... 49 
 
 The Temple of Fame, 151 
 
 Tombs of the Douglases, 135 
 
 Uncle's Grave, On visiting my, . , . 230 
 
 Vision of Jed, The, 213 
 
 Wandering Piper, The, 172 
 
 Winter Evening, . . . . . . .239
 
 BRIEF SKETCH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE OE THE AUTHOR. 
 
 John Ramsat was born in Kilmarnock in the year 
 1802. His education, like tkat of most indi\d(luals 
 in his sphere of life, was limited. After leaving the 
 jurisdiction of the "dominie," he resided for several 
 years with an uncle, near the village of Dundonald. 
 The ancient castle, and the romantic scenery in the 
 neighbourhood, linked as they are with the stirring 
 events of Scottish history, had no doubt an inspiring 
 effect on the ardent mind of Ramsay. Hence it is 
 that we often find him reverting, in his poems, to 
 the enchanting spot, with all the buoyancy of youth 
 ful enthusiasm. 
 
 He was afterwards apprenticed, in his native place, 
 as a carpet-weaver; and, amidst the din and disson- 
 ance of the loom-shop, he occasionally essayed, in 
 
 B
 
 VI LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 fancy's dream, to visit the poet's bower. A sub- 
 scription paper for a ball was at one time handed 
 through the carpet- work, bearing these lines — 
 
 " Every good fellow who wishes to prance, 
 Come, pray take the pencil and sign for a dance," — 
 
 and which, as a matter of course, was submitted to 
 Ramsay, who wrote the following impromptu on the 
 back of it :— 
 
 «' Old Plato once met Father Jove, 
 
 And asked the Self-Existent, 
 ' What was in earth, or heaven above. 
 
 Of all most inconsistent ?' 
 
 Jove heard the question, gave a nod — 
 
 To heaven's high tow'rs advancing, 
 Unveiled this world—' Now,' says the god, 
 
 • D'ye see yon weavers dancing ?' " 
 
 The satire, though it galled the more earnest pro- 
 moters of the ball, was much appreciated; and 
 Ramsay was induced to send the lines for insertion 
 to the Edinburgh Literary Jotirnal, a clever periodi- 
 cal, edited by Henry Glassford Bell, Esquire. The 
 lines, trifling as they may appear,, were inserted in 
 an early number. Emboldened by encouragement, 
 Mr. Ramsay contributed another poem to the Jour- 
 nal, entitled, "Lines to Eliza," which was also 
 received, and highly recommended by the indulgent 
 editor.
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Yll 
 
 When the late Marquis of Hastings visited Lou- 
 doun Castle in 1823, after his return from India, the 
 Kilmarnock Volunteers and the Ayrshire Yeomanry 
 repaired thither to congratulate him on his arrival. 
 The excitement created in Kilmarnock by the turn- 
 out of the volunteers was considerable, and formed 
 the engrossing subject of conversation for several 
 weeks. Ramsay, whose forte certainly lies more in 
 the satirical than the pathetic, selected "the march" 
 of the volunteers as a legitimate subject for liis pen, 
 and wrote an amusing poem, in which he did ample 
 justice to some of the more eccentric characters in 
 the "dandy corps." The poem, though only in 
 manuscript, was widely known throughout "auld 
 Killie," at that time ringing with 
 
 " The great campaign. 
 Which the brave Dandies did sustain." 
 
 Mr. Ramsay continued to work at the carpets for 
 a number of years; but he is now, and has been for 
 a length of time, in business as a grocer in Kilmar- 
 nock. He is married, and has a rising family. 
 
 In 1836, after a sufficient number of subscribers 
 had been obtained, he published the first edition of 
 his poems, of which a thousand copies were printed. 
 In 18.39, he was induced to publish a second edition, 
 with emendations and improvements ; and now, we
 
 viii lilFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 uuderstand, a third edition of a thousand copies is 
 in the press. The volume was favourably noticed 
 in Chambers's Journal, and several local and other 
 provincial newspapers. 
 
 "The Eglinton Park Meeting," the leading poem 
 in the second edition, is among the latest of his 
 ^vritings; and, if we may judge from the strong 
 poetical vein pervading it, his genius appears only 
 to require cultivation to undertake a more daring 
 flio-ht. Written in the strain of Tenant's " Anstcr 
 
 a 
 
 Fair," "The Eglinton Park Meeting" is a running 
 commentary on every thing that came within the 
 author's observation, and is a poem of undoubted 
 merit. 
 
 In the "Address to Dundonald Castle," he is no 
 less felicitous in the selection of material than judi- 
 cious in its arrangement. The ancient ruin, once 
 the seat of Scottish royalty, is reverenced by the 
 poet with an ardour, and described with a vigour, 
 that touches and awakens the tender susceptibilities 
 of the heart. We do not envy the man, who, after 
 visiting the sylvan shades and shaggy hills of Dun- 
 donald, does not recognise, in the glowing imagery 
 of the poet, the reality and boldness of its repre- 
 sentation.— fi^ro?» "The Contemporaries of Btirns, 
 and the more recent Poets of Ayrshire." J
 
 POEMS. 
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 If Pindar sung horse-races, what should hinder 
 Himself from being as pliable as Pindar ? 
 
 By BON. 
 
 I. 
 
 In radiant majesty the source of light 
 Arose, and walked the chambers of the east, 
 
 And bade the seas and rivers sparkle bright, 
 And cheered afar the lonely mountain's breast. 
 
 Whose shaggy top was veiled in vapours white — 
 Where soared, sublime, the eagle o'er her nest, 
 
 By dreary cairn; — th' unconscious lamb and ewe 
 
 -Grazed 'mong red heath, wild-thyme, and hairbell 
 
 blue. 
 
 II. 
 
 And on a rock, coeval with the earth. 
 
 Where time had toiled till with his toil turned grey, 
 
 The shepherd sat, and eyed, in all her mirth. 
 
 Nature rejoice along life's flowery way — 
 
 b3
 
 10 EGLIXTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 From blossomed thorn the mavis warbled forth, 
 Tlie linnet from the broom and birchen spray, 
 The cushat mourned, and, as the bass to all, 
 Loud thundered o'er the rock the mighty waterfall. 
 
 III. 
 
 Descending thence, along the misty plain. 
 On rapid wing, the raptured muse surveyed 
 
 Rich lawns, extending even to the main, 
 And groves and vales in summer's pomp arrayed; 
 
 And waving woods, now lost, and now again 
 The broad bright river in his strength displayed. 
 
 Proud aristocracy's bedazzling bower, 
 
 The lone sad remnants of the feudal tower. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far other features showed the city's face. 
 Buildings on buildings piled unt« the sky, 
 
 The vagrant curs about the market-place. 
 The high slow-moving wain, the driver's cry, 
 
 The bawling sweep, the tippler on the chase, 
 Of stunted form, pale cheek, and heavy eye; 
 
 Toil's various tribes unto their tasks repair. 
 
 The drunkard to his den of frenzy and despair.
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 11 
 
 V. 
 
 Heaven ! what means this vortex we behold 
 Of human passions, human joys and woes, 
 
 Of vast extremes, and much that is untold 
 In life's retreats? For ever onward flows 
 
 Time's tide, on which we rise but to be rolled 
 As wrecks, with all our transports and our throes, 
 
 Down to that deep impenetrable gloom 
 
 That hangs o'er all that lies beyond the tomb. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But with that chap we have begun our song, 
 That swept of old the lyre, and strung the bow. 
 
 And dealt in pills, (if Ovid be not wrong,)* 
 And played the devil 'mong the dames below; 
 
 When he had farther sped the heavens along, 
 
 Our streets, lanes, highways made a glorious show, 
 
 With wains, carts, gigs, cars, studded with blythe faces, 
 
 Still answ'ring to the query — "Are ye for the races?" 
 
 • Mine is the invention of the charming lyre ; 
 Sweet notes and heavenly numbers I inspire. — 
 Sure is my bow, unerring is ray dart. 
 But, ah ! more deadly his who pierced my heart. 
 Med'cine is mine, what herbs and simples grow 
 In fields and forests, all their powers I know ; 
 And am the great physician called below. 
 
 Drydbm's Otid.
 
 12 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Behold how little moves the sons of verse ! 
 
 I fast got breakfast, faster was arrayed — 
 For Poets' garments, like their pounds, arc ecarce, 
 
 And seldom are on that account mislaid: 
 I cannot say that mine are the reverse, 
 
 And, worse than that, not altogether paid; 
 But by the toll-bar soon I took my station. 
 Looking like one rebuked for fornication. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A car instanter trundled into sight, 
 Drawn by a donkey-looking creature vile, 
 
 That in its youth had galloped with delight 
 On the far hills of some bleak misty isle. 
 
 A seat I found, and having sung — " AU's right," 
 Sober began to measure the first mile — 
 
 Seat did I say! — a hanging on the door, 
 
 For in the vehicle were already four. 
 
 IX. 
 
 One was a dominie, a wag most queer. 
 As full of mirth's of matter is the egg —
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 13 
 
 Another was his daughter, and his dear 
 Partner in care a third, whom called he Meg, 
 
 Most unpolitely, odd it may appear; 
 The fourth imagination out would drag, 
 
 As that kind, good, disinterested man. 
 
 Old Ireland's god and devil— honest Dan ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Little occurred worth noting on the way. 
 Thronged with all kinds of creatures were the high- 
 ways. 
 
 Of every colour in the light of day, 
 Crowds still came forth to join them from the bye- 
 ways. 
 
 In Dreghorn village took we a short stay, — 
 
 For having got, as some say, "kin' o' dry- ways," — 
 
 Dreghorn that line of houses, huts, or steadings — 
 
 Geese, ducks, pigs, pigeons, dubs, and monstrous 
 
 middens ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 But into Irvine by-and-by we got, 
 
 Where swarms were casting fast, and others hiving, 
 And others sweeping past as hard and hot 
 
 As ]\Ionsicur Jehu was himscl them driving;
 
 14 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 Waiters and ostlers drawing in the groat, 
 
 Like bladders blowing were their purses thriving, 
 Old Lethe's stream had swallowed up the ills 
 Of life, crossed loves, wives, and dishonoured bills. 
 
 XII. 
 
 By Jupiter, it is a glorious thing 
 
 That there are times when we forget our cares, 
 Else to the grave they would our craniums bring, 
 
 Long, long ere garnished by the hoary hairs 
 Dan Jacob spake of;* but come, trim your wing. 
 
 My muse, and mind more intimate affairs, 
 For now the scene of action we are near. 
 And best of company in front and rear. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Through the deep ruts and fast fatiguing sand 
 Strained little Charlie, though it was but slow, 
 
 And sunk his hoof where Neptune did command 
 The bounding waves a thousand years ago, 
 
 When unexpectedly he made a stand — 
 <'Broke down," was chanted round, "broke down, 
 hallo." 
 
 * Genesis, chap. xlii. 39.
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 15 
 
 Our dominie now from the car alighting, 
 Leaped up into the air like cock afighting ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And did blaspheme with terrifying mien, 
 And cursed each thing that ever went on wheel. 
 
 Since the first day that chariot was seen 
 Before which ran the prophet to Jezreel — 
 
 AH horses, mules, and asses, that have been 
 
 Since Balaam's donkey xuade her grand appeal — 
 
 Each soul that ever vehicle hired a mile. 
 
 Since chariots let were in the land of Nile. 
 
 XV. 
 
 To every heathen deity for aid 
 He cried aloud; but suddenly detecting 
 
 His error, next to all the saints he prayed — 
 (Folks angry rare are given to reflecting,) 
 
 All fiends of which e'er Milton mention made 
 He next invoked, and, foresaid things collecting, 
 
 With oath that never shall escape my tongue, 
 
 Unto them, like a wisp, the whole concern he flung.
 
 16 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 XVI. 
 But oft when rudest storms have ceased to blow, 
 
 Dame Nature will assume her sweetest face, 
 And after heights arc hollows still, you know — 
 
 Tliis with our dominie was just the case. 
 Perhaps such impious lengths he did not go, 
 
 For rhymers ever are a lying race; 
 But on shanks-naigie, or the independent, 
 We gained the racing-ground — a scene resplendent ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But here first. Nature, thou my goddess bright, 
 Shall my song rise in all its power to thee — 
 
 What transports of incflfablc delight 
 
 Thy charms have given mc even in infancy ! 
 
 Thy dewy wild-flowers, dawn, and dying light 
 Of day far o'er the wide illumined sea — 
 
 Thy hoary hills, grey rocks, and woodlands wild, 
 
 Where parents often deemed were lost their child. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Behold the sandy plain here tells a tale 
 Of earth's mutations, to the thinking mind.
 
 EGI-INTON PARK MEETING. 17 
 
 In words of tliunder; westward the wide vale 
 Of mighty waters, rising to the wind, 
 
 And glitt'ring in the sun, where the full sail 
 Of Industry or Pleasure still we find, 
 
 August Ben-Ghoil,*' where evening billows meet, 
 
 And wash with songs the giant monarch's feet. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 0, ho ! my little sentimental blue, 
 
 You're at your woods, your hills, and streams again; 
 I'd thank you more to turn and take a yigw 
 
 Of titled Beauty, through the chariot pane. 
 The world's wide continents their tributes due 
 
 Have given to her shrine, and all in vain 
 We seek for similies to describe the fair. 
 For Nature's highest, brightest work is there. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And many a youth of fair and manly die, 
 On charger of our isle's unrivalled breed. 
 
 » Ben-Ghoil, the mountain of the winds, is generally known by its 
 English and less poetical name of Goatficld.— 5co/<'s Lord of the Isles- 
 It is the highest mountain in the romantic island of Arran. 
 
 C
 
 18 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 Swift as the simooms of the desert fly, 
 Pricks o'er the plain the snorting fiery steed. 
 
 What splendid equipages glitter by, 
 
 With sober, stately pace, or graceful speed; — 
 
 Homer! all chariots in thy Trojan scenes, 
 
 Were mere wheelbarrows unto our machines. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now get your spectacles my good old dame, 
 
 Some self-styled critics say you're short of sight — 
 
 Nay, altogether stupid, blind, and lame; — 
 It may be, — but we'll canter o'er a height. 
 
 Whose very base would paralyze the same; 
 And from one page of Nature's book of light 
 
 Draw sweets their souls are strangers to: — away. 
 
 What mastiff minds the messiu in his way? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Well, what's next seen? The farmers, old and young, 
 U pon their blacks, and browns, and lumbering greys; 
 
 Though agricultural distress their song 
 Has long been, they are like their meat and claes; 
 
 And clergy, aye, their gowns and faces long, 
 And other furniture of Sabbath days
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 19 
 
 Are off; and lawyers, beagles too — that's odd: — 
 No! Satan once came 'mong the sons of God. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Here squeezes Jack his quid as in a vice, 
 And sea-born phrases deals, and oaths wholesale; 
 
 And there are men of garters, thimbles, dice. 
 While others nuts and gingerbread retail: 
 
 Another class, quite of the touch as nice 
 As fairy's fingers, those who seldom fail 
 
 To catch the purse, — why, there's no harm in't, 
 
 They're only Dan's disciples taking "rint." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Besides, some average samples may be found 
 Of the poor souls that sell their charms for gold — 
 
 Descendants of the kittle lass that bound 
 The scarlet line into her sash of old. 
 
 By which she safely dropped unto the ground 
 The spies of Joshua, as we are told — 
 
 Or agents rather, canvassing that section 
 
 Of Canaan, previous to the grand election.
 
 20 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Well, I do tliink, and almost too could swear, 
 
 They're here from every land beneath the sun, 
 And moon, and stars, and clouds — from each nook 
 
 where 
 The wind has blown, grass sprung, or water run. 
 Where'er mankind have felt the thorns of care. 
 
 Or loved, or hated, or seen that old 'un, 
 Called Death, although I miss the Ashantees, 
 And Cooke's old cronies of the southern seas. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And fore and aft, and right and left, they drive. 
 And ride, and walk, and run, condense, and scatter, 
 
 Thick as the little vagabonds that strive 
 
 (Seen by the microscope) through drops of water; 
 
 And on some principle beyond my dive, [matter,) 
 They seem to've caught, (but how it makes no 
 
 A small spark of the mutable devotion 
 
 Of Harry Brougham — that true perpetual motion. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But to the tents away now wo must hie — 
 Far up's the sun, and soon the race will start —
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 21 
 
 And all things look more brilliant to the eye, 
 When folks have something got to keep the heart. 
 
 To paint this panorama grand when I 
 Attempt, as vain, as futile is my art, 
 
 As 'twould be catching Garnock* in a riddle. 
 
 Or playing on the tongs 'gainst Paganini's fiddle. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 With jostling, squeezing, driving, and what not, 
 We reached those foci of the mirth and tipple. 
 And took our seats among a merry lot. 
 
 Driving the fun, and taking their bit sipple. 
 O, Bacchus ! spite of all that has been wrote. 
 
 And said, and sung, we drain thy deadly nipple, 
 And oft yield part by part, till sinks the whole- 
 Unnerved the system, and unmanned the soul. 
 
 * Gamock, a small river in the district of Cunningham, Ayrshire, 
 which rises from the foot of a very high hill in the moor called the 
 Mistylaw, on the northern boundary of the county, parish of Largs, and 
 runs shallow, clear, and beautiful, down the hill towards tlie south; it 
 holds on its course through the parishes of Dairy and Kilwinning, en- 
 larged as it flows by the addition of the Caaf and the Rye, till it falls 
 into the tea at the harbour of Uvme.— Chambers's Gazetteer of Scotland. 
 
 c3
 
 22 EGLINTON PAKK MEETING* 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And, yc gods ! of farces this was king — 
 
 Such tearing, swearing, gormandizing, drinking; 
 
 Such courting, jesting, laughing, everything, 
 But common-sense, sobriety, and thinking. 
 
 Solids in mountains fled a* on the wing. 
 And fast as rain in sunburnt pastures sinking; 
 
 Whole seas of liquids — meat and drink looked really 
 
 To run a race, their winning-post — the belly. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Religion, Honour, Pride, Love, Self-esteem, 
 
 Et cetera, as timonecrs must guide. 
 As circumstances bind, — whate'cr some dream, — 
 
 Our bark o'er life's for-ever-troubled tide; 
 But all that e'er has moved the breast did seem 
 
 Here to ferment, and over it preside 
 Old Satan, — yes, lay it on his back, 
 To erring man an ever useful hack ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 But my poor Pegasus is off the course: 
 No wonder, for he has a sorry rider;
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 23 
 
 Indeed, 'tis just such horseman and such horse, — 
 The muse should run into a hole and hide her: 
 
 To every one we pass we are a source 
 
 Of shaking laughter — none e'er wandered wider 
 
 From Phoebus' paths, o'er ditch and quagmire skelpin', 
 
 The tailor unto Brentford, or John Gilpin. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Come, truce: — here, as Silenus drunk of old, 
 Sits Kate M'Killop, erst of Sannox Glen,* 
 
 Which modem avarice has turned a fold — 
 
 Once the dear homes of happy Highlandmen, — 
 
 Moulder the rent green walls — the hearths are cold — 
 Where stood the cradle is the fox's den — 
 
 And many of her sons have found a grave 
 
 In that far world beyond the Atlantic wave. 
 
 ** A beautiful glen in the north of the island of Arran, in the bosom 
 of which a number of happy families had for centuries resided, till the 
 year 1830, when they were expelled by the agent of the lord of the soil, 
 and the grounds converted into sheep-walks— the greater part of the 
 ancient tenants emigrated to North America. The name of M'Killop 
 may still be traced on some of the rude stones that there mark the duet 
 of men of long-forgotten dayi.
 
 24 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 But when the midnight moon has climbed the heaven, 
 And pale, cold, pure, shines each attendant star. 
 
 To deep, deep vales a deeper tint is given, 
 And meeting tides their murmur send afar, — 
 
 The spirits of the forms of days, long driven 
 Away upon the wheels of Time's swift car. 
 
 Return, and o'er their joys and sorrows gone, 
 
 Moan on the vdnd around the grey grave-stone. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 However, let's go back and see our Kate, 
 Who, as the glass and hiccup will allow. 
 
 Holding, with both hands, firmly by the seat. 
 To neighbour spins this yarn, with beck and bow: — 
 
 " Our ane an' me was here last year, and great 
 " Was the galravagin and fun — ^hech-ho! — 
 
 " Here's luck! — but there was ac race, sic ne'er seen 
 
 *' Was in Guid's yirth by ony body's een.* 
 
 » A race was run, in 1836, wilh ladies' ponies, the gentlemen riden 
 being dressed in ladies' Leghorn bonnets. It was won for Mist Boswejl, 
 of Aushinleck, by Mr. Campbell, Sornbcg.
 
 EGUNTON PARK MEETING. 25 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " I think there either was some aucht or nine 
 " ladies, wi' their ponies, this race rade, 
 
 "In tap-boots, breeks, sleeved waistcoats, bonnets fine, 
 " Buskit wi' ribbons, feathers lang and braid. 
 
 " Here's luck, man, Donald, baith to thee and thine ! 
 " I ne'er leugh mair sin' ever I was made, 
 
 " Nor I did at an eldren dame that wan it, 
 
 " She leukt sae awfu' queer frae 'neath her bonnet. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Whether it was the ridin' brought the bluid 
 
 " Into her face, or no, I canna say; 
 " But every smitch o't was a kin' o' red, 
 
 " Or rather something comin' near a blae; 
 " And lang white whiskers on her face, some said — 
 
 " My een's no what they ance were in a day — 
 " Eigh,— but here's tae her! be her what she will, 
 "She showed of horsemanship nae trifling skUl." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 With glass in hand, now o'er the form went Kate, 
 Right in a box of pies and gingerbread —
 
 26 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 O'erturned a vintner, near about the weight 
 Of a prize ox; — like drowning people, glad 
 
 To seize on any thing, he fastened straight 
 Upon a gauntree's end, completely clad 
 
 With casks, and down it came — the host grew pale, 
 
 For 'neath it stood a gross of bottled ale! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The souls and bodies of the bottles were 
 Sent to destruction, save a precious few, — 
 
 As Calvin tells us human beings are, — 
 
 Or like the " Highland Watch" at Waterloo: 
 
 Ten women fainted — fifteen, some aver; — 
 Perished of corset laces twenty-two; 
 
 Who doubts the truth of what is written here, 
 
 May find it all in the Dumfries Courier. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And is it thus: — when will ye be wise! 
 
 My muse, whene'er ye find your favourite regioni, 
 Ye fly like Vulcan hurled from upper skies, 
 
 Hume on the pensions, Boswell's* carrier-pigeon*; 
 
 * Sir James Boswell, Baronet, of Aucbinleck.
 
 ECLINTON PAKK MEETING. 27 
 
 Nay, pray don't now affect the least surprise, — 
 
 The race starts, sure as men of all religions 
 Deem they are right, and 'tis a pretty omen — 
 You stand here trifling 'bout a drunken woman. 
 
 XL. 
 
 But through the ever-tumbling human sea, — 
 By Feeling's gales, by winds of Passion tossed, — • 
 
 We've steered with pilot caution to the lee. 
 And anchor dropt near harbour winning post. 
 
 But hark ! lo, oflE' they to the contest be, 
 Loud sound the hoofs upon the trembling coast, 
 
 And each as anxious is to be the winner. 
 
 As Satan watching o'er a dying sinner. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 And watch he does, they say, most warily; — 
 Who sayl the clergy; — and 'tis therefore true; 
 
 Now, what a great old blackguard he must be; 
 But his attendance may be merely through 
 
 A touch of kindness; — o'er their daily fee. 
 Some farmers cart their weary reapers to 
 
 Their homes; — so life's day ended, Nick a sail 
 
 May give his slaves, or canter on his tail.
 
 28 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Enough of this — behold like thought or light 
 They fly; but these are similics too bold; — 
 
 To say that like the wind, were something trite, — 
 And, by-the-bye, I think a little cold; — 
 
 To say they fly, or unto distant sight 
 Appear to fly, with critics even may hold, — 
 
 Though I ne'er yet have learned of flying steed 
 
 Save Pegasus, which ne'er was known to breed. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 In ladies, lords, knights, gents of every grade, 
 Clergy, physicians, lawyers, and cut purses. 
 
 Men of each business, calling, craft, and trade, 
 'Tis pleasant to behold how high the force is 
 
 Of the excitement, at this point displayed; 
 
 Hung in suspense they're — though upon the 
 course is 
 
 None quite exact, like Absalom i' the oak. 
 
 When fled his treach'rous mule, which was no joke. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 As the competitors the goal draw nigh, — 
 Eager as when no rcck'ning is to pay
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 29 
 
 Drmk Antiburghers; like unto the sigh 
 Of dying storms in some rock-circled bay 
 
 Rises a clamour, or more like the cry 
 Of folks when in th' electioneering way; 
 
 When thousands shout, approve, condemn, though 
 heard 
 
 Distinct, they've not one solitary word. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Ho ! now they come — whatever head, or heart. 
 
 Or hand, or heel can do, is deftly done; — 
 See, see, 'tis past, — away the people start, 
 
 Scorning each barrier, crying, " Boswell's won." 
 'Twere surely now a very foolish part, 
 
 Should one course-guard attempt to stop the run, 
 
 Though we each day see things more foolish still- 
 As Owen's schemes— Sir Andrew Agnew's bill. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And now, most patient reader, if you please. 
 We'll have a little soothing relaxation. 
 
 When things arc at a kind of "stand at ease;" 
 But hark ye first this scrap of conversation:— 
 
 s
 
 30 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 " Well, blow my eyes, since e'er I've cruised the seas, 
 
 " If yet I've looked on better navigation: 
 " And tliougli the Pilot came too late to port, 
 '"Twas but by point of prow, and d— d good sport."* 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Now, here some antic specimens we'll see 
 Of various animals, both wild and tame. 
 
 Fit to bring Wombwell's grand menagerie — 
 Or even Captain Noah's — unto shame. 
 
 Some making loves, bets, bargains, ardently 
 Playing their parts in life's vain subtle game; 
 
 Some spur the steed, and leave us, as his host 
 
 Left Bonney, when o'ercome by Gcn'ral Frost. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 And some, again, where Justice keeps her shop, 
 Kick up and hold a most oonfounded bustle; 
 
 Men of six feet through crevices do pop. 
 
 That hardly would admit my Lord John Russell. 
 
 • Wednesday, April 26, 1837. Match, one hundred sovereigns, h. ft.. 
 Sir James Boswell's ch. g.. Patriot, 4 years old, H stones 4 lbs., (Mr. 
 Grant M'Dowall,) beat Lord Eglinton's b. g Pilot, aged, 12 stones 7 lbs, 
 One mile. (A splendid race, and won by the nQSe.)—/lt/r Observer.
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 31 
 
 Halloo ! what's up now, backward, forward, stop, — 
 
 'Tis, as my grandmotlier would say, a tussle; 
 But who to see would not take treads and squeezes, 
 Our great folks used as cadgers do their cheeses. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Others, before the tabernacle, or tent, 
 
 Or what d'ye call't, where all grandees repair, 
 
 Stand, shewing each expression that e'er went 
 To form ill-breeding's most accomplished stare. 
 
 Some do, what did the Whigs in Parliament, 
 
 Which was just nothing — sure now most unfair; — 
 
 Nay, by the gods ! say, what did either House, — 
 
 The mountains laboured, and broughtforth — a mouse ! 
 
 L. 
 
 Four things I know not, Solomon hath said. 
 Four things there are which I sincerely pity; 
 
 But sympathy of bards to none brings aid, 
 
 More than the ■^^'ind's sigh to a famished city; — 
 
 They want the wherewithal, apt to parade 
 
 What brings but small relief, their whole— a ditty; 
 
 And like the cuckoo sing, their own affairs 
 
 Meantime the object of another's cares.
 
 32 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 LI. 
 
 First, then, a bigot, whose beloved creed 
 The world unprejudiced can plainly sec 
 
 A bore, a bagatelle, nonsense; indeed. 
 
 What i' the nature of things can never be; — 
 
 Life spent in doing nought; — he who can plead 
 The cause of doctrines, whose absurdity 
 
 He knows full well; — young Beauty, else placed 
 snugly, 
 
 If wed to husband crabbed, old, and ugly. 
 
 LII. 
 
 But what connexion, you will doubtless say. 
 
 Have aU the figures you've of late been tracing- 
 Cuckoos, and clergy, statesmen, beasts of prey — 
 Unto the subject you proposed — horse-racing. 
 I know my muse is oft, like one next day 
 
 After being drunk, some fancied meteor chasing: 
 And that her brain as pregnant is with havers 
 As is with scepticism a Paisley weaver's. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 For most my days in Killie have been passed. 
 Where merit only dwells with moneyed men^
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 33 
 
 And these are scarce enough became at last, 
 A child might write them even without a pen; 
 
 But hear, Phrenology ! and stand aghast; 
 If that the purse is well developed, then 
 
 They're clever, intellectual, "decent" gemmen, 
 
 Tho' fools, or fit to jig it a-la-Haman. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 «0 ! Killie, Killie," said some hapless bard, 
 (As all have been that ever touched the string,) 
 
 " Thou art my native spot, by fortune hard 
 « Compelled am I to distant wandering; 
 
 " Farewell ! thy name I'll cease but to regard 
 " When ceases life unto my heart to bring 
 
 " Its flood; but ne'er shalt thou my ashes hide, 
 
 « Thou sink of scandal, poverty, and pride." 
 
 LV. 
 
 Hist ! what, in the name of wonder, 's coming here? 
 'Tis a dog-chariot, forsooth, and three ! 
 ' And there's a maniac sweep, who seems to fear 
 Water nor wind, nor ought beside does he ! 
 
 d3
 
 34 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 His licatl, neck, feet, all want the usual gear, 
 
 Yet wears the happiest visage I can see ! 
 Nature such minds from care does kindly sever — 
 He shouts " Sir James and Eglinton for ever." 
 
 LVI. 
 
