( * 1 * Officii' XUE GENTLE SHEPHERD, A PASTORAL COMEDY, XTITII ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE SCENARY, ^ THE GENTLE SHEPHERD, A PASTORAL COMEDY; WITH ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE SCENARY: AN APPENDIX, CONTAINING SIEMOIRS OF DAVID ALLAN, THE SCOTS HOGARTH; BESIDES ORIGINAL, AND OTHER POEMS CONNECTED WITH THE ILLUSTRATIONS : AND A COMPREHENSIVE GLOSSARY. TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED, AN AUTHENTIC LIFE OF ALLAN RAMSAY, AND AN INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF PASTORAL POETRY; THE PROPRIETY Ot THE RULES PRESCRIBED FOR it; and THE PRACTICE OF RAMSAY. " Scribttur tibi forma" indubia, " ei situs agri." Hor.Ep.l6. " First please your eye, then gratify your ear." Gent. S/itp. Act I. Sc. 2. Prol. VOL. II. EDINBURGH: Printed by Abernethy Sf Walker, JfOR WILLIAM MARTIN, W. CREECH, A. CONSTABLE Sf CO. r. HILL, AND A. MACKAY, EDINBURGH; AND FOR VERXOR, HOOD, S^ SHARPE, CUTHELL Sf MARTIN, .IND JOHN MURRAY, LONDON. 1S08. hw i--' * se-sK THE CONTENTS OP VOLUME II. ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE SCENARY. Page View, and Description of New-Hall House 399 the 'Spital oj New Hall. . . . 456" w Symon's House. ..... 486" Comedy of riiz gektle shepherd 499 APPENDIX. No 1. Authentic Life of David Allan, the Scots Hogavth. 6l9 2. Poems by, and to, Alexander Pennccuik of New Hall, M. D., referred to in the Work, viz. To my Friend in town, inviting him to the country. 6ol The Author's Answer to his brother James Pennccuik, Esq. advocate 632 Elegy on the death of the elder Alexander Pennccuik of New H^ill, the author's father 635 Inscriptio-njor Hamilton of Coldcoat's picture. . . 636 The Lintoun Cabal, or Jovial Smith's invitation to his dub 637 letter in verse from William Clerk, Esq. advocate; 6'40 Dr Penneciiik's answer 6'4.1 Pastoral Elegy on Douglas of Dornock 64? VI CONTENTS. Pag No 2. Verses to the Author, hy Alexander PcncooJc; of Edin- burgh 643 3. Poems by Allan Ramsay, referred to in the Work, viz. Verses on the xoonderful preservation of' Mr David Bruce. 645 Ode, to Mr Forbes of New Hall. -. 6aQ Epistle, to the Honourable Duncan Forbes of Culloden, Lord Advocate. ... * 648 Ode, to the memory of Mrs Forbes, late Lady New Hall. 653 Address, to the Honourable President Duncan Forbes of' Culloden 655 ' 4. Poem by the Reverend Mr Bradfute, entitled, A Morn- ing JValk at New Hall in Mid Lothian. . . . 650 . > 5. Original Poems on the Natural Scenary of The Gentle Shepherd, viz. The Mansion. . 663 The Meteor . 672 The Harbour Craig 6/8 The Hermitage. ~. 689 The Bathing Hut in Habbys How 702 Peggy's Myll below the Carlyng's Loupis 706 The Car lops Green, or Equality Realized. . . . 723 6. Popular Poems on the Scenary, viz. Verses, by James Thomson, of Kinleith 742 On the Wu^h'mg Green, and Habbie's How ; by James Forrest, of the Carlops. 74i Prologue to The Geidlc Shepherd, acted at Roger's Rig, in 1807; by the same 747 Lines, after sct'i. g (he place on Glencross water, that some incons'd; nUv, or wrong-headed people, call Habbie's Hov ; by the same 748 Additional Ame-iotis, and Pro(f, of the Original Sce- nary 750 Glossary 753 ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE SCEJVARY OF THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. NEW-I^ALL HOUSE. Act 3. Seem 1. PROLOGUE. " Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime, *' An' tent a man whase beard seems bleach'd wi' time ; " An elwand tills his hand, his habit mean; " Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been. " But whisht ! it is the knight in mascurad " That comes, hid in his cloud, to see his lad. " Observe how pleas'd the loyal suff 'rer moves , " Thro' his auld av'uues, ance delightfu' groves." Sir William, solus. " The gentleman, thus hid in low disguise, " I'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes " With a full view of every fertile plain, " Which once I lost, which now are mine again. " Yet, 'midst my joy, some prospects pain renew, " Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view. " Yonder, ah me, it desolately stiuids." Vol. IL 400 NEW-HALL HOUSE, Act 3. Scene 4. PROLOGrE. This scene presents the Knight an' Sym, " Within a gall'ry o' the place, ^ Where a' looks ruinous an' grim ; " Nor has the baron shawn his face, ^* But joking wi' his shepherd leel, " Aft speers the gate he kens fu' weel. Sir William and Symon. *' Sir W. To whom belongs this house^ so much decay'd ? * Sym. To ane that lost it, lending generous aid *' To bear the head up, when rebellious tail ** Against the laws o' nature did prevail. " Sir William Worthy is our master's name, " Whilk fills us a' wi' joy, now he's come hame." Act 6. Sceite 3. and last. DIALOGUE. *' SiK WiL. (to Si/77jon.) Kindly old maa! remain with you this day ! " I never from these fields again will stray : " Masons and wrights my house shall soon repair, " And busy gard'ners shall new planting rear." JN ew-Hall House is situated on the south-western confine of Edinburghshire j nine Scots, and twelve NEW-HALL HOUSE. 401 English miles from the metropolis ; at the head of the valley of Mid-Lothian ; near the foot of the Pentland Hills j and, on the north bank of the North Esk, which runs in its deep romantic woody glen, behind the building. In front, rises the smooth green wester hill of Spittal, beyond the highway from Edinburgh to Carlops, Dumfries, and, branching off, to Leadhills ; with the farmsteads of Friartown, and Patie's Hill, on heights, advancing from the mountain, on the north, and west, and the New House in the middle, likewise on the other more elevated side of the public road. After skirting the opposite descent of this hill to the north-west, the Esk rushes, from behind it, through the bridge under the highway, at the north end of the glen and village of Carlops, about a mile above the house - separating the Turnip and Patie*s Hills, and, for several miles, both upwards and downwards, Peebles-shire from that of Edinburgh, and, as may be seen by consulting the mafi, the lands of Carlops, from those of Spittal, and New Hall. After falling into the pool at Habbie's How, which contains the only cascade in its whole course, it waters the Wash- ing Green behind the house, passes the " Craigy Bield," " Claud's Onstead," and the Marfield Loch below it, and presses on, eastward, to Brunstoune, Pcnaccuik, Old Woodhouselce, Roslin, the wild, C c 402 NEW-HALL HOUSE. and grotesque habitation of Hawthornden, Melville Castle, and Dalkeith, where it is joined by the South Esk, from Arniston, Dalhousie, Newbattle, &c. on its way to Inveresk, Musselburgh, and tl^e frith of the Forth. Over the glen ^o the south of east, be- yond the Washing Green, and between and the Harlaw Muir, appears " Syinon^s House,'* on the height. A part of it is seen, past the south gable of New-Hall House, in the view from the west, con- nected with this description. Besides the glen of the Esk, within a mile to the east of south, there are three others, with each its distinct character, and rivulet, all running parallel to it, and uniting their streams, in succession, below the Har- bour Craig, before their confluence into the Esk, at the httle haugh, on the other side of the " Craigy Bield," about a quarter of a mile distan,f; from the house. From the principal glen runs up, towards the wester hill of Spittal, a deep dingle, or ravine, called the Fairies' Den, close by the north-east gable of the building, between and the present garden, with the east garden below, atthefootof theravine. Itpoints, down- ward, directly over to " Symon's House ; ' ' and through it descends a rivulet, making several beautiful cascades, before it enters the Washing Green by the Washing House. The waterfalls, one of which is the Fairies' Lin, issue a constant, whispering noise, from its dark, NEW-HALL HOUSE. 403 and romantic bottom, through the high, and close, and wildly growing trees, with which it is, now, filled. On the other, south-west, side of the prison, chapel, and chapel-yard, adjacent to the house ; from the head of the " howm," at the Squirrel's Haugh, climbs up to the lawn, in the direction of the Spital Hill, another dell or ravine, dry and wooded, be- tween and the rustic Hut, Mary's Lin, and Bower, to the right of, and the obelisk almost directly behind, the stand from whence the drawing of the view was taken. To the left, beyond the garden and enclo- sures on the other side of the eastern ravine, descends Monk's Burn. This Seat is celebrated, for having been the pro- perty of one of our Scotlsh poets ; and the favourite place of residence of another : for having given his title to the former ; and affording scenary, and cha- racters, to the most distinguished production of the latter. At a very early period, an abbey or monastery, over an extensive territory, seems to have occupied the present site of New-Hall House. In a letter to the proprietor, from the late Mr Tytler, editor of King James's Poems, &c. of date .3 1st October 1791, from which an extract is pub- C c 2 404 NEW-HALL HOUSE. lished in the Afifiendix to the seventeenth volume of the Statistical History, he says, " In my infancy, when I staid at New Hall, the chapel was in ruins, but the remains of the four walls were seen, and the east gable, with a pointed arched window, was pret- ty entire. On the west was a small piece of ground, which was called the Chapel Yard, on the north side of which was a broad grass-walk, shaded with a double row of fine old spreading beeches. I remem- ber to have heard Mr Forbes say, that New Hall was a religious house. The lands of Spittal were hospital-lands, probably endowed for sustaining the hospital, under the care and management of the re- ligious foundation of New Hall." In the Life of Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, in the Scots Magazine for June 1802, apparently written by his youngest son, it is mentioned, that " the former name of the parish of Pennycuik was that of St Kentigern or Mungo, the same to whom the cathedral church of Glasgow was dedicated. A religious house, or hos- pital, near the site of the present iV^-zc; Hall^ endow- ed with considerable landed property, is supposed to have held most of the surrounding district." As the monasteries of Glenluce, Dundrcnnan, New Abbey, Melross, Kelso, Newbattle, and Culross, founded by Malcolm M'Duff Earl of Fife, in which St Kentigern was a monk, belonged to the order of NEW-HALL HOUSE. 405 Cistercians, who were extremely rich, through the religious profuseness of King, or, as he is commonly called Saint David, and others*, the convent, where the house of New Hall now stands, was probably of the same fraternity, and, with the adjoining county of Peebles, within the diocese of the Archbishop of Glasgow. This religious order was founded in the eleventh century, by St Robert, a Benedictine. Their habit is a white robe in the nature of a cassock, with a black scapulary and hood, and is girt with a wool- len girdle. They became so powerful, that they go- verned the greatest part of Europe, both in spirituals, and temporals. The Monk's Rig, northward, with the font-stone on its brow, and the top of the cross, for- merly erected on its edge, lying at the bottom of the hill, which likewise served as a land-mark, at the side of the Monk's Road, is in view, commanding all the country to the south, and still ascertains the tract which the friars followed in passing to, and from, Edinburgh, or Queensferry, Besides being a recep- tacle for the sick, and aged, under the monastery ; the 'Spital was a Jiospitium, or inn, and the Monk's Road with its crosses, accommodations, and guides for friars, and other travellers, in journeying from one cloister to another. The weary and benighted passenger is, still, considered as having a right to shelter at the 'Spital House, and one of the outbuild- ings, with some straw, is generally allotted for that C c 3 406 NEW-HALL HOUSE. purpose. Monasteries were the stages, and Inns of those days ; and their situations were always well chosen. Mr Addison's observations on the cloisters of Italy, might, once, have been applied, with equal propriety, to our own. Says he, slily, *' One seldom finds, in Italy, a spot of ground more agreeable than ordinary, that is not covered with a convent." No writings, on the conveyance of this place, exist, prior to the year 1 529 ; when it was in the possession of a family of the name of Crichtoune, said to have been the ancestors of the Earls of Dumfries. Its ho- spital, or 'spital, remained undissolved, till the refor- mation from Popery in 1560 or 1567. On being secularized, alienated, and becoming a lay fee, it had got the name of the new hall-house of its lands ; pro- bably, in consequence of a new mansion, or hall- house, having been reared, on the site of the decay- ed convent, where the old hall, in which the courts for the tenants had been held, formerly stood. The word hall. Is of Saxon origin. The hall-house, and the hall-rig, or leading ridge among the reapers, are, still, the usual marks of distinction, retained among the Lothian shepherds and farmers, with regard to a house of this description, and the objects connected with it. NEW-HALL HOUSE. 407 While Inhabited by the Crichtounes, the house of New Hall was in the form of an irregular castle. With its appendages, it covered the whole breadth of the point on which it stands ; and likewise extend- ed a considerable way, northward, up the brink of the eastern ravine, on the edge of which, besides se- veral foundations, are still left two of its vaults, un- der the bottom of a round tower they had once sup- ported. The ground-floor in the front half of the present building, made a part of one of its principal towers. It occupies the entire length of the body of the house. It is arched above, with slits widen- ing inwards for defence, and its wall is so strong as, in one place, to have a closet cut out of its thickness. On the north-east slope of the ravine, at its lower extremity where it opens into the Washing Green, was the east garden ; still marked out by the easier wall, and some of the fruit-trees. To the south-west, on a shoulder of the point, was the prison, still remem- bered to have been used for refractory colliers, with the chapel, and chapel-yard as described by Mr Ty- tler. From the south-west gable of the present dou- ble house, seen in the view, which looks up the glen of tJie Esk, a walk still remains, retiring round this protruding part of the point, encircling the chapel and chapcl-yard, and forming, on the hither side of an old lime-tree, a noble terrace looking over the head of the " howm," to the mineral well near the Cc4 40S NEW-HALL HOUSE. hermitage at the bottom of the Squirrel's Haugh. Following, from the lime-tree, the verge of the wes- tern ravine on the south side of the chapel-garden, the walk crosses the upper end of it next the lawn with the obelisk upon it, and, from thence, winding upwards with the brink of the glen, having the lawn between and the Spital Hill on the right, it passes the rustic Hut, to the wooden bridge at Mary's Lin, seen in the representation of that water-fall. It, then, leads to the site of the Bower, where it terminates, and looks over the flat portion of the bank to " Hab- bie's" House, and " How," and to the prominence opposite to it. A flowering shrub, here and. there, dropt since, enriches its border as it proceeds, south- westward, all the way to the bower, which seems to have been built, and the walk formed to it from the castle, in the time of the Crichtounes. In the year 1646, the castle, and grounds of New Hall, firofier, belonged to Alexander Pennecuik, the representative of the Pennecuiks of that Ilk, or of Pennecuik, the adjacent estate, which, in the reign of Malcolm Canmore, if not before then, had been originally the property of his ancestors, and had gi- ven them the surname which was still retained. In his elegy, among his son's poems, " Upon the Death of Alexander Pennecuik of New Hall, sometime chirurgeon ,to General Bannicr in the Swedish wars, NEW-HALL HOUSE. 409 and since chirurgeon-general to the auxiliary Scots army in England,'* now reprinted in the Afifiendix, several particulars, with regard to him, are preserved. Among these, it is mentioned that he had passed the age of ninety when he died ; and that ** From old forbeirs much worth he did inherit, " A gentleman by birth, and more by merit." In the Life of Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, in the Scots Magazine for June 1802, it is observed, that, " an ancient family of the name of Pennecuik, one of which, a physician, and a poet of inferior merit, was proprietor of New Hall, in the year 1646, ap- pears to have been the first that gained a personal appellation, in the manner of the barons of the ninth and tenth centuries, from the spot of ground proper- ly so called. The time when the Pennecuiks of that Jlk were obliged to alienate their paternal estate is unknown." As his son, likewise, relates, in his " Description of Twceddale," after the purchase of New Hall, he acquired the estate of Romanno in Tweeddale, or Peebles-shire, a few miles south from it, on the other side of West Linton, by marrying the only child of the proprietor, a descendant of the Murrays of Philiphaugh, in Selkirkshire, where Montrose was defeated, into which family it had al- so come by marriage, from the original proprietors, the Romannos of that ///. 410 , NEW-HALL HOUSE. From him, New Hall, and likewise Romanno, de- scended to his son Alexander Pennecuik, M. D., au- thor of a volume published in the year 1715, con- taining " A Geographical, Historical Description of Tweeddale," which is commended for its accuracy, and is noticed by Archbishop Nicolson in his " Sco- tish Historical Library,'* as the joint work of him, and Mr Forbes 5 and a number of " Poems," chief- ly humorous. He was, besides, an able physician, an excellent botanist, and beloved as a friend, and pleasant, facetious companion. See his Life^ in the Scots Magazine, for 1806, and this year 1807. With him commenced the connection of New Hall, with the pastoral comedy of The Gentle Shefi-, herd. He is said, with much probability, as reported by the editor of " Ancient Scotish Poems," published in 1786, to have given Ramsay the filot of his dra- ma. His intimacy with Mr Forbes, and the other circumstantial proofs, in support of this tradition, have been enumerated in the Life of Ramsay prefix- ed to these illustrations of his scenary ; and they are farther strengthened, by Dr Pennecuik's descent, from the family of Philiphaugh where Montrose was surprised and defeated, and from whence he fled, by Traquair, to Peebles not far from Romannc- On NEW-HALL HOUSE. 