 And, lo ! ranged ready at the starting post, 
 Eight, the crack hunters of the day, appear — 
 
 Enough to summon to this world the ghost 
 Of mighty Nimrod; and he may be here 
 
 Enjoying all, on aerial billows tossed; — 
 
 You can't say no, I'm sure, my reader dear; — 
 
 But to the race, (let him who doubts disprove it), 
 
 'Twas won by Cajitain Houstoun's horse, Cognovit.* 
 
 * Wednesday, April 2G, 1837. The Trial Stakes of 5 Sovereigns each, 
 p.p., vviUi £0 Sovereigns added by t)ic Club for Hunters. Half-a-mile. 
 Five-year-olds, list. Ulb.; six do., 12st. 31b.; aged, 12st. 31b. 
 Captain Houstoun's Cognovit, aged ; blue and pink sleeves (owner), 1 
 Mr. Kamsay's b. g. Taraworth, by Canteen, 6 years j straw-coloured 
 
 body, green sleeves, and black cap, 2 
 
 Mr. A. Carnpbell's Guess, by Champignon, aged; blue body, orange 
 
 sleeves, and black cap, . . . . . . . • , 3 
 
 Earl of Eglinton's Pilot, aged ; tartan and yellow, . , . * . 
 Sir James Boswell's JLa!ona, by Juniper, a years ; white with black 
 
 stripes, • • 
 
 Mr. D. Davidson's Vint-un, aged ; blue 
 
 Sir D. Baird's ch. g. The Bird, aged; black,. . . . ' . 
 
 Mr. Kerr's The Kitten, aged ; green. .0 
 
 Mr. J. S. Hay nd Brown Stout, by Jack Spigot, aged ; bfue body, 
 
 crimson sleeves, and cap, ;..•..,. dr 
 Lord Watcrford's br. h. Champion, aged ; light blue, . . , dr 
 —Ayr Observer.
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 35 
 
 LVII. 
 
 But scenes so similar why dallying sing ? 
 
 'Tis my opinion that the muse supposes 
 All men are Jobs that listen to her string, 
 
 Or meek 's the Jewish legislator — Moses, 
 Of this, and that, and every other thing, 
 
 She deals about such overpowering doses; 
 But after this, which I'U be sworn you'll tire on, 
 Just read for regimen a page of Byron. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 For I have penned much nonsense in my time — 
 Volumes in verse, and waggon loads in prose. 
 
 The first the antipodes of all sublime, 
 Beneath where even your proper critic throws 
 
 His dart; and now about wrought out in rhyme. 
 As miners say, a halt I should propose; 
 
 For trash more trashy grows by repetition ;-:- 
 
 See Lockhart's poems in the third edition. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Now met we with a friend of life's young days — 
 Some say each smith a spark has in his throaty
 
 36 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 
 
 But if we'd judge of rhymers from their ways, 
 Each has in his a young volcano got ! 
 
 Retired we to a tent, and in the rays 
 Of Friendship basked, and kicked old care to pot; 
 
 And when the hound, Time, broke from us the cover, 
 
 The fun was mostly, and the races, over. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Troop after troop was disappearing fast, 
 Like the morn's shadows from the misty lea — 
 
 The wave rose gently to the strength'ning blast, 
 And the lone hills looked sullen on the sea— 
 
 The birds sung sweetly — in the glowing west 
 The sun, about into eternity 
 
 To roll the day, rode glorious — his smile 
 
 Lay sweet on cliffs of Arran's rocky isle ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Much yet remains might be detailed in song, 
 Ere to their dwellings got the honest folk; 
 
 For steeds stood at the doors of taverns long, 
 And gigs and cars were, and commandments, broke; 
 
 And some discussed a beverage so strong. 
 Surprised next morn they in the ditch awoke,
 
 EGLINTON PARK MEETING. 37 
 
 And found their stomachs have unusual twitches, 
 Which sometimes happens when we sleep in breeches ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 We cannot sing, for we have never seen, 
 
 How in great area of the lofty hall 
 The feast was spread, and youths of noble mien 
 
 And fairy figures mingled in the ball: 
 My muse is in the dumps and jaded clean, 
 
 Moreover, won't of dancing sing at all — 
 And for this piece of indolence does plead 
 She's steadfast Antiburgher in her creed. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 But all must have an end — this day has had, 
 The races, we must, and so must this rhyme; 
 
 The world, sin too, of that I'm very glad, 
 And think it is a doctrine most sublime, 
 
 And wish how soon (of late I'm grown so bad) 
 Betwixt sin and repentance all my time 
 
 Is spent. But, reader, I must close this strain. 
 
 Some other day perhaps we'll meet again.
 
 38 
 
 ADDRESS TO DUNDONALD CASTLE.* 
 
 t 
 
 The roofless cot, decayed and rent. 
 Will scarce delay the passer by ; 
 The tower by war or tempest bent, ^ 
 
 Where yet may frown one battlement. 
 Demands and daunts the stranger's eye- 
 Each ivied arch and pillar lone 
 Pleads haughtily for glories gone. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 0, ANCIENT pile ! fast basfning to decay, 
 Around thy ruins, musing as I stray, 
 How many mingling feelings do I find 
 Pervade my breast and burst upon my mind. 
 Long hast thou stood beneath the stroke of time, 
 And all the rigours of a northern clime — 
 The summer's sultry blaze — the winter's blast, 
 Tremendous hurling from the dark north-west — 
 
 * Dundonald Castle is a ruin of great celebrity, and occupies a com- 
 raanding situation in the district of Kyle in Ayrshire. It was originally 
 the property of Robert Stcuart, who, in right of his mother, Marjory 
 Bruce, succeeded to the Scottish throne, under the title of Robert II.; 
 and who here wooed and married his first wife, the beauteous Elizabeth 
 Mure of Rowallan. Dr. Johnson, on being conducted to the place by 
 Boswell, is said to have made the ruin ring witli laughter at the idea of 
 a Scottish monarch being contented with the narrow accommodations of 
 a slender tower of three stories, each story containing only one apart. 
 ment.— Chambers's Gaxetleer of Scotland.
 
 DUNBONALD CASTLE. OJy 
 
 And many generations hast thou seen 
 Swept from the earth, as if they ne'er had been; 
 To the lone land of dim oblivion hurled, 
 Where clouds of ages veil the midnight world. 
 
 Oft hast thou seen the morning sun arise. 
 And spread his glories o'er the eastern skies — 
 Shine round the world, rejoicing as he drave. 
 Then sink sublime beyond the western wave; 
 And oft his fading beams have cheered thy halls, 
 And lingered sweetly on thy dark grey walls. 
 
 Spring thou hast often seen, with gaudy train 
 
 Of opening buds and blossoms, glad the plain: 
 
 Along these hills the robes of summer shine, 
 
 As oft, like all beneath the sun, decline; 
 
 Their toils, their pleasures witnessed, numbers know^ 
 
 That now, with all that moved the world, lie low. 
 
 Autumn — rich autumn — hast thou seen unfold 
 Her treasures vast of fading green and gold — 
 Her bended branches, fields of waving corn — 
 Her sultry noon, chill eve, and dewy morn — ■
 
 40 DUNDONALD CASTLE. 
 
 Her wains returning with their precious boon, 
 
 'Neath the red glories of her ripening moon. 
 
 How oft, perchance, some lovelorn swain has heard, 
 
 Or wandering song-wrapt melancholy bard. 
 
 As spirit sung, with harp unseen, his tale 
 
 At midnight still, by woodland in the vale. 
 
 Fast by the verge of yon sequestered wood. 
 Where mourns the cushct for her captured brood, 
 Methiuks an ancient reaper-band appears, 
 Their graves now furrowed with an hundred years; 
 Back to the world I see their forms return, 
 Souls that now perfect in the empyrean burn; 
 They stoop, they strain, mth careful hands they raise 
 The scanty crop of long-forgotten days. 
 Behind them stalks the venerable sire. 
 Controls or counsels as their needs require; 
 And, as the labour burns, his heart beats high, 
 Joy beams triumphant in his aged eye — 
 A well-worn bonnet on his hoary head. 
 Long silver locks upon his shoulders spread — 
 Bent with the blast of days, yet firm withal, 
 Like yon grey oak that scorns the tempest's call —
 
 DUNBONALD CASTJLE. 41 
 
 Health, innocence, and peace around him play, 
 And gild the hours of life's declining day. 
 
 Now on the hills descend the shades of night, 
 The twinkling stars shed down a feeble light; 
 Homeward they go, and mark the inviting flame 
 Dance on the window's sohtary frame; 
 As perched the redbreast 'mong the yellow leaves. 
 Sings to the wind, slow whisp' ring through the sheaves. 
 Where are they now? soms spirit seems to say; 
 Lost to the world, and mould'ring in the clay. 
 In yonder spot, alike unknown they lie. 
 Till the last morn shall dawn along the sky. 
 
 Oft hast thou stood in night of awful storm. 
 Seen whirlwinds wild sweet nature's face deform — 
 The red swollen rivers with the ocean rage, 
 And deep with deep tremendous warfare wage — 
 And like to faith, from sad affliction born. 
 Forth from the darkness come the smiling morn. 
 
 While from thy ruined heights mine eyes survey 
 Heaven's mighty arch and ocean's boundless way, 
 
 n
 
 42 BUNDONALD CASTLE» 
 
 By fancy's aid I see the lightning fly, 
 And the hoarse thunder roll along the sky; 
 O'er the blue void behold impetuous sweep, 
 On whirlwinds throned, the spirits of the deep; 
 Wild, foaming, fierce, the crested billows rise, 
 Like snow-capt mountains mingling mth the skies; 
 Now roll afar with long tempestuous roar. 
 Now awful burst upon the trembling shore. 
 Pour gloomy clouds along the affrighted plains 
 From their wide wombs the desolating rains. 
 Hark! o'er the dread abyss the sea-bird screams — 
 The rocks resound— again the lightning gleams! 
 Again, harsh thunder rends its swaddling cloud — 
 The forests crash — the rivers shriek aloud — 
 Down the black hills, before the torrent's force, 
 Roll shattered rocks, still gathering in their course; 
 Groan, as beneath this 'whelming host is hurled, 
 The adamantine pillars of the world. 
 
 Lo ! far along the deep, the sport of tides 
 And warring winds, a lonely vessel rides; 
 Now on the billow's mighty convex tossed. 
 Now in the 'whelming surge completely lost;
 
 DUNDONALD CASTLE. 43 
 
 The crew's frail remnant on the rigging spread, 
 Long for a shore their feet shall never tread. 
 Weak grows the bark, and shattered with her toil. 
 As on she labours through the vast turmoil; 
 Hope sighs farewell! they shriek — down, down she 
 
 goes; 
 The waves, deep thundering, o'er their victim close. 
 
 Turn, my wild thoughts, nor dwell upon the scene, 
 Too far in fancy's fairy land we've been; 
 See ! calm the ocean spreads itself along, 
 AVith mellowing murmur to the zephyr's song; 
 Night's purple,.sky o'erhangs the mighty flood. 
 Far weltering wide, in trembling waves of blood. 
 
 How drear the prospect; yea, how wild the view, 
 When from thy heights his glance the warder threw, 
 Ere science bade her sun, with radiance free, 
 Dawn on our distant island of the sea; 
 Tall, towering forests sullen gloomed around, 
 And flung their shadows o'er the vast profound. 
 Haunts of the bounding deer, and bristly brood, 
 And oft the scene of rapine, war, and blood;
 
 44 DUNDONALD CASTLE. 
 
 There howled the beast of prey to wikl-bird's wail, 
 And sounds unearthly rode the rending gale; 
 A semblance keen the sylvan country bore 
 To the dark wilds that skirt Columbians shore. 
 
 But cultivated now— till fades the eye, 
 Unnumbered beauties ranged in order lie; 
 The busy town, where smoke-pent crowds respire- 
 The solemn church— the cloud-encircled spire— 
 The splendid villa, and the lofty dome- 
 Wealth's safe retreat, and pleasure's softest home- 
 The verdant lawns, where greenwoods intervene— 
 The twinkling rill— the lonely cot seiyne,— 
 All— all combined, beam full upon the sight, 
 One heavenly picture of refulgent light. 
 
 Dire Persecution, with uplifted brand, 
 Thou, too, hast seen marauding o'er the land; 
 His blood-red standard streaming in the van, 
 With bearings hostile to the rights of man; 
 And all the woes a harassed nation feels, 
 In ghastly order rampant at his heels.
 
 BUNDONALD CASTLE, 45 
 
 Yes; tliou repliest, with lengthened hollow groan, 
 And would have wept, could tears have come from 
 
 stone, 
 To see mankind pursued like beasts of prey, 
 Through pathless woods, and wilds without a way; 
 The tender wife and helpless offspring driven 
 Wide on the world, beneath the vault of heaven; 
 Their hunted sire, for safety forced to hide 
 In some lone cavern on the mountain's side; 
 Or in the lab'rinths of some gloomy dell, 
 There with his God and Solitude to dweH; 
 Where the dark stream that slid the vale along, 
 IMurmured responsive to the martyr's song. 
 That rose at midnight, oft when all was still. 
 And swept in heavenly strains the lonely hill; 
 Looked down the wond'ring moon — the stars on high. 
 In conscious silence, wheeled along the sky; 
 The spirits gliding through the midnight air. 
 Heard for his foes the wanderer's fervent prayer, 
 
 ! may the monster ne'er again invade 
 Our isle, nor here his triumphs be displayed, 
 
 £3
 
 46 DUNDONALD CASTLE. 
 
 But sleep secure as ages roll away, 
 
 With tilings long buried from the glance of clay. 
 
 And, ! my muse, for present peace, adore 
 
 The Power Supreme; and that great Power implore, 
 
 That all oppressed and wronged of humankind 
 
 May soon their rights and privileges find. 
 
 From where the line's deep burning billows roll, 
 
 Even to the dark dominions of the pole. 
 
 The cloistered monk, the shrewd designing pMOSt, 
 With all the trumpery of the Popish beast, 
 Thoii hast beheld, when Superstition hoar 
 Triumphant spread her wings from shore to shore; 
 When banished Truth at intervals would come, 
 And peep affrighted through the dismal gloom. 
 Black was the scene, and horrible the sight, 
 A jarring chaos, destitute of light; 
 But like the sun forth bursting from a cloud, 
 Dawned Reformation on the darkling crowd, 
 Bade Learning rise, and Liberty expand 
 Her cheering rays, and glad the weary land. 
 Now art, now science on Britannia smile, 
 And hand in hand dance round the stormy isle;
 
 DUNDONALD CASTLE. 47 
 
 No more to monkisli mummery is given 
 The adoration due alone — to heaven; 
 No more the host, to tyrants ever dear, 
 Shall curb bright genius in her fierce career. 
 Away ! away, blind leaders of the blind ! 
 Curse to the earth, and ruin of mankind! 
 
 When feudal bands engag'd, and fields were lost. 
 Thou proved a shelter to the vanquished host; 
 Oft have thy wa'ljs the fierce assault withstood, 
 And thy green hill been dyed with hostile bk)0<l. 
 But bending now beneath a load of years, 
 Frail and departing all thy strength appears; 
 Loud through thy riven walls the tempests howl; 
 The dark recesses of the lonely owl 
 And sable rook, which tenant the abode 
 That courtiers, knights, and warriors have trod. 
 
 Strange it may seem, yet Scottish records tell 
 Even regal splendour deigned in thee to dwell; 
 How sadly changed — in thy deserted halls 
 Rank grow the weeds, and round thy ruined walls 
 The ivy creeps; thine ancient glory's fled; 
 Thine ancient tenants numbered with the dead.
 
 48 DUN DONALD CASTLE. 
 
 Yea, with the stream of time a wave rolls on, 
 Whose surge shall leave thee not a standing stone; 
 The sun shall rise, the waning moon decline, 
 The night look down, the star of morning shine. 
 And mark thy towers, that long have braved the rust 
 Of time departed, level with the dust. 
 
 Long ere that day shall this frail form be prest 
 In the dread arms of everlasting rest, 
 A nameless thing, beneath the footstep's tread. 
 Long, long forgotten 'mong the silent dead. 
 These eyes, that gaze on ocean, sun, and shore. 
 Shall burn with rapture at the sight no more; 
 And this sad heart, so oft the seat of wo. 
 Shall feel no more the agonizing throe. 
 
 Thus things terrestrial wing their rapid flight. 
 Clouds of the morn, or vapours of the night; 
 The sons of men like shadows flee away; 
 The everlasting hills themselves decay; 
 Yon towering cliff, that shoots into the sky. 
 Shall o'er the plain in mouldering ruins lie; 
 The adamantine rock shall turn to dust. 
 And oven old Ocean seek another coast;
 
 TANNAHILIi. 49 
 
 Britannia's isle shall sleep beneath the wave, 
 And o'er her pride the fierce Atlantic rave; 
 The moon herself forget through heaven to ride, 
 And draw from shore to shore the heaving tide; 
 Yea, vanish shall earth's great revolving ball, 
 For change and vanity is stamped on all ! 
 
 LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN ON READING THE IiIFE OF TANNAHILL, 
 
 IN Chambers's journal,, no. 11. 1837. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MR. J. KISG, PAISLEY, THE FRIEND OF THE POET.* 
 
 Is there that bears man's lofty name, 
 Is there that wears a human frame. 
 That the pure, precious drops may claim 
 
 From Pity's rill. 
 Can this peruse, nor drop the same 
 
 O'er Tannahill? 
 
 * See Tannahill'3 Poems.
 
 50 TANNAHILL, 
 
 Is there a man that half but knows 
 A Poet's feelings, frailties, woes — 
 His heart's sad ebbs and overflows — 
 
 How melted will 
 His soul be o'er the life's sad close 
 
 OfTanuahill! 
 
 His meed of fame he asked — nor high 
 
 Were his pretensions"' — yet deny 
 
 Could the harsh world, with jaundiced eye 
 
 Adjudging ill; 
 But "wounded worth forbade reply" 
 
 From Tannahill. 
 
 The rustic heel can crush the rose, 
 The stream soil that in silver flows. 
 Seduction, with a thousand throes. 
 
 Sweet Beauty kill; 
 And wounded feelings tell had foes 
 
 Even Tannahill. 
 
 * When the man of taste and discrimination reads these pieces, he 
 will no doubt find ijassages that might have been belter; but his cen. 
 sures may be qualified with the remembrance that they are the effusions 
 of an unlettered mechanic, whose hopes as a poet extend no farther than 
 to be reckoned respectable arar)ng the minor bards of his country.— 
 Prince to Tannahill's Poems.
 
 TANNAHILL. 5 1 
 
 O world invidious ! when wilt thou 
 The poor unhappy Bard allow 
 The laurels to his living brow? 
 
 What serves thy skill, 
 Shown in deep-winding wailings now, 
 
 For Tannahill? 
 
 Go, in thy selfish, thoughtless pride. 
 But placed in hall by Beauty's side, 
 While woke by Music's vocal tide 
 
 Is Rapture's thrill, — 
 How wronged, thou then may'st there decide. 
 
 Was Tannahill. 
 
 Sung are his strains, his numbers read 
 
 From palace to the lowliest shed, , 
 
 'Mong burning deserts, mountains clad 
 
 With glaciers chill — 
 While, without stone to mark his bed, 
 
 Sleeps Tannahill. 
 
 But, as bemoaning minstrels teU, 
 When visits Spring "Gleniflfcr's dell," 
 Rich on the "crawflower's early bell" 
 
 The dews distill. 
 The tears of Nature's " bonny sel'," 
 
 For Tannahill.
 
 52 TANNAHILL. 
 
 When the last sun of Summer's shed 
 On huge Bcnlomoud's lofty head, 
 And far is sunk in ocean's bed. 
 
 Clouds linger still, 
 Streaks of deep mourning purple red. 
 
 For Tannahill. 
 
 When yields the aged year her pride, 
 
 Is heard by plantain's sunny side. 
 
 Where sweet the "woodland burn" docs ghde, 
 
 The redbreast shrill. 
 The voice of Nature's empire wide, 
 
 For Tannahill. 
 
 When Winter, in his sternest power, 
 Sweeps the rent halls of Stanley tower, 
 'Tis said, at midnight's awful hour. 
 
 His tempests will 
 Mourn with the spirit of the bower 
 
 For Tannahill. 
 
 And long shall kindred genius come. 
 
 And linger pensive by his tomb; 
 
 When earth's proud potentates the womb 
 
 Of darkness fill. 
 Verdant the memory shall bloom 
 
 Of TaunahiJI.
 
 CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 53 
 
 Yea, when Creation's self grows grey, 
 And Time the fit treads o' the brae. 
 And turning round farewell to say, 
 
 Ere's sand he spill. 
 Catch shall his ear some plaintive lay 
 
 Of Tannahill. 
 
 CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. ' 
 
 Luke xix. 41. 
 « And when he was come near, he beheld the city and wept over it." 
 
 •Jerusalem's temple, towers, and bulwarks lay 
 
 In all the splendours of the eastern day. 
 
 And in the blaze of palaces, embossed 
 
 With gems and gold, the astonished eye was lost;
 
 54 CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 
 
 While the bright tombs of meu of ancient days 
 Shed their far lights and shadows on the gaze; 
 And the sad sites of thousand glories gone 
 Diffused what sensibility alone 
 Can gather from the hoary wrecks of time, 
 And o'er them weep with sympathy sublime. 
 
 And there the High Priest to the temple strode. 
 While far behind his shining garments flowed; 
 But, ! how lacking in the important part — 
 The inward man — the adorning of the heart; 
 Proud, grasping ever both at power and gold. 
 To all improvement still a barrier bold; 
 For priests are different only in the name — 
 In every age, in every land the same. 
 
 Beauty, sweet Beauty, gorgeously arrayed. 
 Shone in each path — the matron and the maid; 
 The tender infant, grasping in its fears 
 The wall; the patriot of an hundred years. 
 Whose furrowed cheek and faded eye were wet 
 For the far sun of Israel's glory set.
 
 CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. OO 
 
 As sits the watchful spider in her snare, 
 
 Sat the shrewd lawyer — and all pompous there 
 
 The self-adoi-iug Pharisee — while fleet 
 
 The man of business hurried through the street. 
 
 And there the war-horse pranced, and rushed amain 
 
 To phantom battle, o'er the dusty plain, 
 
 And formed the hostile squadrons that had known 
 
 The stern extremities of every zone; 
 
 Yet the same dauntless and unconquered host, 
 
 In Lybia's glow, and Caledonia's frost, 
 
 And here to wond'ring multitudes unfurled 
 
 Their arts of war that vanquished had the world; 
 
 While, by the portal of the strong-built tower — 
 
 Shade of their crimes, and shelter of their power — 
 
 The sullen sentinel, with tread profound, 
 
 Flung the defiance of his looks around. 
 
 The city smUed, the melancholy smile 
 
 That wretched beauty sheds, yet weeps the while; 
 
 The trace of dignity the prince retains, 
 
 Dragged at the conqueror's chariot wheel in chains. 
 
 Messiah came! — benignant was his mien, 
 His followers few, as Truth's have ever been;
 
 56 CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 
 
 Unknown to pomp and pageantry, that wait 
 Round the gilt form of son of regal state. 
 Although 'twas his salvation to bestow, 
 Theirs, oft whole provinces to plunge in wo. 
 
 He paused ! beheld the dismal scene dilate. 
 
 Of Israel's present, past, and future state j 
 
 Beheld her love in happier period shown. 
 
 When God she followed in a land unsown, 
 
 And heartfelt songs amid the desert rose, 
 
 Of trust in him, and triumph o'er their foes; 
 
 And warnings often given, but given in vain. 
 
 And mercies offered ne'er to be again; 
 
 The woes from heaven, by obstinacy wrung. 
 
 That in thick closing clouds above her hung, 
 
 Which she beneath infatuated slept, 
 
 Till, lo ! the Saviour she rejected — wept ! 
 
 * Saying, " Hadst thou known, even thou in this thy 
 
 day, 
 " The things belonging to thy peace, but they 
 " Are now for ever hidden from thine eyes; 
 " And soon upon thee shall the days arise, 
 
 ■f Luke xix. 42, 43, 44.
 
 CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. .O / 
 
 " That cast a trench about thee shall thy foes, 
 " Thee compass round, on every side enclose, 
 " And lay thee even with the ground — thine own 
 " Children within thee — nor shall leave one stone 
 " In thee above another; for thou hast 
 " Not known the time when visited thou wast." 
 
 Nature herself arrayed in deepest gloom, 
 And hollow thunders muttered in her womb, 
 Alone, with lightsome heart and laughing eye, 
 Man unconcerned the awful sight passed by. 
 
 1.-3
 
 oS 
 
 THE LOUDON CAMrAIGN."' 
 
 " How many perils do environ 
 The mail that meiiiiles with cold iron." 
 
 Butler. 
 
 Attention ! all yc martial band, 
 
 The bulwarks of our native laud, , 
 
 On Albion's shores, on foreign strand. 
 
 By Ganges's tide. 
 Or where Canadian forests grand 
 
 Stretch far and wide; 
 
 While I attempt, in hamely strain. 
 To sing the short but stern campaign, 
 Our fireside sodgers did sustain 
 
 On that dread day. 
 To which all done in Fi-ance and Spain 
 
 Was children's play. 
 
 * In the summer of 1823, the Marquis of Hastings, after many years 
 spent in the «'Land of the Sun," returned to his seat of Loudon Castle; 
 on which occasion a part of the Ayrshire Cavalry and Kilmarnock 
 Volunteers marched thither to congratulate the worthy Nobleman.
 
 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 59 
 
 Bravely resolved had they, when came 
 Great Hastings safe frae India hame, 
 To gi'eet the chief; and swore old Fame 
 
 That wine and wassail 
 Profuse, should celebrate the same 
 
 At Loudon Castle. 
 
 The Cavalry, wi' some persuasion, 
 Agreed to serve on this occasion; 
 But previous, they got intimation 
 
 That nae flesh, but 
 Such as was void of animation. 
 
 Was to be cut. 
 
 'Twas tauld in Killie a' that week. 
 That five large owsen, fat and sleek, 
 Were kilt, that Yeomanry might streek 
 
 There jaws wi' pleasure, 
 And Dandies' bellies get a keek 
 
 Beyond stay measure. 
 
 Likewise five-score o' sheep, as fat 
 
 As ever walloped in a pat. 
 
 Their paunches filled; besides a' that, 
 
 A grand supply 
 0' porter, beer, and saul o' maut, . 
 
 Wi' wine forbyc.
 
 60 THE LOUDON CA^irAIGN. 
 
 There was a chiel, baith lank and lean, 
 Wha liad at mony a muster been 
 In bygane time; but on the green, 
 
 In war's array, 
 The sycophant had not been seen 
 
 For mony a day. 
 
 Whene'er he heard o' the affair, 
 
 He went directly unto prayer, 
 
 " 0, Lord!" said he, " my life but spare 
 
 " Till that day come, 
 " And, by the Powers! I'll hae my share, 
 
 " I'se no be toom." 
 
 The very thought o't made him smile; 
 He gathered out a' rank and file; 
 An' cleaned, wi' perseverin' toil, 
 
 His firelock rusty : 
 An' charged the moths, in gallant style, 
 
 On's garments dusty. 
 
 Even in his sleep he couldna rest; 
 
 The thought still laboured in his breast; 
 
 For then he'd roar, like ane possest; 
 
 And starting, cry, 
 " Slice down the beef; 0, what a feast! 
 
 "Fair play, standby!'-'
 
 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 61 
 
 There was anither o' the clan, 
 
 That fain would been esteemed a man 
 
 Wha couldna either curse or ban 
 
 Or practise evil; 
 But yet, for lying and chicane, 
 
 He'd bang the devil. 
 
 As drunkards sip their morning drap, 
 As clergy lay their hands on crap,* 
 As thirsty sextons blithely claj) 
 
 Some big man's ear, 
 So did this heterogeneous chap 
 
 The tidings hear. 
 
 Yea, when the hero took the beuk, 
 He waled wi' earnest, anxious leuk, 
 Till ance he happened on a neuk 
 
 That spoke on eatin'. 
 An' then he'd read, an' roar, an' smack 
 
 Himsel' a-sweatin'. 
 
 The drummer o' this warlike corps 
 
 Had fasted for a week before 
 
 The raid took place; and aftcn swore 
 
 He would lay in 
 At least a lucky fortnight's store 
 
 In his wee skin. 
 
 * Cash.
 
 62 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 
 
 That mornin', when they marched awa', 
 He swore, that, " roasted, boiled, or raw, 
 " He'd eat a badger, tail an' a', 
 
 "Without a scunner!" 
 Sac keen and craving Avas his maw — 
 
 Sac ripe for dinner. 
 
 The day was fair, and aff they set, 
 In a' their best, wi' hearts elate. 
 Mars came to heaven's gowden yett 
 
 The group to scan. 
 But turned his godship in a pet, 
 
 And thus began : 
 
 " Weel, Jove ! did'st thou e'er see the like 
 " Of that mock-sodgering, shabby byke, 
 " Since monkeys, armed wi' bulrush pike, 
 
 " Did bauld resort 
 " Around Gibraltar's stalwart dyke 
 
 " To tak' the fort? 
 
 " As for yon mimic troop o' horse, 
 
 " They are, oh, fie! still worse and worse; 
 
 " By Styx, I swear, a scanty force 
 
 " 0' teugh auld grannies, 
 " Wi' pike-staves armed, an' shield o' gorse, 
 
 " Would flcg the zanies !
 
 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 63 
 
 " A chiel might dread as muckle scaith, 
 " Frae turkey-cock when in his wrath, 
 " Or goosie peckin' in her freath, 
 
 " On nest a-sittin', 
 " Or drove o' big brown rations, faith, 
 
 " When gaun a-flittin'. 
 
 " 0, Scotia! should it be thy hap 
 " To trust thy back to sic a slap, 
 "Thou'it backlins tumble heels o'er tap; 
 
 " I doubt thae fallows 
 " Hae unca little o' the sap 
 
 " 0' Willie Wallace." 
 
 Thus having said, the God of War 
 Resumed in wrath his blood-stained car; 
 Jove sent his thunderbolts afar, 
 
 Till Heaven resounded; 
 And every orb and distant star 
 
 Winked, quite confounded. 
 
 The affrighted coursers of the sun 
 Had from their wonted circuit run. 
 But scarcely was their flight begun. 
 
 When lo ! the god 
 Checked their bold speed, resolved to shun 
 
 A path untrod.
 
 64 THE liOUDON CAMPAIGN. 
 
 But lest bis radiant beams sbould view 
 Tbis tinsel play — the sodgcr crew, — 
 Around bis bead dark clouds he drew, 
 
 And onward pressed, 
 Impatient for the evening dew 
 
 And lowering west. 
 
 As brisk tbcy marched along the way, 
 Twice was the drummer beard to say, 
 " I fin' the smell; my boys, huzza! 
 
 " The gravy's spillin'; 
 " But, faith, we'll have a glorious day, 
 
 "I'llholdashiUin'." 
 
 In wav'riug ranks bchint them flew 
 
 The carrion crows, which little knew 
 
 (Puir birds) that bluid these chaps ne'er drew, 
 
 Nor took a life : — 
 Their field the table — arms, cork-screw. 
 
 Spoon, fork and knife ! 
 
 But when a swarm of flics they'd meet. 
 They laid them sprawlin' at their feet; 
 And mouy a cleg was made retreat 
 
 Ere came they till 
 The "bonny woods and braes" sung sweet 
 
 By Tannaliill.
 
 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 65 
 
 As fowls draw up at barn door, 
 As ducks, in frost, a pond before, 
 As crows upon a lull-side hoar. 
 
 Portending storm, 
 So by the Castle 'gan the corps 
 
 At length to form. 
 
 Out came the gentles ane an' a', 
 And, spite of breeding's rigid lav/. 
 Scarce was suppressed the loud gaffaw; 
 
 And heads were hung, 
 Lips bitten, faces turned awa'. 
 
 Whence bluid maist sprung ! 
 
 But first impressions being o'er, 
 
 They rooscd and thanked the 'foresaid corps, 
 
 When laigh's the lintel o' the door 
 
 We needs must stoop it. 
 No where of this we've samples more 
 
 Than in the poopit. 
 
 Young Hastings said, and curled his nose, 
 
 " A gang of gipsies, I suppose, 
 
 " Or people come to scare the crows ; 
 
 " Look ye, my Lord, 
 " A drummer ape, how bluff it goes, 
 
 " Upon my word." 
 
 G
 
 66 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGPTr 
 
 But 'tis beyond puir simple John 
 Their bill of fare to venture on ; 
 Let their ain language speak, anon 
 
 'Twill paint it fine — 
 " D — d haet, except a bawbee scone, 
 
 " An' glass o' wine." 
 
 Some fainted with convulsive roar, 
 Some uttered oaths ne'er heard before, 
 The service some for life forswore, 
 
 With frantic air ; 
 Some vet'rans out in handfuls tore 
 
 Their thin grey hair. 
 
 "Waesucks, wacsucks," the drummer cried; 
 " Waesucks," the lengthened glades replied; 
 To keep his feet the bodie tried. 
 
 But, quite o'ercome, 
 He fell, despite his martial pride, 
 
 And brak' the drum. 
 
 The birds, affrighted, couldna sing; 
 The young anes in the nests took wing ; 
 The cattle gathered in a ring, 
 
 As't had been thunder; 
 The very midges ceased to fling, 
 
 Faith 'twas nae wonder.
 
 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 67 
 
 And, to their shame, in this sad plight, 
 Part of the heroes took to flight, 
 And into Galston, as in height 
 
 Of summer smi, 
 Madd'ned wi' heat and insects' bite, 
 
 Whole herds will run. 
 
 Boys heard, and dogs the coming row, 
 And raised the shout and loud bow-wow; 
 Auld grannies left their rocks o' tow, 
 
 And cripple men 
 Hopped without stilts, that ne'er could dow 
 
 The like again! 
 
 Bald-headed men forgot their hats, 
 Wi' tails like boas ran the cats, 
 Fast to their burrows took the rats 
 
 That were a-roamin'. 
 Sic was the stoure it seemed to bats 
 
 The hour o' cloamin' ! 
 
 t> 
 
 I have the town clockmaker's word. 
 Each watch in window, or on board. 
 Stopped that he had, an ancient sword 
 
 Frae sheath did drop,* 
 A fiddle o' its ain accord 
 
 Played Johnny Cope ! 
 
 • Ancient warriors used to draw omens from their sword-bladcs. 
 When Lord Lovat was born, the swords in the mansion-house hall 
 leaped spontaneously from the scabbard,— 5ce Lady of the Lake.
 
 68 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 
 
 Yet on the warriors strode as bold 
 As hares, or Parthian troops of old, 
 Or fleecy tenants of the fold 
 
 When thunder roars; 
 Or the dun deer, whdn o'er the wold 
 
 The far hunt pours ; 
 
 And took, and took, and took— say what? 
 A whole inn pris'ner, (think of that), 
 And drank its blood, and ate its fat. 
 
 Bravo valiant men; 
 And this achieved, their native plat 
 
 They sought again. 
 
 But laith am I to tell the fray 
 That raise among them by the way; 
 Sic civil wars again, pray 
 
 We ne'er may hear of. 
 Which ended, as historians say, 
 
 Before the Sheriff. 
 
 The greater number o' the squad 
 
 Cam' hungry hame, wi' hearts right sad; 
 
 The vera Major swore, " By Gad 
 
 " It was a shame, 
 " And brought a stain— an odium bad 
 
 « On Hastings' name."
 
 THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN. 69 
 
 The drummer raised his plaintive wail, 
 The rocks gave back the dolefu' tale, 
 Yea, and the sober evening gale 
 
 That swept alang, 
 Bore far away, o'er hill and dale, 
 
 The mournfu' sang. 
 
 All ye who read this great defeat 
 With which our Blues heroic met, 
 Though hope insidiously should prate, 
 
 Watch ye the cummer; 
 And when she bodes some glorious treat, 
 
 i 
 
 Think on the drummer. 
 
 g3
 
 (0 
 
 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 
 
 LANARK, JUNE 23, 1840. 
 
 " O Nature! a' thy shows an' forms 
 To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 I. 
 
 The morn appears — the lovely morn of June — 
 
 All warmly smiling on sweet Nature's face 
 Like mother o'er her child, that craves the boon, 
 
 In cradled beauty, of a warm embrace ; 
 
 Each moment carries on its wings some grace 
 The beauteous, blushing goddess to array, . 
 
 And every melody resumes its place 
 In the grand choir, to swell the lofty lay. 
 And Echo waits to vising the anthem on its way.
 
 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 71 
 
 II. 
 
 Adorned with diadem of dawning's cloud, 
 
 Hail ! stately Tinto,* monarch of the scene ; 
 Ten thousand years hast thou beheld unbowed, 
 
 Clyde roll his waves the rugged banks between, 
 
 Yet look'st as everlasting — as serene 
 As when the pillars of thy strength were laid. 
 
 Child of the earthquake ! frequent hast thou seen, 
 Through long dark years, the Druid rites displayed. 
 When Nature stood aghast, and Truth had fled 
 dismayed. 
 
 III. 
 And feudal times their fantasies unfold, ' 
 
 Their bands of discord hurl the car of blood. 
 Whose brightest deeds were ever best untold, 
 
 Whose msdom was but Folly's wildest mood. 
 
 • Tinto, a lofty mountain at the head of Clydesdale, lying on the 
 boundaries of the parishes of Carmichael, Weston and Symington. The 
 word Tinto signifies " The hill of fire," and derives this appellation from 
 its summit having, in an early age, been a place whereon the Druidi 
 lighted their fires in heathen worship. From its isolated character and 
 great height, Tinto may be seen from almost every part of Clydesdale, 
 and even Dumbartonshire. Its highest part rises like a great dome above 
 the other eternal edifices of nature. In clear days, the Bass may be 
 seen on one side of the island, and the Firth of Solway on the other. 
 There is a cairn of stones upon the sumrai', the top of which is elevated 
 2351^ feet above the level of the leii.— Chambers.
 
 72 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 
 
 Avaunt ! 0, Chivalry, thy greatest good 
 Was but the shade of very vanity; 
 
 And went thine evils forth long unsubdued 
 By lapse of ages; without shore, a sea — 
 A wide unfathomed vast, like an eternity. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To whate'cr point the pensive eye is cast, 
 Lo! now thy halls are Desolation's prey — 
 
 Sublime memorials of the dark'ning past ; 
 
 And their proud tenants, where, alas ! are they 1 
 The wild rose, on the fresh and dewy spray, 
 
 Smiles through the path where deadly shaft has sped; 
 And where the trumpet summoned war's array, 
 
 The redbreast, on the stunted hazel's head. 
 
 Awakes his stealing strains immeasurably sad. 
 
 V. 
 
 Where scattered lie beneath the tangled brake. 
 On brink of Cartlane's* terrible abyss. 
 
 * Cartlane Crags, a deep chasm, supposed to have been formed by an 
 earthquake, through which the Mouss Water (remarkable a little farther 
 up for Roman antiquities on its banks) seeks its way to the Clyde, in- 
 stead of following a more natural channel, which every body seems to.
 
 MUSIXGS BY THE CLYDE. 73 
 
 The wreck of Castle Q,ua;* — now let me take 
 One awful look of this wide wilderness — 
 This amphitheatre, whose green walls kiss 
 
 The dazzling summer skies; and, ! survey 
 How far beneath is stretched its loneliness. 
 
 The Mouss, though sweeping with unwonted sway. 
 
 Is heard like song of storm on hill's top far away. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And down the dizzy gulph's tremendous bay, 
 
 The giant rocks, in majesty severe. 
 Frown through the waving foliage, and betray 
 
 The hawk's high citadel; but cause of fear 
 
 None hath he, for the steps of man have ne'er 
 In yonder spot left their polluted trace ; 
 
 The little warrior lists with upturned ear, 
 
 think it should have followed a little farther to the east. A bridge of 
 three arches was thrown, in 1825, across the narrow profound ; its two 
 piers being at least a hundred feet high, while the whole length is little 
 more. The building has an exceedingly striking cfifect. At a little dis- 
 tance below may be seen one of those narrow old bridges, with an arch 
 precisely semi.circular, supposed to be of Roman structure. In the 
 western face of the chasm of the Crags, a few yards above the new 
 bridge, a small slit in the rock is pointed out by tradition as having been 
 the hiding-place of Wallace, after he had slain Heselrig. It is still 
 termed Wallace's Cave. — Chambers. 
 
 • Castle Qua lies on the east side of Cartlane Crags: It is supposed 
 to derive its name from the Gaelic word Cuac/i, a drinking cup, (the 
 Quech of the Lowlands,) to which shape the chasm of the Mouss, when 
 seen from the castle, has a striking resemblance.
 
 74 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 
 
 His dappled pinions trims with native grace, 
 
 Then cleaves the deep blue air, like spirit of the place. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Again descend this slipp'ry winding path, 
 But with no tame emotions mark the spot; — 
 
 Here Freedom, with her chosen "Wallace, hath 
 Retired, when weeping Scotia's homes had nought 
 But fetters for the slave; and here was brought 
 
 Tidings of blight of his affections' bud,* 
 Which in his soul a fiery tempest wrought. 
 
 That drunk his tears, as docs the lava's flood 
 
 The dew, and burned and blazed till quenched in 
 Southern blood. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O ! justly-famed, transcendant, peerless chief — 
 Year has on year long sunk beneath the tide 
 
 Of deep oblivion, yet thy laurel's leaf. 
 Beheld to bloom in all its pristine pride, 
 
 * A female attendant is said to Iiave conveyed the melancholy intel. 
 ligence to Wallace, who had retreated to Cartlane Crags. There, in the 
 midst of his followers, he heard the heart-rending recital of his bereave, 
 raents with a behaviour worthy of himself, and becoming the occasion. 
 —Life of Sir IViliiam Wallace, Ktiight of Ellerstie, avd Guardian of 
 Scotland, published by Richard Griffin ^ Co., Glasgow, 1825.
 
 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 75 
 
 Couquering Death's power, and Time's imperious 
 stride ; 
 The Genius of thy country oft her eye 
 
 Lifts, to gain strength when omens dark preside, 
 To where thou, with her Burns, art seated high — 
 Twins on the hallowed mount of immortality. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Far in yon vale, where lofty towers of Lee* 
 
 O'erlook the wide arms of the mighty oak. 
 Which, by the voice of sage antiquity, 
 
 A thousand years has braved the tempest's shock; 
 
 There, when her beauteous neck unto the yoke 
 Of Superstition Caledonia bowed, 
 
 From distant parts would weary pilgrims flock, 
 To bear the water hence with charm endowed, 
 Art, nature, fate to foil — at least so deemed the 
 crowd. 
 
 * Lee. — The environs of Lee, an elegant, modern, castellated edifice, 
 (Lockhart, Baronet,) contain a remarkable natural curiosity, in the 
 shape of a large oak tree, whose trunk is thirty feet in circumference, 
 and which having become rotten through age, can hold in its hollow 
 inside nine persons standing upright. It is called, reason unknown, the 
 Pease Tree, and is supposed to be a relic of the ancient Caledonian 
 forest. Under its venerable shade charters connected with the family
 
 76 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 
 
 X. 
 
 In vain, 'twas said, might stern disease assail, 
 Where'er the potent water found its way; 
 
 Nor spell of weird infernal might prevail, 
 
 Nor hydrophobia's tooth had power to slay; — 
 Such were the dreams of man's untutored day, 
 
 And wizard, witch, wraith, ghost, and goblin drear. 
 The spunkie, brownie, kelpie, and the fay — 
 
 A motely group — have all held revel here — 
 
 All danced on Cartlane Crags; — beheld, and heard 
 with fear. 
 
 are said to have been written, and it has been entailed by written deeds 
 for fourteen generations. 
 
 The Lee Penny— This curious heir.Ioom, of talisiriic celebrity, was 
 acquired by an ancestor of the present possessor of the estate of Lee, 
 Sir ■ Lockhart. When Sir Simon Locard, accompanied the good 
 
 Sir James Douglas to Palestine, bearing the heart of Bruce in a locked 
 case, on this account his name was changed to Lockhart, and he obtained 
 for his armorial bearings a heart attached to a lock, with the motto, 
 " Corde serrata pando." Engaged in the wars of the Holy Sepulchre, 
 this hero had the good fortune to make a Saracen of rank his prisoner. 
 The lady of the warrior came to pay his ransom, and was counting out 
 the money, when she happened to drop from her purse a small jewel, 
 which she immediately hastened to pick up with an air of careful solicit 
 tude. Lockhart eagerly inquired the nature of the jew^cl, and learning 
 that it was a medicatory talisman, refused to deliver up his captive, 
 unless it were added to the sum previously stipulated. The lady was 
 obliged to comply, and Simon brought it home to Scotland, v.'here it has 
 ever since continued in the posssssion of his descendants, perhaps the 
 only existing memorial of the crusades in this country. It is called 
 The Lfe Penny, on account of its being set in the centre of an old 
 English coin. Triangular, or heart-shaped, it measures about the third
 
 MUSINGS Br THE CLYDE. 77 
 
 XI. 
 
 It comes — ^it comes — the glorious march of mind ! 
 
 Children of darkness, whether have ye fled? 
 Ride ye sublime, on chariots of the wind, 
 
 Whom kindred haste to join with noiseless tread? 
 
 Or in the land of shadows rest the head? 
 If so, hearen grant your slumbers be profound. 
 
 May Silence keep her watch around the bed 
 
 of in inch each way, and is of a dark red colour, but perfectly transpa. 
 rent. The nature of the stone cannot be determined by lapidaries, 
 being apparently different in all respects from any known in this quarter 
 of the world. To the edge of the coin a small silver chain has been 
 attached, and the whole is deposited in a gold box, which the Empress 
 l^Iaria Theresa presented to the father of the late Count Lockhart. The 
 Lee Penny did not lose its talismanic property on being transferred to a 
 country of Christians ; on the contrary, it has been all along, e\'en to the 
 present day, remarkable for medical virtue, especially in the diseases of 
 homed cattle. The mode of administering it is this:— Holding it by 
 the chain, it is three times plunged into a quantity of water, and once 
 drawn tound— three dips and a swell, as the country people express it — 
 and the cattle and others drink of this water for the purpose of being 
 cured. In the reign of Charles I., the people of Newcastle being afflicted 
 with the plague, sent and obtained the loan of the Lee Penny, leaving 
 the sum of £6000 sterling in its place as a pledge; and so highly im. 
 pressed were they with an opinion of its sovereign virtues, that they 
 proposed to keep it and forfeit the money, but the Laird of Lee would 
 not consent, for any consideration, to part with so venerable and gifted 
 an heir-loom. About the beginning of last century, it is said to have 
 cured Lady Baird of Saughtonhall, who having been bit by a mad dog, 
 exhibited all the symptoms of hydrophobia. In his fine chivalric tale of 
 "The Talisman," Sir Walter Scott has made an admirable use of this 
 curious relic of antiquity. Strangers from all quarters still resort to 
 Lee to view this celebrated gem, and the present worthy proprietor has 
 adopted the idea of keeping an album, in which the names of visiters 
 are tecoiied.— Chambers. 
 
 n
 
 78 MUSINGS BY THE CJLYDE. 
 
 Whereon yc rest — in sacred circle bound — 
 Oblivion's curtains closed eternally around. 
 
 XII. 
 Assume not, Bigotry, thy withering look, 
 
 Thy grim, self-righteous smile, or hollow encer;. 
 Nor search for names in Cant's fastidious book, 
 
 For what has been believed or practised here; 
 
 Scan thine own creed, thy cherished dogmas dear. 
 There, wert thou not with prejudices blind. 
 
 Things as adverse to reason would appear — 
 To Nature's laws — to interests of mankind — 
 To all that God in 's great benevolence designed. 
 
 XIII. 
 Where have I wandered in my reverie? 
 
 List, lo! there Cora* strikes the astonished eye; 
 In one wild fit of frantic revelry 
 
 The waves of Clutha tumble from on high, 
 
 * Cora Ltnii.—'L'he uppermost fall is Bonniton Linn, a cascade of 
 about thirty feet in lieight. Tlie next below is Cora Linn, where the 
 water takes three distinct leaps, each apparently as high as that oi 
 Bonniton. Between these two falls the course of the water is prodigi- 
 ously rapid and perturbed. Its channel is contracted, among rocks and 
 precipices, and in some places it struggles through a chasm of not more
 
 MUSINGS Br THE CLYDE. / 9 
 
 And all the deaf'ning echoes round reply; 
 And hoaiy mists arise, and vapours bland, 
 
 And radiance darting from the azure sky. 
 The bright bow bids across the deep expand — 
 A path for fairy feet to trip from either strand. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Whate'er of beautiful, sublime, or great, 
 That either heart, or eye, or ear can crave— 
 
 The foaming waterfall's o'erpowering state, 
 The threat'ning rock, the alcove, and the cave, 
 The rifted tower that frowns above the wave, 
 
 The streamlet's song, the breath, the bloom of flowers. 
 The melody of birds, that gay or grave. 
 
 Tell forth their loves or griefs among the bowers — 
 
 Are here, and much that wings can give to langour's 
 hours. 
 
 than four feet in width. Its sides consist of walls of rock, equidistant 
 and wonderfully regular, the jutting points of which are covered with 
 natural shrubbery, and in whose crevices nestle numerous flocks of 
 birds. Upon a rock above Cora Linn, on the southern bank of the 
 river, stands a ruined castle, behind which is a middle-aged mansion, 
 and behind which again there is a still more modern and splendid 
 mansion-house, called Corehouse. A pavilion, erected above a century 
 ago, stands on the opposite bank of the stream, as a station for observing 
 the faW.— Chamber i.
 
 80 MUSINGS BY THE CLYDE. 
 
 XV. ' 
 
 But musing thus on Nature's wond'rous plan, 
 
 Say, is it not of sadness and of pain 
 A sourcej to view the swift, vain hours of man, 
 
 While, ages, things inanimate remain? 
 
 Even so did Wisdom Infinite ordain, 
 'Tis thcz'cfore best, whatc'er thy state betide, 
 
 Be ^se, ! man, nor dare the heavens arraign, 
 The language shun of discontent or pride, — 
 Resigned, my muse, let's roam the classic dale of 
 Clyde.
 
 SI 
 
 THE SPORTS OF FASTEN'S-e'EN IN KILMARNOCK. 
 
 I. 
 
 The day was sleety, cauld, and doure, 
 
 Dame Nature's face was wan; 
 The noteless birds, mI' dowie cower, 
 
 Happed round the beilds o' man. 
 Yet young folks, wi' their new dudds on, 
 
 And bawbees gathered lang, 
 Stood at the doors, while to the fun 
 
 The crowds were skelpin' thrang 
 And thick that day. 
 
 II. 
 'Twas Killio's far-famed Fasten's-E'en, 
 
 The fireside was my station, 
 Till ca'd a stanch auld-farrant frien', 
 
 Ycleped Dan Observation. 
 h3
 
 82 SPOUTS OF fasten's-e'en- 
 
 "Come, Jock," said he, "we'll up the gate;' 
 
 Sae, trudgin' cheek-for-chow, 
 A' cen and ears, awa' wc set. 
 
 The motions of the row 
 
 To note that day. 
 
 III. 
 We gained the Laigh Kirk's sacred fauld. 
 
 Where sheep on Sunday gather; 
 And mony a solemn truth hear tauld, 
 
 And mony an unco blether. 
 By this the fun was just begun. 
 
 The multitude was roarin'; 
 And up and down, and roun' and roun', 
 
 The water- warks were pourin' 
 Their store that day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Cross wc wan, wcel studded through 
 
 Wi' mony a gazing gaper; 
 Men o' a' ranks, and women, toO; 
 
 Aye trump at every caper.
 
 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 83 
 
 And mony a face was there, I wot, 
 That showed the farce was pleasin'; 
 
 But that, in Fortune's mill, they'd got 
 A most tremendous squeezin', 
 For mony a day. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Now," said my friend, " mark ye yon fish, 
 
 " A' bloatit, bleart, and blinkin', 
 " And belly turned like some tun dish, 
 
 " Wi' eatin' and wi' drinkin'; 
 " He's laughin' at the grand stramash, 
 
 " And thinks he's safe frae harm." 
 Wi' that he got a noble lash. 
 
 Which douked his convex thairm 
 In style that day. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Jock Stewart took a pipe's comman', 
 
 Tho' for his neck 'twas risky, 
 And dealt it roun' wi' heavy han' — 
 
 Ye're sure it wasna whisky.
 
 SPORTS OF FASTEN's-e'eN. 
 
 For had it been, he would, 1 ween, 
 
 Ta'en rather better care o't; 
 Nor, by his drouth, to ony mouth 
 
 Hae had ae drap to spare o't— 
 On that same day. 
 
 VII. 
 Out o'er the heighcst house's tap 
 
 He sent the torrent scrievin'; 
 The curious crowd aye nearer crap, 
 
 To see sic feats achievin'. 
 But scarcely had they thickened weel, 
 
 And got in trim for smilin', 
 When roun' the pipe gaed like an eel, 
 
 And made a pretty skailin' 
 
 'Mong them that day. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now here, now there, he took his mark- 
 Now down, now up, he liftit; 
 
 And droukit some unto the sark. 
 That hadna aue to shift it.
 
 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 85 
 
 And aye the callans were as keen 
 
 To Stan' and get a blatter. 
 As they had Roman Cath'lics been, 
 
 And it a' holy water 
 
 That fell that day. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Next strutted by a stranger Miss, 
 
 In Fashion's finest glare, ^ 
 
 Come into town to taste the bliss. 
 
 And show and sell her ware. 
 But what can a' this din excite — 
 
 This universal keckle ? 
 We turned about, and Jock, for spite, 
 
 Had spoiled her fishing tackle 
 Complete that day. 
 
 X. 
 
 'Twere not an easy task to tell 
 
 IIow many got a bathin'; 
 And what to shins and taes befcl, 
 
 To dogs and dandies' claithin'.
 
 86 SPORTS OF fasten'S-e'en. 
 
 How many drones enjoyed the sight — 
 
 How safe and snugly seated; 
 Or wi' what trifles, vain and light, 
 
 Mankind will be elated 
 On ony day. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But surely Killie's sons arc blest, 
 
 That hae sic fine diversions; 
 And rulers using, for the best, 
 
 Unparalleled exertions. 
 Sic shiuin' spires, and streets sae grand, 
 
 Observatories bonny; 
 And burial-grounds, that in the land 
 
 Are not surpassed by ony — 
 
 I'll swear this day ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now closed this scene — and now the crowd 
 
 Dispersed in a' directions; 
 While water-warks proclaimed aloud 
 
 The pavement's imperfections.
 
 SPORTS OF pasten's-e'en. 87 
 
 Aud some gaed aff to slake their thirst, 
 
 And get their cargo shippit; 
 We took the hint, amang the first, 
 
 And into Joppa's slippit, 
 
 To taste that day. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 There ca'd we roun' the cap wi' tent. 
 
 Till, to the window veerin', 
 We saw a sight that might have sent 
 
 The vera stanes a-sneerin'. 
 Of duddy boys, five hundred guid, 
 
 And, in the front presidin', 
 Twa warlike chiels, in blue and red, 
 
 As big as farmers ridin' 
 
 To fair some day, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The ane, a halbert shouthered high, 
 And purse, breeks, shoon, an' bonnet, 
 
 Fit laurels for the victory, 
 Hung splendidly upon it.
 
 88 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 
 
 The ither boat tho row-dow-dow, 
 
 A wee, but wicked sinner; 
 And great temptations they, I vow, 
 
 Held out to ilka rinner 
 
 To stake that day. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The clock near three had turned about; 
 
 We down the street gaed cockin'. 
 To see our Councilmen march out, 
 
 (Wi' reverence be it spoken;) 
 We stood at Johnny Fulton's door; 
 
 And I maun gie confession. 
 Their ranks, and music placed before, 
 
 A glorious procession 
 
 Did mak' that day. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 <' Now," cried a pigmy 'mang the crowd, 
 " In vain my neck I've rackit, 
 
 " For faces, thought that see I would, 
 " Wi' wit and wisdom packit:
 
 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 89 
 
 " They're fish, nae doubt, wi' finer scales, 
 
 "And redder 'bout the ginnels: 
 '' That's a' the difference frae oursels, 
 
 " Pale Misery's fated panels, 
 
 " And hacks this day." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 It would take Lockhart or Will Pum, 
 
 Or some sic son of thunder. 
 To paint lang Harvey at his drum. 
 
 And every ither wonder: 
 The bark of dogs, the bawl of boys. 
 
 The sneer of mony a scorner, 
 That mingling rose, in one wild noise, 
 
 As round by Mathie's corner 
 
 They gaed that day. 
 
 XVIII. 
 Now folk sped thranger to the race 
 
 Than e'er to kirk on Sunday; 
 And like a priest's, was ilka face. 
 
 On Sacramental Monday,
 
 90 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 
 
 When wi' his brethren hame he hies 
 And sees, a' spread before him, 
 
 A' glittering, in his fancy's eyes, 
 The banquet for the quorum, 
 Prepared that day. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "We joined the noisy, fickle flock. 
 
 And heard, in quick succession, 
 " My heels'." " I say, ye jade, whar's Jock?" 
 
 And mony a queer expression; 
 We scarce got peepin' roun' about, 
 
 So sairly were we battered, 
 Till on the course, amaist worn out. 
 
 And a' wi' dii-t bespattered, 
 
 We stood that day. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Then opened full on ear and view 
 
 The congregated " rabble" — 
 The varied face— the dress— the hue— 
 
 The mingled gibble-gabble—
 
 SPORTS OF FASTEN's-e'eN. 91 
 
 The blachnan-'wives* — the gingebrcad creels — 
 
 The maids for sale in braces — 
 And groups o' swankie kintra chiels, 
 
 Wi' their unmeaning faces, 
 
 And leuks that day. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Here youngsters, throwing turf and clay, 
 
 Are scourin' roun' sae tricky; 
 " Almanacs for the present day," 
 
 Are bawled by Johnny Mickie.t 
 There's Muirland, wi' his plaid and dog, 
 
 And Will M'Web, the weaver, 
 Right thin and blue about the lug, 
 
 Puir, persecuted shaver, 
 
 Here met this day. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And yonder is a whisky-stan', 
 
 Whar, driukin' roun' and crackin', 
 
 * Sellers of confections made of boiled treacle. 
 
 t A dealer in gingerbread, who traverses the race-course on Fasten's- 
 E'en, calling out, " Almanacs for the present day ; an' if ye canna read 
 them, ye may eat them."
 
 92 SPORTS OF FASTEN's-e'eN. 
 
 Are seen a squad; and there a ban' 
 Thrang down the fences breakin'; 
 
 Anither core are jumpin' keen. 
 And strainin' nerve and muscle; 
 
 While some light-fingered lads are seen 
 Sly jinkin' thro' the bussle, 
 Fu' gleg this day. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Here mony a chiel, wi' gaudy coat, 
 
 Flings by wi' unco bluster. 
 That, o' his ain, a guid grey groat 
 
 I'm sure could hardly muster. 
 See yon twa up their noses set, 
 
 Deep-read in roguish dealings. 
 As they, for every pound o' debt. 
 
 Could pay their twenty shillings, 
 Clink down this day. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Great flights o' foreigners are come, 
 Frae Fenwick's far dominions; 
 
 Men of Beansburn — frae Stew'rton some, 
 That dwell 'neath L w's pinions;
 
 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 93 
 
 And frae beyon' whar Irvine roars, 
 
 The Riccartonians mighty; 
 An' tinkler bodies frae KUmaurs, 
 
 That great and wond'rous city, 
 Are here this day. 
 
 XXV. 
 Xewmilns' dog-fechters hae come down, 
 
 Some squinting through their glasses; 
 Wi' folks frae Darvel's lang-tailed town : 
 
 Tarbolton's lads and lasses; 
 Wild natives o' the Hurlford; 
 
 And Galston wabsters lazy; 
 And, frae the Crookedholm, a horde 
 
 Of woollen-spinners greasy — 
 Quite big this day. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 An' mony mae the scene hae sought, 
 
 Owre troublesome to mention, 
 A' keen pursuin' Mr. Nought, 
 
 Wi' most profound attention: 
 I 3
 
 'J-i SPORTS OF FASTEN'S-E EN. 
 
 Frac brawny chiels, aboon sax feety 
 
 That sturdily can stab it — 
 To infants, at their mammy's teat. 
 