411 examination, that of Ramsay's " Knight, Sir William Worthy," is, evidently, no other than the embellish- ed history of one of ** the most eminent of the gen- try," alluded to by Dr Pennecuik, in page seventh of his, and Mr Forbes*s Description of Tweeddale ; who had fought under Montrose at Philiphaugh, had accompanied him to Peebles, and from thence had fled with him to the continent ; communicated by this intelligent physician and poet, and, by the advice of their joint friend Mr Forbes, adopted and heightened by Ramsay as the basis of his fable. To suppose that the history of Sir William Purves of Fulford or New Woodhouselee, was in the contem- plation of Ramsay, who had no connection with him, or his family, or place, is contradicted by the poet himself; since it appears, that. Sir William Purves neither fought under " Montrose,'* nor did he go " abroad." This completely " unauthorised assertion," thrust into the edition 1800 of Ramsay's works, is equally unwarranted, and preposterous. But the tradition repeated by the editor of " Ancient Scotish Poems," 1786, that Dr Pennecuik gave him the filot, is both consistent with authenticated facts, and the fable itself. Act 2. Scene 1 . " Symon. Sccing's bcliuving Glaml ; an' I have seen '' Hab, that, abroad, has wi' our niastcr been ; 412 NEW-HALL HOUSE. ** Our brave good master, wha right wisely ^f^, ' An' left a fair estate to save his head : " Because, ye ken fu* weel, he bravely chose " To stand his Liege's friend wi' great Montrose.^'' It, likewise, exactly tallies with his own note, sub- joined to the first scene of the comedy in the quarto of 1728, in reference to Mr Forbes, and his distin- guished friends and " literati," who resorted to New Hall, in which he mentions, that, he had " carried the pastoral the length of five acts at the desire of some persons of distinction." The " unauthorised assertion" as to Sir William Purves, in the late edi- tion of his works, must either have arisen from a to- tal ignorance, as to the history of that respectable character; or, from a reprehensible inattention, to its irreconcileable discrepancy with that of " Sir William Worthy." Dr Pennecuik had two daughters, but no sons. In 1702, he gave the elder in marriage to Mr Oli- phant of Lanton, now Dalmahoy, advocate, on the other, north, side of the Pentland Hills, in Mid-Lo- thian ; and along with her the estate of New Hall. To Mr Farquharson of Kirktown of Boyne in A- berdeenshire, who had married the other, he left Romanno, now the property of Mr Kennedy. He had a younger brother, of the name of James, a liicmber of the Faciiltv of Advocates, to whom one NEW-HALL HOUSE. 413 of his " Poems," reprinted in the Jfijiendix^ is ad- dressed. He himself was born A. D. 1652 ; after a long, happy, and useful life, died A. D. 1722, at the age of seventy ; and was buried, with his father, in the church of Newlands. The plants, about New Hall, which he takes notice of in his and Mr Forbes's Description of Tweeddale, will be prefixed to the list annexed to this illustration. In 1703, before the timet)f the Union, which hap- pened on the 1st O. S. of May 1707, New Hall was purchased by Sir David Forbes, Knight, a member of the Faculty of Advocates, and a lawyer of eminence, from Mr Oliphant, the son-in-law of Dr Pennecuik, who re- sided at his other seat of Romanno, in its neighbour- hood. Sir David Forbes is said to have been knighted for his services, in promoting the Union. He was bro- ther to Duncan Forbes of Culloden ; and uncle to the celebrated Duncan Forbes of Culloden, afterwards Lord President of the Court of Session, whose sta- tue, in marble, is in the great hall of the Parliament House, and whose portrait is in the Advocates' Li- brary, under it. He married Catharine, sister to the first Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, and, by him, grandmother to Sir David Rae of Eskgrove, the late Lord Justice-Clerk; a second sister being married to Mr Aikman of Cairney, the painter's father; and a third to Mr Brown of Dolphington. 414 NEW-HALL HOUSE. Sir David Forbes was equally distinguished for his taste, as for his legal, and political knowledge. He pulled down the greatest part of the old decay- ed castle J and, leaving one of its principal towers, to the height of its second, arched, floor, he erected behind, and upon it, the present double house, with the two projecting wings, as it is represented in the preceding view. The remain of the tower, consti- tutes the front half of the ground floor ; and a long room, or gallery, occupied the whole space, from gable to gable, immediately over it. In those days, the superior style of its architecture, and finishings ; the tapestries, and pictures, with which its apart- ments were hung ; the height of its ceilings ; the large staircase, with the painting of Ganymede car- rying off by Jupiter's eagle, on its roof; and its long gallery, called the Great Room at New Hall, were much admired by the neighbouring gentry, and were the frequent topics of their conversations. From the outsides of the wings, walls were carried to a considerable distance in front, at the extremities of which were two pavilion-roofed pigeon houses, con- nected, across, by a handsome iron rail, with a gate, in the middle, ornamented on each side by the ap- propriate stone busts of Pan and Pastora, cut by an Italian, sent for, and employed, by the Duke of Ha- NEW-HALL HOUSE. 415 iTiilton. The last written of Dr Pennecuik's poems, composed in 1715, is entitled, " Pan and Past or a, to the Shepherds asleep ;' at the time that he and Mr Forbes were, jointly, en- gaged in publishing the Description of Tweeddale. On the north-east side of the court formed by the walls and rails, along the western edge of that ra- vine, extended, the stables and other offices, in the middle of which was the round tower over the vaults, a part of the former convent or castle, a portion of which still exists ; beyond the low trees behind the left, outstretched, hand of the figure, in the engra- ving. On the south-west side of the court, between the large tree, to the right, in the filate, and the nearest wing, was the chapel-yard, with its pond, and the broad grass walk and row of beeches, as mentioned by Mr Tytler in his letter, on this side of it ; the prison, and chapel, Hkewise noticed by him, at the other, south, corner, on the brink of the glen of the Esk which passes behind the house; and on the outside of this garden wall, to the south-west, the western ra- vine, running up from the head of the " howm," or Washing Green. The site of the wood beyond the large tree, was, then, occupied by the chapel garden ; and no trees were to be seen rising from the glen, be- tween and Symon's farmstead, behind the house, or in the eastern ravine, on the other side of the farther 416 NEW-HALL HOUSE. wing. At the bottom of the eastef ravine was the caster garden, the ruined wall of which, with some of its fruit-trees within it, is still standing. Of the same width with the space between the outsides of the pigeon houses, and from them, extended, in front, an avenue, up to the public road, about half a mile distant, pointing to that end of the wester hill, where, with, almost, an equal arch, and the same brightness of unbroken verdure, the, farther, easter hill of 'Spital, on the other side of the 'Spital House, passes behind it, and dips from the view. Part of the south-west side of this avenue appears behind the figure, in the filate. Where it begins, between the figure and the house, stood the nearest pavilion, with the chapel-yard on the right. At some distance from the pigeon houses, this was crossed, at right angles, by another avenue, stretch- ing north-east and south-west, many of the trees of which are also alive. Behind the house, as seen in the view, was a small level green, surrounded by a terrace walk, supported by a strong wall, from its connection with the old castle, called by the country people the Fortification ; the walk terminating, to the east, in an arbour, beneath which are some very old laburnums, bird-cherries, and elder, or bower-trees. The terrace looks over the Washing Green, and the valley of the Harbour Craig, to " Symon's House'* on the height, from which the round tower was in full NEW-HALL HOUSE. 417 view, up the eastern ravine. Tlie south-west gable of the house, with the little green spreading round it, points its windows, represented in the engraving, up the glen, to the prominence at the entrance into Habbie's How. The positions of the objects around the house in the time of Sir David Forbes, will be more fully understood by consulting the ?}iafi, which was copied from an old one, taken before many of them were removal. In ornamenting his house, and, according to the fashions of his time, giving it suitable appendages, Sir David Forbes was assisted by his eldest son John Forbes, Esq. advocate ; who inherited, with his fa- ther's literaiy talents, the same elegance of taste, and delight in its gratification. The bodily, as well as mental, powers of Mr Forbes, seem to have been al- so remarkable. It is related of him, that he once walked from Edinburgh to Glasgow, forty-four Eng- lish miles, and, after returning on foot the same day, danced at a ball in the evening. Several years before his father's death, he appears to have received from him the management of his affairs, and to have acted as landlord in the family. In his " Ode to Mr Forbes," Ramsay addresses him thus. " Be gratefu' to the guiding powers, " An' blythely spend your easy hours. Dd 418 NEW-HALL HOUSE. " O canny F ! tutor time, " An' live as lang's ye're in your prime ; " That ill-bred death has nae regard " To king, or cottar, or a laird ; " As soon a castle he'll attack, " As waus o' divots roof'd wi' thack." In his Glossary, the following is his own explana- tion of the word " canny." *' Kanny, or Canny, fortunate ; also, wary ; one who manages his af- fairs discreetly." In the Ode, it seems to be ap- plied in both senses. Sir David Forbes, and his son, were Hkewise aid- ed in their improvements, by their accomplished, and distinguished relatives, and guests. Duncan Forbes of Culloden, afterwards Lord President, was his own nephew ; Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, after- wards a Baron of Exchequer, was the nephew of his lady, as also his brother Mr William Clerk, advo- cate, the poetical correspondent of Dr Pennecuik : Mr Aikman the painter, the friend of Ramsay, Mal- let, and Thomson, was likewise the nephew of Lady Forbes. Their son Mr Forbes, was the associate of Dr Pennecuik in his " Description of Tweeddale ;" and the patron of Ramsay ; who was also patroni- zed by his cousins Duncan Forbes, Sir John Clerk, and Mr Aikman ; whilst Duncan Forbes, and Mr Aikman, were the chief supports of Thomson, the NEW-HALL HOUS'e. 419 excellent author of The Seasons. At this time, Ramsay was a frequent visitor at New Hall ; and, from the most unexceptionable testimony, it appears, every summer, often for six weeks together. It is not surprising, that, amidst such an assemblage of distinction, talent, and taste, he should court invita- tion by compliment, and be desirous of the opinions, advice, and assistance, of such company, in his pur- suit after literary fame. That Ramsay composed the Gentle Shepherd in particular, from its commencement, under the direc- tion and sanction of this society at New Hall, is con- firmed by the testimony of Mr Tytler, in his edition of King James's poems. " While I passed my in- fancy," says he, " at New Hall near Pcntland Hills, where the scenes of this pastoral jioem were laid, the seat of Mr Forbes, and the resort of many of the li- terati at that time, I well remember to have heard Ramsay recite as his own production different scenes of the Gentle Shepherd, and particularly the two first, before it was printed." " P. S. The above Note was shown to Sir James Clerk, and had his ap- probation." Sir James was the second son of Baron Sir John Clerk, nephew to Sir David Forbes. When Ramsay recited the '^ first'' scene " before it was printed," nmst have been in the year 1716, or 1717 ; as it was published, in a single sheet, about 1718. Dd 2 420 ftew-HALt HOUS^. Conformably to this account, of -his then resorting to New Hall, is the story, still handed about in the district, and related in the description of the " Craigy Bield^^ as to the circumstance, at one of Ramsay's visits, that occasioned his choice of " The wauking of the faulds," for the " tune'' of the " Sang 1.," by v^hich the dialogue is introduced. In 1715, the " Description of Tweeddale," by Dr Pennecuik and Mr Forbes, was printed ; so that its former proprietor must have been one " of many of the literati" mentioned in the above quotation. The tradition, that he gave Ramsay the p,lot of his comedy, which is repeated in the preface to Ancient Scotish Poems, accords with this : And Ramsay him- self, in consonance with all these coincidences, and with his being in the practice of reciting^ to these " literati,^' " particularly the two first before they were printed," besides other " different scenes" of the pastoral as he proceeded with it, acknowledges, in his note, subjoined to \S\q first scene, in his quarto of 1728, that, he had " carried the pastoral the length of five acts at the desire of some persons of distinction ;" evidently alluding to those distinguish- ed " literati^' to whom, as it advanced, he used to " recite''' it, at their place of " resort^' " where the scenes of this fiastoral fioem were laid.'* NEW-HALL HOUSE. 421 Ramsay was not remiss, in making a grateful re- turn for the attentions, advice, and assistance he re- ceived from Sir David Forbes, and his distinguished iiterary friends. Two of his poems, reprinted in the Afifiendix, are addressed to the illustrious, patriotic, and picjus Duncan Forbes. Another is written to Sir John Clerk. Mr Aikman is complimented with two more. Malloch, afterwards Mallet, has one as- signed to hnn ; and Gay is also kept his friend, by a poetical epistle . " frae edge o* Pentland height, " Where fawns and fairies tak deh'ght, " An' revel &' the live-lang night " O'er glens and braes." His regard for Mr Forbes, was published in his Ode to him, the same year, 1721, in which appeared his first quarto volume, containing the introductory scene of his comedy : And he lamented the death of Mrs Forbes, by an Elegy in 1728, the year in which his second quarto issued from the press, with the first scene reprinted as part of his drama, after, as he in- forms the reader in his note, he had " carried the pastoral the length of five acts at the desire of some persons of distinction.'* The last poem he published, was, " The Address of Allan Ramsay," " To the Honourable Duncan Dd3 422 NEW-HALL HOUSE* Forbes of Culloden, Lord President of the Session," &c. on the suppression of his playhouse in 1737. The refined taste of this distinguished lawyer, and judge, is conspicuous in his own writings ; in which^ the Christian, the scholar, and the gentleman are u- nited. In these, the just thoughts, clearly, ajid libe- rally conceived, are gracefully and eloquently ar- ranged, and correctly expressed, in easy, unaffected, rich, and musical language, in elegance, and melo- dy, far above the diction of his day in Scotland, and, if some of his periods were shortened, almost equal in purity, and beauty, to the style of his contempo- rary Addison, unrivalled, even in England, to this time. To Sir David Forbes, the oldest of the family with whom he was acquainted, and the proprietor of what may be called the birth-place and nursery of the pastoral, he acknowledged his obligations, it would seem, by complimenting his worth, aifabihty, taste, and manners, under the character of " Sir William Worthy," whose history, it is said, Dr Pcn- neculk furnished him with ; and by laying the sce- nary of it, at, and around his country seat. The following Is evidently a portrait, taken from .the life. NEW-HALl HOUSE. 423 Act 2. Scene 1. Glaud, and Symon. ^. ! , . ' i -.' .'',, . !' D I A L O G U E , {near the middle. ) " Sym. They that hag-rid us till our guts did grane, ** Like greedy bears, dare nae mair do't again, " An* good Sir William sail enjoy his ain. " Glaud. An' may he lang ; for never did he stent " Us in our thriving, wi' a racked rent ; *' Nor grumbl'd if ane grew rich ; or shor'd to raise " Our mailens, when we pat on Sunday's claise. " Sym. Nor wad he lang, wi' senseless saucy air, " Allow our lyart noddles to be bare. " Put on your bonnet, Symon ; tak a seat. *' How's a' at hame ? How's Elspa ? How does Kate ? *' How sells black cattle ? What gies woo this year ?" " An' sic-like kindly questions wad he spier. " Glaud. Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen * The nappy bottle ben, an' glasses clean ; " Whilk in our breast rais'd sic a blythesome flame, *' As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame." That this portrait was taken from Sir David Forbes, and was intended to give an acceptable representa- tion of his benevolence, condescension, mode of ad- dress, and hospitality, is ascertained from the addi- tion of his taste, and the enumeration of the indivi- dual objects, which owed their existence to him, and D d4 424 NEW-HALL HOUSE. by which his seat was distinguished. In the third act, Sir WilHam Worthy laments the ruinous condi- tion of the very particulars that most peculiarly cha- racterized, and marked out, the decorations, on which Sir David Forbes had bestowed so much time, atten- tion, and expence. The lime-tree near the chapel yard, and the avenues, in the plural number, are introduced into the prologue. Act 2. Scene 1. PROLOGUE, ** Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading //W, " An' tent a man whase beard seems bleach'd wi' time ; *' An elwand fills his hand, his habit mean ; " Nac doubt ye'Il think he has a pedlar been. " But whisht ! It is the Knight, in mascurad, *' That comes, hid in his cloud, to see his lad. " Observe how pleas'd the loyal sufF'rer moves *' Thro' his auld av''niicsf ance delightfu' groves." The offices, and pigeon-houses, and gardens, also in the plural number, in the vicinity of the lime-tree, and the avenues, are likewise inserted in " the Knight's** solitary exclamations, that follow, on ta- king a survey of the neglected objects around his mansion. NEW-HALL HOUSE. 425 Sir. William, solus. SOLILOQUY, (war the middle.) * My stables, and pavilions j broken walls, ** That with each rainy blast decaying falls : " My gardens, once adorn'd the most complete, " With all that nature, all that art makes sweet, &c. " But overgrown with nettles, docks, and briar, <* No jaccacinths or eglantines appear." In the same soliloquy, even the tapestries, which en- riched the sides of the principal rooms, are taken notice of, and " the Knight in mascurad" is made to feel regret at the sight, among the other dilapida- tions from his absence, of " The naked walls of tapestry all bereft." The characteristic form of the double house erected by Sir David Forbes, Knight, in contradistinction to a tower, is marked with the most legible industry, and care, by the frequent, intelligible, repetition of the word house, where tower would have been equal- ly, if not more musical, and suitable to the measure of the verse. In Act 5. Scene 3. Sir William Wor- thy says, " Masons and wrights my house shall soon repair j" and again, a little farther on, " Mause in my Jion';'' in c:\Imncss close your days :" 426 NEW-HALL HOUSE. In Act 3. Scene 4. he asks Symon, at the beginning of the dialogue, *' Sir Wil.^To whom belongs this house so much decay'd V* And, in the firologue, the mention of its gallery, or long room, at once, settles its figure, and points out the house alluded to. Act 3. Scene 4. PROLOGUE. " This scene presents the Knight, an' Sym, " Within a gaWry of the place," &c. The only Hne in which the word tower occurs in the comedy, is at the end of the second scene in this act, obviously, in reference to the round " ruined tower" over the vaults, at the head of the eastern ravine, which, before it was planted with trees, was in full view, up its hollow, from Symon's farmstead, about half a mile distant. The word " baron" is applied to " the Knight," in the prologue to Act 3. Scene 4. as the proprietor of a barony, not as a title, but merely from its suiting the verse, and is, according- ly, introduced nowhere else. On examining the filan, and the i-icw of New-Hall Hot/se, it will be ob- vious, that, before the wood in the ravine, and glen, on the other side, and behind it, was planted, the NEW-HALL HOUSE. 427 round " ruined tower," of which the base still ex- ists, over the vaults, north from the house, must have terminated the vista, up the ravine, from Sy- mon's farmstead, and attracted notice, agreeably to the use made of it, at the end of the dialogue, in Act 3. Scene 2. " Sym. Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat ** An' o' your best gar this auld stranger eat. Sir Will. Delay a while your hospitable care ; " I'd rather enjoy this evening calm an' fair, " Around ^on ruined tower, to fetch a walk Wi' you, kind friend, to have some private talk." From the vieiv, it is equally apparent, that, before the growth of the trees in the glen, which, now, conceal the lower part of it, the farmstead, seen past its south corner, must have been in full pro- spect, from the arbour, tcrrace-waik, level green, lime-tree, chapel yard, &c. about New-Hall House, in conformity to the conclusion of Sir William Wor- thy's soliloquy, which occupies the whole of the im- mediately preceding scene, in the same act, 3. Af- ter having surveyed the situation of his mansion and its appendages, and finished his reflections upon them; happening to cast his eyes towards Symon's farm- stead, he, at last, says to himself, in consonance with its real conspicuousncss from New-Hall House, 428 NJhV-HALL HOUSE. ** Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my way, " And see what makes yon gamboling to-day ; " AH on the green in a fair wanton ring, *' My youthful tenants gayly dance and sing. {Exit Sir William." The introduction of the objects about his house, so particularly, and exactly enumerated, was evident- ly a flattering return, for the countenance, approba- tion, and encouragement of the Knight, and his son Mr Forbes, without which, with that of their distin- guished friends, perhaps, this inimitable pastoral might never have been either begun, or " carried on ;" and if, as is presum'eable, the name " Worthy" was given to his " Knight,", in compliment to Sir David Forbes, " William " has, undoubtedly, been placed before it, merely from its being preferable ta any other Christian name, owing to the alliterative melody of its sound. Sir David Forbes died in 1725 j the same year in which his nephew, Duncan Forbes of Culloden, was appointed King's Advocate, who named his^ son Mr Forbes to be one of his deputes ; and in which the Gentle Shcjtherd, by itself, was first pub- lished complete, before it appeared in the quarto of 1728. NEW-HALL HOUSE. 429 After the death of his father, Mr Forbes added to liis improvements on the house, and place. He in- creased the number of paintings, and finished with tapestry, in a superior style, one of the principal bed-rooms, which still remains, the arras excepted, as he left it. Being the room in which Duncan Forbes used to sleep when Lord Advocate, it then got the name, by which it is yet distinguished, of The Advocate's Room. One of its windows, look- ing up the glen from the south-west gable, on the second floor of the house, appears in the engraving of it. Mr Tytler's apartment, pointed out by him- self, was in the middle of the garret story behind, and its windows, from the back pediment, face, over the Washing Green in the glen, toward Symon's farm- stead. Mr Forbes likewise multiplied the inclosures west, north, north-east, and eastward, between and the hills, and Monk's Burn ; defended them by an earthen mound, fronted with stone on the outside ; sheltered them with belts of planting, hedge-rows, and hedges ; and improved them by culture. They got the name of the Family Parks. The three on the outside, to the north-east, still keep the appella- tions he gave them, of the nether, and upper, Cum- berland Parks, and Meadow, in commemoration of the Duke of Cumberland's victory over Prince Charles Edward at Culloden, in 1746. Contiguous to the south side of the nether Cumberland Park, is- 430 NEW-HALL HOUSE. the President's Park, between and Pennecuik's j and to that of the upper, and below the meadow, is Ram- say's Park, on the south side of which is Forbes's. Between the Family Parks, and Monk's Burn, stood the old tower, designed, in the title-deeds of the estate, " the fortahce of Coaltown." Its site is, now, with- in a field called the Coaltown Tower Park, and is marked by the superior fertility of the spot. Below the nether Cumberland, the President's, and Penne- cuik's, on the other side of the eastern ravine, to- wards the Esk, lay, as it is yet named, the Green Brae Park. These ameliorations of Mr Forbes, are rendered important, by their giving birth, in this country, to one of the greatest improvements in agriculture ; and it is highly curious, and remarkable, to find this originating from the same quarter, in which the finest poem in the Scotish language was produced, where the allusions to the " peat-stack," and the " clear peat-ingle," are so conspicuous, and appro- priate. West from Xew-IIai.l House, about three hundred yards back from the stand where the draw- ing for the view was taken, is a small field, now planted, chiefly with spruce firs, and Scots pines. Its soil is fieat, in most places, of from three, to four, NEW-HALL HOUSE. 431 feet, in depth. It is, now, established, that potatoes raised in lazy-beds, are the great introductory means of improving Peat Moss ; a national object of so much consequence, and which, especially of late, has ex- cited so much attention, and public encouragement. In his most excellent Essay on Peat, in the second volume of the Transactions of the Highland Society, the Reverend Dr Walker gives the following account of the important, and successful introduction of this discovery, into Scotland. " Pla7its to be cultivated on a Peat Soil.''' " The fiotatoe forms one of the most useful, and profitable crops, that can be raised in pure peat- earth. Though this was long known in Ireland, the first trial of the kind in this country, so far as is known, was made in the year 1750, at New Hall in Mid-Lothian. The experiment was made on an in- closure of about four acres, consisting of such soft wet peat-soil, as to be incapable to bear a horse, and which had formerly been ploughed by men. Ha- ving Iain some years in grass, it was planted in lazy- beds with potatoes, and chiefly indeed with a design to have it more perfectly drained, by means of the trenches. The crop turned out so abundant, both in the size and the quantity of the roots, as to be a matter of surprise to all the neighbourhood. One 432 NEW-HALL HOUSE. gentleman on seeing the crop raised, who had a small estate, but of great extent in mossy land, be- came persuaded that it was more valuable, by a hun- dred a year, than what he supposed. Soon after that, the success of potatoes on a peat-soil came to be known and experienced in many parts of the country, and especially in the Highlands. It is a practice now established and followed by the most skilful cultivators of peat-moss, and it is certainly one of the most effectual means of reclaiming that infertile soil. Beside the profit of the crop, the trenches of the lazy-beds form the most useful drains : and the spade labour in the soft peat-earth, is comparatively very inconsiderable. But, though moss is capable of affording potatoes of the best qua- lity, yet, where there is a demand for the large coarse varieties of potatoe, improperly called yams, they are very eligible. They are plants of a more vigorous growth, both in the root and in the stem, and though inferior in quality, are sometimes more profitable than the finer sorts of potatoe." In another part of the Essajj, this polite and intelligent naturalist, writes thus. " The fittest crop to be taken at first upon a moss of this kind" (deep and that cannot be float- ed off by water) " and at the first moving of the surface, is certainly a crop of potatoes in lazy-beds." He, then, recommends laying lime on the surface, to be harrowed in with oats, after the ground is prepa- NEW-HALL HOUSE. 433 l-ed for them ; In every case, supposing the peat-bog to have been previously drained. It has, hkewise, been lately discovered at New Hall, that carrots, that most profitable crop, also grow luxuriantly on pure peat-earth, freed from water. After all that has been attempted, and written, on this important topic, no permanently profitable im- provements seem, yet, to have been made, where the peat cannot be floated off a rich bottom by water, as at Blair Drummond near Stirling ; unless the subsoil, to be incorporated with it, can be brought without much difficulty, within the reach of the plough, or, In fa- vourable situations for lime, and especially clay marie, within that of the spade by means of the lazy- bed culture as at New Hall. At the end of the A- gricultural Survey of Peeblesshire, published by subscription, a flattering account Is given, in compli- ment to its proprietor, to whom the book Is dedica- ted, of the attempts made at Whim, about four miles south-east from New Hall, to reclaim the dismal flow-mosses about it, twenty feet deep. It proves, , that, there, by means of drains, floods, lazy-bed po- tatoes, and lime, at last, a whole inch square of surface mould was obtained, from each pulverized, and re- duced square yard of peat ! This profitable, and precious return, being, thus, in many places, gained, the read- Ee 434 NEW-HALL HOUSfi. er is, in the end, however, poetically informed, thar^. still, about the house, the visitors* ears are " saluted with the wild notes of the plover, the curlew, the grouse, and other moss birds j" and, without being able to discover any other motive for writing the ac- count, but to discourage, and deter others from fol- lowing this example, he, finally, finds it confessed, that, " upon the whole, when the expence of cul- tivation is compared to the return of profit, it would appear that the cultivatiDn of fiow-moss in this coun- ty" (Tweeddale) " is an undertaking unsuitable to a farmer upon any length of lease ; unsuitable even to a proprietor, except with the indispensable view of hiding a nuisance in a policy *." * This strange Agricultural Survey is, most unexpectedly, swelled into a volume, by a motley, uncouth, hotch-pot, of deep- ly philosophical, juridical, critical, political, ecclesiastical, anti-ja- cobinical, cynical, chymical, and comical matter ; with many pro- foundly learned notes explaining the text, notes explanatory of these, again explained by foot-notes, all still farther explained, by numberless references, from one to another ; and the whole is elucidated, and enriched, with various improvements in spelling, and grammar, and with many new, and beautiful phrases and words, no where else to be found ; such as, " Enclosures yzrr se,'" * acclamations simple," " appels nominal," " passivities," " ma- nipulations," " moral excitements," ' unreasonings," " sava- gisms," with the history, and use, of " fmll-Ting^'' and " draiU' I'lng,''^ Sec. See, &c. NEW-HALL HOUSE. 435 Within these ten years, another improvement in agriculture, introduced by the present proprietor, on the important object of rotation^ has taken its rise at New Hall. By means of it, the point aimed at as the summit of excellence in agriculture, as in horti- culture which ought to be the farmer's guide, is, to render the ground, after being freed from superflu- ous moisture, in the highest degree clean, and firo^ ducthe ; so as to obtain the greatest and most pro- " Then mount the clerks, and in one lazy tone, " Through the long, heavy, tiresome page, draivl on." Pope. In a foot-note, yz. 331, to explain note D. explanatory of the text, and referring to note C, is given the following elegant, and co- mical story ; with which, as a specimen of the style, mode of rea- soning, and kind of humour, to be found in this curious composif it shall be dismissed, for the perusal of such subscribers as think they have got a good bargain, whose taste it suits. " A clergyman of myacquaintaiice obtained, through succession, some old houses at Edinburgh West-port; they were occupied as low bawdy-houses ; and he gave a liouse to a crook-backed barber, for collecting the other rents. It was not the intermediation of the barber tha!t made tlie other occupiers wliores ; it was their being whores that occasioned the intermediation of the barber, as tacksman of, or factor upon, the whole." Pray, could this intcrmediatory, " crook-backed," " bawdy- liouse," " barber ;" this shaver, and pimp, for in both capacities he must have been a blab, have been a descendant of Midas's fa mous barlicr, who, unable to keep the secret, whispered into a hole, tluit liis employer had the ears of an ass ? To use the word^ E e 2 436 NEW-HALL HOUSt. fitable returns, with the least possible expenditure, of ti7ne, labour, and manure : In other words, as far as it is practicable, to enable the soil, by means of the plants, and their succession, introduced into it, to re- cruit, mellow, clean, and manure itself. The 'New Hall rotation, with this view, is as follows. \st, oats, on one ploughing, or plit 22d year of his age. King Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, NEW-HALL HOUSE. 443 (engraved). The Duke of Marlborough, by Sir Godfrey Kneller John Earl of Stair, half length, with a dog, by tlie same. A half length, also the size of life,' of a young man in armour, with a white silk mantle and large wig, by Sir Peter Lely. Vandyck's portrait of Rich Earl of .Warwick, at Taymouth, copied by Milhr The Marquis of Mon- trose. General Monk. Old Van Tromp. Young Van Tromp. De Ruyter And Admiral Hein ; (these four were presented by a Dutch, to a British admiral, and were long in the family of the latter.) Lord Anson. Sir Charles Wager. Hugo Grotius. A whole length of Mr Windham, of Felbrigg in Norfolk, by Hogarth. President Forbes, by Ramsatj. Miss Janet Ramsay, by///^ satnCf her brother. Mrs Webb, ''by Sir Joshua Reynolds , (engraved.) Lord Kennet, by Martin. Mr Dunmore of Kelvinside and Ballindalloch, with a pointer dog, by Cochrane. The present proprietor of New Hall, in a lawyer's gown, by Raeburn A family picture, including the same, in a plaid, with a white dog, by Geddt's. Chaucer. Ben Jonson Otway, by Mary JBeal Pope, when fourteen years of age. Prior Allan Ramsay the poet, the original family picture, by Smihert. An old Lady, by Denner. A boy with a dog, by J. R. Hu- her. An elderly Gentleman, in a red Vandyck dress, in crayons, by Cotes. An old woman's head, by Rubens. A boy's head, with curly hair, by Vandych. A young Gentle- man in armour, with a white silk sash and long flowing hair, by Jamesoue, the Scots Vandyck A head, with a hat on, by the same. A girl's head, with a fur tippet round her r.eck, by Gavin Hamilton. R. Foulis, giving directions to a painter in his Academy in Glasgow College, by David Allafi. An old friar's head, with a white beard, taken in Italy, by ihe same. A blind man, of Edinburgh, led by a boy, by ihc same Crihee the taylor, dealer in old shoes, broker, w.-A picti;rc pimp, the son of an Aber- :;ccn app;:n;an, iioiilcally represented in the character cf a 444- NEW-HALL HOUSE. connoisseur criticising a picture, by Saxon The honest old Edinburgh Eggrnan, its companion, by the samcy &c. Historical Pictures, Battle Pieces, Conversations^ Animals, 8^c. The Day of Judgment, by Simon Vouet David present- ing to Saul the head of Goliah, by Carlo Maratti Moses and the Burning Bush, by Gerard Lairesse^ the Dutch Ra- phael. The consecration of the temple of Solomon, by P. Verhech Judith's head, by Giiido Reniy (in his first man- ner.) The Virgin and Child, with John the Baptist and his Mother, and a lamb in the middle of the picture, by Louis Boullongfie, the young. The Virgin and Child, by Ru- bens. The Circumcision, a sketcih on pannel, by the same. The Circumcision, from 2 picture of Bassan's in Italy, by John Moir ^The dead body of our Saviour in the lap of the Virgin, by Vandych^ (engraved by Lucas Vostennan.J Mary Magdalene, by Guidot (in his first manner.) The blind lead- ing the blind into a ditch, (a curious old picture.) Saint John explaining a text in the Scriptures to Saint Peter, by Michael Angela da Caravaggioy from the Vatican, where a copy of it is preserved in mosaic work. Saint Paul reading the Scriptures, by Rembrandt, in his smooth manner, (etched by himself.) The martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew, by Parmigiano The martyrdom of a bishop, &c, by Trevisani. An old priest, by Cornelius Bischoj) The royal hermit, by Spagnoletto. The royal hermit, by Gucrcino da Cento.* A hermit reading in a cave, before a crucifix and scull, by Jacob Mere, (a sketch.) A philosopher reading, by Z). Te- niers, the old A philosopher reading, v,-ith his hand on a scull, hyjohn Matsys The apotheosisof Prince Octavlus,or " the Angel and Child," by the Rev. William Peters, (engra- ved by Dickinson. J The inside of a Convent, by Egbert Hem* shrch, the old, (from the collection of Mr D. Daulby, of I^ivcrpool, author of the Jjifc of Rembrandt and the Cita- NEW-HALL HOUSE. 445 logue of his Works.) The Grecian daughter keeping her father alive by suckling him in prison, by Guercino. The Cane, or the Conspiracy discovered, a criminal trial, by Touiigi after Egbert Hemskerck, the old. A philosopher in his study, by Vatider Myn A miser, by the same, (engra- ved.) An old man playing on a guitar, and his wife listen- ing, by F. Jllieris, tlie old A physician's study and labora- tory, with a lady consulting him, and a patient getting a tooth drawn in' a back shop, by P. Verbeck A poultry-woman at her stand, by Mctzzu. A man drinking in a confection- er's shop, and the shop-man showing him a squirrel, by Godfrdd Cibalt. An old woman dressing a little girl's brui- sed forehead, by h\ Bol Boors feasting, drinking, smok- ing, and dancing to a fiddle, by Egbert Hefnskerck, the c/d. A fidler playing, and boors behind drinking and singing, by Ostadc. The inside of a cottage j two men smoking, a wo- man with a pitcher, and a little girl squatted at the wall be- hind, by the same. The sacking of a village, by D. Tejiiersy the oldy (engraved.) A man in a red cap with his foot on a stool, smoking, and an old man behind, by tJie same. An old fifer playing, by the same. The inside of an armory ; kettle drums, coats of mail, helmets, standards, cannons, &c, by the same. A mill grinding old men young, &c, by D. TefiicrSy the young. A man smoking before a fire of sticks, with a pitcher at his side, and an old man behind, by the same t (from the collection of Sir JosJrua Reynolds.) The sense of Smelling, or Rustick Cleanliness, by Amlretu Both, (engraved.) A fisherman dressing perches, by Brouiver Three boors and a woman drinking, with a man smoking before a fire, by the same An old man leaning over a cot- tage door, listening to some children singing and playing In concert, by the same A cobler, by the same. A rat-catch- er, by the same. The examination and chastisement of a school, within the vaults of a ruin, by R. Van Trcycn. The head of an old man, with a light beard, in a greenith bon- net, and reddish fur-cloak, by G, B. CustsgHonc ; of an old 446 NEW-HALL HO0S* woman, in a rufF, and greenish fur cloak, by the sanie.