 Scarce far beyond a rabbit 
 
 For size this day. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Here some are crackin' loud o' Dun; 
 
 And some o' ane ca'd Rover; 
 And some o' Neil, that aft has won, 
 
 But now is fairly over; 
 Jthers of Brigton, Boyd, and King, 
 
 Discuss the sev'ral merits; 
 And ither "bloods" that, in the ring, 
 
 Hae shown their strength an' spirits, 
 On some sic day. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And this we heard of female talk — 
 " Yon's Maggy Featherbrainie, 
 
 " That aft, last year, in Rumpie's Walk, 
 " Was heard and seen by many !
 
 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 95 
 
 " And now she's tied to yon wee chap, 
 
 " Yon poukit-lookin' monkey; 
 " And got a young ane in her lap, 
 
 " And face as laug's a donkey — 
 " I'm sure this day!" 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Quo blear-e'ed Meg tae fish-wife Jean, 
 
 " Is tat a beast or bodie? 
 " Was ever sic a creature seen, 
 
 " Sae tousy an' sae duddy? 
 " He'll be the king o' craw-deils a', 
 
 " Or maybe, lass, wha kens, 
 " Some tailor's midden run awa', 
 
 " By help o' steam-machines, 
 
 '<T' the race this day." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Ye muckle bletherin' goose," quo Jean; 
 
 " Your middens an' craw-deils; 
 <' Ye leuk as ye had pawned your e'en 
 
 " For whisky in Tam Neil's!
 
 90 SPORTS OF fasten's-e'en. 
 
 "That's Tammie Raeburn o' the Ark, ■ 
 
 " Far prouder o' his rags 
 " An' tautit hair, than ony spark 
 
 " That by sae saucy wags 
 
 " New clad this day !" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 But suddenly the scene is changed! 
 
 And, 0! what preparation 
 To clear the course, and get arranged 
 
 The crowd in proper station. 
 " Stan' back! stan' back!" is bawl'd about- 
 
 Sic ruggin' and sic rivin' — 
 The big folks threaten, thump, and shout, 
 
 As they were at the drivin' 
 O' nowt this day. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 At length they're in a kind o' square; 
 
 And a' the finer cattle 
 The inner-court claim as their share. 
 
 Nor mix wi' baser metal. 
 
 * An eccentric character, residing in the neighbourhood of Kilmar. 
 nock, commonly called in the newspapers, "The Ayrshire Hermit."
 
 SPORTS OF FASTEN S-E EN. 9/ 
 
 But if this spot by worth is got, 
 Some cliiels hae ta'en their places, 
 
 That in the rear, I rather fear, 
 Maun show their gawsy faces. 
 And fronts this clay. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Now aff his dudds ilk rinner flings. 
 
 And hands them to some crony; 
 While Expectation draws her strings, 
 
 And maks her motions mony: 
 She fixes some like Lot's auld wife, 
 
 Maks ithers fidgin' keen; 
 Sets some hearts wi' their holes at strife; 
 
 Some baith wi' mouth and e'en 
 Gars glowr this day. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Awa' like grews behint poor puss, 
 
 They cleave the yieldin' ether; 
 Or clergy to some patron's house, 
 
 When dies a wecl-paid brither.
 
 98 SPORTS OF FASTEn's-E'eN. 
 
 An' ruffs the tlrum, the gathcrin' rair. 
 As won the tither course is; 
 
 And, ! what deep important stare 
 Hae a' the stick-armed forces, 
 That guard this day. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Now, Byron here himscl' wou'd fail, 
 
 And Shakspeare's muse wou'd sink, 
 To justice do to this same tale, 
 
 And tell it o'er in clink: 
 What shouts came pouring frae the ring- 
 
 IIow ilka birkie strained — 
 How, at the hindmost bout, lang King 
 
 Cam' in, wi' strength weel haincd. 
 Like shot that day. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And loud as winds and waters met 
 In Winter's mad convention, 
 
 A moon-struck congregation set 
 On schemes of sea-extension.
 
 SPORTS OF pasten's-e'en. 99 
 
 The crowd brak for the winnin' post, 
 
 (0! grand important spat,) 
 And ran as life had been the cost, 
 
 Nor did they ken for what 
 It was that day. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 0, sers ! weel Robin Burns might say, 
 
 " Mankind's an unco squad," 
 A wee thing lifts them iip the brae, 
 
 A wee thing maks them sad. 
 The man they idolize this hour. 
 
 The next they'll pelt wi' mud, 
 And stain his name wi' calumny, 
 
 And e'en wad shed his blood, 
 Fu' fast some day. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The second race might be our sang. 
 
 But 'twere a subject tame, 
 Just as the Psalms of David gang, 
 
 "Another of the same."
 
 100 SPORTS OF FASTEN's-e'eN. 
 
 An' when 'twas owre, how thro' the yetts 
 And slaps, baith young and auld 
 
 Gaed skelpin', like as mony sheep 
 Hard huutit out o' fauld, 
 
 Wi' tod that day. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 An' couthilic how some wad crack 
 
 'Bout rinners and the race; 
 How wooers set the tryst at e'en, 
 
 And named the time and place; 
 How grannies led their oyes in han', 
 
 Wi' muckle dauds o' snap; 
 And wee anes, daubit wi' blackman, 
 
 Auld farrant out the lap 
 
 Did keek that day. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And we might paint auld Killie's town, 
 Would Phoebus gie's a heeze, 
 
 When ilka change-house made a soun', 
 Just like a byfes o' bees;
 
 SPORTS OF FASTEN's-e'eN. 101 
 
 But 'twould be folly great for folk 
 
 Sa7is'-^ legs a race to rin, 
 Or howlets, at the noon title hour, 
 
 To soar unto the sun, 
 
 To big this day. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 But now we maun the cap-stane fin', 
 
 For surely it is time, 
 Toom barrels mak' the maist o' din, 
 
 Weak bards the langest rhyme. 
 May a' that wish auld Killie ill, 
 
 Soon in a halter swing; 
 May aye her bairnies hae their fill. 
 
 And rowth o' ready ring. 
 
 To life's last day. 
 
 Without.
 
 i02 
 
 THE BARD. 
 
 All ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
 
 The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar." 
 
 BE4TTIE. 
 
 The whiter day had veiled her light 
 Behind Dundonald's mountains lone; 
 The lingering twilight closed around, 
 And sullen night came quickly on. 
 By Irvine's banks of faded green 
 I roamed, with easy reckless tread, 
 Pondering on joys of earlier days, 
 — Away, for ever — ever fled. 
 
 When 'neath a willow grey, that flung 
 Its shade far o'er the tumbhug flood. 
 All melancholy o'er his harp 
 A youthful minstrel pensive stood.
 
 THE BARD. • 103 
 
 The bloom was faded on his cheek; 
 His eye, expressive, deep, and slow, 
 Was turned with strange reflecting gaze 
 Upon the swelling stream below. 
 
 He raised his harp — a ha;rp which ne'er 
 Had art to polish fondly striven. 
 Save where with withered hare-bells hung, 
 'Twas all as first from nature given; 
 He eyed it with an absent look. 
 He tuned the strings all one by one. 
 Then placed it on the ground, with tears, 
 And thus his doleful tale beofan : — 
 
 " Ye naked forests, sad to see, 
 
 " Where drowsy birds no shelter find; 
 
 " Ye barren, bleak, bleak mountain tops, 
 
 " Long beaten by the winter wind; 
 
 " Ye fields, no more in verdure drest; 
 
 " Ye valleys, all in ruins laid; 
 
 " Thou red swollen river, raging on, 
 
 " That once in whirls so sweetly played:
 
 J 04 THE BARD. 
 
 " Yc stars! that through the gloom of night 
 " Emit a faint and glimmering ray — 
 " That oft, with feelings wild, I've seen 
 " Along th' unclouded welkin' stray; 
 " Parts of great Nature's awful frame, 
 " Hear ye an artless bard complain, 
 " And tell her, in her leafless bower, 
 " The burden of my humble strain. 
 
 " Say, why has she into my breast 
 
 " Infused that wayward restless fire, 
 
 " Which leads to follow fancy vain, 
 
 "And labour o'er the luckless lyre! — 
 
 " And why do Fate's black surging waves, 
 
 " To quench that flame for ever rise? 
 
 " Why am I doomed a path to seek, 
 
 " Which fate has barred — which fate denies? 
 
 " And why do even her simplest scenes 
 " Bid feeling's subtile ocean swell, 
 " Till raptures kindle in my soul, 
 " Unfit were angel's tongue to tell?
 
 THE BAKD. 105 
 
 " And yet to noisoms cell confined, 
 
 " I gain by fits a transient taste, 
 
 " Which serves, like dying sunbeam bright, 
 
 " That shows the sky with storms defaced. 
 
 " ! had some humble shed been mine, 
 " Where high hills rear the lofty "head, 
 " With heath and hare-bell waving wide, 
 " Or in the woods of nature clad; 
 "Then had I hailed the rosy dawn, 
 " The dew-drops glancing on the thorn — 
 " And, wand'ring o'er the wild flowers sweet, 
 " Have heard the hermit cushat mourn. 
 
 " Or, had it been my lot to range 
 
 " Th' eternal ocean's empire wide, 
 
 " And twine in song its wonders great, 
 
 " Far dancing o'er the bounding tide, 
 
 " The lands where seraph bards have sung, 
 
 " Where first the flowers of science blew, 
 
 " The sad remains of grandeur gone, 
 
 " Through rapture's rising tear to view. 
 
 K 3
 
 106 THE BARD. 
 
 " Or, had even Learning lent her aid — 
 
 " Disclosed her treasures to the eye, 
 
 " To bid the soul her powers expand, 
 
 " And Fancy wing her flight on high; 
 
 " Though in the city's deepest shades 
 
 " Had my few short, short days been spent, 
 
 " And joined to poverty for life, 
 
 " I had been blessed with sweet content. 
 
 " But, 'tis not so ! the morning comes 
 
 "And brings no joy; and, as the day 
 
 " Wheels her swift course, my life she sees 
 
 " In lonely langour wear away; 
 
 " As is the wanderer of the wave, 
 
 " When cast upon the thirsty sand; 
 
 " As is the lark, in durance placed 
 
 " By some relentless, cruel hand. 
 
 "But why unmanly thus eomplain? 
 "Come, Resolutiou! arm my soul! 
 "'Tis heaven ordains 1 fret not, while joy 
 " Pei^vades creatioa as a whole.
 
 THE BARD. 107 
 
 " But a few days, or years at most, 
 " Till the unchained immortal mind 
 " Shall mount to its eternal source, 
 " And leave earth's sordid dust behind." 
 
 He ceased — he vanished through the night ! 
 But echo long, with silver tongue, 
 From rock, and vale, and hollow cave, 
 Hymned o'er the notes he last had sung. 
 Yet oft when darkness shades the world 
 With contemplation's sober stride. 
 While wandering there, methinks I hear 
 His notes along the waters glide.
 
 ir,s 
 
 HUGHIE SPEIKS, OR THE WONDER OF THE 
 NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 " Am na I an unco bodie?" 
 
 Hugo loquitur. 
 
 Ye sons of song, awake ! arise! 
 
 Each power invoke in earth and skies; 
 
 Tune well your harps — hark! hark! Fame cries- 
 
 " A bard appears ! 
 " Give place — he comes to take the prize — 
 
 "My Hughie Spiers!" 
 
 Awake ! awake ! or soon you'll mourn 
 Your fame eclipsed, your laurels torn, 
 Your palms away in triumph borne; 
 
 While, 'mid the cheers 
 Of thousands, with exalted horn, 
 
 Rides Hughie Spiers.
 
 HUGHIE SPIERS. 109 
 
 Bard of the wild Green Island,* thou 
 Hast got a match — a rival now; 
 Campbell lags on Parnassus' brow, 
 
 His hopes turned fears; 
 While stumping ower ilk height and howe 
 
 Gangs Hughic Spiers. 
 
 Auld England talks wi' tim'rous cheep 
 0' Shakspeare wild, and Milton deep — 
 Greece, 'bout her Homer, darna peep — 
 
 Were they his peers? 
 Not fit the Pegasus to keep 
 
 0' Hughie Spiers. 
 
 No more Apollo crams his head 
 
 With Scott, the bard of knight and steed. 
 
 Or bids audacious Southey speed; 
 
 But constant steers 
 Each Sabbath-day, and tunes the reed 
 
 0' Hughie Spiers. 
 
 Venus ance tauld the god, of late 
 She heard some mortal had him beat; 
 Urged him to tell, until he flate, 
 
 And said, in tears. 
 Ye wanton jade, since ye maun hae't. 
 
 It's Hughic Spiers ! 
 
 » Moore,
 
 110 IIUGHIE SPIERS. 
 
 His name on every zephyr scuds, 
 'Tis heard in wilds and loneliest wuds; 
 Sweet Irvine — gentlest of our floods ! 
 
 Fast onward bears, 
 To tell the ocean's guardian gods 
 
 Of Hughie Spiers. 
 
 Thou moon — meek mistress of the night ! 
 Ye stars that roll in radiance bright ! 
 
 o 
 
 Ye comets, whose revolving flight 
 
 Takes up whole years ! 
 Rejoice in our poetic light — 
 
 Bright Hughie Spiers! 
 
 Sound him, thou sea ! like thunder's roar 
 Lift thy deep voice along the shore — 
 The same let all on earth encore ! 
 
 Meanwhile ye spheres, 
 As through the realms of space ye soar, 
 
 Sing Hughie Spiers ! 
 
 Dogs when they see him wag their tails, 
 'Tis said whole packs forget their trails — 
 Nor aught the huntsman's voice avails; 
 
 And when he nears 
 
 Steam carriages, they bid the rails 
 
 Shriek Hughie Spiers.
 
 HUGHIE SPIEKS. Hi 
 
 The flies that round his hardship bum, 
 
 His woudrous merits daily hum; 
 
 Even puss, at "twa threads au' a thrum," 
 
 Her windpipe clears, 
 And bids the chorus rolling come 
 
 For Hughie Spiers. 
 
 When meditation leads his shanks 
 
 By sedgy pools and reedy stanks. 
 
 The paddocks lea' their plays and pranks, 
 
 And e'en their dears. 
 And come in crowds to pay their thanks 
 
 Tc Hughie Spiers. 
 
 At birth of this seraphic bard 
 
 Things strange, they say, were seen and heard: — 
 
 The sun rose east — grass decked the sward — 
 
 In gossips' ears 
 Doors on their oil-less hinges roared, 
 
 " I Hughie Spiers." 
 
 To aid his observation sly. 
 Nature has given a squinting eye; 
 Although his faes give this the lie. 
 
 And say he wears 
 Peepers of glass; 'tis all envy — 
 
 Gleg Hughie Spiers !
 
 112 HUGHIE SPIERS. 
 
 Besides, she has been pleased to place 
 In fairest mould his lovely face; 
 A visage marked with every grace 
 
 The hero wears ! , 
 
 ! could great Jamie Thorit^ but trace 
 
 Our Hughie Spiers. 
 
 He has gi'en Vice an unco chp — 
 He made Miss Folly naked strip, 
 Fast held her in his mighty grip — 
 
 And Reason swears 
 She mended 'neath the sounding whip 
 
 0' Hughie Spiers. 
 
 Unlike some bards of modern time, 
 
 Who string their neighbours' faults in rhyme, 
 
 He soars amid the true sublime. 
 
 Nor ever veers 
 To aught that's low; 'twere darkest crime, 
 
 Says Hughie Spiers. 
 
 Whene'er his mighty numbers flow. 
 Concord and strength attending go, 
 Grace, Ease, and Dignity, in Co., 
 
 Jove, stooping, hears 
 The notes, and shouts — " Well done I bravo I 
 
 " My Hughie Spiers." 
 * The Sculptor of the group of " Tarn O'Shanter and Souter Johnny.
 
 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. llo 
 
 Come, Scotia ! lift thy drooping head. 
 And leave poor Burns's lowly bed; 
 In thy best tartans be thou clad; 
 
 Dry up thy tears; 
 Shout ! there's a brighter in his stead. 
 
 Even Hughie Spiers. 
 
 DEATH AND THE SEXTON.* 
 
 " The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle. 
 
 Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole 
 
 A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand, 
 
 Digs through whole rows of kindred and acquaintance. 
 
 By far liis juniors." BLAia. 
 
 Black midnight reigned; the starless sky 
 All dark and dismal looked on high; 
 The mustering storm came roaring forth. 
 With dreadful fury fx'om the north; 
 The river, swoln, with treble sway, 
 Held through the town its rapid way, 
 
 * Written previous to the enclosure of St. Andrew's New Burial- 
 ground.
 
 114 DEATH AND THE SEXTOTf. 
 
 Whose thundering rush upon the breeze 
 Seemed like the sound of distant seas; 
 Grim ghosts of midnight, ■\vhirhvind-drivcH, 
 Howled through the darkened arch of heaven; 
 Fleet flashed the lightning through the wold, 
 And harsh, deep muttering thunder rolled. 
 Such was the night, and such the time, 
 When, lo ! our sexton, all sublime. 
 Went swaggering homewards, down a street 
 Where dirt and darkness nightly meet; 
 He gained meridian of the place, 
 The lamps went out before his face. 
 And from a corner dank and drear, 
 Where oft the drunkard draws his beer, 
 Bounded old Death, for deeds arrayed. 
 Dark as the sternest Stygian shade. 
 " Stand, ho !" the warlike phantom cried; 
 " Stand ho !" the echoes loud replied; 
 The thundering pinions of the wind 
 With dread on Nature's back reclined, 
 As the lone street and walls around 
 Returned the harsh infernal sound.
 
 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. ij5 
 
 Like Autumn's last leaf on the spray, 
 Trembled old Trencher's staggering clay; 
 Back reeling to a wall he went. 
 And on his damp posteriors leant. 
 There, as he stood, the old grim chiel 
 Came clattering up with airy heel; 
 His waist so small, his limbs so handy, 
 You'd ta'en him for a modern dandy; 
 Yet was his motion wild and furious. 
 In whole a figure truly curious. 
 But when our subterranean hind 
 Behind his benefactor kind. 
 His friend of thirty years' acquaintance, 
 As flies some drunken wight's repentance 
 Before the stoup, so fled the fright 
 Of Trencher, at the welcome sight; 
 Yet stni he kept his resting place, 
 With solemn, serious, saint-like face. 
 
 After such complimenting sweet 
 
 As passes oft when kinsfolk meet. 
 
 As through his ribs the night-wind sang. 
 
 Thus poured old Death his wild harangue:—
 
 116 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 
 
 " 0, Trencher clear ! by alcwives blest, 
 " By resurrection-men carest; 
 " Privileged, besides, to tug the tacldc 
 " That summons to the tabernacle; 
 " And, above all, when dies the bell, 
 " To watch the steps of great Ilimscr"'— 
 " Say, did ne'er horror freeze thy veins, 
 " Nor anger rouse thy madd'ning brains, 
 
 « To see for K e's mighty crowd, 
 
 " Such shameful burial-place allowed; 
 " I've viewed it oft, surcharged with ire, 
 " And whirled my dart in flames of fire. 
 
 " But what can better be expected, 
 " Your powers that be are self-elected; 
 " Your council-room's a dull resort, 
 " Where "Wisdom never shows her port. 
 " Annual, except on King's birth-night, 
 " Robed in the fumes of toddy bright, 
 « The bowl-born creature takes her station, 
 " Soon drowned in deep intoxication. 
 
 * It is customary for the good folks of the old school belonging to a 
 certain church, where a collegiate charge exists, whenever the question, 
 " Wha preached the day ?" is put, to reply, when the senior clergyman 
 officiates, " 'Twas Himsel'."
 
 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 117 
 
 " As for your police, ne'er were driven 
 
 *' O'er such the circling host of heaven; 
 
 " Police and council, one and all, 
 
 " Are creatures merely formed to crawl, 
 
 " Unblest with wings to speed their flight 
 
 *' To patriotism's noble height; 
 
 " Or th' inspiring flame to feel, 
 
 " That lights the lamp of common weal; 
 
 " Plain want of sense and public spirit 
 
 " Passes 'mong them for real merit; 
 
 " While Interest roars, with ceaseless yell, 
 
 " ' Things as they are— All's well, all's well !' 
 
 " But were*the whole assembled here, 
 
 " By Styx, and all the gods, I'd swear, 
 
 " Yon burial-ground would bring disgrace 
 
 " On any people, town, or place; 
 
 " Such hath ne'er our fair world defiled, 
 
 " Since first she rose from chaos wild. 
 
 " Unmatched, should keenest search explore 
 
 " Earth to her very utmost shore, 
 
 " From the deep burning billows of the line, 
 
 " Even to the pole's close congregated brine." 
 
 l3
 
 118 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 
 
 Death ended— stretched his weary form; 
 Died the shrill sound along the storm; 
 And Trencher dear, as ceased the noise, 
 Thus raised his sweet melodious voice: — 
 
 " Great Prince of Dread! beneath whose stroliC 
 
 " The potsherds of the earth arc broke; 
 
 " At whose gx-im glance men melt away 
 
 " Like dew before the king of day; 
 
 " All that I am thou hast mo made — 
 
 " Kiiight of the Shovel and the Siyade; 
 
 " Unfit thy glittering arms to bear, 
 
 " Content thine humble pioneer. 
 
 " Truth thou hast spoke — thy plaint is just — 
 
 " Own it, even K e's guardians must, 
 
 " If, free from prejudice and drink, 
 
 " Once on the thing they'd serious think; 
 
 " Yet rolls away sun after sun, ^ 
 
 " And marks no change; no, nothing done. 
 
 " ! what black objects meet my view 
 " As I my arduous trade pursue; 
 " Things which man else did ne'er behold, 
 " Things which my tongue can ne'er unfold.
 
 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 119 
 
 " When fall the great — when sons of ease 
 " Reluctant plough thy gloomy seas, 
 " And leave behind the bloated form, 
 " Even nauseous to the foul-fed worm — 
 " Deep must their funeral beds be made, 
 " In chosen spot they must be laid, 
 " Lest stuff, that carrion-crow would scorn, 
 " Should from the grave be fondly torn; 
 " Then I begin my coarse dissections; 
 " Fly arms, legs, heads, in all directions; 
 " And coffins yielding, dreadful crash 
 " Beneath the spade's destructive smash; 
 " Trembles each limb, for who that knows 
 " But o'er my head the gap may close, 
 " So loose, so rotten, is the ground, 
 " So packed, so thickly peopled round. 
 " But more than that, my pasture's gone, 
 " My wonted fold's a naked loan ! 
 " No more, plump fat, my sonsy ewes 
 " Gang nibbling o'er the grassy knowes, 
 " Or bound about in health- sprung pride — 
 " All's desolate on every side !" 
 Thus Trencher spake, from's resting place, 
 With solemn, serious, saint-like face.
 
 120 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 
 
 Still black the brow of midnight scowled, 
 And still the storm terrific howled — 
 The rains, redoubling, furious raged, 
 And with the winds fierce warfare waged. 
 
 Said Death—" But, Trencher, I'm informed, 
 " When coffins fresh and graves are stormed, 
 " Much wood is got, or lies they tell, 
 " Which you to good advantage sell." 
 
 Quoth Trencher, (still in's resting place,) 
 
 " This was in former days the case— 
 
 " Dealers in spunks and matches, true, 
 
 " I served with wood the whole year through; 
 
 " But with bad times and loss assailed, 
 
 " Great numbers of the trade have failed; 
 
 " Nor are affairs in such condition 
 
 " As to afford a composition;* 
 
 " Thus, gains which from this source arose, 
 
 " Patron, are nearly at a close." 
 
 * In the year 1826, bankruptcy was very prevalent in our good town — 
 affecting all classes of merchants. It was commonly reported that an 
 extensive dealer in spunks and whiie-Oay, among the rest, had stopped 
 payment, whose estate only yielded 2id, per pound.
 
 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 121 
 
 " And is it so, my injured bairn 1" 
 Said, with a laugh, the chieftain stern: 
 " Not in this base degenerate day, 
 " Can one believe should thousands say; 
 « Truth, justice, principle, and worth, 
 " Seem to have fled this hated earth; 
 " Deceit, Oppression, Fraud, and Guile, 
 « Meet with the world's approving smile; 
 " Virtue forbid her wounds to own, 
 " Pines, bleeds, unpitied and unknown. 
 
 " But, when to yon churchyard I turn, 
 
 " It makes my bones with anger burn; 
 
 " Better by far to have a grave 
 
 " Beneath the ocean's weltering wave; 
 
 " Or, like the ancients of your isle, 
 
 " To deck the blazing funeral pile; 
 
 " Or, at the close of life's dark day, 
 
 " To glut some ravenous beast of prey; 
 
 " Than that fond friends should see your corse 
 
 ** Used like the carcase of a horse — 
 
 " Your whitening timbers tramped and trode, 
 
 " Scattered in fragments o'er the sod !
 
 122 DEATH AND THE SEXTON. 
 
 " Tell ye your rulers 'tis a shame — 
 " A stain — a blot — upon their name ! 
 " They are the squad I mostly blame." 
 
 " Umph ! umph 1" said Trench; but, as he spoke, 
 Was heard the clarion of a cock — 
 Spectres and spirits fled amain, 
 Fell Death the foremost of the train !
 
 123 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HARRISON, ABERDEEN, AUTHOR Of 
 "THEY BID ME LEAVE THIS RUGGED STRAND." 
 
 " The unbodied spectres freely rove, and shew, 
 Whate'er they loved on earth, they love below. 
 The lawyers, still, or rijht, or wrong, support. 
 The courtiers smoothly glide to Pluto's court. 
 Still airy heroes thoughts of glory fire; 
 Still the dead poet strings his deathless lyre; 
 And lovers still, vvitli fancied darts, expire." 
 
 Ovid. 
 I know some people will be apt to say, 
 
 I've here been dabbling loo much in th' unseen, 
 'Tis just whit bards have done in every day. 
 
 In short, what constitutes their grand machine; 
 Bigots will cry, I'm on destruction's way, 
 
 I'm sure Jjb's friends their ancestors have been ; 
 Go, patch your own, ere point ye at ray breeches, 
 And learn more love and charity, ye wretches. 
 
 When deep sleep had fallen on the frail sons of men. 
 And the beast of the forest roamed far from his den — 
 The owl was abroad in the wide troubled sky, 
 And joined with the spectre his horrible cry — 
 The murderer laboured with birth of a prayer. 
 Still blown from his lips by the breath of Despair. —
 
 124 A DREAM. 
 
 'Twas then, as I suuk into needful repose, 
 
 In vision before me distinctly arose 
 
 The dark river Styx, with its deep sable tide, 
 
 Old Charon, the ghosts, and old Pluto beside; 
 
 And all combinations invented so well 
 
 By bards of far ages, designated hell. 
 
 The old boat was plying, the shadows were landing, 
 And round the stern monarch in thousands were 
 
 standing; 
 And far down below in the gulf there was seen. 
 The sinners condemned at the bar that had been; 
 On banks of the river the grim fiends were watching, 
 And runaways quick as the hghtning were catching ! 
 
 And deep was the wail — 0! the howling was dire. 
 That rose o'er the surge of the deep rolling fire. 
 Which roared through red caverns most awful to 
 
 view. 
 And hissed on the hot shore in long billows blue 1 
 
 The first I saw landed, a herald declared 
 
 He once was a farmer in place called the A**d,
 
 A DREAM. 125 
 
 A deil when on horseback, could take " a bit can,"* 
 And sometunes a woman preferred to a man; 
 And when with a squad at an extra potation, 
 The first at a " cut," or a queer observation — 
 At prayers, too, as frequent, at sermon as duly, 
 As sunshine at midnight, or snow in sweet July ! 
 
 " Ay, ay," said old Pluto, " I ken't 'twould be so — 
 
 " I've looked for thee, Sandy, a long time ago ! 
 
 " What news from the Crossroads ?" Cried Sandy, 
 
 " Be snap, 
 " And come to the point, ye old 'buzzum o' frap.' "t 
 Then Pluto addressed his grand Council a-sitting, 
 Saying, " What d'ye think for our friend is best fit- 
 ting? 
 " Let some easy task to the soul be assigned; 
 " He was, with a few faults, the best of mankind. 
 " It is my opinion, on banks of this river 
 " On Creeping Kate'sJ ghost he shall canter for ever ! 
 " The journey is long, and requires ' a bit taste,' 
 " But Hopkin at head of yon hill shall be placed ! 
 
 « A glass. t An expression much used by S. 
 
 t A*«d's favourite mare.
 
 120 A DREAM. 
 
 " Johnny St*""lc of the S*n, in the course of a day, 
 " Comes here, to keep house at the foot of that brae; 
 " The ' Bard of the Newton ' a tavern shall keep 
 " Just half-way between them, by yon rocky steep!" 
 'Twas agreed; and away cantered Kate, fond and fain 
 To feel on her back her old rider again ! 
 
 A herald was heard. " Ah!" said Pluto, " I'll swear 
 
 " Ye'll find there is now on the way something queer." 
 
 A look to the boat then he leeringly cast, 
 
 And shouted, " The Bard of the Newton at last!" 
 
 " The Bard of the Newton " was caught by his train, 
 
 Tartarean echoes returned it again. 
 
 Then laughing, he cried, " Look, ye powers, what a 
 
 pack 
 " Of old taftercd bills he has got on his back, 
 " All known to the ' limbs of the law ' when above; 
 " Yes, foul every one, by the sceptre of Jove ! 
 " What shall we do wi' 'im?" The council exclaimed, 
 " Your majesty's laureate for aye be he named, 
 " With's house at the half-way, and harp he'll be busy; 
 " At least he will think so— for bards are aye lazy!" 
 As flies from the bow the wiug'd child of the quiver. 
 Went the "Bard" to his station— his station for ever!
 
 A DREAM. 127 
 
 The nest that appeared in the crazy old boar, 
 Was questioning Charon what fish might be got 
 In streams of the Styx? Cried old Pluto, " Be stUI; 
 " Here comes (but how pale!) my good friend Drum- 
 
 leyhill, 
 " I doubt he's been drowned in a fishing excursion, 
 " Or else at Newmilns in a Baptist immersion !" 
 