-^ Madness, a young woman chained in bedlam, by i2. K. Piiiey (engraved by Dickinson.) Idiotry, a young woman with a blanket about her in bedlam, by the same The shade of Agandecca appearing to Fingal in a dream, as described by Ossian in the fourth book of Fingal^ a moonlight, by Alexander Runciman. The three witches appearing to Macbeth and Banquo, by the same, from Shakespeare. Cadmus receiving instructions from Minerva, after having killed the dragon, about the raising other men, and the founding of Thebes, by the same, from Ovid. Yarico bringing presents to Inkle in her cave, from the Spectator, by G. Morland. Callimachus taking the hint for the capi- tal of the Corinthian pillar, by Angelica Kauffman A fe- male fortune-teller reading a servant girl's fortune from the inside of a tea-cup, by Hogarth. Jupiter visiting Antiope, with her two children asleep on the floor and her maid at her head, by the saine. Nymphs bathing, a shepherd, cow, and sheep, by Diderich A man with a flask in his arm drinking from a wine glass, by candle-light, by Sir John Medi7m. Venus chastising Cupid, hy the same. Diana and Endymion, by the same A servant girl reading a ballad by candle-light, by IVright of Derby. The musical family, by Jacques Jordacns^ (engraved.) An allegorical picture ; J!^~ neas landing in Italy, assisted by the Naiads of the Tiber, by Nicolo Poussin. Juno, Argus and Mercury, by Agostino Caracci. Venus descending to lament over Adonis, by Francesco Alhano. Glaucus and Scylla, by the same Pan and Syrinx, by Liica Giordano, (from t;;e collection of the late Duke of Cumberland.) Neptune and Amphitrite, by Ruhvis Venus, Adonis, and Cupids, in a beautiful land- scape, by Caspar Poussin. Venus and Cupids grieving over the dead body of Adonis, by Sir P. LcJy Perseus loosen- ing Andromeda from the rock, after having killed the sea monster, and left Pegasus to tlie care of the surrounding Cupids, by Cuylcnlurg A landscape, by the same, (comp;'.- NEW-HALL HOUSE. 447 Jiion to the former.) Flora in a chariot, attended by Cu- pid and Zephyrus, by Francis Boucher, the Anacreon of Painting/ Flora, with a lapful of fruit and flowers, admi- ring a festoon of flowers round a piece of architecture, with a garden and greenhouse behind, by Van Pas. ^The triumph of Silenus, mounted on his ass braying, attended by Satyrs, and preceded by Dryads, by Filippo Laura. Silenus, drink- ing from a cup held by a Satyr, by Jacob More, (a sketch, bought from his sister.) Pan teaching Apollo to play upon the pastoral pipe. Musicians at a table in a garden, with a lady and gentleman dancing a minuet, by Maihijs Neveu. A lady and gentleman dancing, and otjicrs seated and con- versing, in a garden, by Nickolas Lancret. A drawing, in red chalk, of Cupids pulling and gathering grapes ; from a book of Raphael's designs for the arabesque ornnments for the Vati- can, by David Allan ^ (got from his widow.) A sortie and battle under the walls of a fortified town, with a white horse en the fore ground struggling to get up and dis- engage himself from his rider who is killed, by Bourguigncn or Borgogncnc Four battle pieces, by J. G. Kuyp (a set.) A battle between the Christians, and Turks, by the same. A robbery, by the same. Travellers on horseback stopping at an alehouse door, by the same. Other two bat- tle pieces. The troops of Twceddale, and the Forest or Selkirkshire, convened by royal authority in May 1685, as described in Dr Ptnnccuik's Poems, oval, on the roof of the room called PennccuiFs Parlour, by Alexander Carse. Two Hawking pieces by T. Qiieesiirt Partridges, gun, flowers, &c. a garden scene, by ,/. B. Weejiinx, the old.- Hyp and Hye, two favourite pointers, gun, buzzard and game, by Lewis. Partridge, chafllnch, swallows, &c. by Ifilliam Ferguson. Goldfnjch, bulfinch, titmouse, 8:c. by the same. A hare caught by a wire, by Elmer. Several other pieces of game, and fish, by the same. A cocking spaniel, by Lc-re. Swans, herons, &c.by Roland Saver//. A calf in a cart and the cow following it, by Bourgeois 448 nw-hall house. A sow and pigs, by T. Hand. Head of an Egyptian as^, by Morland, Goats, a sheep, and a dog, by Philip Roos or Rosa of Tivoli, (one of his finished pictures.) Two dead drakes, a basket with eggs and vegetables, &c. by G. Smitzs. A little lion-dog, ink-bottle, pen, sealing wax, &c. on a table. A mouse and trap, goldfinches, canary birds, &c. (the companion to the former.) Several poultry pieces, &c. Landy Sea, and River Scenes ; Floxoer, and Fruit Pieces, 8^c. An old mill, rugged rocks, rapid stream, robbeif on horseback, shepherds, millers, &c. by Salvator Rosa^ with his initials, on close inspection, to be found on an upright stone on which a shepherd is leaning, in the middle of the picture The bay and city of Leghorn, with two ships entering the bay, a pillar and the celebrated statue in the port of Leghorn on the foreground, by the sajne. Among the figures, are introduced two of his Robbers, and some others etched by himself, (from the collection of D. Daulby, Esq. of Liverpool.) The inside of the port of Leghorn, with the statue and a number of figures, by B. CagHnri. A wild rocky scene, with a cascade, the Sybil's temple at Tivoli, shepherds, sheep, goat, and dog, hy Rosa ofTivoli. A thunder storm, cattle, figures, a horse getting up terrified after being knocked down, leaving his rider killed by the lightning, by Tcwvesta. View through a rock, by Martlrelli A high waterfall, in the style of Sal- vator l-losa, with shepherds sitting and lying on a bar.k un- der a group of trees tending cattle and sheep, byyf. Vander Cabel Shepherds driving cattle and sheep, amidst groups of trees, with a river, a ruined abbey, and a town, in the distance, by the same. VKiYxTp baptizing the Eunuch, in a landscape, by D. Tenjers^ the young ; one of his past::isy in imitation of Waterloo and Weeninx. Morning , a shepherd and shepherdess driving cattle over a still rivulet, whilst another shepherdess is pulling Ou" her stockings to NEW-HALL HOUSE. 449 join them, by Claude Lorraine, (etched by himself.) Even- ing ; a shepherd and shepherdess returning with cattle from pasture, the shepherd resting and playing on a pipe, with a group of trees hanging over the figures from a per- pendicular rock, beyond a cascade on the left, and on the right a river with a wooden bridge over it between and the distant hills, by the same, (etched by himself.) Two views with high architecture, and beggars, and thieves lousing themselves, limping, gambling, and skulking among, and about the ruins, by Pately the French Claude A strong gale i a passage through a wood, with a rivulet, and planks over it on which a woman is crossing v/ith a pitcher on her head, the figure copied from Raphael, and a dog lapping water, on the foreground ; a bay of the sea with a sloop sailing up it, and a castle on the shore, between and distant hills, in the evening : the landscape by JoJuiy and the figures by Andrew Both A land storm, and other two views, by Caspar Poussin. A calm scene on a broad. placid river ; two fishermen placing a net from a boat in the middle, a tower on the right, tyle-roofed houses beyond a man rowing a boat en the left, a wooded height supporting a ruined castle and backed by a high steep hill, with sloops, in the distance, by John Van Goi/en A Dutch canal and street, with a row of trees shading it, most laboriously finished, by G Toorenhurgh. A Dutch canal by moonlight, by Arnold Vander Neer. ' Cascade and town at Tivoli, with a man on horseback driving cattle on tiie foreground, by G. Bassan. Another view at Tivoli ; cattle, shepherd and dog, near the river, be- tween and a bridge of two arclies, with an old castle on a rocky wooded eminence beyond it, by the same (companion to the former ) A windmill, rustic figures, and distant prospect, by Brueghel. A large cluirch rising from water, with dressed figures on the foreground, by the same (com- panion to the former.) Architecture, with two figures conversing on a stair, a man seated fishing on the fore- groun.i, John the Baptist administering baptism in th Ff 450 'NEW-HALL HOUSl:^ middle, and a distant view of fishermen, &c. by the seini^, Inside of a wood with large trees, Hagar and Ishmael j- a very small picture in a great style, by 'Adrian Stalbemt Two landscapes, with low cascades ; a large tower in the pne, and a spruce- fir wood In the other ; by W. Van BemmeL A landscapcj by V. Willige Town on a rock, backed by two conic hills, by Adrian Van Diest. ^^Fwo cows, men con- versing on a height, on the foreground, between and a piece of water, with a group of trees on the left, hythe same. A ri- ver bending round a bold wooded prominence at sunset, af- ter Van Neist, by WiUiam Cochrane of' Glasgow. A man drawing a net on the foreground, a cascade, wooden bridge, a castle on a hill seen over them, and the view of a rich country on the right, by F. Groost Two views in Venice, by Canaletti. Two upright landscapes, by Rathbofie. The moon behind a tower ; a house on fire at night ; (com- panion to the former) , and a small landscape ; by Pether. Portrait of London Bridge, by Marlow. A winter scene on a river, with eel-catchers on the foreground, by De Koning. A sea-piece in a gale, with sailoi^s rowing a lady and gentleman in a boat on the foreground, (companion to the former), hy the same^ in 1800. Two upright landscnpcs with figures, by Sir John M^edina. A moonlight, with a low cascade, by De la Cour. Two views, by J. Norrie, one of them dated 1731. An old tree hung with ivy on the fore- ground, a cave on the right, a white modern mansion with a town under a shower of rain beyond it, without figures, hy Ja- cob More, the Scots Claude. A sea-port, witli a higli tower on the foreground, by the same A land storm, with figures s'^''ugg^''"g against it, a portraitof the amphitheatre of Vero- na, of the temple of Concord, and of the temple of Vesta. Landscapes, by Paid Sandbt/, Barret, Callander. A woman entering a cavern, by Morland View on the North Esk above Roslin by Cheap Cooper Habbie's How at New Hall, by Alex. Nasmyth ; and James Stevenson, ^c. A sea- piece in a calm ; a man of war firing a gun, a sloop aground, a NEW-HALL HOUSE. 451 woman selling fish, and a man giving orders from the end of a pier on the left, by W. Fandervelde, the young. Sloops, large ship in the distance, in a calm, with a tower near the fore- ground on the right, by thesanie^ and Van Goyejt, A calm; a large ship in the middle, two sloops close together on the right, and two men on the foreground, by P. Monamy.^^ Sloops in a calm, with a rocky point running into the sea, by Anderson. A sloop in a calm, with boats lying on the beach, by the same (companion to the former) Ships, gal- leys, and a fortified sea-port town, in black and white, on pannel, by Gibovmeester A storm, with a galley founder- ing at sea, by Backhuysen A tempest ; the wreck of a ship driving among breakers, on a beach between rocks, and two sailors carrying out a corpse, near a third with a man in a faint on his back ; trees, rent, broken, and sticking out from the precipice on the right, amidst crags and bushes, bending from the wind, under a ruined abbey ; and, at some distance, a lanterned light-house towering on the summit of a promontory, above the spray, rising around the shattereti sliip, in the middle of the picture, by Rich-' ard WiLscn, the English Claude. Three sailors drawing a boat ashore, near steep rocks, in a storm, by Morland, A sloop wrecked on a bold coast, and a boat with sailors having a drowned corpse on board on the fore- ground, by A. Carse. A variety of flower, and fruit pieces, by J. D. de Heein, J. Baptist Monnoi/er, Rachel Ruischt and others ; which are not particularised, from the appre- hension, that in the opinion of many, although nwmbers have been already omitted, tiic preceding catalogue may still seem too much extended. To readers of taste, and amateurs in the elegant art to which it relates, even the imperfect, and curtailed information it contains, may, how- ever, he deemed both useful, and agreeable. y f 2 452 NEW-HALL HOUSE. In describing the house of New Hall in reference to the Gentle Shep-herd, it may be thought not un- suiting to endeavour to restore that connection which Sir David and Mr Forbes maintained within it, be- tween the sister arts of poetry, and painting : In il- lustrating Ramsay's scenary, by pictures, and expla- nations ; it appears natural to associate his imita- tions from the objects around the mansion, with the more direct imitations under its roof: And the pre- ceding partial enumeration may, perhaps, not be un- welcome to such as can relish paintings, as well as poetry, and think that the former are produced to be known, and seen, as well as the latter to be publish- ed, and read, or money to be circulated. A mind regardless of what its organs present to it ; and in- sensible to the charms of disposition, harmony, ef- fect, elegance, expression, colouring, richness, ten- derness, and, above all, of nature, and truth, in the representation of the objects themselves, by the pen- cil ; must be blind to the beauties of the same less obvious properties, in the descriptions of them, by the pen. Whatever it may affect ; from the want of images previously collected, and combined, from nature, and the exhibition of selected nature in paint- ings, to which it can hiive recourse for application ; it can neither sec, nor feel, the excellencies of a de- scription. The allusions are not understood, feebly perceived, misunderstood, and lost ; there is no- NEW-HALL HOUSE. 453 ching to work upon, lay hold of, or recall. Such images as can be forced into recollection, must be sha- dowy, weak, and confused ; corresponding to the bluntness of the former impressions to be acted up- on. So unprepared, and dull a spirit, can receive but a small portion of pleasure from the most exqui- site piece of poetic painting, that ever was selected, and borrowed from nature ; compared with one alive to her effects, with a taste improved by attend- ing to the judicious choice and display of these by the pencil, and with a treasure of images thus col- lected, and stored up, in the memory, for subsequent use, and appHcation, from which its proprietor may receive delight, and to which others may have re- course, through the medium of sympathy, from the security of finding something to impress, and agitate. The obligations, between painting, and poetry, are important, and reciprocal : Their connection seems to be so intimate, that a taste for the one, is requi- site, for the full comprehension and enjoyment of the other's beauties ; and it can hardly exist in purity, and perfection, without a passion for both. Allan Ramsay the poet, and writer of songs, was the father pf Allan Ramsay the painter. Ff3 454 NEW-HALL HOUSE. Plants taken notice of in the neighbourliood of New Hall, and the North Esk, by Dr Pennecuik ; and mentioned in his, and Mr Forbes's, Description of the Shire of Tnveeddale. Chamamorui Rubus fAaw^fworttj Mountain bramble ; cloud- berry ; or knout-berry. Grows on the top, of Fairlyhope Hill above Carlops Bridge. Also on the summit of Carlops Hill. Chamarubus Rubus saxatilis Stone bramble. Rubus idteuSf fructu rubra Rubus idteus Rasp-berry. Digitalis, flore albo Ti\g\t'a\h purpttrea, fl. albo Fox glove. Pedicularisy fiore albo Pedicularis syhatica, fl. pallido Wood lousevvOrt. Trachelium maJuSfbelgarum CvLTnpanviiatrachelium Greater nettle-r leaved bell-flower. Lonchitis minor Blechnum boreale Rough spleen-wort. These six groiu on the banhs of the Esk, between Carlops Bridge, and New-Hall House. Virga aurea Solidago virga-aurea Golden rod, or wound-wort. Grows on the woody rocks of the point from the Harlazu Muir on which Simon's House stands, opposite to Monk's Haugh. Filicula monlana, florida, perelegans ; seu Adianihum album, flori- dum, Raii Ptcris crispa Stone fern. Grows near Gla.ud''s Onsljad, at the foot of Monk's Burn. Plants found about New-Hall House, in 1S06, last year. Artemisia vulgaris, Miigwort. Grows near the house, Chasrophyllum sj/lvestre, Wild chervil. Ditto. (3) Scandix odorala, Sweet cicelv. or myrrh. Ditto, NEW-HALL HOUSE. 455 TTie foUoiving grow in the Green Brae Park, lying on the east side of the present garden, between and MonPs Burn. The soil is a light y gravelly loam ; and it has been about sixty years in paslurf previous to this 12th March 1807. Trifolium medium, Euphrasia ojidnalis, Linum catharticum, (3) Gentiana campestrisy (2) Satyrium viride, Agrimonia eupatoria. Digitalis purpurea. Teucrium scorodonia, Carex binervisp Salix aquatica. Zigzag trefoil. Eye-bright. * Purging flax. Field gentian. Frog satyrion. Agrimony. Among whins, See, Fox glove. Ditto. Wood sage. Ditto. Green-ribbed carex. Ditto. Water sallow. Fcry Hie Salix aurita ; but different from it. Ditto, Polygala vulgaris, Blechnum boreale, AXrdi flexuosa, Stellaria graminea, Scabiosa succisa, (3) Rub us idaus, Juncus articulatus, Aira caspitosa. Milk wort. Among whins. Sec. Rough spleen wort. Ditto. Waved mountain hair-grass. Do. Lesser stitch wort. Ditto. Devil's-bit scabious. Ditta. Rasp-berry. Ditto. Jointed rush. Turfy hair-grass, &c. For an instance of the uncommon fattening quali*. ty of the pasture on this field, see Stat. Ace. of Scot- lajid,, vol. xvii. Afifiendix. Other plants behind the house, and elsewhere, are particularised, in the se- veral lists at the ends of the other descriptions. Ff4 4:56 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. THE SPITAL OF NEW~IIALL. Northward " hence. " On the slow rising of a fertile hill, " A virtuous" chief " of honourable race, ** Hath founded and endow'd a hallow'd mansion " To pure devotion's purposes assign'd. ** No sound disturbs the quiet of the place, ** Save of the bleating flocks and lowing herds, " And the sweet murmurs of the trilling stream, *' That flows sweet-winding thro' the vale beneath ; " No objects intercept the gazer's eye, *' But the neat cots of neighb'ring villagers, *' Whose lowly roofs afford a pleasing scene " Of modest resignation and content. *' There piety, enamour'd of the spot, " Resides ; there she inspires her holy fervour^ ** Mild, not austere ; such piety, as looks " With soft compassion upon human frailty, " And sooths the pilgrim-sinner to embrace *' Repentant peace beneath her holy roof"' Henry II. ; or The Fall of Rosamond' X HE prefixed view is taken from the south-west, opposite to the front of New-Hall House, in the hol- low between the ridge called Bellcant and the bot- tom of the wester 'Spital Hill. The wester, on this side of the Hospital, and the easter hill, beyond it. THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 457 ascend on the left of the point from whence the drawing was taken; and the 'Spital House looks to the right, south-eastward, having its back to the concavity above it where the hills meet ; the 'Spital Burn, produced, and fed by them, running in a small, but rapid and sparkling stream past its eastern gable. To the right of the stand is New-Hall House, on the Esk, at some distance below the public road : Behind the station, below Bellcant likewise, is the New House at the upper side of the highway : And about half a mile beyond this Inn, on its eminence, south-westward, elevated above the turnpike, look- ing over it, the Wood Brae, and the Esk, to the Girt Hill, is the farmstead of Patie's Hill, between and the Carlops village, hills, and lands. The Esk, the name of which is derived from the Gaelic word uisge, or, which approaches nearer it, ease, both signifying wafer, rises on the other side of the wester *Spital Hill, at a place called Esk Head, near the bottom of the eastern declivity of the Har- per Rig or easter Cairn Hill. When a stream first is- sues from its fountain-head, or spring-well, in the low lands where the Scoto-Saxon language is spoken, it is called a wcll-stratid ; when it has run so long as to produce an acclivity on each side, a sykc ; lower down a burn, adopted from the Gaelic ; then a ivatcr ; if the distance from the sea is sufficient to enable it 458 THE '3PITAL OF NEW-HALL, to attain that size from the contributions of well- strands, sykes, burns, and waters ; next a river; and, finally, it frequently spreads itself into an estuary or frith, gradually incorporating with, and widening in- to the sea, where its mouth opens not directly into it. The words syke and rill, and burn and rivulet or brook, are synonima ; but the term water, thus applied, is much wanted in the Anglo-Saxon, as there is no word south of the Tweed, to express that size of a stream, so very common, between a rivulet and a river^ The stream at Glencross between and Edinburgh, at the middle of its length, is of this sizej and is invariably called the water of Glencross, or, farther up, Logan water, from Logan estate, and man- sion, on its banks, to which it belongs. The North EsJc, says Dr Pennecuik, in his and Mr Forbes's Descrifition of Tweeddale, " hath its rise, as is commonly thought, at a place called the Boar Stone ; but rather, being the farthest course, from the easter Cairn Hill, and marcheth Tweeddale and Lothian nearly four miles." The first object he notices upon it, is " an house called Esk Head, near the top of a black, but barren mountain," Harper Rig, or easter Cairn Hill, " with a park and a sort of a little garden, with a stone and lime dike built with- in these few years," previous to 1715, " by the de- ceased Mr William Thomson, writer to the Signet j a THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 459 wild and remarkable habitation, hard to come by, black and barren, in view of the mansion of no other mortal." About a mile down, on the east side of the stream, in Mid Lothian, are the ruins of the back I *Spital of New Hall. " A mile and a half below this place," Esk Head, " is Fairlyhofie, an old hunting house, belonging to the ancient family of Br aid ^"^ near Edinburgh. Braid was long the seat of a fami- ly of the name of Brown. Among the Scots Acts William and Mary, the " Act for raising a Sufifily offered to their Majesties June 7. 1690," appoints Andrew Brown of Braid to be one of the commis- sioners " for the shire of Edinburgh.'''' Fairly- hope, as may be seen from the prefixed mafi^ is in Peebles-shire. " Half a mile under Fairlyhope," adds Dr Pennecuik, " is the Carlofi Bridge, upon the high Biggar road, marching Lothian and Tweed- dale. Then Carlojis itself," &c. Descrifi. of the Shire of Tweeddale, fi. 9. Between the Carlofis Bridge, and the station from whence the preceding view was taken, appears the farmstead of Patie's Hill, near the point of a ridge issuing eastward from the hill. In the year 1 80 1 , on digging for a foundation to, and levelling the floor of the present new dwelling-house to this larmery, four Hags with a cover were laid open, 460 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. inclosing an urn, of coarse glazed yellowish-brown earthen ware, with two ears to lift it by, having the rude representation of a man's face on each of them. The urn contained ashes ; and near it were found two iron spurs of an uncommon form, almost con- sumed by rust. In the garden, afterwards, was disr. covered another tomb of five flags, without any urn, or any remains of bones. Adjacent to the farmstead and garden, were the foundations of some old houses, on the point of the rocky elevated ridge, of which no account remains. One of the ornamented handles of the urn, with the fragments of the two spurs, are preserved in New-Hall House ; but no tradition whatever exists concerning the manner in which they came there. The tombs, and spurs, were, evidently, but a few relics of those antiquities which had cover- ed the eminence, and had been demoHshed, or re- moved, or applied towards the erection of the houses, when they were built, of which the foundations re^ mained in the year 1801. It may not be altogether uninteresting, to throw out some observations with regard to the probable origin, and history, of these unexpected relics. , "Whether the Britons came, to the southern parts of our island, from Gaul ; the Scots, through Ire-^ land, to the western districts of Caledonia, from THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 461 Spain J or the Picts to the northern, and eastern di- visions of it, through Norway, from Dacia, the country of the Goths, on the Euxine, the Dniester, and the Danube ; is of Httle moment : since the Runic, Teutonic, or Gothic, and other Germans, as well as the Celts, and more southern tribes of Gaul including Spain, all sprang from the same Scythian savage people, instigated or allured from their de- sarts, forming the north of Europe, to emigrate south or west, as occurrences and motives directed their choice, and carrying along with them, in the resemblances of their languages and manners, suffi- cient evidences of their common origin. Although it is admitted that the Picts, from Scan* dinavia, after landing in Caithness, fixing their capi- tal near Invcrncf^s, and then at Abernethy, spread to the Humber in England ; where proofs to the con- trary are defective, the natural supposition is, that Great Britain, and through it Ireland, were, at first, peopled from the nearest land on the continent, and were, of course, indebted to Gaul for inhabitants. The uniformity of customs, and usages, common to the Britons to the south, and the Caledonians, com- prehending the Scots, on the west, and the Picts on the east, to the nonh of the forts of Agric(;I i, fol- lowed by the Vv-all of Antorilpus, between the rivers Forth and Clyde, shows their joint descent j and, as 462 THE *SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. to these, in nothing more obviously than in the dis* posal of their dead. In this particular, they all agreed. Notwithstanding of their numbers, indiscriminately, every where existing ; and that so many of them have been dissected ; the most microscopic antiqua- rian, unassisted by historic or traditional facts, is, yet, unable with certainty to decide, merely from the materials or structure of the fabric, whether it was a Briton, a Scot, a Pict, or even a Dane, that has been entombed under any of those striking, though rude, monumental mounts, of earth, and sepulchral cairns of stone, which have been violated to gratify curio- sity, after having, in many instances, been raised, with much labour, by the united efforts of a multi- tude of hands. From Csesar, and Tacitus, we learn, that, both the Gauls, and the Germans, burned their dead : the former, with a degree of pomp, in proportion to their means, equal to that still practised in the east ; every thing that was dear to the deceased, of- ten even to his slaves and followers, being sacrificed at the funeral pyre, and consumed with the body : The latter, with few ceremonies, only, that, of some, the corpses were burned with a particular kind of wood, and that all had their arms, and at times a horse thrown Into the blazing pile with their remains. Agreeably to these facts, among those numberless THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 463 tumuli, and cairns, scattered over every part of Scot- land, it appears, from its Statistical History, that those which have been opened, whether in its south- ern, western, eastern, or northern parishes, . contain proofs of its having been, in common, the practice of the Britons, Scots, and Picts, likewise, to burn their dead, and to deposite whatever was most prized by them whilst in life, especially their arms, along with their relics. Among the ancient, Celto-Gallic, Scots, we find, from the poems of Ossian, that it was the custom to bury the favourite dog near his master. If they can be at all relied on as evidences of facts, there, the practice of burning, seems to have given way to the present mode of interring the dead, before the days of that celebrated bard. " By the dark-rolling waves of Lego they raised the hero's tomb. Luath, at a distance, Hes. The song of bards rose over the dead." T/ie Death of CiithuUln. By adhering, as much as possible, to general sen- timents, the most guarded caution Is observed, throughout these poems, in scarcely ever touching on religion, and manners. Here, however, unfortu- nately, the cloven foot Is visible. For several centu- ries after the arrival of Odin from the Caspian shore. 464 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL; who lived in the, time of Pompey, the Gothic na- tions, and his worshippers in general, as introduced by him, raised funeral piles and reduced the dead bodies to ashes, which were collected into an urn, and deposited under a little mount of earth. This was called the j^ge of Fire ; and was the era in which Ossian and his heroes lived. It was not till long af- ter this that the first practice returned, of merely laying the dead body, together with the arms, &c. under a heap of earth and stones, called the Age of Hills. See Mallet's Northern Antiquities. This custom of burning their dead, the Germans and Gauls had from the east, in common with the Greeks and Romans. It was introduced by Odin. Independent of the intercourse of the descendants of the Gauls, and Germans, the Britons, and Caledo- nians, with the Romans, they seem, from the same quarter, to have adopted their mode of collecting the ashes into an urn, which they surrounded with a chest of flags, to defend it from the pressure of the earth, or stones, forming the tumulus or cairn, within which it was to be inclosed. This accession of the Reman practice to their own, though, here, they had no oc- casion to adopt any new custom, farther coincides with the remark made by Mr Gibbon, that, " the east was less docile than the west to the voice of its victorious preceptors. This obvious dilfercnce," says THE *SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 465 he, " marked the two portions of the empire with a distinction of colours, which, though it was in some degree concealed during the meridian splendour of prosperity, became gradually more visible, as the shades of night descended upon the Roman world. The western countries were civilized by the same hands which subdued them." Vol. i. C. 2. This, also, accounts for the discovery of urns, in situations where the ashes contained in them seem, from other circumstances, not to have been those of Romans, but either of Britons or Caledonians ; independent of the tumulus, or cairn, with which, in imitation of the natives, those strangers appear, frequently, to have protected the remains of their countrymen. The sepulchral cairns may have been used in rear- ing the structures, of which the foundations were left, at the eastern extremity of the ridge of Patie^s Hill ; but, it is not likely that any were ever collect- ed over the empty case of flags, or that containing the urn, dug up where the present farmstead stands ; as they were buried in the solid earth, and, from the spurs found in their neighbourhood, seem rather to have been inhumed there by the Romans, than by the Britons or Picts. The foundations were those of a former steading, built some centuries back, of which the tradition is lost. A little way below it, between and the Esk, were the remains of a kihi for Gg 466 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. drying corn, when querns, or hand-mills, for grind- ing it were used. The houses, and tillage connect- ed with them, necessarily levelled,^ and obliterated all vestiges of any entrenchments, or military works ; but, many additional reasons tefid to show that this was once the site of a Roman staticn^ or redoubt. It occupies a place in that division of the island inhabited by the Meatse or Mid-landers, a British or Celtic race according to some, and, by others, said to be a Pictish tribe ; but, probably, a mixture of both. Of course, it lies between the forts of Agri- eola, in the track of the wall afterwards built by LoUius Urbicus in the reign of Antoninus Pius, now called Graham's Dike from a native of that name having crossed it, and the Picts wall of Hadrian ; and it is not far distant from the former. It is only a few miles from the great Roman road on the west, called, from Vitellianus its superintendant, Watling Street, as it passes near Carstairs, at Castledykes, and then Carluke, on its way from Lugballum or Carlisle, to the pretenture of Antoninus at Caer- muirs, near Camelon, and from thence to Stirling. On the east, at a yet shorter distance, was the station at Mavisbank, near Laswade, where the Romans passed the North Esk, in marching from the south to Cramond, (Cacr Almond, the Camp on the Al- mond,) which is but a little way farther from it on THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 467 the north. It is still nearer the Roman camp on the Lyne, to the south : and, to the east of south, not two miles distant, is what Gordon, in his " Itinera- rium Septentrionale,'* calls a Roman Camp, on the farm of Upper Whitefield, between New Hall and Romanno. Opposite to it, on the south-east, rises an eminence from the brink of the Esk, forming that bank of the stream, and the site of Ramsay's Tower, called the Girt Hill ; near the summit of which, to the north, several terraces are still visible. On the south side of Girt Hill is the farmstead of Roger's Rig ; with the round eminence and its terraces, be- tween it, and Patie's Hill, that looks down upon the Wood Brae and the turnpike road, over the Esk, north'Westward. Immediately adjoining to Patic^s Hill, on the south- west, south, and south-east, bounded by the Esk, are the lands and hill of Carlo fu ; which, like Carlisle, Carstairs, Carluke, Carmuirs, and Caralmond or Cramond, from their vicinity to other Roman works, seem to have been indebted to it for their name, pre- vious to the later and popular derivation of the word, adopted by Ramsay, as best suited to the stoiy, and scenary of his comedy. It is in allusion to this learn- ed origin of the name, that Dr Walker, in the Sta- tistical Account of the parish of Glencross, spells it " CacrlipSj" instead of Carlops, as is commonly done. Cg2 468 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. Nimmo, In his History of Stirlingshire, observes, that, " The ancient Britons usually distinguished the places where Roman camps had been by the name of Caer, that word signifying in their language, a forti- fied place or castle ; so a village and some farm houses in this neighbourhood," of Camelon near Falkirk, " still go by the name of Caermuirs. Those places which have the word Car, or Caer affixed to their names, are generally in the neighbourhood of Roman camps, or some other work of that people. Few of them are found northward of the wall of An- toninus, the boundaryof the Roman dominion; where- as, south of it, they are frequent, as Carlisle, Caerlave- rock, Carnwath, Carstairs, &c. all of which are situa- ted near a Roman camp, or causeway, or wall, or the vestiges of some other Roman work." This deriva- tion of the word Car or Caer in the language of the ancient Britons, from the military operations about the place, is likewise supported by the Gaelic, in which the term Dun is nearly synonymous to Caer. The latter signifies a castle or fortified place ; Dun means in the Gaelic a castle, a fortified hill, a fort, fastness, strength ; and from the middle of the Car- lops Dean rises Dun-Kaim. Caime is the Gaelic word for crookedness, and seems to express the great- er irregularity of its shape, compared with the two cones, at its extremities, named the Little Turnip, and the Peaked Craig. THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 469 Patie's Hill is on the south side of the wall of Antoninus, not far from it ; and is only parted by the Esk from the hill and lands of Carlops, on which are the Girt Hill, and Dun-Kaim. It is, likewise, well adapted for one of the Roman castra stativa,with a cas- tellum, an exploratory camp, or fort of observation, on the extremity of its ridge. The hill to the north- west, west, south-west, south, and south-east, behind, and in front, with the Esk in all these directions washing its base, is precipitous and inaccessible : It has a high, dry, south exposure, well supplied with water : On the east likewise the ridge is steep, over- looking a small rapid rocky stream : And it com- piands a view of all the valley of Mid-Lothian and the Esk, at the head of which it rises, including the station near Laswade, down to the Frith of the Forth eastward ; the camps at Whitefield, and Romanno, with the course of the Lyne, southwards, to the neighbourhood of the Roman camp there ; and the hill of Tinto, beyond the great Roman road and the river Clyde, with its large druidical cairn on its sum- mit, terminating the vista through the Carlops Dean to the south-west. These circumstances seem sufficiently to account for the discovery of the urns, &c. on this eminence, from its having been once the site of a Roman station. It is now occupied by the farmstead of Patie's Hill , G g 3 470 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. round which the crook, and the plough, are substi- tuted for the spear, and the sword, and ** Jam seges est, ubi Troja fuit." The wester Spltal Hill, ascending on the left from the point whence the preceding view was taken, is the most verdant, smooth, and beautiful, of all the Pentland range. Near the bottom of this hill, be- hind, are the foundations of some buildings, marked in the tnafi, called in old writings the Back 'Sfiital, seemingly, once, accommodations for travellers pass- ing north, or south, by that side of the hills. Above them, at the influx of the Doit Burn ; between and Esk-head, the Harper Rig, and the Boar Stane com- manding the whole track of the Forth from Inch Keith upwards ; is a small valley with some little green mounts rising out of it. From this