 By this Drumley reached the Tartarean coast. 
 And look'd with a leer upon each stranger ghost I 
 " It strikes me," said he. as he leaped on the shore, 
 " Some diversion I'll have among this kittle core." 
 Diversion — was caught by the crowd round the 
 
 throne; 
 Diversion — aloud by the heralds was blown. 
 'Twas heard far and wide, from the lochs and the 
 
 lakes. 
 The lone blazing isles, and the deep brimstone 
 
 brakes, * 
 
 The rifted volcano's terrific abode, 
 Came natives in myriads — they ran and they rode. 
 To meet and to welcome this mirth-sccking guest ! 
 Confused was the Council, and Pluto distressed.
 
 128 A DREAM. 
 
 From cliffs and from caves of the mountains eternal, 
 Sailed forth startled flocks of tlic prey-birds infernal; 
 With wings wide as mainsails in armies they passed, 
 And swooped, curled their talons, and screamed on 
 the blast ! 
 
 Then loud o'er the tumult thus spake the grim hell- 
 king, 
 Quite Radical John when in Birmingham Bull-ring — 
 " I move that this shadow be left at his ease, 
 " To wander and note what he hears and he sees — 
 *' T' enjoy himseK freely, and join in a game 
 " At quoits and at cards, and to shoot by a time; 
 " And also we'll grant, on conditions, this boon — 
 " A week's fun and fishing each year at Loch Doon, 
 " With plenty of whisky and notes in his shoon;* 
 " A dozen of bottles we'll give him at least, 
 " In case in the glen he should meet wi' the ' beast !'t 
 " I know 'tis the case in the cities of earth, 
 "And towns where disease and decay have their 
 birth, 
 
 » A mode of carrying money sometimes adopted on such expeditions. 
 + A redoubted champion at the bottle, but conquered in the glen by 
 Drumley.
 
 A DREAM. 129 
 
 " That crowds of the habitants yearly do go 
 
 " To coast and the country — for what 1 they best 
 
 know. 
 " And as bodies souless go there very oft, 
 " Why souls without bodies we may send aloft; 
 " And give them a kind of an annual vacation, 
 " While earth shall continue to hold her rotation — 
 " Till that long-foretold dreadful day shall descend, 
 " When gods and creation must all have an end !" 
 'Twas agreed; and away o'er the country uncomely, 
 As light as the breeze flew the shade of old Drumley ! 
 
 Again a deep shout like the thunder was heard — 
 A nurs'ryman's shade at the ferry appeared, — 
 A poor weary soul, looking silly and sad, 
 A hundred of thorns on his shoulder he had: 
 He begged that old Charon would ferry him o'er 
 For payment in plants ! but, heavens ! how he swore 
 By charms of Proserpine, he never would stand 
 Such cursed contempt of the laws of the land; 
 " And Pluto," said he, " you arc nought but a drone, 
 " Can witness such things, and yet sit on your 
 throne — 
 
 m3
 
 130 A DREAM. 
 
 " A throne to which every one here has as gootl 
 " A right as yourself, if 'twas well understood; 
 " While here I for ever must labour for you, 
 '* The only * producer' among the whole crew;" 
 Then something he muttered of " rights " and " a 
 
 charter," 
 Of "physical force," and "the death of a martyr." 
 
 But Pluto smiled grimly — he knew all above — 
 The fixed laws of Fate, and the fiat of Jove; 
 And seeing by this time the nurs'ryman land, 
 Cried, " Let us proceed with the business in hand. 
 
 " This chap has well worshipped at Venus's shrine," 
 He said, " nor great Bacchus has deemed less divine; 
 '• 'Tis strange, but 'tis so, that these deities cast 
 " Their ardent adorers on us at the last, — ■ 
 " We'll send him, poor sinner ! his thorns to plant 
 " By that wormwood fountain, his old partner's 
 
 haunt; 
 " Who still, as they're planted, behind him shall pu', 
 " While runs the great round of eternity through."
 
 A DKEAM. 131 
 
 The Council confinned — Saunders shouldered his 
 
 thorns, 
 Retiring like one that is cursed with the corns, — 
 The souls in the deepest abyss squinted after, 
 And, spite of their hard fates, convulsed were with 
 
 laughter. 
 A silence ensued, — when the herald's loud note 
 I heard, and again was a shade in the boat; 
 All eyes to the ferry then quickly did turn— ^ 
 Cried Pluto, " Here's one from, I think, Howlet Burn; 
 " Behold, in the boat he sits easy inclined, 
 " And laughs at his horse, Patie, swimming behind; 
 " Ye'U mind, Rhadamanthus, how oft did I swear 
 " Whene'er Ch***tie came that wee Pate would be 
 
 here; 
 " Decide on his sentence — come, do not be slow, 
 " For Jamie is offc in a hurry I know." 
 
 Then rose in the Council a figure as dark 
 As sky of that day Noah entered the ark. 
 Saying, "Friends I do think, and with mo yc'U agree, 
 " This horseman our keeper of forests shall be."
 
 132 A DREAM. 
 
 "Good, good," said old Pluto, "and should he- 
 do weel, 
 *' Aye once in the week he may visit J. St**le; 
 " For there some ' diversion ' is certain to be, 
 " When meets o'er their toddy the 'old committee.' "* 
 It seemed in the Council the general feeling — 
 "I'm oflF, then," said Ch***tic, and Patie was 
 
 squccling.t 
 Away then they darted, with great exultation, 
 , To examine the grounds of their new situation. 
 
 There rose the great mountains some thousand miles 
 
 high, 
 Here yawned gulphs so deep, the most far-sighted eye. 
 Though aided with glass of great Herschell, could 
 
 never 
 Discover the bottom, though gazing for ever; 
 And plains I beheld, to which ocean would seem. 
 And earth, but a moth in the sun's summer beam; 
 There grew the great forests of brimstone and lava — 
 Their breath more destructive than Upas of Java; 
 
 * The characters here introduced were by some termed '■ the cou!- 
 
 mittee," 
 
 + A habit the horse had when mounted.
 
 A DREAM. 133 
 
 And demons sat there, as the wild birds at rest, 
 By travellers seen in the woods of the west; 
 While storms clapt their pinions careering along, 
 And chanted with wo and destruction their song; 
 And grisly gaunt phantoms, contending in ire, 
 Hurled blazing volcanoes from mortars of fire; 
 And old naval chieftains, on sulphury seas. 
 Gave their broadsides to battle, their sails to the 
 
 breeze; 
 And far in the midst, on a huge frowning rock, 
 I beheld, what appeared as of vultures a flock; 
 These were Bigotry's curst, pestilential division, 
 Set up there for hell's everlasting derision; 
 But how can a poor bard of this frigid clime. 
 Do justice to all the infernal sublime. 
 
 As down a high hill at the top of his speed 
 
 Our forester went, crying, " Queer place indeed," 
 
 In the nurs'ry of Pluto, encircled that lay. 
 
 With the high tossing waves of a phosphorus bay, 
 
 He beheld his old friends, to their hard task assigned, 
 
 One planting, the other still pulUng behind.
 
 134 A DREAM. 
 
 * 
 
 " Huzza," Johnny shouted, " Huzza," he replied, 
 Till the sound of his horse in the distance had died; 
 But Saunders cried after, " What means all this haste, 
 " Come stop, Jamie, stop, till we hae a 'bit taste!'" 
 
 Now faded each figure of shade and of light, 
 
 That the phantoms composed of the kingdom of 
 
 night; 
 And the sway of sweet reason all brightly returning, 
 I arose to the toils and the cares of the morning!
 
 135 
 
 THE TOMBS OF THE DOUGLASES. 
 
 " So many, so good, as of the Douglass have been 
 Of one sirnatne, were ne'er in Scotland seen." 
 
 Old Skftisa, 
 
 I. 
 
 Shades of the mighty, the illustrious dead, 
 Who can approach your venerable dust 
 
 And sigh suppress, nor tear of tribute shed, 
 Beholding all that human glory must 
 Become; — the generous, the brave, the trust 
 
 Of prince and patriot in danger's hour, 
 
 Resigned their arms have to inglorious rust, — 
 
 Death conquered those ne'er bowed to human power. 
 
 And bound them captives mute within his noisome 
 tower.
 
 136 TOMBS OF THE DOUGLASES. 
 
 II. 
 
 The iron frames, the lion hearts of old, 
 Whose names, whoso swords were in themselves 
 an host. 
 
 Here meekly mingle with their native mould, 
 Frail as the arm of infant that ne'er crossed 
 The bourn of life, yet glorious as on coast 
 
 Of eastern land is seen the dying day, 
 Even were they when they fell ; yea, once as lost 
 
 His followers seemed, and dead the Douglas lay, 
 
 Yet bore his name the palm of victory away.* 
 
 III. 
 Here rests the dust revered of "good Sir James :"t • 
 
 Stranger, if in thy heart lurks aught that's base. 
 One thought that with the craven kindred claims. 
 
 Withdraw from tliis thy sacrilegious gaze ; 
 
 « Battle of Otterburne, fought 21st July, 1388. 
 f The following description of the gallant Sir James Douglas is from 
 Barbour's " Ihe Bruce." The old Scots poet need not have scrupled to 
 have celebrated hira as equal to Hector :— 
 " He wes in all his dedis lele ; 
 For him dedeyneit nochtto dele 
 With trechery, na with falset. 
 His hart on hey honour wes set ; 
 And him contenyt in sic maner, 
 That all him luffyt that wer him ner.
 
 TOMBS OF THE BOUGLASES. 137 
 
 Know, he was one that walked in Wisdom's ways, 
 And culled the fruits that art and caution yield ; 
 
 Serene in peace as Cynthia's summer rays, 
 War's hottest thunderbolt in battle-field, 
 Tn dark, in dangerous days poor Caledonia's shield. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And Beauty, haughty, high-born Beauty, here 
 Disclaims the boasted triumphs of her eyes ; 
 
 Lo I in that tomb where carvings quaint appear, 
 Perhaps the theme of ancient minstrel lies — 
 
 Bot he wes nocht so fayr that we 
 Suld spek gretly off his beaute ; 
 In wysage wes he sumdeill gray, 
 And had blak har, as Ic hard say ; 
 Bot off liis lyaiinys he was weill maid, 
 With banys gret, and schuldrys braid. 
 His body wes weyll maid and lenye; 
 As thai that saw hyra said to me. 
 Quhen hs wes biyth he wes lufly. 
 And meyk and sweyt in cumpany ; 
 Bot quha in battaill mycht him see, 
 All other countenance had he. 
 And in spek wlispyt he sumJeill : 
 Bot that sat hiin rycht wondre weill. 
 Till guid t'ctor of Troy myclit he 
 In raony thingis likynt be. 
 Ector had blak har, as he had : 
 And stark lymmis, and rycht weill maid j 
 And wlyspit alsua, as did he; 
 And wes fulfillyt of beawte ; 
 And wes curiaiss, and wyss, and wycht. 
 Bot off manheld and mekill mycht. 
 Till Ector dar I nane comper 
 Off all that euir in warldys wer." 
 
 jAUlLSU.N'd Bapbour, p. 14. 
 N
 
 138 TOMBS OF THE DOUGLASES. 
 
 Tbc pride of courts, who gave the envied prize 
 To Valour's hand, and led the radiant dance 
 
 With steps of harmony, in all the dies 
 That form the rainbow's dazzling expanse, 
 Her frown more dreaded far than sternest foeman's 
 lance. 
 
 V. 
 But all have vanished, — O ! mysterious state, 
 
 To which all subject are beneath the sun ; 
 Time will not of his sweeping course abate, 
 And all must perish that he looks upon, — 
 Crowns, thrones, towers, temples, all that have 
 been V)'on 
 By arts, or arms, by science and by skill, 
 
 In vain may seek their destiny to shun — 
 Mountains shall fail, and earth at last stand still, 
 The sun, moon, stars, even cease their courses to 
 fulfil. 
 
 VI. ^. 
 0! for one hour of midnight's deepest noon, 
 
 When twinkling orbs their silent vigils keep; 
 And mourns the watch-dog to the pale, cold moon : 
 
 And weary winds through rents of ruin creep ;
 
 AN ADVENTURE. 139 
 
 And mellowed comes the music of the deep, 
 Disturbed at times by owlet's dreary scream — 
 
 Here left to thought sublime, unseen to weep 
 O'er human grandeur's sublunary dream, 
 And gather lore to guide rapt Passion's wayward 
 team, 
 
 Douglas, June 5, 1840. 
 
 AX ADVENTURE. 
 
 " And the woman eaid unto Saul, I saw gods ascending out of the 
 earth."—! Samuel xxviii. 13. 
 
 It was in eigtitecn thirty-nine, 
 The month of June, the weather fine; 
 But so confounded hot, 'bout Ayr 
 Mad dogs were running here and there- 
 Mad politicians everywhere.
 
 140 AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 One afternoon of this same time, 
 A brewer, smith, and man of rhyme — 
 Rather a kind of kittle set — 
 In the Turf Inn of Irvine met. 
 And drove the joke a while, and tale. 
 Over a jug of Geordie's ale. 
 
 Whether it was the mania then 
 That in the shire struck dogs and men; 
 Or, whether 'twas the fumes of ale 
 That in their craniums did prevail. 
 Must under covert still remain, 
 Till some intelligence we gain. 
 By steam conveyance, or balloon, 
 From that queer planet called the moon: 
 Howe'er, to Jenny Hooks* they'd go. 
 And learn their fortunes — weal or wo ! 
 
 'Twas fixed upon — a house wa^ got 
 Contiguous to the beldam's cot; 
 
 * A notorious character of the Endor school, to whom persons of all 
 classes resort. So much for the boasted intelligence of the nineteenth 
 century.
 
 AN ADVENTURE. 141 
 
 And soon did Jenny 'mong them stand, 
 With pregnant look, and cards in hand. 
 
 His hardship was her first essay — 
 
 But Jenny, Jenny, well-a-day! 
 
 Thou could' St not have been farther wrong 
 
 Had'st thou declared that old was young, 
 
 That black was white, that east was west. 
 
 That Satan was a heavenly guest ! 
 
 The roguish rhymster blew her still 
 With words of wonder at her skill; 
 And swore by Burns's soul, she'd been 
 At night with Nick upon the green; 
 And had she lived in days of old, . 
 When earth was Superstition's fold, 
 Her wicked soul had left the warl' 
 Amid the flames of some tar barrel ! 
 
 The son of Vulcan next would know 
 How Fate had carved his lot below, 
 And cut the cards— whose dirty leaves 
 First told he was beset with thieves;— 
 
 N 3
 
 142 AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 Who knows not that; — 'tis my belief 
 The world is just one giant thief; 
 And could with ample demonstration 
 Substantiate the observation. 
 
 Next, Fortune's favours came along 
 So quick, so heavy, and so throng. 
 They trode each other's heels, and cried, 
 " Come, devil take you, stand aside," — 
 Things that are like to come to pass 
 When o'er the planets grows the grass. 
 Or Sol forgets the world to light, 
 Got drunk with tippling over-night; 
 " But time would fail to tell of all," 
 As saith. my friend, the Apostle Paul. 
 
 By this the brewer 'gan to think 
 Sans hops and malt was Jenny's drink; 
 He proffered not the powerful pelf, 
 When Jenny looked her horrid self, 
 With withering glance the group surveyed, 
 Rose, tossed the glass — her exit made !
 
 AN ADVENTURE. 143 
 
 But now the glorious things to come 
 From Fate's unfathomable womb, 
 Produced by Jenny's magic slight, 
 In their great galaxy of light, 
 All was the man of iron made — 
 He home was on a cart conveyed. 
 
 O muse ! ye jingling jilt, fie shame, 
 
 Tell truth for once — " the smith was lame.'* 
 
 Irvine, the Virtues long have made 
 
 Their bowers within thy shelf ring shade ! 
 
 What ! sermonizing? — lift thine eye 
 
 And scan that fair one passing by. 
 
 In all the pageantry and power 
 
 Of youth and beauty's noontide hour. 
 
 Yes, Art and Nature both have played 
 Their freaks to form the matchless maid; 
 Even on that high brow's beauteous swell 
 The amorous sunbeam loves to dwell; 
 Or, through the silken shade will pecp^ 
 Like lover o'er his idol's sleep:
 
 144 AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 Those bright blue eyes might be the thcmo 
 For life of minstrel's raptured dream, 
 New charms disclosing day by day, 
 As fled the swift, sweet hours away. 
 
 That swimming majesty of tread, 
 That air, that symmetry, might wed 
 The misanthrope to ways of men, 
 The hermit to the world again; 
 Yea, and beneath that hand of snow. 
 The bright designs will sometimes glow;— 
 She wakes the song, we deem we have 
 Enjoyed the music of a wave 
 Of harmony, from that great sea 
 That roll shall through eternity ! 
 Yet, with the beldam been she hath — 
 heavens! tell ye it not in Gath. 
 
 And mark that venerable man, 
 Conspicuous ever in the van 
 Of those that seek the house of prayer, 
 And long an office-bearer there,
 
 AN ADVENTURE. 143 
 
 His goods were stolen. With truth 'tis said, 
 He sought notorious Jenny's aid, 
 And rushed against the threefold fence. 
 Of Scripture, reason, common-sense. 
 
 That stately youth, with giant force. 
 That there restrains the fiery horse; 
 First at the sports of summer's e'en. 
 That shake the sod of village green; 
 And round the glowing winter hearth, 
 The lifestring of the "ustic mirth; 
 Nor will the precedency yield 
 To one in labours of the field. 
 
 His fair was coy, as fair will prove 
 Sometimes, when deepest drowned in love; 
 Beneath th' eclipse he sought for guide 
 The wily witch of Irvine's side. 
 
 0, man ! of all things here we see 
 Thou art the greatest mystery; 
 Thou chaos in contention dipt. 
 Thou heterogeneous nondescript;
 
 146 AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 God's word and Nature's law aside 
 Are set, as inclinations guide; 
 And spite of every high pretence, 
 The child art thou of circumstance. 
 
 Ye who profess the creed sublime 
 That man shall, at some future time, 
 Be perfect; and, through moral gloom, 
 See Owen's fairy garden bloom, 
 Turn, in your intellectual pride. 
 Survey the witch of Irvine's side !
 
 147 
 
 ON SEEING A CLERGYMAN GOING HOME 
 INTOXICATED. 
 
 " He, passing rich with forty pounds a.year ; 
 Ah i no, a shepherd of a different stock, 
 And far unlike him." Ceabbe. 
 
 Wide o'er the world the storm was ragin' 
 
 The sky still worse and worse presagin' — 
 Wild war the elements were wa^in' — 
 
 With fierce commotion — 
 The river roared, like hosts engagin', 
 
 Or sound of ocean. 
 
 'Twas that tremendous hour when files 
 Of spectres glide through gothic aisles, 
 All rent and lonely; and her wiles 
 
 The night-hag learns. 
 Or mounted, measures aerial miles 
 
 By twinklin' starns. 
 
 As through auld Killie's town I pressed, 
 
 I lighted on a certain Priest, 
 
 Weel muffled up, and snugly dressed, 
 
 A portly fellow; 
 But, let the truth be aye confessed. 
 
 Completely mellow.
 
 14« ON A CLERGYMAN. 
 
 His inward man was rather muddy, 
 The grandeur of the storm to study; 
 Turning his thoughts on home, puir bodie, 
 
 He hummed a sang. 
 In praise of Highland whisky toddy, 
 
 And reeled alang ! 
 
 He gained a certain lanely street, 
 Painting the Links of Forth complete, 
 While clish-clash gaed his reverend feet, 
 
 Like some mill-wheel; 
 But boldly through the win' and weet 
 
 On dashed the chiel ! 
 
 Peepin' out 'mid the blast sae snell, 
 Like some auld tortoise from its shell, 
 Onward he went; but what befell 
 
 I scarce can state it; 
 'T would fright Lord Wellington himsel' 
 
 To hear 't related. 
 
 Out from a neuk a figure strode, 
 The Prince of yonder dark abode, 
 And stood before the man of God, 
 
 His course opposin'; 
 As did the chiel when Balaam rode 
 
 To curse the chosen !
 
 ON A CLERGYMAN. 149 
 
 -'^ Stand, ho ! my cronie," said old Satan, 
 "Long time upon tlicc I've been waitin'; 
 " Fowls of a feather, discord hatin', 
 
 " Aye flock thegither; 
 " Whar, whar, old chap, hare ye been baitin' 
 
 " This stormy weather?" 
 
 By this the man of faith and hope, 
 Was aiming stiffly at a stop, 
 .And had the window of a shop 
 
 Got for his bailer; 
 When up came, of his speed at top, 
 Creation's Jailor ! 
 
 Close to the Priest he took his stand, 
 
 And lifted up his smutty hand, 
 
 " Sic things," said he, " are very grand, 
 
 " Blin' fu' on Monday, 
 " And preachin' on the first command 
 
 " The hale last Sunday ! 
 
 " Whar hae ye been, or at what feast?" 
 " At Lydia Thornback's," said the Priest. 
 Q,uoth Clootie, " Sixty years, at least, 
 
 " I've known the woman, 
 " And mine she has been frae the breast, 
 
 " Wi' zeal uncommon ! 
 o
 
 150 ON A CLERGYMAN. 
 
 " For the long course of thirty years, 
 
 " Her pride, her dress, called forth the sneers 
 
 " Of all the wise, and even the tears 
 
 " Of matrons wrinkled, 
 " Who in the sky that fashion rears 
 
 " Nac langer twinkled ! 
 
 " Now when her bluid's grown cauld and thin, 
 " And wrinkles turn in riggs her skin, 
 " 'J'o mak' amends for former sin, 
 
 " She feeds the poor, 
 " And feasts the clergy— mak's a grin; 
 
 " But, ah ! she's sure. 
 
 " The like o' her— the like o' thee— 
 
 " Are firmer prey by far to me, 
 
 " Than chaps that sometimes dance a-wee 
 
 " The braid way in; 
 " Delusion leads you cautiously 
 
 " To my auld gin." 
 
 Then fast and far into the gloom 
 The fiend evanished, with a boom. 
 Said I, " Time's sand-glass '11 be toom 
 
 " Now in a trice, 
 " When that auld subtle knight o' coons 
 
 " 'S reproving vice."
 
 151 
 
 PATERSON S ATTEMPT ON THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 
 
 " The modern scribbling kind, who write 
 In wit, and sense, and nature's spite." 
 
 GOLDSMITS. 
 
 In that same year that Navarinian Ned 
 •Sent Turks to Mahomet by hundreds home, 
 
 I saw in vision, slumbering on my bed, 
 High on a cliff, a fair and goodly dome; 
 
 Steep was the way that to its portals led. 
 
 Up which the sons of men would sweat and foam; 
 
 'Twas called the Temple, dwelling-place of Fame, 
 
 Where with a favoured few reposed the lofty Dame. 
 
 Methought some guardian spirit of the place 
 Bore me aloft upon his sounding wings, 
 
 And set me in the court-yard's ample space, 
 Far 'boye this scene of sublunary things.
 
 152 THE TEMPLE OP FAME. 
 
 And, ! how many of tlie human race, 
 
 Goaded by wild ambition's serpent stings, 
 Strained up th' ascent, wth danger, toil, and pain; 
 Were still repulsed, and still returned again ! 
 
 Others, although with mighty trouble, wrought 
 Themselves at length into this splendid mansion. 
 
 Were cheered by those within, who, no doubt, tliought 
 They had to it a something of pretension; 
 
 For these a crown the smiling goddess brought. 
 Of never-fading flowers of fair expansion; 
 
 And every class had marked a separate entry. 
 
 Kings, Painters, Heroes, Bards, and all such other 
 gentry. 
 
 Down on a long, long, well-worn seat, that stood 
 Nigh to the door where went the sons of verse in, 
 
 I sat, and, with the silly, selfish brood. 
 Expected soon to see some little farcing. 
 
 I heard 'twas long before the goddess would 
 Ope unto any— kept them there rehearsing,— 
 
 And, out of pity, during the probation. 
 
 Had that whereon I leaned for their accommodation.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 153 
 
 Scarce had I occupied my seat an hour, 
 When, lo! a sound of laughter and wild mirth 
 
 Burst from within; while, like a thunder shower, 
 All to the windows sudden rushing forth, 
 
 Coughed, sneered, huzzaed, and hooted all their 
 power; 
 And what to such strange merriment gave birth 
 
 Was, that a surgeon-son of old Parnassus, 
 
 Came mounted on a mortar 'stead of Pegasus; 
 
 Whose strong right hand a pond'rous pestle bore, 
 With which his steed he laboured till it rang, 
 
 And, undismayed, amid the vast uproar. 
 In strains like those of bedlamite, still sang. 
 
 His face had something I've ne'er seen before, 
 Except in folks that are, as some say, wrang; 
 
 As for his nose, 'twas like a ripe wall-cherry 
 
 Pecked by a blackbird — or a big strawberry. 
 
 His satellites this luminary had: 
 
 And this, I learned, was their determination. 
 That though they murdered Truth, and put Fame mad, 
 
 They'd take possession of her habitation. 
 
 o3
 
 154 THE TEMPLE OF FAME- 
 
 Their picture true would make a sexton sad — 
 
 The real cast-off sons of dissipation; 
 Merc tippling, shirtless, coinless, would-be fops, 
 That daily scandal deal in ill-frequented shops. 
 
 One on the front, whose name was Puny Paul, 
 Held a high place 'mong that enlightened crew: 
 
 Purveyor of medicines he was withal. 
 And poet- laureate to a well-known stew: 
 
 Along his cheek was marked the midnight brawl. 
 In traits conspicuous to the slightest view; 
 
 Yea, his whole look and visage were as evil 
 
 As he had been on earth vicegerent for the Devil ! 
 
 In bare, but well-brushed trousers, coat, and hat, 
 With shirt scarce reaching to his collar-bone, 
 
 Followed the next, who, by the name of Bat, 
 Among the sad fraternity was known: 
 
 He whirled a cane — had seals, no watch thereat — 
 His boots with Warren's blacking brightly shone, 
 
 Though, by their hollow, loud, and empty knockings, 
 
 They told the very stones his feet were void of 
 stockings !
 
 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 155 
 
 In widow's weeds of tasteless disarray, 
 Next in procession came a stately dame; 
 
 Though tricky Time had marred hor locks with gray, 
 Proud was her air, and quick her eye of flame. 
 
 And much there told she'd rather do than say; 
 Her sons were numerous, nor unknown to Fame; 
 
 I've seen her daughters, some to me more fair 
 
 Than any whom I yet have lighted on elsewhere. 
 
 Old Killie was she called, who ne'er had yet 
 A son who, with success, had swept the lyre; 
 
 And this was one adopted, in a fit 
 Of fondness did she with the rest conspire 
 
 To hoodwink Fame, but now 'twas plainly writ 
 On all she did she rather would retire; 
 
 There was a sad, sad something in her mien 
 
 I lik'd not, yet have't in a bridegroom seen. 
 
 Last came a lout of most unmeaning face — 
 Works of the bard he carried in his hand — 
 
 And which, he hinted with a queer grimace, 
 He was to circulate throughout the land.
 
 156 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 
 
 Yet from the whole, I easily could trace, 
 Self did supreme in's estimation stand; 
 And where he lacked address and penetration. 
 The vacuum was filled up with blund'ring affectation. 
 
 With these, and more 'twere dangerous to describe, 
 
 Arrived our hero— stood before the portal- 
 Trumpet procured from herald, by a bribe— 
 
 And ranked his name among the bards immortal. 
 Then what a riot rose among the tribe. 
 
 Eager they seemed, and keen at the retort all,— 
 Bawled Burns, above the rest, " Do ye no ken 
 "That our auld proverb says, 'Self-praise comes 
 stinkin' ben.' " 
 
 Still, all unconscious of their wrath and din. 
 
 He only listened to the other band 
 Echo his tale; then, with important grin. 
 
 Looked round, esteem and notice to command. 
 The real attitude he then was in. 
 
 If fitly drawn, would be a treat most grand; 
 I've never yet beheld such selfish stare. 
 Such bold, presumptuous, unbecoming air.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 157 
 
 Betwixt the ground and knocker of the door, 
 Vast was the distance; therefore, all that came 
 
 Had steps to furnish and set up before 
 They reached it — such the stern decree of Fame. 
 
 With stuff that other bards had used of yore, 
 Our nondescript began his work to frame — 
 
 From Campbell, Burns, and Byron, stole a share. 
 
 To which he put his own most miserable ware. 
 
 From a long list, too troublesome to quote, 
 He pilfered keenly. From religion, too, 
 
 Borrowed a deal: whilst he, in inward thought, 
 Laughed loud at every thing of serious hue. 
 
 His allied powers, with zeal now burning hot, 
 Rushed forward— set him on the fabric new— 
 
 When, lo I with crash went through it both his pins, 
 ,.And left upon the same the shirt of both his shins. 
 
 Out rushed the porter, as the goddess bade, 
 And of our hardship's collar took a catch; 
 
 Said, he believed, that since the world was made. 
 It ne'er produced such sacrilegious wretch;
 
 158 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 
 
 Told him how far he had mista'cn his trade, 
 
 And, of conviction to undo the latch, 
 He beat him, kicked him, caned him with a switch, 
 And gave his scurvy nose a most tremendous twitch ! 
 
 Down gushed the black contaminated blood. 
 Like streams of tar beneath the solar ray, 
 
 Which scarce a moment in the court-yard stood. 
 But vermin grew — took feet, and ran away ! 
 
 Again, within arose the laughter loud; 
 
 When ceased, was followed by a long huzza ! 
 
 Which, heard at distance, sounded like the rattle 
 
 Of muttering thunder, or of hosts in battle. 
 
 "Begone!" cried Goldsmith, "bare-faced, dirty 
 thief!" 
 "Not fit," quoth Moore, "to wash the dishes 
 here!" 
 " Of scribblers and of plagiarists the chief," 
 Said Byron; "hence! feed pigs, and share their 
 cheer!" 
 "Awa'l" quoth Burns, "this house is scribbler 
 prief — 
 *' We're needing nane o' Esculapius' gear!"
 
 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 159 
 
 While Campbell said, from window near the top, 
 " There is not for that soul a single ray of hope !" 
 
 By this our hero and his comic group 
 
 Had reached the confines of the farthest gate; 
 
 When stepped up Justice to the downcast troop, 
 Said, " This was his inevitable fate ! 
 
 " 'Tis true their spirits might despair and droop, 
 " But she had seen him get his proper weight; 
 
 " And that, as said somewhere beyond Ezekiel, 
 
 " Could testify, on oath, the whole amount was — 
 Tekel." 
 