valley, the Esk, skirting the base of the hill all the way, hurries on between and Fairlyhope, to the Carlops Bridge. East from the stand, at the north-east end of Bellcant, on the right, a part of which is seen in the 'view, is the farmstead of Friartown, North-north-eastward, embosomed, and almost hid frorri this side by a beautiful and venerable group of old ash and plane trees, looking across and down the valley of Mid-Lothian and the Esk, on the hither edge of its burn descending from between its hills, is snug- THE 'spitAl of new-hall, 471 ly and comfortably seated the Fore 'Spital House, with the ring of trees sheltering its walled-in garden and buildings, as it appears in the engraving. The back of the Hospital itself, appears past the upper end of the group of trees encircling its garden in the middle of the filate. The hospital was reduced and mo- dernized about sixty years ago ; but, one of its of- fices is still covered with an arched stone roof, and has all the marks of great antiquity. The offices seen through the trees defend the farther side of its garden ; and, on the left, swelling from the burn beyond it, rises with a steep acclivity skreening it from the north, the protrusion from its easter hill called the nether Dod Rig, with the stell on its sum- mit, as it is represented in the view, between and the source of the Monks' Burn, Below the 'Spital, and at the foot of the Dod Rig, in the angle between the *Spital and the Monks* Burn, which latter stream bounds the easter hill on the east, lies a fertile piece of ground, pointed out in tlie niaji, called the Glebe Croft. It is hid in the jilate by the foreground on the right. From the other side of the Monks' Burn, opposite to it, rises the Monks' Rig, the highest part of which appears in the engraving beyond the Dod Rig, over the lower extre- mity of the principal gr(5up of trees. At the farther baseof the Dod Rig, is the "rocky dingle," mentioned Gg4 472 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. in the description of the Monks' Burn, from which, upwards, to its source, the burn separates the easter 'Spital Hill from the Monks' Rig ; and, downwards, ripples along to its waterfall immediately above the influx of the 'Spital Burn near the turnpike gate on the highway from Edinburgh to the Carlops, on the east side of St Robert's Croft, about a mile above the " Lins of Monks' Burn," and its confluence with the Esk, at the Monks' Haugh. Along the east side of the summit of the Monks' Rig, seen in the view, ascends from the Monks' Burn, leading north-east, an old deserted way-worn track, pointing to Edinburgh, and at the farther extremity of the height branching off northward to Queensferry, called Monk's Road, properly the Monks' Road. At its side, on the hither brow of the ridge, appears, in full prospect, its fount stone ; commanding all the south country, from New Hall and the 'Spital down the Lyne, towards the Tweed. On the one edge are two excavations for a person's knees, and on the op- posite rim of the trough is a socket, formerly occu- pied by a cross, the ornamented top of which is still lying at the bottom of the Rig. Besides being a re- ceptacle for the sick, and the superannuated ; the 'Spital, as a hospitium or inn, with its road, fonts, and crosses, which also served as land-marks, was an accommodation for travellers passing from one mo- THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 473 nastery to another, convents being the original and on- ly inns of those days ; the Back 'Spital suiting such as journeyed by the north-west side of its hills. In con- firmation of this, the weary and benighted traveller is, still, considered as having a right to shelter and protection at the Fore 'Spital, and one of the out- houses, with some straw, is generally allotted for that purpose. It is also remarkable that there should, yet, be an inn on these lands, on the edge of the present highway near the old road and New Hall, called the New House, though now a very old one, to distinguish it from the 'Spitals, in lieu of which it had been built, a little distance south from Friartown, and St Robert's Croft. The fertile inclined plain of the wester 'Spital Hill, at the head of which the 'Spital House stands, after passing between Bellcant on the right, and the Monks' Burn and Rig on the left, expands eastward, with the 'Spital Burn meandering through it, from the Hospital to the embouchure of the burn at the ham- let of the Monks' Burn about the turnpike gate; and includes the Glebe and St Robert's Crofts, flanked by the elevated farmstead of Friartown on the south, and the Monks' Rig on the north. Up this beauti- ful opening, the rising sun shoots the first rays of his cheering light full on the cluster of trees, and the Hospital ; leaving, as in the prefixed engraving, the 474 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL, hinder part of Bellcant still enveloped in shade, on the foreground ; and the dark hills, in the distance, shrouded in the mists of the night, yet lingering unr* dispelled, to contrast, aggrandize, and reheve, his luminous effects on the brilliantly favoured group in the middle of the picture. It is surprising to find , so few of the most distinguished painters acquainted with, or sensible of, the powers of the claro-obscu- ro, when they are, thus, so often, and strikingly ex- emplified in nature. Had it been studied by Raphael, and Michael Angelo, no person would have publish- ed the tameness of their compositions at first sight, by inquiring for their works after having been con- ducted through the Vatican, Ramsay adopted the popular, and poetical tradi- tion as to the witch at Carlops. Among the hinds and shepherds of the district, with regard to the pre- ceding objects likewise, the common account, that they were named from General Monk, has, also, as was shown in the descriptions of Mause's Cottage, and Glaud's Onstead, been followed by him. In the same manner as with regard to the hill, burn, and lands of Carlops, in their neighbourhood, south-west- ward ; Monk's Rig, Burn, and Haugh, according to the usual way of naming them, have acquired, too, a popular and later derivation for theiv names, tlian the original one now traced from the Cistercian monks THE 'SPITAL OF N'EW-HALL. 475 of New Hall and its Hospital. Here the military foU lowed, as in the former they preceded, the religious oc- currences that gave rise to them. In both cases, Ram- say has, obviously, used, in his popular pastoral, the more recent ones, from their not only bang most generally, and best known ; but, also, from their being Suitable to his sites, and to his plot. N. N. E. from the point of view in the filate, hid by the Dod Rig with the stell upon it, ascending from the ridge formed by the united hills of easter Spital and the Monks' Rig, rises the most singular mountain of all the Pentland range, called the Scald Law or Hill. Its summit is divided into two tops j its Helicon, and Cytheron ; one of which is h^her, and sharper than the other. These appear over the Monks' Rig, from the front of New-Hall House. The word Scald, according to Torfseus, agnified a smoother and polisher of language. The German Scalds, originally from Iceland, were highly honoured in the north of Europe; and of course Jn Scandinavia, the mother-country of the Picts. They even " boasted of a power of disturb- ing the repose of the dead, and of dragging them in spite of their teeth out of their gloomy abodes, by force of certain songs which they knew how to com- pose." " Rogvald Earl of the Orkney Islands pass- 476 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. ed for a very able poet j he boasts himself, in a song of his which is still extant, that he knew how to compose verses on all subjects." The Pentland Frith separates the Orkneys, from Caithness. " King Reg- ner was no less distinguished for his skill in poetry, than in war and navigation. Many of his poems were long preserved in the north, and may be found inserted in the history of his life : and it is well known that he died no less like a poet than a hero/' Regner Lodbrog was king of Denmark, " Harold Harfagre placed the Scalds at his feasts, above all the other officers of his court.'* " A prince or il- lustrious warrior oftentimes exposed his life with so much intrepidity, only to be praised by his Scald, who was both the witness and judge of his bravery." " Olave king of Norway placing three of them one day around him in battle, cried out with spirit, " You shall not relate what you have only heard, but what you are eye-witnesses of yourselves." The same poets usually sung their verses themselves at solemn festivals, and in great assemblies, to the sound of thq flute or harpJ*^ See Northern jinti^uities, v. i. c. 7. and 13. Across the hollow at the head of Glencross or Logan Water, here named the Kitchen Burn ; be- hind the easter 'Spital Hill adjoining to the Scald Law ; on the west, about a mile distant from the latter. THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL* 477 without any Intervening object, towers to a point above Esk-head at the back of the wester 'Spital Hill, Har/ier Rig, in Tweeddale; said by Captain Armstrong to be the highest of the Pentlandsj and its cairn eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. The Har/i, properly so called, is a German instru- ment of music, and, as well as the Scalds., of Cim- bric origin, like the Picts. It was, however, of equal importance among the Bards of the Britons, Welsh, and Scots, who first occupied the southern ajid western portions of this island from Gaul ; as it was among the Scalds of the Picts on the north and east, from Germany and Scandinavia. Like their mode of se- pulture, it shows the common root of all these tribes. We learn from Ossian, that, " Beneath his own tree, at intervals, each bard sat down with his harp." The Galic bard even addresses the harp of Cona, at the opening of the fifth book of Temora, as the genius of the song Itself. " Thou dweller between the shields that hang on high, in Ossian's hall ! De- scend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy voice ! Son of Alpin, strike the string. Thou must awake the soul of the bard. The murmur of Lora's stream has rolled the tale awav. I stand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings tovfards the past ; and when the vision comes, it is but dim and dark. 478 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL; I hear thee, harp of Selma ! my soul returns like a breeze, which the sun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy mist." The bards formed a class of the order of the Druids, who were, among the Celtic tribes of Gaul, from time immemorial, in rank as well as influence, the most distinguished, and chief members of the state. The druids, strictly so called, were often like- wise bards. " Beneath the moss-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud stream ; grey in his locks of age, dwells Clonmal king of harps.'* Ossian. Tern. B. 7. The following is. the translator's note upon this passage. " Claon-mal, crooked eye-bi'ow. From the retired life of this person, is insinuated, that he was of the order of the druids ; which sup- position is not at all invalidated by the appellation of ki7ig of harps, here bestowed on him ; for all agree that the bards were of the number of the druids ori- ginally." The" Druids, and their religion, like almost every thing else, may be traced to Persia ; and from that of the magi. The word in Galic Draoitheachd, sig- nifies both the druidical worship and sacrifice, and magic, sorcery, enchantment. In reference to drui- dism, Pliny in his Natural History, Lib. 30. f. 1. writes, conformably to this, thus : " Sed quid ego THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 479 hsec commemorem in arte oceanum quoque trans- gressa, et ad naturae inane pervecta ? Britannia hodie- que earn attonite celebrat tantis ceremohiis, ut de- disse Persis videri possit." The druids delivered their mysterious doctrines in verses, entrusted entire- ly to memory ; and of which, as a part of their edu- cation, their pupils were usually taught, it is said, to repeat twenty-four thousand. They were the oracles, prophets, priests, lawgivers, judges, physicians, poets, and teachers, of the Gauls j as their bards, like the German scalds, were more peculiarly their poets, musicians, and historians or annalists. The druids communicated their knowledge and precepts also in verse ; and often sang, in the characters of bards, ** The battles of heroes ; and the heaving bosoms of love." Eastward from the Scald Law, or Poet's Hill, and connected with it, is the heathy conical Black Hill, of the farm of Eastside ; which is seen to great ad- vantage in the distance, over the Monks' Rig, in the middle of the viczv now endeavoured to be described. It likewise, with equal beauty of outline, terminates the view of Claudes Onstead. To the north of east from the Scald Law, beyond the Black Hill, is the hill of Carncthic, with its cairn, more elevated than that of the Black Hill of Eastside, by which it is hid from behind Bellcanr, the site from whence the drawing for the engraving was taken. Its name seems 480 THE 'sPITAt OF NEW-HALL. to be derived from the Galic words carn^ a heap of stones, or cairn ; and aith a hill, or aitheach gigan- tic. Its cam is seventeen hundred feet above the sur- face of the sea ; and, ahhough its altitude may not be so great as that of Harper Rig,, and Dr Walker should be wrong in calling it the highest of the Pentlands ; it is, undoubtedly, the largest and most gigantic. The finest in shape, and next to it io ele- vation, is the pyramidal Black Hill j whilst the Car- lops Hill, and, yet more, those of the 'Spital, are dis- tinguished by their pastoral smoothness, and verdure, from all the rest of the range. To the south-west, beyond Harper Rig, the Ro- man road, and the river Clyde, rises Tinto ; with its earn two thousand four hundred feet above the sea. Teinnem the Galic means fire; and tokh land, ground, territory, or torn a hill. To the south, near the junction of the LTyne with the Tweed above Peebles, is Mdden ; from mcall a hill, and tcimie fire ; also crowned with a earn. And, in full view' of the Scald Law, over the valley of the North, and the highest part of the South Esk, the nearest hill to the south- cast, about ten miles distant, is Dimdraoiih ; from dun a hill, and draoith a druid ; the Druid'' s Hill, ascending two thousand one hundred feet. The, Black Hill, Carnethie, Harper Rig, wester Cairn Hill, Tinto, Melden, and Dundraoith, almost com- THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 481 pleting a circle round the Spitals and the Scald Law, are marked, each of them, by a large heap of stones, or cairn, upon its summit. These large pyramidical piles of small stones, or earns, seem to have been collected by the Celtic Gauls, or Britons and Scots ; if druidism was un- known to the Germans, and of course to the Picts. They must have been produced, in consequence of their druids having chosen the summits of these, and other mountains, where Galic Britons and Scots re- sided, for their places of worship. Each of these hills has a most commanding prospect, over an ex- tensive tract of country; and all are seen, as striking objects, to a vast distance, in almost every direction. This was what the druids had chiefly in contempla- tion, in the choice of these sites ; and the selections, with the names they gave rise to, preserving the pur- poses to which the hills were applied, account for the manner in which such prodigious, and, apparent- ly, unaccountable, and useless, piles of small stones have been raised on such heights, where the mate- rials must have been carried so great a distance up the steep sides of the mountains from below. From the mode in which they were conveyed, they rhust have increased imperceptibly, and naturally, to their present magnitudes ; without any sensible labour, and exertion. Hh 482 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. The religion of the druids is acknowledged to have been coeval with that of the magi of Persia, brach- mans of India, and chaldees of. Babylon and As- syria ; all, from their resemblance to it in their ge- nuine state, sprung from the reli_gion of Noah and the antediluvians. The magi worshipped the Deity in the semblance of fire : They abominated the ado- ration of images : And held that there were two principles ; one the cause of all good, and the other the source of all evil. Wherever the Celtic tribes, or posterity of Japhet migrated, they carried this re- ligion with them. It accordingly was of equal extent with the dominion of the Gauls ; reaching from the Danube to the Atlantic, and from the Mediterranean to the Baltic sea. The places where the druids performed their re- ligious rites, were fenced round in a circular, and sometimes in an oblong, form ; with stones of as large a size as possible to strike awe ; guarded by druids, to prevent intrusion into their mysteries. These spots were called Clachans. The word clach- an, literally, signifies stones ; and is still the Galic term for a place of worship. Near the centre of these circles were stones, sometimes of an immense size, as a kind of altars, called crombeachs or clach' s'leachda* ; and when stones of striking dimensions could not be got, they took a large oblong flag, and THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 483 supported it with pillars. Altars were often erected within a consecrated spot of ground, the sanctity of which rendered every thing it contained completely secure from violation, without any circles. On the altars were at first offered cakes of flour, milk, eggs, herbs, and simples ; afterwards noxious animals, as the bear, boar, or wolf; and finally, at times, it is said, human victims. The circles seem, likewise, to have been used by the druids both in their characters of priests, and judges, as courts of justice. Part of a clachan still remains on the edge of the road from Edinburgh, opposite to Rullion Green, near the base, eastward, of Carnethie Hill j and on the same length- ened ridge, or root, from that of Turnhouse, with the field of battle. The sole object of the druidical worship was the Supreme Being. He was adored, under the name of Be'il, or Be'al^ a contraction for Bea'uil^ which signifies the life of every thing, or the source of all be- ing ; whose good designs, they believed, were op- posed to a demon they called Aibhist'er, a word still used in Galic to denote the devil. The sun, in Galic grian, yihich. me^ms fire, was held to be the symbol, or emblem of the Supreme Being, or of Be^il, the life of every thing. H h 2 484 THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. The two chief festivals of the druids were the Be'il'tin, or fire of Be'il^ which is still the Galic name for Whitsunday ; and the Sa??ih'-in, or fire of fieace, on Hallow-eve, the eve of the last day of Octo- ber O. S. or of the day preceding Martinmas N. S. All the druidical festivals, of which the Be'il-tin, and the Samk*-in were the greatest, were celebrated on heaps of stones, which the natives called Cams, Fairs and rejoicings on these days, the remains