 Perhaps the greatest of the farce was yet 
 To come, but 'tis not in my power to tell — 
 
 Before my eyes the figures seemed to flit — 
 I woke with ringing of the morning bell. 
 
 But, as for what I have already writ, 
 'Tis quite correct, for I was watching well; 
 
 One special evidence can still be seen. 
 
 His hardship's nose, whose wound is yet quite green.
 
 160 
 
 Oir TUB DEATH OF MR. GEORGE OSBORNE. 
 
 TnK storm o'orhangs the baarcn bill, 
 
 And cold wiads sweep the moorlands bleak, 
 While Nature stands with tresses torn, 
 
 And tears congealed upon her cheek; 
 And lifts the wood its lonesome voice. 
 
 Nor seen is living creature, save 
 The dismal owl, while sad and slow 
 
 I follow Irvine's winding wave. 
 
 Again, again, another tie, 
 
 That bound me to the vision vain 
 Of life, and every phantom joy, 
 
 Is all untimely snapt in twain; 
 A light, that o'er my weary path 
 
 Has often shed a cheering ray, 
 Till brighter prospects rose around, 
 
 Is set, alas! and set for aye.
 
 DEATH OP MR. GEORGE OSBORNE. 161 
 
 That deep, dark eye, so rich in soul; 
 
 O, is its magic ever gone ! 
 How in the social hour it glowed, 
 
 How o'er the page of genius shone. 
 And is that heart now still and cold 
 
 Within the kingdom of decay. 
 Once open as the breath of morn, 
 
 And generous as the dews of May? 
 
 Yes, gone to join the things that were, 
 
 Which come at Memory's lofty call. 
 In hallowed garbs of vanished days. 
 
 Troop pageant through her aerial hall. 
 Lo, they advance, and numbers there, 
 
 That once with me life's pathway trod. 
 Pass, and, with sad and warning air. 
 
 Point to the churchyard's pregnant sod. 
 
 The hedgerow bank and mossy brae 
 Remain the same aa when we pressed 
 
 Their verdant sides, and sought the flower. 
 Or treasure of the wild bee's nest.
 
 162 DEATH OF MR. GEOKGE OSBORNE. 
 
 The hoary trunk of ancient tree, 
 
 Still stands conspicuous in the wood, 
 
 Where first, with fluttering hearts, we viewed 
 The little songster's tender brood. 
 
 Sweet scene of many an hour of bliss. 
 
 The tiny brook, the wimpling bum, 
 Their waters still flow on the same. 
 
 Their banks the same at every turn. 
 Still as eternal smiles the cliff. 
 
 As when the ivy first we drew 
 From its proud base, or gathered there 
 
 The ring-dove's feathers wet with dew. 
 
 But, O ! how sadly, sadly changed. 
 
 The language that they now impart. 
 In meditation's solemn hour, 
 
 Unto the sear, the withered heart! 
 Loves, hopes, and joys for ever fled, 
 
 I tread alone the path of wo. 
 And mark with faded vision still 
 
 The shades that tlucken as I go»
 
 EVENING MEDITATIONS. 163 
 
 Again, again, another tie. 
 
 That bound me to the vision vain 
 Of life and every phantom joy, 
 
 Is all untimely snapt in twain; 
 A light, that o'er my weary path 
 
 Has often shed a cheering ray, 
 Till brighter prospects rose around. 
 
 Is set, alas ! and set for aye. 
 
 EVENING MEDITATIONS ON THE HEIGHTS OF 
 DUNDONALD. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MR. JAMES DALZIEL DOHGALL, GLASGOW. 
 
 " Meditation here 
 May think down hours to moments. 
 Here the heart may give a useful lesson to the liead, 
 And Learning wiser grow, without liis books." 
 
 COWPER. 
 I. 
 
 How sweet the summit of yon lonely hill. 
 And naked forest's wild and wint'ry roar — 
 
 The deep-toned music of the vagrant rill. 
 That leaps from cliff to cliff in fragments hoar —
 
 164 EVENING MEDITATIONS. 
 
 The sea and sky as far as sight can soar, 
 And fading landscape's melancholy bloom — 
 
 Where, from a thousand domes, the lights once more 
 Through the dim shade their wonted paths resume, 
 And variegate the scene, and twinkle through the 
 gloom. 
 
 II. 
 
 The peaceful sounds that wait on evening's train, 
 
 From rock to rock pass lingering along, 
 And melt melodious on the sighing main, 
 
 That, cold and dark, obstreperous and strong, 
 Spreads his deep waters; sweet the sea-bird's song 
 Strays o'er these shores, that heard, in days remote 
 From Rome's imperial powers, or feudal throng, 
 Destruction's trumpet, through her brazen throat, 
 Pour to contending hosts the war-arousing note. 
 
 III. 
 
 And list ! the anvil's ever-echoing knell, 
 
 Broke by the breeze— the village evening hum— 
 
 *rhc partridge chirping through the dreary dell, 
 While loud reports from distant sportsmen come;
 
 EVENING MEDITATIONS. 165 
 
 Irvine's deep moan, now sinking slowly dumb. 
 Now rising hoarse, as sudden shifts the gale — 
 
 The clattering wheels — and in the dusk still some 
 Laborious rustic whirls his sounding flail. 
 And far off tells the deep his everlasting tale. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now lost the churchyard — gone the tombstones grey — 
 
 That silent, teaching, tributary band, 
 That 'gainst Oblivion's powers, of black array, 
 
 O'er the green graves, like watchful sentries, stand; 
 
 And many a sigh and holy throb command. 
 When Sabbath summons round the house of prayer 
 
 Her crowds promiscuous, and with olive wand 
 Charms every sound that swims along the air. 
 And bids each spot around a heavenly aspect wear. 
 
 V. 
 
 Spring yet shall glad these weary, wasted plains — 
 This moaning hawthorn deck with blossoms fair — 
 
 Call up to keen activity the swains, 
 And ope the primrose — 'neaththe noon-tide glare; , 
 
 p3 
 
 I .
 
 166 EVENING MEDITATIONS. 
 
 The village youth their summer sports shall share — 
 Von sea, so fierce, with dimple scarce be curled, — 
 
 But to these tombs no change shall tidings bear, 
 Till earth behold the Archangel's wings unfurled. 
 And the loud trumpet's voice awake a slumbering 
 world. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Obscure the spot, and far removed from fame. 
 
 No regal sepulchre is here arrayed, 
 Yet, as I pass, a sigh 'twill sometimes claim, 
 
 For here a grandsire's aged dust is laid; 
 
 Around whose knees, in infant hours, I've played, 
 And felt beyond the muse's power to sing, 
 
 When bowed the hoary patriarch, and paid 
 His due devotions to the Almighty King, 
 Or when with heartfelt strains the rustic dome would 
 ring. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ! 'mid these wilds had fortune placed my cot. 
 And bade me daily 'mong theii' charms to stray. 
 
 Climb the grey hill, from revelry remote. 
 And mark the morning bursting into day —
 
 EVENING MEDITATIONS. 167 
 
 The seasons rise and softly steal away — • 
 And oft my harp be tuned at fall of night; 
 
 When age should come — cold age — and dull decay. 
 To find a grave in yonder solemn site, 
 With hopes to rise and shine in everlasting light I 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ye mighty oaks, that smile at ocean's blast, 
 With ivy circled, where the ring-dove rears 
 
 Her brood secure, — ye shaggy mountains, cast 
 In Nature's haste, where time a thousand years 
 Has wrote, — thou tower, that dim afar appears. 
 
 Where feudal lords in olden time would dwell, — 
 Ye rocks, that shine with evening's crystal tears, 
 
 And mournful echo yonder village bell. 
 
 Night calls me to my home — dear scenes of youth, 
 farewell !
 
 168 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. HUGH ADAM, STUDENT, 
 
 FEBRUART 25, 1C25. 
 
 "Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul, 
 Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society, 
 I owe thee much." Bluk. 
 
 Fair mom awakes, and from the opening sky 
 
 The vanquished shadows of the dawning fly; 
 
 She comes, new-born ! and from her purple wings 
 
 A thousand beauties o'er the welkin flings; 
 
 She comes ! proud perched among his list'ning dames 
 
 Shrill through the sleepy town the cock proclaims; 
 
 With waning splendour sinks the morning-star — 
 
 The watch-dog's voice howls mournful from afar — 
 
 The zephyr sullen sighs above the dead — 
 
 As o'er the churchyard pensively I tread. 
 
 O Time! what changes wait on every wave 
 As roll thy billows to their boundless grave; 
 Things of a day, we deck thy destined shore, 
 Thou mov'st— we perish — and are seen no more.
 
 DEATH OF MR. HUGH ADAM. 169 
 
 The lowly tenant of yon humble sod 
 Youth's flowery vales and sunny mountains trode; 
 Enchanting Hope her prospects spread around, 
 Wide as the deep in sky-formed circle bound; 
 Bright as the beam that lights the Christian's eye, 
 About in triumph of his faith to die: 
 But all is fled, like phantom of a dream. 
 Or midnight meteor's transitory gleam. 
 
 Cold is that breast where Independence dwelt — 
 Where Reason ruled, and '•onquered Passion knelt — 
 Where love to mankind reigned without control, 
 And every noble feeling of the soul. 
 Is closed in death, and dim as sister clay. 
 The eye that beamed with friendship's purest ray; 
 Silent the tongue whence sweet instruction flowed, 
 Or harmless mirth, as duty marked the road. 
 . No more we'll meet around the evening blaze, 
 When withering winter leads the stormy maze, 
 ChiUs the bleak wilds, and o'er the mountains white 
 Drops with a frown the dark and lonesome night; 
 There search some page of modern work sublime, 
 Or records rescued from the wrecks of time;
 
 170 DEATH OF MK. HUGH ADAM. 
 
 And bid, before the intellectual eye, 
 
 The men, the things of other days, pass by; 
 
 Or Vice behold portrayed in picture true, 
 
 Stript of her charms, and naked to the view; 
 
 Produce, for general weal, whate'cr of lore 
 
 The closing week had added to our store; 
 
 Bid all our sparks in one combustion glow, 
 
 And in one stream our little streamlets flow; 
 
 While in each breast Joy waked her transports wild, 
 
 And Virtue silent o'er the circle smiled; 
 
 The hours that ushered Sabbath's solemn day, 
 
 With pleasure winged, fled unperceivcd away. 
 
 No more when mists the twilight world invest, 
 And Ocean's sounds rise gently in the west. 
 We'll seek the fields, and on some spot reclined, 
 Where round the wild flowers wanton in the wind, 
 In converse sweet indulge, or raptured trace ' 
 The wond'rous charms of Nature's fairy face. 
 No more with weary feet we'll scour the plain, 
 The forest green, the margin of the main; 
 No more indulge the soul-inspiring view 
 From old Dundonald's shaggy hills of blue.
 
 DEATH OF MK. HUGH ADAM. 171 
 
 No more shall Study find thee in her bower, 
 
 Pale o'er the taper of the midnight hour, 
 
 Far on the cUffs where Learning's blossoms blow, 
 
 Whence looks the world contemptible below. 
 
 But 0, how passing sad to wander o'er 
 
 The dear, dear past, and add to all — no more; 
 
 The bliss recalled from which we ever part. 
 
 Falls with a signal sorrow on the heart. 
 
 And thee I mourn in vain, whom fell decay 
 Snatched, ere meridian hour of life, away, 
 In minds of friends and relatives shall long 
 Live when forgotten is my humble song. 
 
 And when life's fitful taper has expired. 
 Its last faint flickerings from this scene retired. 
 To meet in new existence may be ours. 
 Nearer ,to God, with more exalted powers.
 
 172 
 
 THE WANDERING PIPER. 
 '■ I always knock my head against some angle."— Btbon. 
 
 This is of strange phenomena the age — 
 Of hope-desti'oying whigs and watchful tories — 
 
 Of banded sweeping radicals, that wage 
 War with both church and state, and wliich a bore is 
 
 From front to rear, they tell us; while from cage 
 Of royalty, to ^flutter in the glories 
 
 Of petticoats imperial, new made 
 
 Peers and knights fly like midges on parade; — 
 
 Steam navigation past all comprehension — 
 Clubs, dinners, working men's associations — 
 
 Bills of coercion, schemes of church extension — 
 Chaps that indulge in pleasing speculations 
 
 Of man's perfectibility — suspension 
 Railways, balls, banquets, duels, agitations — 
 
 "The church, the church!" corruption cries, "it 
 licks ought 
 
 " Ere madman dreamed — John Bull has turned Don 
 Quixote."
 
 THE WANDEBING PIPEE. 173 
 
 " Man of the Moon" is getting something old— 
 The waud'ring Jew has pitched his tent with 
 Death- 
 Joanna Southcote, too, has caught a cold 
 
 (Poor body) which has ta'en away her breath; 
 And, by the sons of scepticism we're told, 
 
 Lost half his terrors even the Devil hath — 
 And as the world's wild fancy is grown riper, 
 What has she got now? — ho! "a Wandering 
 Piper!" 
 
 Of whom the trump of Fame has sounded loud, 
 That talismanic touchstone. In all ages 
 
 To it the common-sense of men has bowed. 
 In stamping kings, priests, heroes, saints, and sages, 
 
 Who are but pipers all, although allowed 
 Of higher character in history's pages. 
 
 'Tis true, they differ something in their keys, 
 
 As also in the mode they manage fees; 
 
 Besides, they sometimes Avith their piping mix 
 
 A little of the homicide and juggler; 
 At other times again, they play such tricks 
 
 As savour of the liar, bandit, smuggler.
 
 174 THE WANDERING PIPEK. 
 
 It seems the world must yield her talc of bricks 
 Without straw, still to fascinate or boggle 'or 
 Have something, and appears, for aught yet showii, 
 Just made for kings and clergymen alone. 
 
 This man of mystery — but who is he 1 
 Numbers pretend the secret to impart, 
 
 Yet know no more than preachers what we'll be, — 
 When fails to flow the fountain of the heart: — 
 
 Some luminary fallen, he looks to me, 
 Of gaming-table, or the sporting mart — 
 
 A class that Ruin's comet seldom fails to 
 
 Treat as the insects cattle with their tails do. 
 
 But soft, I think I've heard some people say, 
 'Tis quite the same whatever the attraction, 
 
 Providing you are pleased in your own way. 
 Or can attain a certain satisfaction; 
 
 Life is even, at its longest summer day, 
 As we M know, a business-like transaction; 
 
 But while it lasts, alike are blest to tarry on 
 
 The bees their flowers, the beetles on their carrion.
 
 175 
 
 mnes to my eldest son, with a copt op 
 watt's "improvement of the MIXD." 
 
 The Passions, reckless of command, 
 As steed that spurns the desert's sand. 
 And bounds away in Freedom's bliss. 
 Proud tenant of the wilderness — 
 May Heaven forbid that thou should'st own. 
 With all their pangs that I have known. 
 The eye to see Truth's happy way, 
 With heart still prone to turn astray, 
 And seek, perverse, the winding path. 
 That leads to shame, destruction, death. 
 Taught, from my earliest hours, to prove 
 A parent's most indulgent love; 
 And blest in manhood's dawn a while 
 With Fortune's fair but treach'rous smile; 
 Then sent upon the world adrift, 
 Of each, at once of all, bereft, 
 And on Opinion's dangerous tide, 
 Without a single star to guide;
 
 176 LINES TO MT ELDEST SON. 
 
 By every wind of doctrine tost — 
 No haven nigh — no friendly coast; 
 Condemned to smart beneath the rod 
 Prepared for men estranged from God; 
 And meet, appaled, the gorgon stare 
 Of the grim demon of despair. 
 But if proud Passion's wildest wave, 
 Thy tranquil breast should never lave; 
 And all my weary wand'rings past. 
 And gained the bed of lasting rest; 
 While Sabbath's deep bell flings around 
 Its thought-awaking, solemn sound, 
 And thou hast left the crowd to pay 
 One tribute to parental clay; 
 If, on the path of Time gone by, 
 My erring steps should meet thine eye, 
 0, let not then one thought severe 
 A moment check the rising tear ! 
 The whirlwind, and the zephyr bland, 
 Fulfil alike the great command.
 
 177 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOHN STIRLING, DARVEL. 
 
 The dreary hills in snow were clad; 
 
 Cold, dull, and ourie, to his shed 
 
 The redbreast, household bird, had fled; 
 
 And gloamin' grey 
 Walked the wide world with silent tread. 
 
 To close the day. 
 
 Through my dim cabin window, I 
 Surveyed the vast concave on high. 
 The cheerless, frowning, winter sky, 
 
 And coming night; 
 While days of youth, long gone, passed by 
 
 Before my sight. 
 
 O, what is in the hours so sweet. 
 Loosed from Time's fiery chariot fleet, 
 And banished to the dark retreat 
 
 Of things forgot. 
 That Fancy loves, yet weeps to meet 
 
 Their joys remote. 
 
 Q.3
 
 78 TO JOHN STIKLING. 
 
 Whene'er I think on auld langsync, 
 When days, devoid of care, were mine; 
 And life's gay morning smi would shine 
 In cloudless sky; 
 linger on the theme divine, 
 
 With watery eye. 
 
 But to return; when night displaced 
 The day, descending down in haste. 
 And every ray of light had chased 
 
 Beyond the girtli 
 That bounds the unfathomable waist 
 
 Of mother earth. 
 
 I sought the Muse,— I sought in vain; 
 She turned her back with proud disdain; 
 And, though repulsed, to seek again 
 
 I still returned; 
 While she as oft my courtship plain 
 
 Indignant spurned. 
 
 But why repine 1 The theme I chose 
 Was love and women to expose; 
 And sure am I John Stirling knows, 
 
 At least he may, 
 That they themselves full well disclose 
 
 Each blessed day.
 
 TO JOHN STIRLING. 179 
 
 But oft my Muse, to say the least, 
 Is lazy as a village priest, 
 When after fuddle or a feast, 
 
 On snowy morn, 
 He hears in bed the bell request 
 
 His trusty horn. 
 
 When thunders roll — when tempests sweep 
 The hoary surface of the deep. 
 And heaven's capacious eyelids weep 
 
 Their watery store, 
 Till down the mountain-torrents leap, 
 
 With thundering roar. 
 
 Then — then she furious mounts her car, 
 And joins the elemental war; 
 Rides the dread blast; and sees afar 
 
 The maddening wave 
 Rise, and the shipwrecked shiv'ring tar, 
 
 Imperious crave. 
 
 Again she'll wing her wayward flight 
 To ruined turret's mould'ring height; 
 And, with a frenzied wild delight. 
 
 There sit alone, 
 And hear the doleful birds of night 
 
 Tumultuous mosku.
 
 180 TO JOHN STdRLI'NO. 
 
 Or mark the moon glide slowly through 
 Her path of deep, dark, cloudless blue; 
 While suns and systems round pursue 
 
 Their courses meet, 
 And the cold moonlight world in dew 
 
 Is slumb'ring sweet. 
 
 And oft on rocks' rude summit grey 
 She'll stand, as westward wheels the day, 
 And eye round islet, creek, and bay. 
 
 Old Ocean's god 
 Roll, with a wide, resistless sway, 
 
 His purple flood. 
 
 To Satire's summit too — you know — 
 The meddling imp will sometimes go; 
 And on the folks that walk below. 
 
 And pass quite civil. 
 Her bombs and brickbats down she'll throw, 
 
 And play the devil. 
 
 But if I give her aught to sing. 
 She'll instantaneous droop the wing. 
 And runs perverse her giddy ring. 
 
 Which makes me marvel; 
 But some time yet the freakish thing 
 
 May think on Darvcl.
 
 LINES TO ELIZA. 181 
 
 Now, fareweel, Johnny; strive to steer 
 Of priestcraft, debt, and women clear; 
 And through life's journey may thou bear 
 
 A Hampden spirit; 
 And ne'er rate mankind by their gear, 
 
 But by their merit. 
 
 LINES TO ELIZA.* 
 
 There comes an hour, Eliza, when we must 
 Bid all farewell, and sink into the dust; 
 There comes a sun, that shall behold us laid 
 Beneath the turf, forgotten and decayed; 
 There comes a morning, at whose vernal voice 
 Earth shall revive, and nature shall rejoice. 
 But see us sleeping in the dewy sod, 
 And all unconscious as the kindred clod. 
 There comes a day, diffusing life and light. 
 With all that summer gives of warm and bright, 
 
 Published ill the Edinburgh Literary Journal, May 30, 1829.
 
 182 LINES TO ELIZA. 
 
 And as away its beams of sunshine pass, 
 They'll shade us deeper in the long green grass; 
 There comes a day, when Autumn shall descend, 
 Dispensing blessings with an open hand; 
 And o'er these fertile vales youths yet unborn 
 Shall wield the sickle in the waving corn; 
 Join in the jests and simple pranks, that goad 
 The hours along — and lighten labour's load. 
 And when the dews of evening deck the blade, 
 And the lone redbreast tops the mellow shade. 
 In love's embrace they'll hail the twilight scene, 
 Even in retreats where thou and I have been; 
 While we, to love and all things else unknown, 
 Mix our cold dust with generations gone. 
 There comes a day, whose dull and dreary close 
 Shall see the world a cheerless waste of snows. 
 Whose faf ewell beam and setting crimson streak. 
 Purpling yon mountain's far-ascending peak, 
 Shall view the mantle of grim winter spread, 
 Even o'er the stones that mark our narrow bed; 
 But these will pass, and ages will roll on. 
 And we remain unconscious they have flown.
 
 OJf SEEING A REDBREAST SHOT. 183 
 
 Then comes a clay, when dark shall grow the sky, 
 The sun, in mid course, close his dying eye, 
 The sea stand still, deep-smitten with dismay, 
 And every isle and mountain flee away; 
 Then shall our mortal put the immortal on, 
 And meet Eternal Justice on his throne. 
 
 ON SEEING A REDBREAST SHOT. 
 
 " Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, 
 That, in the merry months o' spring, 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing. 
 
 What comes o' thee?" . 
 
 ^ Burns. 
 
 All ruddy glowed the dark'ning west. 
 In azure were the mountains drest, 
 Her veil of mist had evening cast 
 
 O'er all the plain. 
 And slowly home the reapers passed, 
 
 A weary train.
 
 184 ON SEEING A REDBREAST SUOT. 
 
 On old Dundonald's hills I lay, 
 
 And watched the landscape fade away; 
 
 The owl come from the turret grey, 
 
 And skim the dell. 
 While leaves from Autumn's sapless spray 
 
 Down rustling fell. 
 
 And on a thorn, that widely spread 
 Its moss-grown, lowly bending head, 
 Where long the winter storm had shed 
 
 Its baneful power. 
 And oft returning Summer clad 
 
 In leaf and flower; 
 
 , A redbreast sing of sunshine gone, 
 And dreary Winter coming on; 
 What though his strains had never known 
 
 The rules of art, 
 They woke to notes of sweetest tone, 
 
 The trembhng heart. 
 
 Bade days return for ever fled. 
 
 And hopes long laid among the dead. 
 
 And forms in fairy colours clad. 
 
 Confused appear; 
 While melting Feeling kindly shed 
 
 Her warmest tear.
 
 help's elegy. 185 
 
 When, lo ! a flash, a thundering knell, 
 That startled Echo in her cell, 
 Dissolved the sweet, the pleasing spell. 
 
 And hushed the song; 
 The little warbler lifeless fell 
 
 The leaves among. 
 
 Thus the young bard, in some retreat 
 Remote from Learning's lofty seat. 
 The critic, prowling, haps to meet, 
 
 And strikes the blow, 
 That lays him, with his prospects sweet, 
 
 For ever low. 
 
 HELP S ELEGY. 
 
 " He was a gash an' faitbfu' tyke. 
 As ever lap a slieugh or dyke." 
 
 BUBNS. 
 
 What 's this that 's happened on the knowe? 
 Vexed is ilk heart — fashed ilka pow, 
 An' down the big saut, saut tears row, 
 
 Like laumer bead; 
 Lass ! Mary, sabbin', tauld mc how 
 
 That Help was dead. 
 
 K
 
 186 help's elegy. 
 
 Even she, that made the bargain sad 
 Of bucklin' wi' the rhymster lad, 
 Wha has, sirs ! turned out sae bad 
 
 In point o' creed, 
 Forgot it a' when heard she had 
 
 That Help was dead ! 
 
 The auld gudcwife cam' to the town, 
 And (shame to tell, in tartan gown,) 
 She tauld the news that made her tune 
 
 Her plaintive reed; 
 And aye the chorus o' the soun' 
 
 Was, Help is dead ! 
 
 I heard her brithcr say of late. 
 Whene'er he saw the parritch plate, 
 It brought puir Help's untimely fate 
 
 Into his head; 
 The scartins gang anither gate 
 
 Sin' Help is dead. 
 
 But what think ye, the sinner wud 
 The corpse commit unto the flood. 
 And bid it to the ocean scud, 
 
 The fish to feed; 
 But mair respect the auld folk had 
 
 For Help that 's dead»
 
 help's elegy. 187 
 
 » 
 
 The auld gudeman (sad sight to see) 
 His grave dug deejo beneath a tree, 
 And laid him in, and cannily 
 
 He clapt his head; 
 The robins there sing mournfully 
 
 O'er Help, that 's dead. 
 
 Nae mair, when gloamin' cluds the plain. 
 And wooers come, he'll rack his chain, 
 And scauld them sair, or mak' a maine. 
 
 At midnight dread; 
 The trees sough o'er his dwelling lane — 
 
 Puir Help is dead. 
 
 He had ae faut — but ane had he; 
 That was, when fortune set liiqi free, 
 He'd steal awa' to court awee 
 
 The fleecy breed. 
 Maist folk and dogs hae twa or three; 
 
 Mourn, Help is dead! 
 
 Lately, as day began to fail, 
 I heard a sad and solemn tale, 
 Sung by twa maidens o'er the pail. 
 
 In tartan weed; 
 And o'er their notes did this prevail, 
 
 0, Help is dead !
 
 188 help's elegy. 
 
 They sung his coat was bonny brown ; 
 His paws were sleekit, white, and soun'; 
 His voice sae strong, it rang arouu' 
 
 Through grove and mead ; 
 The brawest dog e'er death laid down. 
 
 Was Help, that's dead. 
 
 They sung his toils and troubles past — 
 The deeds that spoke his wisdom vast. 
 And gied their claes, while tears fell fast, 
 
 The tither screed; 
 Then raise, deep, wild, as Winter's blast, 
 
 0, Help is dead ! 
 
 I slippit in amang the kye, 
 
 And scanned them with an envious eye : 
 
 Fame henceforth ne'er shall be, said I, 
 
 My hope and meed ; 
 A' sangs may gar their bonnets fly 
 
 To Help, is dead. 
 
 But, sirs! O, sirs! what 's this that's wrang? 
 I fin' my Muse has lost the fang — 
 She says, nae farther wi' her sang ' 
 
 She can proceed. 
 But bids you keep in mem'ry lang 
 
 Puir Help, that 's dead.
 
 189 
 
 ARRAN, FROM THE SEA. 
 
 As quits some soul her tenement of clay, 
 Behind yon hills retires the orb of clay; 
 You gloomy hills, in awful grandeur piled. 
 Which mock the storm that revels o'er the wild; 
 Yon hills, that burst from earth's eternal hold, 
 When dire convxilsions shook the world of old. 
 Wake, Contemplation! 'tis thy favoured hour: — 
 The time to prove thy salutary power — 
 The huge grey cliiFs suspended insecure — 
 The peaceful dwellings of the mountain boor — 
 The deep, dark vales — the torrent's rugged way — 
 The forests tall that skirt the winding bay — 
 Rise on the sight, and captivate the eye; 
 Woods, rocks, hills, streams, in grand confusion lie; 
 How great the power, how potent the decree. 
 That formed the whole with only— "let tuere be!" 
 
 r3
 
 190 
 
 THE BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE. 
 
 His charge on the heath the rude shepherd was 
 
 keeping, 
 Where murmured the brook, and the willow was 
 
 weeping; 
 And Tray, by his side, 'mong the fern was asleeping, 
 When loud rose the sounds of the battle afar. 
 
 Then thick grew the mists o'er the mountains pre- 
 siding, 
 For shades of old heroes the storm were bestriding — 
 Come forth from the caves, where they 'd long been 
 residing, 
 To feast on the sounds of the battle afar. 
 
 And still stood the flock, and gazed wildly with 
 
 wonder, 
 As when through dark heaven roars the red rattling 
 
 thunder; 
 And Tray crept the plaid of his dear partner under, 
 And howled at the sounds of the battle afar.
 
 TO ROBERT CHAMBERS, ESQ. 191 
 
 'Tis gone ! War has spent the last shaft in his quiver! 
 Yet roUs down the hill his deep sanguine river; 
 And, trust we, the power of the Stuart for ever 
 Has ceased with the sounds of the battle afar. 
 
 VERSES TO ROBERV CHAMBERS, ESQ., 
 ONE OF THE EDITORS OF "cHAMBERs's JOURNAL.'' 
 
 Star of the North ! old Scotia lifts her eye, 
 
 With rapture blazing, to behold thy light; 
 While from its beams the mists of ages fly. 
 
 Oblivion's captives come from shades of night. 
 
 They come — they pass along in order bright, 
 And ravished nations stand in deep amaze; 
 
 Prolongs thy fame each Caledonian height; 
 The thistle waves its head, and honour pays, 
 And Fame prepares a crown of everlasting bays.
 
 192 TO ROBEUT CHAMBERS, ESQ. 
 
 Dwells there a man in Albion's empire vast 
 
 For whom thy powerful pages have no charms ? 
 He stands unworthy of that land confessed, 
 
 The ancient nurse of freedom and of arms. 
 
 AVhere is the breast that throbs not with alarms, 
 Whilst thou unfold'st the battle's dreadful shock, 
 
 Where mountain-valour to a frenzy warms. 
 Wild as the whirlwind from the deep unbroke, 
 That flings the surge on high, till shakes the solid 
 rock? 
 
 No part is left of Learning's hallowed ground; 
 
 Yea, what she deemed a desert and a waste 
 Thou hast explored, and flowers unnumbered found, 
 
 That her fair garland have adorned and graced, 
 
 They who our history's varied scene have traced. 
 All light — all shade — as gold or party swayed, 
 
 May hide their heads, their laurels all defaced; 
 But thy wreath only with the sun shall fade, 
 Bloom to the end of time, and flourish undecayed.
 