of the druidical festivals, are still held in many places of Scotland ; and the poem of King James the First, named Feblis to the Play, gives a humorous repre- sentation of that at Beltin in Peebles. " The custom still remains amongst the herds and young people to kindle fires on the high grounds, in honour of Bel- tan ;" and a similar practice is preserved at Hallow- een. See the Statistical Accounts of Loudoun, Lo' gierait, Callander, Peebles, &c. and Smitli's Galic Antiquities. At the periodical returns of the festivals, among the professors of druidism, the Galic Britons, Welsh, and Scots, their priests gave the signals by kindling fires on their earns, for their commencement with religious ceremonies ; and evei*y worshipper, on o- beying the summons of his district, carried a stone along with him to the summit of the mountain, to be THE 'SPITAL OF NEW-HALL. 485 added to the earn. The dimensions of the cams are in proportion to the time the spots have been used by the druids, and the populousness of their neigh- bourhoods. If every attendant at our Christian churches, was, each returning Sunday, to carry a stone with him, though easily transported, and of no great size, to be laid in the middle of the church-yard ; the number, and magnitude of the cairns, over the country, would soon show what the most trifling efforts can accomplish, when, thus, regularly, and unremittingly continued, by a number of hands. Besides these druidical cairns ; during the same pe- riods, on the plains were constructed the sefiulchral cairns formerly noticed ; the clachans ; crombeacks ; and the carrthadh, or erect pillar monumental stone, to mark out a hero's grave, or perpetuate a remark- able event, such as the Kel or Camus Stane, at Co- miston, between Edinburgh and the Pentlands. At the same time that the names of the hills help to ascertain the history of their cairns ; those of the other objects in this district being derived from the British or Welsh, the Scots or Galic, the Pictish or Cimbric, the Roman or Latin, and the Saxon, show the changes and mixture of inhabitants which, at different periods, have, here, taken place, from its central situation. That of the Scald Law seems to Hh 3 486 symon's house. have arisen, from the intercourse between the Picts, and the Romans, stationed about Patie's Hill, who may have advised them to name this forked height, in the middle of the Pentlands, the Scald or Poet's Hill, from its resemblance to that of Parnassus. On the summit of the easter Spital Hill, where no kind of tree could now be reared, or even kept alive for any time, about sixteen hundred feet above the sea, in a peat-moss, the trunk of one of a consider- able size has been laid open, in the course of digging out the surface for fuel ; and a Uttle way down both the easter and wester hills of the *Spitals, are hme- springs. The lands of the 'Spitals were long disr joined from, but are now again annexed to those of the New Hall, and the Carlops. symon's house, Jet 3. Scene 1. Sir William solus. SOLILOQUY, (af the end,) ** Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my way, ** And see what makes yon gamboling to-day ; " All on the green in a fair wanton ring, f* My youthful tenants gaylie dance and sing. {Ex'tl, symon's house. 4S7 Scene 2. PROLOGUE. V 'Tis Symon's house, please to step ia, *' An' vissy't round and round ; ** There's nought superfl'ous to give pain, " Or costly to be found. " Yet all is clean : a clear peat ingle " Glances amidst the floor : ** The green horn spoons, beech luggies mingle "On skelfs forgainst the door. ** While the young brood sport on the green, ** The auld anes think it best, " With the brown cow to clear their een, " SnufF, crack, and tak their rest." Act 3. Scene 1 . PROLOGUE. ** See how poor Bauldy stares like ane possest, ** And roars up Symon frae his kindly rest : *' Bare-legg'd, with night-cap, and unbutton'd coat, *' See, the auld man comes forward to the sot." Scene 3. and last. PROLOGUE. ' Sir William fills the twa arm'd chair, *' While Symon, Glaud, and Mause " Attend, and with loud laughter hear ^' Daft JBauldy bluntly plead his cause ; Hh4 488 symon's house. ** For now it's tell'd him that the tawz Was handled by revengefu' Madge, *' Because he brak good breeding's laws, * And with his nonsense rais*d their rage.'* Oymon's House, as it is seen over the Esk, in the prefixed engraving, from the north-east end of the Marfield Loch, is the first object that presents itself, on coming from Edinburgh with the design of ma- king a regular tour through the scenes, in nature; and it is the last that falls to be illustrated, when the order is followed according to which they succeed each other, and appear, in the pastoral comedy itself. Though last, it is, however, not least. As well as that of Symon, it is the abode of the hero of the poem, Patie ; than whom, ** A gentler shepherd flocks did never feed *' On Albion's hills, nor sung to oaten reed.'* Drummond of HawthornderC s Pastoral Elegy. The chief and leading characters in the drama, are its guests ; and the most important incidents of the plot are transacted under its roof. The rural feast on account of Sir William Worthy's return, is given by Symon, who first heard of it from Hab ; and the rejoicings, and gambolings, are held within it, and on its green. Symon, its tenant, is Sir William's SYMON's HOUSE. 489 host ; his trusty favourite ; and Patie*s guardian. After taking a solitary survey of his " once fair seat," it is the first place on his arrival, to which the knight in disguise bends his way *' to see his boy," " his lad," his " prop," his only child : and here he resides with him, and Symon, till he publishes Pa- tie's parentage ; discover*s Peggy's birth ; reconciles Bauldy to Neps ;. rewards honest Mause, and faith- ful Symon and Glaud ; fixes the wedding of Roger ' and Jenny ; marries his son Patie, to Peggy his niece ; makes all around him contented and happy ; and the story is concluded. On the edge of the ravine, called the Fairies' Den, between and the present garden, on the north side of New-Hall House, over the two vaults, as mentioned in the description of New-Hall House, is the remain of a round tower that formed a part of the ancient con- vent, or castle that succeeded it. Before most of this ruined tower was taken down, about twenty years ago, it was of a considerable elevation, and, when it was destitute of trees, formed a conspicuous and attractive object up the ravine from Symon' s farmstead. In allu- sion to this circumstance, while in Symox's Housr, and before he makes himself known, in answer to this confidential shepherd's hospitable offer of refresh- ment. Sir William Worthy replies, in 490 symon's house. Act 3. Scene 2. DIALOGUE. " Sym. Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat, " And, of your best, gar this auld stranger eat. ".Sir. Wil. Delay a while your hospitable care, < I'd rather enjoy this evening calm and fair " Around ^on ruin*d to'wer, to fetch a walk *' With you kind friend, to have some private talk.*' The local position of the farmstead^ in sight of New-Hall House, likewise coincides with the conclu- ding lines of the soliloquy which occupies the whole preceding scene. After examining his place, and la- menting the ruinous condition in which he found the house, offices, and gardens; the sight of Symon's House, from his mansion^ and the view of the " gam- boling " on its green, gives a check to the knight's reflections, and produces a desire to partake in the festivity of his social tenants. Says he to himself, on observing the farmstead and the bustle about it, in Act 3. Scene 1. Sir William solus. SOLILOQUY, (a/ the end.) " Now tow'rds good Simon's house I'll bend my way, " And see what makes yon gamboling to-day ; *' All on the green in a fair wanton ring, " My youthful tenants gaylie dance and sing." {^Exit Sir William. symon's house. 491 Peat^ the species of fuel, supplied by the Harlaw Muir, of which, in the time of Sir David Forbes, and Allan Ramsay, Symon's House was the farmstead, is, also, from its being peculiar to the vicinity of the ufifier division of the Pentland Hills, and this district, again, appropriately, and characteristically specified, in the delightful description of the inside oi Syrnon^s House prefixed to this illustration ; as it was formerly, in the rural picture of the outside of Claud's Onstead, and the subsequent dialogue. Before Sir William Worthy reaches it, from his mansion, the following engaging representation is given, of the comfortable house where his son was left, and resided, whilst he was "abroad," after being defeated with " Montrose ; ' ' and into which he himself was, now, to be received, after his arrival in Britain with Charles the Second at the Restoration, on his return to his estate and his heir. For propriety, and truth, no piece of poetic painting can exceed it. Jet 3. Scene 2. PROLOGUE. ** It's Simmon's house ; please to step in, ** And vissy't round and round ; *' There's nought superfl'ous to give pain, ** Or costly to be found. *' Yet all is clean : a clezr peat ingle *' Glances amidst the floor : " The green horn spoons, beech higgies mingle " On skclfs foregainst the door. 492 symon's house. <* While the young brood sport on the green, " The auld anes think it best, " With the brown cow to clear their een, * Snuff, crack, an' tak their rest." Mr David Allan's representation, of the inside of Sy- mon*s House, after the arrival of Sir WiUiam Wor- thy ; with the knight foretelling Patie's fortune, and pointing to the " mouse-mark " on his side ; and of the effects of his predictions on all the company, but especially on Elspa, Symon's wife; is Scottish pasto- ral nature itself, and does full justice to his author, and honour to his own congenial talents. North, within three hundred yards of the site from which the view of Symon's House was taken, stands the new Marjield farmstead ; and, about the same distance, beyond it, is the remain of the old tenement, built when timber in its neighbourhood was so scarce that the cross spars of its roof were supported by a row of rough stone arches, called stone couples, springing at equal distances from the side-walls be- tween the corresponding gables. Apparently from the same cause, one of the out-houses of the Fore 'Spital is covered with a solid arch of stone, with- out any opening whatever, from the one end to the other. Farther on, in the same direction, ri- ses the central, and most picturesque group of all the Pentland chain, formed by the Broad Law, the symon's house. 493 Scald Law, the Black Hill, Carnethie, and Turn- house Hill, retiring in perspective, and skirted by the road to Edinburgh. Behind, near half a mile off, to the north-east, in that direction, terminating the Marfield farm, and the natural scenary of the Gentle Shepherd, is the Cow Craig, marked in the map. For the old tenement in the middle of the farm, Ramsay has substituted the "onstead'* and cottages, on its southern extremity, at the foot of the 'Monks' Burn, as being a more pastoral, and picturesque habitation for honest Glaud, and his two fair shepherdesses. Within a hundred yards eastward, on the left, is the glen of the North Esk ; with the Marfield Lint Mill and Quarry on this side of the water ; and the Harlaw Muir on the other, stretching several miles north-east, and south-west, behind the point from it, on which Symon's House stands. To the south-west, in front, is the Marfield Loch, with the glen of the Esk, containing the Marfield Wood, between it and the point from the Harlaw Muir, on the highest part of which is situated Sv- mon's House, re-built about thirty yards farther west, and from the moor, than the old foundations. The loch is always of the same depth, although it has no visible supply or outlet. It is full of perches, with some pikes, and trouts ; and its banks, on the 494 symon's house. east, south, and west are bounded by the glen of the Esk, in which there are plenty of, trouts. Beyond the farmstead, forming the farther west side of the point, is the valley of the Harbour Craig, with the glens and bums of the Harbour Craig and Carlops entering the other side of it, and the rock itself, above them, fronting towards the farmstead. The west gable of the building, as in the engraving, points up the Carlops Burn, to the Carlops Hill hi the dis- tance. Westward, between and this end of the Carlops Hill, where, at the village of the Carlops, the Esk issues from behind the Pentlands, is ^he site of New- Hall House. Half-way nearer, opposite to the extre- mity of the point from the Harlaw Muir, at the mouth of the Monks' Burn, and the head of the Monks* Haugh, with the Esk, and the " plain " or " loan," between it and Syjion's House, is Claud's Onstead in the bottom of the glen. And on the north-west, to the right, is the Monks* Burn, with the Monks* Rig on this side of its source ; and the 'S/iitals, and 'Sfiital Hills, opposite to New Hall, on the other side of the burn. Terminating these heights j westward is Patie's Hill, a part of which is seen in the view, with the deep ravine beyond it, hollowed by the Esk in penetrating the Pentlands, symon's house. 495 from its head at Harfier Rig behind them. The Esk separates Patie*s, from the Carlops Hill more remote in the distance ; these mountains forming its banks, and the two sides of the ravine. Patie's Hill, the 'Spitals, New-Hall House, Glaud's Onstead, and the Marfield Loch, are in Edinburgh-shire or Mid-Lo- thian J and the Carlops Hill, village, and lands, and Symon's House, with the Harlaw Muir, are in Peebles-shire or Tweeddale. Several years ago, the yawl of one of the picke- roons, or pirates, of the West Indies, had been pick- ed up, in the gulf of Mexico, by a vessel from thence to Clyde ; and, being entirely built of cedar, was sent, as a curiosity, to the proprietor of the lake. Being repaired and painted at Leith, it was launched into the loch, and gives it life and spirit. When, from the eastern ex-remity, the glare of a summer noon is mellowed by the mildness of the evening, before his retiring beams are intercepted by the wester 'Spital Hill ; when the fish begin to leap, and the boat, with its broad ensign streaming at its stern, shoots along the bright surface, o floats, sta- tionary, and at rest on the smooth bosom of the lake; when, on this site, and at this time, the sun gets behind Svmon's House, on the height beyond the Esk, between it and the Harbour Craig, and throvs^s 496 SYMON S HOUSE. his warm empurpling rays on the Carlops Hill in the offskip, to the right of the farmstead, the whole forms as enchanting a pastoral picture as the pencil can select. Plants found in the vicinity of the Marfield Loch ; on t^e ^arm ; and in the Wood, on the North Bank of the Esk. On the Marfield Farm. (3) Avena strlgosoy Black or gray oat ; The kind cultivated in the north of Scotland, and the Islands. Melica ccerulea. Purple melic-grass. Juncus campestris var. (5, Eriophorum vaginatum, Hare*s-tail rush. angustifolium. Common narrow cotton-rush. ( 1 ) polystachion, Broad-leaved cotton-rush. Polypodium vulgare. Common polypody, (1) Vaccinium oxycoccos, Cran-berry. Lichen ranglferinus. Rein-deer lichen. This is the food of the rein-deer, in Lapland. Scirpus caspitosus. Erica vulgaris, cinerea, tetralix, Tormentilla ojicinalis. Sphagnum lat folium, Carex vesicaria, (3) Narthccium ossifragum, Empetrum nigrum. Scaly-stalked club-rush. Common heath. Bell-heather, or fine-leaved heath. Rinze-heather, or cross-leaved heath. Tormentil, or Septfoil. Bog-moss. Short-spiked bladder carex. Lancashire asphodel. Black-berried heath. symon's house. 497 Holcus lanatuSf Meadow soft-grass; There is much hay made of this in meadows. Holcus avenaceust Oat-like soft-grass ; This is cultivated for fodder in Sweden. Glechoma hederaceOf Ground ivy. Viola tricolor^ Wild pansy. i - . I luteot Yellow mountain pansy, &c. About the LocB. Comarum palustre. Marsh cinqiiefoil. Achillea millefoHay var. ru- brai Yarrow, or milfoil. Epilobium ^fl/aj//*^, Round-stalked marsh willow- herb. Galium palustrCf White water bed-straw. Ranunculus^amffi/iJ, Lesser spearwort. The leaves of this plant form a ready, and sudden vomit, (2) Vioh. palustris^ Marsh violet. Hieracium pilosellay Mouse-ear hawk-weed. Myriophyllum spicatum^ Spiked water-milfoil. Juncus bufoniusy Toad rush. Menyanthes trifoliata. Buck-bean, or bog-bean. Bunium^fjcMOjuTK, Eartn-nut, orar-nut. Onthe banks. (2) GnaphaHum r^c/ttiB, Upright wood cud-weed. Do. Pinus rubra, Scots fir or pine. Ditto, self- sown, rising, from the dry gravelly soil} through the green ^wardf in great numbers, &c. In the Wood. (2) Agaricus deliciosus. (2) Phallus impxid.cus. In wet summers, in the fr-wood very fetid. Agaricus integer. - fascicularis. li 498 SYMON S HOUSE. Common juniper bush. Sweet willow. Marsh arrow-grass. On the banks of the Esk. Marsh louse-wort. On ditto, &c. Also oaks elms planes ashes mountain ashes birches hazles willows geens alders bird cherries thorns, &c. &c. among the pines firs and larches. Juniperus communisf Salix Jientar.dra, Triglochin Jialuslre, Pedicularis Jialustris, THE GENTLE SHEPHERD; PASTORAL COMEDY. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SUSANNA, COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN. Madam, The love of approbation, and a desire to please the best, have ever encouraged the Poets to Jinish their designs with cheerfulness. But, conscious of their own inability to oppose a storm of spleen and haughty ill-nature, it is generally an ingenious custom amongst them to choose some honourable shade. Wherefore I beg leave to put my Pastoral under your Ladyship's protection. If my Patroness says, the Shepherds speak as they ought, and that there are several natural flowers that beaut fy the rural zvild, I shall have good reason to think niysclf saje jrom the aickicard censure of some pretending judges, that condemn hcjore e.vamination. I am yure of vast numbers iiurt will crowd into your Ladys'.up's opinion, and think it ihtir honour to agree in their scrilimcnts with the Ccuntcss of Ii3 502 DEDICATION. Eglintoun, whose penetration, superior wit, and sound judgment, shiyie with an uncommon lustre, while ac- companied with the divine charms of goodness and ex quality of mind. If it were not for offending only your Ladyship, here, Madam, I might give thejullest liberty to my Muse to delineate the fnest of women, by drawing your Ladyships character, and be in no hazard of being deemed a flatterer, since flattery lies not in paying tvhat is due to merit, but in praises misplaced. Were I to begin with your Ladyship's honourable . birth and alliance, tliefleldis ample, and presents us with numberless great and good patriots, that have dignified the names of Keimedy and Montgomery : be that the care of the herald and historian. It is personal merit, and the heavenly stveetness of the fair, that inspire the tuneful lays. Here every Les- bia must be excepted, whose tongues give liberty to the slaves, tvhich their eyes had made captives; such may be flattered : but your Ladyship Justly claims our admiration and profoundest respect ; for whilst you are possessed of every outivard charm, in the most perfect degree, the neverfading beauties of wisdom and piety, which adorn your Ladyship's mind, commaiul devotion. DEDICATION. 