 19c 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ON VISniNO THE DBSOLATE MANSIOK-HOUiE OF AUCHAN8, 
 
 WEAR DUNDONALD, FORMERLY THE BEAT OF THE 
 
 ANCIENT FAMILY or MONTGOMERIE. 
 
 Cold, cold are thy hearths, and all lonesome thy 
 chambers; 
 Domestic enjoyment is vanished and gone; 
 Through thy windows, where twinkled the day's 
 dying embers, 
 The winds sing thy dirge, and the tempests loud 
 moan. 
 
 And where are the nobles, these halls once adorning ? 
 
 Thy flowers in the garland of beauty that bloomed 1 
 Ah ! gone like the swift fleeting mists of the morning, 
 
 They sleep with their sires, and are distant entombed .
 
 194 MANSION-HOUSE OF AUCHANS- 
 
 Yet J'aucy will picture thy glory departed, 
 Its rays in meridian thy mansions relume, 
 
 View the chase on these hills, by thine old tenants 
 started, 
 Or sweeping the plains, in their ancient costume. 
 
 When mounts the round moon in her languishing 
 splendour, 
 
 And stars o'er the welkin unnumbered will stray, 
 Here, then, let me pause, 'mid thy ruined grandeur, 
 
 And muse on the world that has long passed away. 
 
 Now dark o'er yon hills the proud storm is impending, 
 Preparing destructive his torrents to pour; 
 
 Prophetic, the wind of his dreadful descending 
 Howls wildly, by fits, o'er yon wide-spreading moor. 
 
 Farewell, ye waste walls, though deserted and hoary. 
 Seats once of the noble, the bright, and the brave; 
 
 Suns long and their seasons shall pass you in glory. 
 When closed arc mine eyes in the night of the 
 grave.
 
 195 
 
 EPISTLE TO MRS. HAMILTON OF PARKHILL. 
 
 Madam, — I have received your note, 
 Besides my scroll of ragged coat; 
 And, 'tis enough for all I 've wrote, 
 
 To know that one 
 Enlightened mind has pleasure got 
 
 From aught I 'vft done. 
 
 If e'er in print I try my gear. 
 Among the very first ye '11 hear; 
 And for the pai-t, I learn, ye '11 bear 
 
 At that sad crisis, 
 I send to you my thanks sincere. 
 
 And warmest wishes. 
 
 But, as th' Ephesian town-clerk said, 
 
 " Let us do nothing rash," for aid 
 
 Old Time shall bring; and Fate has played 
 
 A trick as queer, 
 A.S call me from confinement's shade 
 
 And dungeons drear.
 
 196 TO MRS. HAMILTOTf. 
 
 Perhaps my lot she yet may lay 
 
 Beneath the glorious blaze of day, 
 
 Where wood, and vale, and mountain grey, 
 
 Arc spread around; 
 And rocks that roll the deep away 
 
 With voice profound. s 
 
 Then far as Nature's wide expanse 
 Exceeds a workshop's stinted glance; 
 And far as Nature's notes advance 
 
 Above the din 
 That wounds and stupifies the sense, 
 
 Our cells within: 
 
 As far my song shall then transcend. 
 That which now labours through my hand; 
 Converse with Nature will extend 
 
 My strength and skill, 
 And point the steps by which t' ascend 
 
 The sacred hill. 
 
 Meantime, in life's dark rugged road, 
 Obscure, unknown, I grave-ward plod, 
 Cheered on beneath the present load 
 
 By Hope's faint light — 
 Which often has deceitful glowed. 
 
 To set in night.
 
 TO MES. HAMILTON. 197 
 
 Hark ! hark ! I hear the critic core 
 Behind, with rude invidious roar; 
 And, lo ! oblivion's gulf, before. 
 
 Is yawning wide; 
 The Bard's launched in — nor rises more 
 * Above the tide. 
 
 But, hold ! my wild imagination ! 
 I see, Ma'am, you've got information 
 That I, since at your habitation, 
 
 To Hymen's altar 
 Have paid the usual visitation. 
 
 And got his halter ! 
 
 Yes ! lang Jock danced about the light, - 
 Rejoicing in its radiance bright. 
 With frolicsome, incautious flight — 
 
 Nor feared the gin — 
 TiU, like some insect of the night. 
 
 He tumbled in. 
 
 Mony a weary mile he trottit. 
 
 O'er mony a stane and hillock stottit — 
 
 Or wet to skin, wi' dirt besi^ottit. 
 
 Or laired in snaw; 
 The vera next night he forgot it. 
 
 And scoured awa.
 
 ]()8 TO MRS. HAMILTON. 
 
 But oft he viewed, with rapture high, 
 The silent, starry, moonlight sky, 
 Ami earth asleep beneath it lie ; 
 
 While on the gale 
 Arose the river's mighty sigh. 
 
 Far down the dale. 
 
 And oft the owlet, wandering hame 
 
 Through the still morn, cried out—" Fie shame!" 
 
 The very collies did exclaim! 
 
 And even the craik 
 Would rant, till rocks returned the same, 
 
 "Ye rake! ye rake!" 
 
 But now the chiel maun toil and sweat, 
 'Neath scorching sun, or tempest's beat, 
 Nor e'er approach the muse's seat. 
 
 For 's very nose; 
 
 Or get a curtain lecture by 't, 
 
 And lumpless brose. 
 
 But hush, my harp. May peace be still 
 Within the mansion of Parkhill; 
 May ye your course with joy fulfil. 
 
 And then arise. 
 Triumphant o'er this world of ill, 
 
 Beyond the skies.
 
 HARD IE AND BAIRD. 199 
 
 This leaves us both, and our relatious, 
 
 In health, and at our occupations; 
 
 And while my heart-strings their vibrations 
 
 And tone maintain, 
 Your much obliged, through all mutations, 
 
 Ma'am, I remain. 
 
 ON VISITING THE GRAVE OF HARDIE AND BAIRD, 
 IN STIRLING CHURCHYARD. 
 
 Away ye streams that wind in sullen pride. 
 Or dash impetuous down the mountain's side; 
 Ye fragrant groves that shade the rifted steep, 
 And wave your tops like dimples of the deep; 
 Ye glitt'ring villas, where the god of light 
 Descends in beams insufferably bright; 
 Ye ramparts rude that on the cliffs have hung. 
 When yon far hills, and even time was young.
 
 200 HARDIE AND BAIRD. 
 
 Yon far, far hills that skirt the welkin round, 
 Where slumber morning's lazy mists profound — 
 Where Freedom had of old her sacred home, 
 And bade defiance to the hosts of Rome; 
 Whate'er can yield the glowing heart delight, 
 Or burst in glory on the ravished sight. 
 Away ! away ! and from the stormy north 
 Come direst demons of the tempest forth, 
 And let descend all dreadful on the blast — 
 Remembrance crowned with horrors of the past. 
 Be dark, yc heavens ! — all rayless as despair — 
 Or only brightened by the lightning's glare ! 
 Ye awful thunders in your strength awake, 
 Till firm foundations of creation shake; 
 On whirlwinds swift ye patriot shades return. 
 That glorious fell on field of Bannockburn. 
 And, bending from the clouds, in name of heaven. 
 Ask, where 's the boon your victory hath given, — 
 My soul should have a scene congenial then. 
 To weep — to ponder o'er these murdered men.
 
 201 
 
 LINES FOR A VALENTINE. 
 
 Q,UEEN of my heart ! and fairest of the fair? 
 
 The star of evening sinks beside thine eye; 
 Dark as the raven is thy flowing hair, 
 
 Which the wind loves to kiss in passing by. 
 
 Thy form was cast in Nature's finest die; 
 And o'er thy face each movement of the mind 
 
 Gleams like the lightning of the polar sky — 
 And shows a soul above the vulgar kind, 
 By virtue's compass ruled, by purest love refined. 
 
 Whether on lonely mountain's misty head, 
 
 In the deep forest, or the lowly vale. 
 Or where the waters of the ocean spread, 
 
 RoU on the winds an everlasting tale; 
 
 Or where the city's mingling sounds prevail, 
 I wander — still to thee my fancy takes 
 
 Its flight — and when the storms of life assail, 
 
 A calm descends from thee — a sunshine breaks, 
 
 My latest thoughts at night— my first when mora 
 
 awakes. 
 
 s3
 
 202 
 
 ON BEING SHA.VED IN OLD CUMNOCK. 
 
 As Satan once below surveyed 
 
 The different tortures there arrayed, 
 
 And passed them all in grand review, 
 
 His fiends requested something new: 
 
 Designed, no doubt, that their affairs 
 
 Should join the wake of friends up stairs. 
 
 " Well, well," said he, "I 'vc heard it told, 
 
 " In Cumnock lives a barber old; 
 
 " Whoe'er is shaved by him, they say, 
 
 " Will mind it till their dying day, 
 
 " And that the sternest torture here, 
 
 " If all is true, 's not so severe. , 
 
 " I '11 go directly to that town, 
 
 " And on my shoulder bring him down, 
 
 " We '11 place him near the Stygian wave, 
 
 " To give the new-come gents a shave;"
 
 THE FORMALIST. 203 
 
 He said, and through the reahus of night, 
 With lightning's speed pursued his flight. 
 Did instantly in Cumnock drop. 
 And clutched the barber in his shop. 
 Some serious, honest folks declare, 
 They saw Nick bear him through the air, 
 OfiP to the mansions of despair. 
 
 THE FORMALIST. 
 
 " A Steady, sturdy, stanch believer." 
 
 BuitMS. 
 
 Forth comes the man, for, lol 'tis Sabbath morn;' 
 To church he goes, but by what motive borne 1 
 Amid the vast and variegated throng, 
 Robed in his best, he thoughtless steps along; 
 Whose cut and colour to the curious show 
 The reigning fasliion — thirty years ago.
 
 204 THE FORMALIST. 
 
 Pale is his face, the prominences bold, 
 And badly formed, to stand the piercing cold; 
 Blank and mmicaning, to the world displayed, 
 In all the pomp of vacancy arrayed. 
 
 The church is gained— the text is read— he winks. 
 
 Nods, till in arms of Morpheus he sinks; 
 
 Or with a stupid, rude, and wandering gaze, 
 
 The place, the preacher, and the crowd surveys. 
 
 When sermon's o'er, elate he homeward hies, 
 
 As much improved, as penitent, as wise 
 
 As when he came; nor sentence can he tell 
 
 More than he could at ringing of the bell. 
 
 " Fine man ! fine man ! sound doctrine!" he will say. 
 
 As great achievement, mark the text he may. 
 
 Thus, and still thus, bis life is vainly led. 
 
 Till Death's dark shadows close around his head. 
 
 Though he profess and bear the Christian name, 
 
 'Tis but because his fathers did the same; 
 
 And had his lot been cast in climes afar— 
 
 In realms first lighted by the morning star,— 
 
 He had as firm to Ganges learned to kneel, 
 
 Or dragged the Idol's murdering chariot-wheeL
 
 THE FORMALIST. 205 
 
 Mere child of form! yet steadily inclined 
 
 To that which dawned upon his youthful mind: 
 
 Lone through this wild, this wilderness of death, 
 
 He darkling gropes his melancholy path. 
 
 Like pUgrim sad, in desert country wide, 
 
 Alone — benighted — all without a guide: 
 
 Or like a ship, far, far, from friendly coast. 
 
 Her steersman, ruddei', and her compass lost; 
 
 Sordid his soul, of spint mean and poor. 
 
 To pride or power a stepping-stone secure. 
 
 0, how unlike of old the warrior wight. 
 
 That pricked his thundering charger to the fight, 
 
 Whirled the bright brand, and dealt the deadly blow. 
 
 That told like lightning on the blasted foe; 
 
 And bade the waters of the mountain flood, 
 
 Sweep to the vale the fierce invader's blood. 
 
 My fancy soars, — I see his stately form. 
 Firm as the oak that mocks the winter's storm; 
 Fire in his eye, and valour in his arm, 
 A soul alive to freedom's every charm: 
 Mark, with a free-born air he bears his head. 
 The mist-clad mountain sounding to his tread.
 
 206 EPISTLE TO ELIZA. 
 
 Such were thy sons, dear Caledonia ! thine 
 The guards of Freedom at her lofty shrine 
 In ancient days, for life nor death would yield 
 One foot of Right's invaluable field; 
 But fled upon the wings of Time, again 
 We seek for such, but seek the land in vain. 
 
 EPISTLE TO ELIZA. 
 
 Eliza, trust not beauty's bloom, 
 'Tis fleeting, false, and vain; 
 
 A breath may sink it in the tomb — 
 How short its longest reign ! 
 
 Behold it — semblance of the sun. 
 
 In dying glory graced; 
 He shines, but soon the goal is won 
 
 Beyond the wat'ry waste.
 
 KPISTLE TO BlilZA. 207 
 
 Behold it— semblance of the de-vr, 
 
 That decks the early flower; 
 But sought in vain, it mocks the view, 
 
 When beams the noontide hour. 
 
 Behold it — semblance of the moon. 
 
 That sheds a peerless light. 
 But leaves the pathless pilgrim soon 
 
 In shades of blackest night. 
 
 All Nature, through her boundless course, 
 
 Bids all with ardour burn, 
 To reach mature and finished force, 
 
 And downward swift return. 
 
 The fairest face, the brightest eye, 
 
 The most alluring form, 
 In death's cold grasp must shortly lie. 
 
 And own the kindred worm.
 
 208 
 
 LINES WRITTEN NEAR KILMARNOCK-HOUSE. 
 
 " Seats of my youth, when ev'ry spot could please." 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Yon aged beech, all crimsoned with the ray 
 Of weary light that forms the winter day, 
 Calls to remembrance, with a pleasing pain, 
 The days I never shall behold again; 
 And joys that seem by memory displayed, 
 To veU the present with a denser shade. 
 While Nature stands in a dejected state, 
 And Evening shuts on Sol the western gate, 
 I'll pause alone ! and sadly drop the tear 
 O'er what is now, and what has once been here. 
 
 Within that ancient but neglected place. 
 When life was. sweet, there dwelt another race; 
 But all they felt and acted there is past. 
 And gone to Time's accumulating waste—
 
 KILMARNOCK-HOUSE. 209 
 
 No trace is left, no vestige can be found, 
 Nor of themselves, nor household gods around, 
 'Tis but in Fancy's shadowy dream appears 
 The watch-dog, teiTor of my younger years; 
 The hoary hind, that travelled daily all 
 These mansions round, at duty's various call; 
 The well-remembered cattle, that would wait, 
 And low, impatient for the opening gate; 
 The roofless houses, where I climbed in quest 
 Of the small treasures of the songster's nest; 
 The garden, sleeping in the morning dew. 
 With its rich fruits, and flowers of every hue; 
 And charms, which vainly words attempt to trace, 
 That hung in storm and sunshine round the place; 
 All that once awed or made my young heart gay, 
 Change has removed, and Time has swept away.
 
 21« 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE ROMAN CAMF, 
 NEAn DUNDONAI.D. 
 
 Now night o'er the landscape has spread her dark 
 wing; 
 Now the groves are all silent, the woodlands are 
 still; 
 In yon sweet shady glen, where the warblers would 
 sing, 
 No sound meets the ear save the murmuring rill. 
 
 As lonely I rest on the dark mountain top. 
 
 While pure on the wild flower the dewdrop distils, 
 
 I turn to the days when proud Rome, with the hope 
 Of conquest, invaded our wild native hills. 
 
 But fierce as the torrent that rolls o'er the steep. 
 And sweeps through the valley in swift foaming 
 rills; 
 
 Or tempest that rouses the wrath of the deep. 
 So rushed our bold sires from their wild native hills.
 
 DESCRIPTIVE OF A TOET. 211 
 
 And low as the grass 'neath the hoarse haughty wave, 
 When dark sweeping streams of grim Winter 
 descend; 
 
 So bowed the proud foe 'neath the sword of the brave, 
 Whose deeds shall through ages unrivalled extend. 
 
 ON BEING ASKED WHAT FIGURE WAS MOST 
 DESCRIPTIVE OF A POET. 
 
 When long, long shadows of the midnight fall 
 From the rent towers of yonder ruined wall. 
 And the bright sentinels of heaven are seen 
 Each in his post around their peerless queen ; 
 The winds are pillowed on the mountain's breast, 
 And woods and waters are in waveless rest ; 
 Hast thou not seen the meteor on its way 
 Diffusing round a secondary day, 
 But scarce upon the eye its beams had shone, 
 When the fair phantom was for ever gone.
 
 212 
 
 MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 The wind howls eerie in yon darksome wood. 
 
 The rain descends in torrents on the wold. 
 And through the vast unbounded solitude 
 
 Far, far away the thunder's voice is rolled ! 
 
 Both in one cell of Death's obdurate hold 
 Moulder the forms from w^hom I drew my birth, — 
 
 Could we the grave's dread covering unfold, 
 How changed are they since round the blazing hearth 
 In industry engaged, or in the hour of mirth. 
 
 And 'tis but as a dream that they have been — 
 
 Remembrance wonders if the tale be true — 
 They were, and passed away like sunbeams sheen, 
 
 Pursued by evening o'er the mountains blue; 
 
 Around me spring a race that soon shall view. 
 Through the dim shadows of departed Time, 
 
 My fleet existence; while, beneath the dew, 
 The sunshine of the skies, the storm sublime 
 Shall, soon forgotten, sleep the wayward son of rhyme.
 
 THE VISION OF JED. 213 
 
 Eternity! Eternity! O what 
 
 Strange scenes wilt thou unto my soul disclose ! 
 The parting pang — ! how encounter that, 
 
 How meet the fount whence being first arose? 
 
 Back with a start our shudd'ring nature goes, 
 As from some precipice, the steps of dread; 
 
 Still, still the change must be, — Heaven only knows 
 The time, place, manner; yet to us is hid 
 All, until Death uplifts Eternity's eyelid ! 
 
 THE VISION OF JED. 
 
 " Sincerity, thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave 
 Thy onward path, although the earth should gape ; 
 And, from the gulph of hell. Destruction cry 
 To take Dissimulation's wmding way." 
 
 Home. 
 
 I. 
 
 Departed in the shadowy west 
 The last red, lingering streak of day. 
 
 And dews were falling thick and fast 
 On closing flower and woodland spray; 
 
 t3
 
 214 THE VISION OF JED. 
 
 And o'er the Cheviot's lengthened bound 
 Dark thunder clouds their pinions spread, 
 
 Whose fitful flash and sullen sound 
 Shed on the heart a pleasing dread. 
 
 II. 
 
 By shady banks of silver Jed 
 
 I wandered in the sweetest mood 
 That ever fond enthusiast led, 
 
 Or blest a son of Solitude; 
 When, lo ! beneath a giant rock, 
 
 That heaved on high its forehead bold, 
 Crowned with the laurel leaves of oak, ^^^ ^^ 
 
 And broom's bright vegetable gold, 
 
 III. 
 I marked a stately matron stand 
 
 In deep, deep weeds of wo and wail; 
 Despair had stamped, with master hand. 
 
 His seal upon her features pale, — 
 A shivered mace, a sceptre broke. 
 
 She held within her dexter hand, — 
 Her left an empty purse — the joke 
 
 Of every breeze, however bland.
 
 THE VISION OF JED. 215 
 
 IV. 
 
 A burden on her back she bore. 
 
 That rose abrupt above her ears, 
 'Twas densely labelled o'er and o'er — 
 
 " The nation's curses, sighs, and tears;" 
 A pile of papers — huge and high — 
 
 Were at her feet in order laid. 
 Where "bankrupt promises" the eye 
 
 Could trace, and lists of "bills unpaid;" 
 
 V. 
 
 And things, to tell which would but wage 
 
 War with the reader's peace and time — 
 The tools, the fruits in every age 
 
 Of waste, oppression, fraud, and crime; 
 With interest deep I eyed the dame, 
 
 And sti-ong emotions of the breast, 
 Which may be felt, and find a name. 
 
 But ne'er by language be expressed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And as I thus arrested stood, 
 Upon my ear those accents fell —
 
 216 THE VISION OF JED. 
 
 " Young man, ne'er leave the paths of good, 
 " The Melbourne Rule this, note her well;" 
 
 This said, her hands the matron wrung, 
 And tore her long dishevelled hair,— 
 
 With gestures wild, and faltering tongue, 
 Gave thus her sorrows to the air — 
 
 VII. 
 
 " ! sad the day be, black the hour, 
 
 " That e'er I took the reins of rule, 
 " To prove myself unfit for power — 
 
 " A perfect hoax, a furnished fool; 
 " Fruits of my folly, waste, and guile, 
 
 " Are seen, alas ! on every shore, 
 " Where'er the sunbeams deign to smile — 
 
 " The winds to break— the billows roar. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " And through this once thrice happy land, 
 " Wo, want, and banki-uptcy have spread, 
 
 " And Party flings her red firebrand, 
 " And Faction rears its hydra head; 
 
 " And nations, from Britannia's eye, 
 
 " That shrunk and trembled at her word.
 
 THE VISION OF JED. 217 
 
 " Address her now in accents high, 
 " And oft with hand upon the sword. 
 
 IX. 
 " Youth, Beauty, Genius, Worth have died, 
 
 " Before my pestilential breath," 
 " And all that 's good I still have tried 
 
 " To banish from my Sovereign's path; 
 " And, oh ! forgive, may gracious heaven — 
 
 " And, oh ! forget, may vengeful man — 
 " The black intrigues, base plots I 've driven 
 
 " With thee, and thine, thou demon Dan. 
 
 X. 
 
 " But, through the empire's breadth and length 
 
 " Lo ! musters a determined band, 
 " Which all my desperate dying strength, 
 
 " No, cannot even an hour withstand. 
 " Say, shall the sea-weed's fragile wreath 
 
 " Resist the billows of the main — 
 " The withered ragweed stem the path 
 
 " Of whirlwind dire, that sweeps the plain [" 
 
 * Lady Flora Hastings,
 
 218 THE VISION OF JED. 
 
 XI. 
 
 \ncl now a figure grim and tall, 
 
 On wings of midnight's blackest hue, 
 Surrounded by a troop more small, 
 
 Like drift of tempest past me flew; 
 And blue the living lightnings glared, 
 
 And hollow thunders roUcd amain, 
 As round the demons deadly stared. 
 
 And roared, " She's oui*s, and light the gain!' 
 
 XII. 
 
 A moment past, and all was gone. 
 
 Sailed from the tower the boding owl; 
 And Jeddart's little dogs anon 
 
 Set up an eerie startled howl. 
 Yet all night long, asleep, awake, 
 
 The scene still present seemed to be; 
 Nor e'er its final leave shall take 
 
 While ebbs and flows life's sanguine sea. 
 
 Jedburgh, July 12, 1841.
 
 219 
 
 WRITTEN IX MELROSE ABBEY, 
 OCTOBER 24, 1840. 
 
 Bright as the beams of everlasting day, 
 On sapphire palaces of heaven that play; 
 Or tide eternal of effulgence rolled, 
 On crystal battlements and streets of gold; 
 And gem-built cities of celestial dyes, 
 But to beheld be by immortal eyes — 
 Unnumbered images at once appear, 
 Yet find no breath, no language, but a tear. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING THE COMMERCIAL DISTRESS 
 OF THE YEAR 1826. 
 
 'TwAs evening, and far o'er the face of the deep 
 Lay her mantle of mist, on a rock's hoary lee — 
 
 The bird of the ocean his vigil did keep. 
 And poured to the waters his wild melody.
 
 220 COMMERCIAL BISTRESS. 
 
 As ponsivo I wandered the long lonely shore, 
 Still loud and more loud grew the sound of the wave, 
 
 When a voice faint and feeble, scarce heard 'mid the 
 roar, 
 Thus spake from the womb of a sea-beaten cave: — 
 
 " 0! dark are your deeds, ye proud Lords of the land, 
 " 01 red are the props of fell tyranny's throne; 
 
 " But the despot will reign, and the minion command, 
 " Though thousands should die, and though millions 
 should groan. 
 
 " Farewell, my poor country ! still dear to my breast — 
 " May the sun of fair freedom yet rise upon thee, 
 
 " When my grief- worn frame shall be laid low at rest, 
 " Stretched on the bleak shores of the wild roaring 
 sea. 
 
 " My wife and dear offspring, a long, long adieu! 
 
 " When burst o'er you mountains the beams of the 
 mom; 
 " On my cold pallid corse they'll arise, and on you, 
 
 " Deserted and helpless — unfriended — forlorn."
 
 HANNAH HEDGEHOG. 221 
 
 I sought the sad scene, when fast sinking in death, 
 And, pale as the moon meets the dawning of day, 
 
 I found a poor wretch, who, with one heaving breath, 
 From life's toils and tempests fled calmly away. 
 
 HANNAH HEDGEHOG. 
 
 " A robe of seeming truth and trust 
 
 Hid crafty Observation, 
 And secret hung, with poisoned crust, 
 
 The dirk of Defamation." 
 
 Burks. 
 
 Here Hannah Hedgehog's ta'en the screen 
 Of Death's bit narrow biggin' — 
 
 Her tongue out through had worn clean 
 Her mouth's substantial riggin'. 
 
 And of Tartarean beUows made 
 Though were her lungs, yet they 
 
 At length in shreds and tatters gaed 
 Wi' everlasting play;
 
 -222 UANNAU HEDGEHOG. 
 
 For faith she had a task severe, 
 
 To blacken and defame 
 Ilk ane she kent, or e'en could hear 
 
 An inklin' o' their name. 
 
 And mark and mention ev'ry ane 
 Upon whose lot was poured, 
 
 For his or predecessor's sin. 
 The judgments of the Lord. 
 
 Whae'er fell wi' a bastard wean, 
 
 She could it tell as soon 
 As she had bed and bowstcr been 
 
 What time the deed was done. 
 
 Wi' Bible like a kitchen hearth 
 She weekly took her place 
 
 In meeting-house, nor kent the dearth 
 O' sighin' and grimace ; 
 
 But parish kirk— ere she'd gaen there 
 She'd of her head been shorn ; 
 
 For know she was that jewel rare— 
 An Antiburghcr born!
 
 HANNAH HEDGEHOG. 523 
 
 And weel she kent, and aft she'd say, 
 
 That a' the true elect 
 Were just hersel and twa three mae, 
 
 That formed her favourite sect; 
 
 And a' the human race beside 
 
 Were given to seduction 
 Of Satan, that God glorified 
 
 Might be in their destruction! 
 
 And this, she said, was " tidings glad,"" 
 
 A message from above 
 Of mercy, from that Being shed, 
 ' That goodness is and love ! 
 
 The needy wretch that oped her door 
 
 Was glad to get away — 
 She gave her answer in a roar 
 
 Like voice of Lapland Bay; 
 
 But when the Synod sought her aid. 
 
 Or Pastor gaed the hint. 
 The moolie pennies, wi' parade. 
 
 She'd shower like ony mint;
 
 224 EPISTLE TO MR. KOBERT BROWN. 
 
 Yet some wild wag declares, that should 
 Her soul have found the road 
 
 To heaven — we, Satan, may conclude. 
 Sits on the throne of God ! 
 
 EPISTLE TO MR. ROBERT BROWN, KlRKHILLy 
 CRAIG IE. 
 
 How get ye on, my auld ficr " Kirkic 1" 
 Wee, gleg, auld-farrant, cockin', birkie. 
 Is Fortune's sky grown dim and murky; 
 
 Or dazzling bright. 
 Like sunset on the shores of Turkey. 
 
 A sea of light ? 
 
 Docs e'er the muse now come to see you, 
 And climb the hill of Barnweil wi' you. 
 And there sic lifts, sic visions gi' you. 
 
 That things of Time 
 And sense for ever seem to lea' you, 
 
 In thoughts sublime I
 
 EPISTLE TO MR. ROBERT BROWX. 225 
 
 Or has she on you turned her back, 
 And doomed you to a catch-the-plack, 
 To tread the sordid gin-horse track 
 
 Down to the grave; 
 When o'er your head Oblivion black 
 
 Shall sweep her wave ? 
 
 But, " Kirkie," auld enough's your horn, 
 To ken the muses saw nae corn. 
 Nor spin ae thread that can be worn 
 
 To face the cauld. 
 And lea' their vot'ries aft forlorn, 
 
 When frail and auld, 
 
 Na', ne'er for sic like things they care, 
 But croon and canter here and there, 
 Nor teach for a' their heathenish lear,- 
 
 A bairn its carritch. 
 Nor e'er o' saut ae spoonfu' spare 
 
 To mak' the parritcli. 
 
 Nae wonder, then, ere life's short day 
 
 Has measured half its joyless way, 
 
 Bards o'er some precipice should gao, 
 
 Wi' a' their bays, 
 
 And furnish mony a tale of wae, 
 
 To after days, 
 u 3
 
 226 EnSTLE TO MR- ROBERT BROWN. 
 
 Should e'er I sec Apollo's face, 
 
 I'll tell 'im, if he disna place 
 
 His household gear in tense and case, 
 
 He 's nae grammarian, 
 Why lag behind this railroad race, 
 
 Utilitarian. 
 
 He must get hands, nor frail, nor few. 
 To spin, weave, cook, distil, and brew, 
 And mony a snob, and hosier too. 
 
 And tailor M'ight; 
 Besides, a mint the hale year through, 
 
 Gaun day and night. 
 
 Nae mair the bardies then should thole. 
 
 Reproach and want frae pole to pole, 
 
 Sklent leuks, and tongue's contemptuous roll, 
 
 Frae gets of Folly, 
 Wha ne'er were blessed wi' half the soul 
 
 Of shepherd's colly. 
 
 Ho', steersman Reason, — look afore, 
 I hear the breaker's hungry roar, 
 Yet on we scud, as Wilson's corps. 
 
 Of beagles speed, 
 Harlin' their red-het harrows o'er 
 
 Some wretch's head.
 
 EPISTJLE TO MR. ROBERT BROWN. 227 
 
 Then, (I suppose) we'll shorten sail, 
 Talk wiser, though perhaps more stale, 
 Spier gin ye're aye at meal- time hale, 
 
 And douce, and steady. 
 Or joined hae to your title's tail 
 
 The term grand-daddy. 
 
 But, if the Fates so kind should be. 
 
 Or causes and effects agree, 
 
 Or means and ends each other see, 
 
 On fittin' friendly. 
 Or what else name divinity 
 
 Shall deem mair kindly. 
 
 To gie' the jilts, howe'er should they 
 Gang linkin' down the wished for way. 
 My wandering hardship hopes to hae 
 
 The pleasure soon. 
 Your hand to shake some market day 
 
 In Killie toun. 
 
 IVIeantime, 'tis mine to trace a land. 
 Where wide tracks scorn the tiller's hand; 
 Yet, in my heart's hall Rapture's brand 
 
 Will kindle bright, 
 At e'ening's fall 's I take my stand 
 
 On some lone height.
 
 228 EPISTIiE TO MR. ROBERT BROWN. 
 
 And see afar the moorland waste, 
 The tarn, the mountain russet drest. 
 The forest groaning in the blast, 
 ^ The seafowls soar. 
 
 The whelming wave, with snowy crest, 
 Assault the shore. 
 
 But hark, one — two, guid morn my frien', 
 May ne'er ye see what I have seen. 
 Grim Ruin face to face, and keen 
 
 Detraction's blade. 
 Drawn first by those that should have been 
 
 The first to shade. 
 
 Domestic * * * * fly_^ 
 Hope fled, uae frien' beneath the sky. 
 The arm unstrung, the dark'ning eye 
 
 And half seared brain, 
 And even the desperate wish to die. 
 
 But wished in vain. 
 
 Enough — and mair, be sure that ye 
 To Mister Hogg remember me; 
 And to the lyric Elder he, 
 
 " Of Barnweil brae," 
 So guid society that see 
 
 For ance I may. 
 
 Wigtovpn, January 8, 1812,
 
 229 
 
 WRITTEN ON READING AN ACCOUNT OF THE 
 RUINS OF PALMYRA. 
 
 Death and Destruction ! O, what ye have done ! 
 What feats achieved ! what conquests have ye won ! 
 Towers, cities, empires, palaces decay, 
 Confess your power, and own your iron sway. 
 Where are the sage and mighty men of old. 
 That warred with nations, and the world controlled 1 
 Where are the hosts that laboured to destroy 
 The sons and city of imperial Troy ? 
 The seats where Commerce held her ancient reign, 
 And poured her treasures over land and main 1 
 The piles where Fame had put her firmest trust? 
 What is your answer? ^'Even in the dusi!"
 
 230 
 
 MNES ON VISITING MY UNCLe's GRAVE. 
 
 " No more— no more — oh ! never more on me 
 The freshness of the heart can fall like dew." 
 
 Bybon. 
 
 'Tis sweet to mark beneath the moon 
 The arms of yonder ancient tree; 
 
 Though o'er my soul it sadness flings. 
 And bids the big tear fill my e'e. 
 
 But sweeter, sadder, 'tis to muse 
 
 By yonder castle's ruined wa'; 
 That says a thousand things, that hae 
 
 An echo in my bosom a'. 
 
 But sweeter still to linger where 
 
 The withered wild flowers sadly wave; 
 
 And sweep the winds with hollow moan, 
 The turf of yonder new-made grave. 
 
 Like yonder tree, I'm left alanc — 
 
 Like yonder tower, I'm Ruin's prey — 
 
 Like yonder grave, I'm green without, — 
 But all within is dead for aye.
 
 231 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 'Tis sweet to walk when Spring returns to glad 
 The barren plain, the mountain's naked head — 
 To mark the bud, the early flower, the stream 
 Dissolved, run glitt'ring in the noontide beam — 
 To list the wintry silence of the grove, 
 Broke by the notes of melody and love. 
 
 'Tis sweet in drowsy Summer morn to rest 
 
 Far from the world on some wild mountain's breast, 
 
 On whose primeval turf of mossy green 
 
 The daisy beckons to the breeze serene; 
 
 And little violet of heaven's own blue, 
 
 That seems like worth to shun the vulgar view; 
 
 And foxglove tall, and clumps of spreading fern, 
 
 Surround, as sentinels, the Avarrior's cairn — 
 
 The blooming furze, the birch, and yellow broom, 
 
 On either side diffuse a rich perfume;
 
 232 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Like honours upon age, the eglantine, ' 
 And mountain rose, in graceful wreaths entwine. 
 The moss-grown branches of the patriarcli thorn — 
 All twinkling beauteous with the tears of morn. 
 
 There stretched at ease, upon the plain look down, 
 Its rural charms, or distant smoky town; 
 Where are the graves of those that once could claim 
 Of all on earth, our kindest, softest name? 
 Those graves that now the only home appear, 
 That stern adversity has left us here; 
 "Where the last heart that loved us low is laid, 
 The dear, dear hands our tott'ring steps that stayed. 
 The lips that often kissed us while we slept. 
 The eyes that watch o'er all our troubles kept- 
 Saw, through affection's tears, our early ways— 
 The tongue that taught us first our Maker's praise. 
 
 And, O ! how sweet, when in her heavenly vest 
 Of stainless snow, is slumb'ring Nature drest ! 
 And all is hushed at twilight's solemn hour. 
 High on the turrets of some mouldering tower—
 
 AUCHINLECK-HOUSE. 233 
 
 To mark the red round sun of winter sink 
 Far on the Ocean's melancholy brink, — 
 There to indulge in meditation deep, 
 Till pensive Feeling bids us fondly weep. 
 
 W^RITTEN BESIITE AUCHINLECK-HOUSE, 
 OCT. 3, 1839. 
 
 Here stay, my wand'ring steps — a moment trace 
 The fairy grandeur of this sylvan scene; 
 
 Here Nature's awful charms awhile embrace, 
 Till tears of rapture seek the faded green: 
 Beneath this stately tree, that sear and sheen, 
 
 Already flings its honours on the gale; 
 And more unfolds to pensive minds, I ween. 
 
 Than ever yet was done by mortal talc, — 
 
 How meagre oft are words when feelings high prevail.
 
 234 AUCHINLECK-HOUSE. 
 
 And here, in days not dimly seen remote, 
 
 Had Learning's sons their consecrated bower, — 
 Beloved, revered, by men of Science sought — 
 
 Of other lands the precedence and flower. 
 
 And here the muse hath sung in later hour — 
 Songs that shall spread through far futurity. 
 
 On the fond heart shall still exert their power. 
 While Albion's hills o'erlook the guardian sea. 
 And her pro'ud warlike sons are, as its surges, free. 
 
 But these, with Time, alas ! have passed awa;j. 
 And all is sad for them, or seems to be; 
 
 The cushat's wail, the redbreast's melting lay. 
 The forest's wave, the stream's mild lullaby, — 
 Have all drunk deeply; but, lo ! who is she ? — 
 
 So fair to sight, with triumph in her eye — 
 'Tis Fame — she speaks in all her majesty; 
 
 And thus, as Nature checks the deep-drawn sigh, 
 
 " Though vanished arc their hours, their names can 
 never die 1"
 
 235 
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 
 
 Beyond the abyss, that leads its hoary files 
 Of warrior waves round Albion's hundred isles, 
 The day went down, and evening o'er the dale 
 Her soft tears shed, and spread her silver veil; 
 The noisy village, by the sheltering hUl, 
 Was hushed to rest, and every sound was still. 
 Save where the mavis, in the darkening brake. 
 An anthem warbled for his partner's sake; 
 Or when by fits was heard upon the gale 
 The watchful lapwing's melancholy wail; 
 Or faint far off the river's rapid sweep. 
 Fast journeying on to join the mighty deep; 
 The dark blue mountains to the west were seen, 
 And seemed as penciled on the sky serene; 
 Around whose tops were hung in bright array 
 The robes that decked the orb of parting day; 
 All had conspired to fill the pensive breast 
 With things too great, too sweet to be expressed.
 
 236 
 
 TO LOUDON HILL. 
 
 Wreck of the old world ! thing of other days ! 
 Gigantic pillar of the distant sky ! 
 To which oft turns my melancholy gaze, 
 When morning dawns, or daylight's glories die; 
 That saw of yore Oppression close his eye; 
 Vanquished and foiled, red Persecution reel. 
 His scatt'rings bands in wild confusion fly 
 Before the Patriot's avenging steel. 
 That gleamed on yonder heath, and wrought his coun- 
 try's weal. ' 
 
 EXTEMPORE, BY MY FATHERS GRAVE- 
 JANUARY 21, 1836. 
 
 Descending suns, or seasons on the wane — 
 Autumn's sear leaf, ne'er to be green again— 
 The forest's fallen monarch, or the mould'ring tower- 
 Hold o'er the heart unutterable power; 
 But faint the effect, and feeble is the sway. 
 Compared with what we feel beside the clay
 
 ON THE BANKS OF DOON. 237 
 
 Of those with whom we've run the race of life. 
 Shared in its joys, or struggled in its strife; 
 Now gone for ever from this worid of care — 
 For ever gone — alas ! we know not where. 
 But higher far arise our feelings must. 
 When pondering o'er a loving parent's dust. 
 Sustain awhile frail nature — 0, my God ! 
 Else bursts my heart beneath the mighty load. 
 
 SCENE ON THE BANKS OF DOON. 
 
 Behind the hills — the black, black, gloomy hills. 
 
 The sun departed, with a sullen glare — 
 
 Birds hid beneath the wing their tuneless bills — 
 
 And forest trees were waving bleak and bare; 
 
 Nature was sad — her leaves, her blossoms fair; 
 
 Winter, cold winter, on the dust had spread — 
 
 Tempests were heard far gathering in the air — 
 
 Doon, dark and deep, o'erflowed his ample bed — 
 
 And night fast closed around the mountain's mighty 
 
 head. 
 
 x3
 
 238 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 By Irvine's wave, by Irvine's wave. 
 How dear have been the sunny hours; 
 
 In morn of life^ how lovely then 
 
 Her birds, her bees, her banks of flowers. 
 
 By Irvine's wave, by Irvine's wave. 
 In youth's bright noon I've often trod, 
 
 In converse sweet with those that now 
 Lie cold beneath the rank green sod. 
 
 By Irvine's wave, by Irvine's wave. 
 O'er prospecits blasted, hopes destroyed, 
 
 I ponder now, while life but seems 
 One vast, unvaried, cheerless void. 
 
 By Irvine's wave, by Irvine's wave. 
 With wistful eye I search the gloom 
 
 For dawning streak, but none appears 
 Save from the morn beyond the tomb.
 
 239 
 
 A WINTEB EVENING. 
 
 Like dying saint's was seen the sun's last smile. 
 O'er the blue waves that roll around our isle; 
 I wandered forth; keen swept the winter breeze 
 O'er the bare fields, £tod through the kafless trees;- 
 The distant hills, in desolation's dress, 
 Told to the plains a tale of deep dist^ress; 
 And oft between the blasts were heard afar 
 The mingling sounds of elemental war. 
 As on I passed, bright Phoebus sunk to rest 
 Far in the lowering chambers of the west; 
 No warbling songster bade the god adieu. 
 As round his car the shades of evening drew; 
 But sadness settled in her gloomy reign 
 O'er the dark deep and o'er the dreary plain; 
 And failed the twilight; waxing in her might, 
 Fell on the fields the long, long winter night. 
 I left the scene, the co|d, the joyless waste, 
 Reflection's sweets and kindling joys to taste^
 
 240 
 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER CIRCUMSTANCES OF PECULIAR DISrSRBf*. 
 
 All, all unlovely on the dusky plain, 
 The Winter night assumes her lengthened Kcign; 
 The birds hop heartless to the naked wood, 
 And all seeic^ echo to the mind that's sad. 
 Yes ! sad and ever shall be, till the day 
 That summons hence my willing soul away 
 From this rude world, — this dungeon of deceit, — 
 Where s>nares are laid for unsuspecting feet; 
 Where Innocence and Honesty are made 
 Sport of the fiends that have the same betrayed; 
 And poor Misfortune, meriting the tear 
 Of tend'rest Pity, 's welcomed with a sneer.
 
 241 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 When flowers, dew-burden' d, hang the weary head, 
 And morning's mists are on the mountains spread- 
 When smoky pillars, curl on curl, arise 
 From cottage chimneys, towering to the skies— 
 When rooks, slow journeying through the morning aii-, 
 To fields afar in sable crowds repair— 
 And through the silent mom, far, far away, 
 Harsh clattering wheels the heavy loads betray- 
 Then let me linger where I've pluck'd the flower. 
 Or chas'd the bee in childnood's sunny hour; 
 Recount its pleasures past, its joys decayed. 
 And mourn the change that ruthless Time has made. 
 
 WRITTEN IN DUMFRIES CHURCHYARD. 
 
 Oblivion! all unconquerable power. 
 Vain our attempts to shun thy dreaded hour ; 
 The time must come, when even the earth we tread 
 Shall form a part unknown in ocean's bed.
 
 242 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE IMPRESSION OF 
 MELANCnOLy. 
 
 As rolls the suu his deep red settiag beams, 
 On some dark mountain, till on fire it seems ; 
 So backward shine the dear departed rays 
 Of boyhood gone, on these dim evil days — 
 Still, as through life's lone journey I proceed, 
 Cares crowd on cares, and toils to toils succeed ; 
 But mourn not, muse, nor shudder at the gloom, 
 Soon shall we rest within the silent tombf 
 
 WRITTEN IN A MOMENT OF EXCITEMENT. 
 
 Ye whirlwinds of passion, that rage in my breast, 
 
 ! when will yc riot yourselves into rest 1 
 
 " When life's taper's extinguished — when stretched 
 
 out art thou, 
 " And lour the dark shadows of death on thy brow— 
 '< Then, then we'll relinquish the despotic power 
 " We hold o'er thy bosom, but ne'er till that how"
 
 243 
 
 WRITTEN ON A VIEW OF CAIRNTABLE. 
 MUiaKIRK, MAY 31, 1840. 
 
 Like yon high hill my bypast life has been — 
 Wide tracks of shade, and sunny spots between ; 
 And, like yon hill's far stretching solitude, 
 Alas ! but barren of all real good ; — 
 Life's noon is wasted, and age comes amain. 
 Like night on traveller of the desert plain. 
 Oh! grant, kind heaven, I meet may undismayed 
 The frown of death's impenetrable shade. 
 
 ON PASSING liOUDON CASTLE. 
 
 The night descends, all dark and drear 
 And mournful howl the forest trees; 
 The doors are shut — nor lingers here 
 A living thing, the eye to please.
 
 244 FOR JOHN INGRAM. 
 
 No light is seen in yonder tower, 
 No sounds re-echo through the hall, 
 For there hath silence made her bower, 
 And deepest darkness spread her pall. 
 
 EPITAPH FOR MR. JOHN INGRAM, R.A. 
 
 Beneath this strange turf, where the long ragweeds 
 
 tremble, 
 And ghosts of this churchyard aU nightly assemble, 
 Lie, for ever relieved from each earthly tenter, 
 The canvass and frame of John Ingram, the painter ; 
 But the lights and the shades that composed the 
 
 design 
 Have long since returned to their Fountain Divine ; 
 By degrees they withdrew, and when Death did 
 
 attend 
 To blot out the picture — 'twas done to his hand.
 
 245 
 
 EXTEMPORE. 
 
 0, Youth! sweet season, gliding swift away, 
 And ushering in the dark, the dreary day 
 Of age, and pain, and fell disease, that must 
 Lay the most stately fabric in the dust. 
 
 * WKITTEN ON SEEING A CARFET-FACTOKY 
 SUBSCRIPTION BALL. 
 
 Old Plato once met Father Jove, 
 
 And asked the Self-Existent, 
 " What was in earth or heaven above 
 
 " Of all most inconsistent 1" 
 Jove heard the question, gave a nod. 
 
 To Heaven's high towers advancing. 
 Unveiled this world, — " Now," says the god, 
 
 " D'ye see yon weavers dancing V 
 
 ■« " That Mr. Ramsay has not only a poetical vein, as already admitted, 
 but some humour in his compositioij, the following epigram proves."— 
 Edinburgh Literary Journal, September 19, 18Si9.
 
 246 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 When Paton came to heaven's gate, 
 
 Saint Peter looked quite saucy. 
 And cried, " Stand back— your feet's so great 
 
 " Ye'll crack our crystal causeway." 
 
 M'Adam passing on survey, 
 
 Said, " Pate, my lad, ye're wrang ; 
 
 " Braid wheels but half the duty pay 
 " Where'er they chance to gang." 
 
 JAMIE ALLAN. 
 
 Nature, they say, in sport ae day, 
 
 Some bunglin' jobs began; 
 To try her warst, and for the first 
 
 She shapit aff a man ; 
 Auld Fame came by, the wark to spy. 
 
 And, lookin' at the callan, 
 " 0, ho!" said she, "^what's this I see, 
 
 " Anither Jamie Allan."
 
 24" 
 
 ON SOME ILL-BRE!d AGRICULTURAL APPRENTICES' 
 
 Whate'er his pupils Brown has taught 
 
 Of ploughing, sowing, feeding; 
 'Tis plain, some little hints he ought 
 
 To give them yet, on — ^Breeding! 
 
 But, ! may gracious Heaven his skill 
 
 From such a task exempt aye — 
 Namely, attempting that to fill 
 
 Which Nature has made — Empty. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A NOBLEMAN's GATE, 
 
 BENEATH AN INTIMATION THAT VISITORS ON FOOT 
 
 WERE ADMITTED ONLY ON WEDNESDAYS AND 
 
 SATURDAY'S. 
 
 To vilest sinner of our race 
 Still open lies the path of heaven; 
 
 What ! — is this some superior place, 
 But entrance twice a- week is given ?
 
 248 
 
 TO A PORTLY LANDLADY. 
 
 Mrs. Steel ! Mrs. Steel ! should you gang to the Dcil, 
 Which to prove many facts do conspire; 
 
 And the auld sooty cook chance to brandcr your bouk, 
 Yc'U set the whole kitchen on fire ! 
 
 ON MR. J. INCH COMPLAINING OF THE SMALL 
 SIZE OF MY VOLUME. 
 
 My book, the thirst of such a man, 
 
 For quantity might quench; 
 I'm sure it is at least a span, 
 
 And thou art but an Inch. 
 
 ON SEEING SOME SEVERE CRITICISMS ON MY FIRST 
 EDITION BY A MR. PATRICK KNOX. 
 
 Both friends and foes Pat. gives a thwack, 
 And Knox are bruisers everywhere; 
 
 No wonder my poor lines are black 
 And blue, on facing such a pair !
 
 249 
 
 ON HEARING THAT MR. LAMB HAD DECEIVED 
 MR. SHEPHERD. 
 
 Some say a Lamb is harmless, yet 
 
 I have an instance known 
 Of one that has a Bhepherd bit,— 
 
 Aye, bit unto the bone ! 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Here rests of Johnny White the clay, 
 Who long had cJ^-^d for pelf; 
 
 But at command of Fate one day, 
 He, gratis, died himself ! 
 
 EPITAPH FOR PETER LUCAS. 
 
 Here sleeps Peter Lucas, wha every day took his 
 Bit jest aff some ane; but Death came, 
 
 And a joke at the last so sly on him passed. 
 That to Doomsday he'll grin at the same I 
 
 y3
 
 250 
 
 EPITAPH FOK C**RL*S L*CK***T. 
 
 Under this lightning-blasted sod, 
 Falsehood, Deceit, and Malice lie; 
 
 Behold, yc saints, and bless your God, 
 Millenium times are surely nigh I 
 
 THE HAPPY FIVE. 
 
 SONG, WRITTEN FOK FIVE BACHELORS, TO BE SUNG IN 
 A FULL MEETING. 
 
 Air—" Joseph Tuck, the tailor's son." 
 
 Now, since we're met, let's merry get, 
 
 And bid the song arise, Sir; 
 And for a while our cares beguile, 
 
 For swift the moment flics. Sir. 
 Nae wives we dread, our shins to bleed, 
 
 Our hair to rug and rive, Sir; 
 Old Hymen's switch shall never touch 
 
 The free, the happy five. Sir. 
 
 Chorus — Bow, wow, wow, &c.
 
 THE HAPPY riVE. 251 
 
 Though fair anes sly the fishing try, 
 
 And shining bait prepare, Sir, 
 We'll lift the hook, and only look 
 
 To see what's lurking there. Sir; 
 To see what can puir simple man 
 
 Of happiness deprive. Sir, 
 But keep aloof, for arrow proof 
 
 Are all the happy five, Sir. 
 
 Bow, wow, wow, &c. 
 
 Auld Adie crouse took up his house. 
 
 And Madam square began. Sir; 
 But soon the jilt his pleasure spilt. 
 
 And ruined the honest man. Sir. 
 And, since his day, nae man, they say, 
 
 Can e'er in wedlock thrive. Sir; 
 But never shall her chains enthral 
 
 The free, the happy five. Sir. 
 
 Bow, wow, wow, &C. 
 
 When Summer sweet, wi' flowery feet, 
 Comes whiddin' o'er the braes. Sir, 
 
 To deed the wood, and deck the sod. 
 And langer spin the days, Sir;
 
 252 THE HAPPr FIVE. 
 
 While marriocl fools tug at tiie tools, 
 And toil till scarce alive, Sir, 
 
 As uiiconfincd as mountain wind 
 Shall rove the happy five, ^r. 
 
 Bow, wow, wow, &c. 
 
 When Winter hoar, frae shore to shore, 
 
 Spreads out the biting snaw, Sir, 
 The married men, sae blue and thin. 
 
 Can scarce come out ava, Sir; 
 Alang the ice, wi' caution nice. 
 
 The channel stanes we '11 drive. Sir, 
 And nightly sing, till echoes ring, 
 
 The sporting merry five. Sir. 
 
 Bow, wow, wow, &c. 
 
 Now let them blow, and make a show. 
 
 About the married life. Sir, 
 'Tis at the best, if right confessed, 
 
 But drudgery and strife, Sir; 
 Let those who may become a prey, 
 
 And right to ruin drive, Sir, 
 We'll sport about, and wag it out. 
 
 The free, the happy five, Sir. 
 
 Bow, wow, wow, &c.
 
 25c 
 
 SANDY THAT WONS IN THE AIRD. 
 Ain— " Logie o' Buchan." 
 
 ! WAS ye wliare Irwine rows roun the stey brae, 
 Whare the gowd gowan glints 'neath the snaw- 
 
 blossomed slae ? 
 And, lo'ed by ilk bodie frae duke to the caird, 
 Say, met ye wi' Sandy, that wons in the Aird ? 
 
 He's nae cantin' loon wi' a bass-fiddle face. 
 Aye talkin' o' sin, condemnation, and grace; 
 But he 's what is far better, an' waur can be spared 
 He 's an honest man, Sandy, that wons in the Aird 
 
 He 's fond o' a' sports, an' aye foremost to rin 
 Whare care 's to be killed, or some doughty deed 
 
 dune; 
 Yet his rigs are weel tilled, an' fu' bein his stackyard, 
 Sic a fell chiel is Sandy, that wons in the Aird. 
 
 When the glass 'gins to circle, the laugh, an' the joke, 
 He 's aft in some corner enjoyin' his smoke; 
 But mark, when his weapon o' satire is bared, 
 Few care to meet Sandy, that wons in the Aird.
 
 254 SANDY OF THE AIKD. 
 
 O ! wha owre the lea like the swallow has passed ? 
 Or drift when 'tis driven by December's bauld blast? 
 Wha cam' through the bog, whare the hunters a' 
 
 laired ? 
 'Twas Sandy, yes, Sandy, that wons in the Aird. 
 
 Lang, lang may he wag roun' the tap o' yon brae, 
 Wi' a pouch never wantin' — a heart never wae; 
 Mony tears '11 be shed, when, beneath the cauld 
 
 swaird, 
 Are the banes laid o' Sandy, that wons in the Aird. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 i 
 
 KILMARNOCK — PRINTED BV H. CRAWFORD AND SON.
 
 255 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 '« Shift we the scene from Mr. Southey and Switzerland to Mr. John Ramsay, weaver, 
 Kilmarnock. How fleet is a glance of the mind !— and if a man is determined to hunt 
 out genius, there is no saying, in these days, where he may be carried. • Why may 
 not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he finds it stopping a bunghole ?' 
 asks Shakspeare; and, on the same principle, why may not imagination discover genius 
 in a red nightcap, working at the loom in Kilmarnock. We care not for the outward 
 casket— it is the gem silently glittering'within which we prize. Is the dewdrop less 
 beautiful because it happens to fall upon the humblest blade of grass, rather than into 
 the bosom of the full-blown rose ? Genius comes like the dew from the starry sky, and 
 dreams not of the conventional distinction of artificial society. Mr. John Ramsay may 
 be a weaver in the sight of man, but he is a poet in the sight of Heaven, and he has his 
 reward in his own breast. We do not mean to say that Mr. John Ramsay is another 
 Burns; all we mean is, he has the gentler susceptibilities of genius about him, and we 
 are therefore glad to have it in our power to give publicity to one of his effusions. It 
 is the latest effort of his muse, although in the present state of our trade, he writes, 
 ' I must say with Burns— S?«a' heart hae I to sing.' "—Edinburgh Literary Journal, or 
 IVeekly Register of Criticism and Belles Lettres. 
 
 " I have been struck with wonder at finding expressions so forcible and eloquent— 
 for so they deserve to be termed— proceeding from an individual who describes himself 
 as occupying so obscure and remote a situation in society, and who might have been 
 so little expected, when his education and circumstances were taken into account, to 
 display accomplishments in such matters." — Robert Chambers, Esq., one of the Editors 
 of Chambers's Journal. 
 
 " We concur in the wonder and the praise which Mr. Robert Chambers has expressed 
 of Ihe force and eloquence of the expressions which distinguish some of the composi- 
 tions of the accomplished operative." — Glasgow Constitutional, March, 1840. 
 
 "The volumepresentssomany charming pieces, that we are sure all will be delighted 
 with it ; and while, to the general reader, its numerous beauties cannot fail to prove 
 highly attractive, to the sons of Ayrshire it will be more peculiarly delightful, as 
 written among scones which memory loves to haunt, endeared as they are by the 
 recollection of earlier, and perhaps of happier, years. We thank John Ramsay, who. 
 ever or whatever he may be, for the galaxy he has presented to us ; and we take leave 
 of him for the present, by wishing success to his muse, and recommending him to the 
 attention of our readers."— G/as/joiu Liberator- 
 
 " The author has evidently read much of the best of poetry, is a keen observer of 
 nature, and possesses considerable originality of thought, a lively vein of humour, and 
 is capable of highly appreciating the ridiculous, and portraying it in a strong light." — 
 Ayr /Idvertiser, December 19, 1839. 
 
 " With his description of the sports of the day [in ' Eglintoh Park Meeting '] he has 
 contrived to weave in descriptions of nature, — evincing a taste for the picturesque and 
 'ublime— familiar humour is mingled with philosophical reflection— pathos, and the 
 •■ontle susceptibilities of our nature, with satire and burlesque, political, theological 
 ;uid \oci\\."—Kiimarnock Journal, November 18, 1839.
 
 256 
 
 " The poem [' Dundonald,'] is rich in poetical imagery, liistorical detail, anil melting I 
 pathos, calculated to win the admiration of all by whom it is perused. Our space will 
 not allow us to notice the minor poems of Mr. Ramsay : some of thcra are of a very 
 superior character, and fully establish his claim to be classed among the poets of 
 Scotland."— yi/yr Observer, December 2i, 1839. 
 
 " 'i'he leading poem, • Eglinton Park Meeting,' is a strong, manly, manners.painting 
 piece, full of humour, pathos, and description, in rapid interchange. The miscellaneous 
 pieces whicli follow are all of them equally the productions of a shrewd, vigorous 
 mind."— r)K7/7/rjfs Ilcralil, April 17, 1810. 
 
 " We have been favoured with a glance at a splendid poem, entitled, • An Address 
 to Dundonald Castle,' inscribed to the noble proprietor of that very ancient royal 
 residence— by Mr. John Ramsay. The intrinsic merits of this production rank its 
 author high amongst the modern bards of Caledonia. Without lilling a whole page 
 of 'The Reformer ' we cannot give our readers an adequate idea of the elegance and 
 excellence of this poetic effusion : suffice it to say, that the sentiments which it con- 
 tains, and the language in which they are breathed, are admirably calculated to inspire 
 the poet, to arouse the patriot, to animate the christian, and to delight the most indif. 
 ferent reader." — Ayrshire Eejormer. 
 
 " The work has already attained to a third edition, and is marked by much shrewd, 
 ness, and a deep vein of satire— by imagination and fancy to fashion new conceptions, 
 and judgment to blend in harmony all the materials which have thus been accumulated 
 — by no inconsiderable knowledge of nature, both moral and physical— and by touching 
 pathos and sensibility."— A'e/so Chronicle, May 28, 1811, 
 
 "The leading poem, ' Kglinton Park Meetmg,' is distinguished for sound, manly, 
 vigorous thought, abounding at the sametime with rich and humorous description. 
 Mr. Ramsay is unquestionably a man of considerable genius— appears to have read and 
 studied well the very best of poetry, and is withal an acute and shrewd observer of 
 human nature. * * * Mr. Ramsay's poems, while they redound so much to his 
 own credit, are honourable to the land of his birth— a land rendered classic by the 
 works of the immortal Burns." — Kelso Mail, May 26, ISll. 
 
 " Mr. Ramsay, in his various pieces, evinces many of the greatest attributes of a 
 true poet, whether he treats of the grave or the gay, the humorous, or the pathetic. 
 His language is terse, forcible and appropriate, and has the high merit of benig poeti- 
 cal, without that straining at effect which so often accompanies mediocrity of talent." 
 —Galloway Register, October 22, 1841. 
 
 « These are poems which few can read without the heart yielding its tribute of grati- 
 tude— a tear. We are not surprised that the works of John Ramsay should have 
 reached a third edition. Our wonder is more directed to the circumstance of a man 
 in a humble rank of life, and who received few advantages from education, being able 
 to write with so much power of eloquence and beauty. The volume is full of genius, 
 and the reader, whatever his taste may be, will find something to please."— Caierfoniaw 
 Mercury, October 31 , 1840. , , ^ /\
 
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 L 007 183 184 6 
 
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 AA 000 367 775 4