503 " All this is *cery true,'" cries one of better sense than good nature ; " but wJiat occasion have you to tell us the sun shines, xvhen we have the use of our eyes, and feel his influence f Very true, but I have the liberty to use the poefs privilege, ivhich is, " To speak what every body thinks.'^ Indeed, there might be some strength in the reflection, if the Idalian re- gisters were of as short duration as life ; but the bard, who fondly hopes immortality, has a cei^tain praise-zvorthy pleasure in communicatijig to posteri- ty the fame of distinguished characters. I write this last sentence with a hand that trembles between hope and fear. But if I shall prove so happy as to please your Ladyship, in thejollowing attempt, then all my doubts shall vanish like a morning vapour ; I shall hope to be classed zcith Tasso and Guarini, and sing zcith Ovid, *' If 'tis allowed to pods to divine, " One half of round Elerniti^ is mine." IMADAM, Your Ladyship's most obedient, and most dexotcd servant, B U R G H , "^ Junr EniNBURGH, "i .', J72.3. S ALLAN RA^rSAY I i 4 TO THE COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN, WITH THE FOLLOWING PASTORAL. x\.ccEPT,,0 Eglintoun ! the rural lays, That, bound to thee, thy poet humbly pays. The Muse, that oft has raised her tuneful strains, A frequent guest on Scotia's blissful plains ; That oft has sung, her listening youth to move. The charms of beauty, and the force of love ; Qnce more resumes the still successful lay. Delighted through the verdant meads to stray. O ! come, invoked ! and pleased, with her repair To breathe the balmy sweets of purer air ; In the cool evening, negligently laid. Or near the stream, or in the rural shade, Propitious hear, and, as thou hear'st, approve The Gentle Shepherd's tender tale of love. Instructed from these scenes, what glowing fires Inflame the breast that real love inspires ! The fair shall read of ardours, sighs, and tears, All that a lover hopes, and all he fears : TO THE COUfTTESS OF EGLINTOUN. 505 Hence, too, what passons in his bosom rise ! What dawning gladness sparkles in his eyes ! When iirst the fair one, piteous of hiS fate, Cured of her scorn, and vanquished of her hate, With wilhng nnnd, is bounteous co relent, And blushing, beauteous, smiles the kind consent! Love's passion here, in each extreme, is shown, In Charlotte's smile, or in Maria's frown. With words like these, that failed not to engage, Love courted Beauty in a golden age ; Pure, and untaught, such Nature hist inspired, Ere yet the fair affected phrase desired. His secret thoughts were undisguised with art, His words ne'er knew to differ from his heart : He speaks his love so artless and sincere. As thy Eliza might be pleased to hear. Heaven only to the rural state bestows Conquest o'er life, and freedom from its woes : Secure alike from envy and from care, Nor raised b}^ hope, nor yet depressed by fear : Nor Want's lean hand its happmess constrams, N(^r riches torture with iil-iiotten jiains. No secret guilt its stedfast peace destroys, No wild ambition interrupts its joys. Blest still to spend the ]i;)iir.s that Heaven has lent, In humble goodness, and in cairn content : 506 TO THE COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN. Serenely gentle, as the thoughts that roll, Sniiess .and pure, in fair Humeia's soul. But now the rural state these joys has lost ; Even swains no more that innocence can boast : Love speaks no more what beauty may believe, Prone to betray, and practised to deceive. Is ow haj^piness forsakes her blest retreat, 1 he peaceful dwelling where she fixed her seat ; Tlie pleasnig fields she wont of old to grace. Companion to an upright sober race. When on the sunny hill, or verdant plain, Free and familiar with the sons of men, To crown the pleasures of the blameless feast, She uninvited came, a welcome guest ; Ere yet an age, grown rich in impious arts, Bribed from their innocence uncautious hearts : Ihen grudging hate, and sinful pride succeed, Cruel revenge, and false unrighteous deed ; Then doweriess beauty lost the power to move ; The rust of lucre stained the gold of love : Bounteous no more, and hospitably good, The genial hearth first blushed with strangers' blood: The friend no more upon the friend relies. And semblant fahchood puts on truth's disguise : The peaceful household filled with dire alarms ; The ravislied virgin mourns her slighted chamis : TO THE COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN. 507 The voice of impious mirth is heard around, In guilt they feast, in guilt the bowl is crowned : Unpunished violence lords it o'er the plains, And happiness forsakes the guilty swains. Oh ! Happiness, from human search retired, Where art thou to be found, by all desired ? Nun ! sober and devout, why art thou fled. To hide in shades thy meek contented head ? Virgin ! of aspect mild, ah ! why, unkind, Fly'st thou, displeased, the commerce of mankind? O ! teach our steps to find the secret cell, Where, with thy sire Content, thou lov'st to dwell. Or, say, dost thou a duteous handmaid wait Familiar at the chambers of the great ? ^ Dost thou pursue the voice of them that call To noisy revel, and to midnight bail ? O'er the full banquet, when we feast our soul, Dost thou inspire the mirth, or mix the bowl ? Or, with the industrious planter dost thou talk, Conversino- freelv in an evenino- w^alk ? Say, does the miser e er thy face behold, Watchful and studious of the treasured "'old ? Seeks Knowledge, not in vaiii, thy nuich-loved power, Still musing silent at the morning hour? May we tliy presence hope in war's alarms. In Stair's \\isdoni, or in Erskine's charms- 508 TO THE COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN. In vain our flattering hopes our steps beguile, The flying good eludes the searcher's toil : In vain we seek the city or the cell, Alone with virtue knows the power to dwell : K or need mankind despair these joys to know. The gift themselves may on themselves bestow : Soon, soon we might the precious blessing boast, But many passions must the blessing cost; Infernal malice, inly pining hate, And envy, grieving at another's state ; Revenge no more must in our hearts remain, Or burning lust, or avarice of gain. When these are in the human bosom nursed, Can peace reside in dwellings so accursed ? Unlike, O Eglintoun ! thy happy breast. Calm and serene, enjoys the heavenly guest ; From the tumultuous rule of passions freed. Pure in thy thought, and spotless in thy deed : In virtues rich, in goodness unconfined, Thou shin'st a fair example to thy kind; Sincere and equal to thy neighbour's name, How swift to praise ! how guiltless to defame ! Bold in thy presence Bashfulncss appears, And backward Merit loses all its fears. Supremely blest by Heaven, Heaven's richest grace Confessed is thine an early blooming race ; TO THE COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN. 509 Whose pleasing smiles shall guardian Wisdom arm, Divine Instruction I taught of thee to charm : What transports shall they to thy soul impart (The conscious transports of a parent's heart), When thou hehold'st them of each grace possest, And sighing youths imploring to be blest ! After thy image formed, with charms like thine, Or in the visit, or the dance, to shine : Thrice happ^' ! who succeed their mother's praise, The lovely Eglintouns of other days. Meanwhile, peruse the folloAvmg tender scenes, And listen to thy native poet's strains : In ancient garb the home-bred Muse appears, The garb our Muses wore in former years. As in a glass reflected, here behold How smiling Goodness looked in days of old : Nor blush to read, where Beauty's praise is shown, Or virtuous Love, the likeness of thy own ; While 'midst the various gifts that gracious Heaven To thee, in whom it is well pleasetl, has given ; Let this, O Eglintoun, delight thee most, T' enjoy that innocence the world has lost. W. IL INSCRIBED TO JOSIAH BURCHET, Esq. SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY- 1 HE nipping frosts, an' driving snaw, Are o'er the hills an' far awa' ; Bauld Boreas sleeps, the Zephyrs blaw. An' ilka thing Sae dainty, youthfu', gay, an' braw Invites to sing. Then let's begin by creek o' day ; Kind Muse, skiff to the bent away, To try anes mair the landart lay, Wi' a' thy speed. Since Burchet awns that thou can play Upo' the reed. Ancs, anes again, beneath some tree, Exert thy skill an' nat'ral glee. To him wha has sae courteously, To weaker sight, Set these rude sonnets *, sung by me, In truest light. * Having doKf me tlie honour of turnlug some of my pa toral poems into English justly and elegantly. TO JOSIAH BURCHET. 511 In truest light may a' that's fine In his fair character still shine ; Sma' need he has o' sangs like mine, To beet his name ; For frae the north to southern line, Wide gangs his fame. His fame, which ever shall abide, While liist'ries tell o' tyrants' pride, Who vainly strave upon the tide T' invade these lands, Wliere Britain's royal fleet doth ride, Which still commands. These doughty actions frae his pen * Our age, an' those to come, shall ken How stubborn navies did contend Upon the waves ; How free-born Britons fought like men, Their faes like slaves. Sae far inscribing, sir, to you. This country sang, my fancy flew. Keen your just merit to pursue; But all ! I fear, In gicing praises that are due, I grate your ear. * His valu:ible Naval History. 512 TO JOSIAH BURCHET* Yet tent a poet's zealous prayer ; May powers aboon, wi' kindly care, Grant you a lang an' muckle skair O' a' that's good, Till unto langest life an' mair You've healthfu' stood! May never care your blessings sour. An' may the Muses, ilka hour, Improve your mind, an' haunt your bower !- I'm but a callan ; Yet may I please you, while I'm your Devoted Allan. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Sir William Worthy. Patie, the Gentle Shephei^d, in love mth "Peggy. Roger, a rich young Shepherd, in lorn with Jenny. ^' "" ' VTzvoold Shepherds, Tenants toSirWilVmm. Glaud, j Bauldy, a Hynd, engaged zvith Neps. Peggy, thought to be Gland's Niece. Jexny, Gland's only Daughter. Mause, a7i old JVoman, supposed to be a JVitch. Elspa, Symon's fVife. Madge, Gland's Sister. SCENE A Shepherd^' Village and Fields, some fezv miles from Edinburgh. Time of Action within twenty-fonr honrs. THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. ACT I. SCENE I. Beneath the south side of a craigy bield. Where crystal springs the balesome waters yield, Twa youthfu' shepherds on the gowans lay. Tenting their flocks ae bonny morn of May. Poor Roger granes, till hollow echoes ring. But blyther Patie likes to laugh and sing. Patie and Roger. SANG I. I'une " The Wawking of the Faulds/ Patie. 7/7/. Such useless branches of a common- v/calth Should be lopt off, to give a st?.tc more health. SC. IV.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 573 Unworthy bare reflection. Symon, run O'er all your observations on my son : A parent's fondness easily finds excuse. But do not, with indulgence, truth abuse. Sym. To speak his praise, the langest simmer day. Wad be o'er short, could I them right display. In word and deed he can sae well behave. That out of sight he rins before the lave ; And when there's e'er a quarrel or contest, Patrick's made judge, to tell whase cause is best ; And his decreet stands good : he'll gar it stand ; Wha dares to grumble finds his correcting hand. With a firm look, and a commanding way, He gars the proudest of our herds obey. Sir fVil. Your tale much pleases. My good friend, proceed. What learning has he ? Cim he write and read ? Sym. Baith wonder well : for, troth, I didna spare To give him, at the school, enough of lair ; And he delytes in books. He reads and speaks. With fouks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks. Sir JVil. Where gets he books to read ? and of what kind ? Though some give light, some blindly lead the blind. Sym. Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh port. He buys some books of history, sangs, or sport : ling sing, -\ ^ing, > ses ring. j 574 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT HI. Nor does he want of them a rowth at will. And carries ay a poutchfu* to the hill. About ane Shakespeare, and a famous Ben, He aften speaks, and *ca*s them best of men. How sweetly Hawthornden and Stirling sing, And ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king, He kens fu' well, and gars their verses ring. I sometimes thought that he made o'er great phrase About fine poems, histories, and plays : When I reproved him anes, a book he brings, With this, quoth he, on braes I crack with kings. Sir ffll. He answered well; and much ye glad my ear. When such accounts I of my shepherd hear. Reading such books can raise a peasant's mind Above a lord's that is not thus inclined. Si/m. What ken we better, that sae sindle look. Except on rainy Sundays, on a book; When we a leaf or twa haff read, haff spell, , Till a' the rest sleep round as well's qursell. S/r JUL Well jested, Symon. But one question more I'll only ask yc now, and then give o'er. Thte youth's arrived the age when little loves Flighter around young hearts like cooing doves : Has nae young lassie, with inviting mien. And rosy cheeks, the wonder of the green. SC. IV.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 575 Engaged his look, and caught his youthful heart. Si/m. I feared the warst, but kend the smallest part. Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet With Glaud*s fair niece, than I thought right or meet. I had my fears j but now have nought to fear. Since, like your, sell, your son will soon appear. A gentleman, enriched with all these charms. May bless the fairest, best born lady's arms. Sir If i/. This night must end his unambitious fire, When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire. Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me ; None but yourself shall our first meeting see. Yonder*s my horse and servants nigh at hand ; They come just at the time I gave command ; Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress : Now ye the secret may to all confess. Sj/m. With how much joy I on this errand flee. There's nane can know that is not downright me. \_Ejit Sy-mox. Sir "W'lLLrAM solus. When the event of hopes successfully appears, One happy hour cancels the toil of years ; A thousand toils are lost in Lethe's stream, And cares evanish like a morning dream ; When wish'd-for pleasures rise like morning- light. The pain that's past enhances the delight. 576 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT III. } These joys I feel, that words can ill express, I ne'er had known, without my late distress. But from his rustic business and love, I must, in haste, my Patrick soon remove. To courts and camps that may his soul improve Like the rough diamond, as it leaves the mine. Only in little breakings shews its light. Till artful polishing has made it shine : Thus education makes the genius bright. SANG XIV. Tune " Wat ye wha I met yestreen." Now from rusticity and love, JVhoseJiames but over lozvly burn, My gentle shepherd must be drove^ His soul'must take another turn. As the rough diamond J rom the mine, In breaking only sheus its light. Till polishing has made it shine; Thus learning makes the genius bright. [Exit. SC. I.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 577 ACT IV. SCENE I. The scene described in former page, Glaud's onstead *. Enter Mause and Madge. Mause and Madge. Madge. \J u r laird's come hame ! and owns ^oung Pate his heir. Mause. That's news indeed ! Madge. * As true as ye stand there* As they were dancing a' in Symon's yard. Sir William, like a warlock, with a beard Five nieves in length, and white as driven snawj Amang us came, cried, Haud ye merry a\ We ferly'd meikle at his unco look. While frae his pouch he whirled forth a book. * In the late edition of Ramsay's Works, printed in the year ] 800 ; and in most of the editions of the comedy; *' onset" is put for " onstead :" which contradicts the incidents in the scene to which it is prefixed, and renders the prologue itself altogether un- intelligible. Onstead is obviously the word intended by Ramsay ; an ? his late editor might perhaps have been as well employed in correcting^ as in altering his works. Oo 578 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT IV, As we stood round about him on the green. He viewed us a', but fix'd on Pate his een ; Then pawkily pretended he could spae. Yet for his pains and skill wad nathing hae. Mause. Then sure the lasses, and ilk gaping coof, "VVad rin about him, and baud out their loof. Madge. As fast as flaes skip to the tate of woo, "Whilk slee tod-lowrie bauds without his mou, Vvhen he, to drown them, and his hips to cool. In simmer days slides backward in a pool : In short, he did for Pate braw things foretell. Without the help of conjuring or spell. At last, whn well diverted, he withdrew, Pu'd aff his beard to Symon : Symon knew His welcome master ; round his knees he gat. Hang at his coat, and syne, for blythness, grat, Patrick was sent for ; happy lad is he ! Symon tald Elspa, Elspa tald it me. Ye'll hear out a' the secret story soon: And troth 'tis e'en right odd, when a' is done. To think how Symon ne'er before wad tell, Na, no sae meikle as lo Pate himsell. Our Meg, poor thing, alake ! has lost her jo. ArAWiL. It may be sae, wha kens ? and maybe no. To lift a love tb.at's rooted is great pain : Even kings have tane a queen out of the plain ; And what has been before may be again. SC. I.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERDi 579 Madge. Sic nonsense ! love tak root, but tocher- good, 'Tween a herd's bairn, and ane of gentle blood ! Sic fashions in King Bruce's days might be. But siccan ferlies now we never see. Mause. Gif Pate forsakes her, Bauldy she may gain I Yonder he comes, and wow but he looks fain ! Nae doubt he thinks that Peggy's now his ain. Madge. He get her ! slavering doof, it sets him well To yoke a plough where Patrick thought to till. Gif I were Meg, I'd let young master see Mause. Ye'd be as dorty in your choice as he ; And so wad I. But, whisht, here Bauldy comes. Enter Bauldy, singing. SANG XVL Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny, xvilt thou dot? Ne'er a Jit, qnoth Jenny, for my tocher-good, For my tocher-good, I ivinna marry thee : Kens-ye-Uke, quoth Jocky, I can let you be. Mause. Well liltit, Bauldy, that's a dainty sang. Bauldy. I'se gie ye'd a% its better than its lang. / have goxvd and gear, I have land enough, T have sa.v good oxcsen ganging in a plough ; O o 2 580 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT IV. Ganging in a plough, and linkan o\r the lee. And gin ye zvinna tak me, I can let ye be. I ha*ce a good ha -house, a barn, and a byre ; A peat -stack y'ore the doorxvillmak a ratitingjire; Til mak a ranting Jive, and merry shall we be. And gin ye uinna tak me, I can let ye be. Jenny said to Jocky, gin ye winna tell, Ye shall be the lad, I'll be the lass mysell ; YeWe a bonny lad, and I'm a lassie free ; Ye re wckomer to tak me than to let me be. I trow sae ; lasses will come too at last, Tho' for a while they maun their snaw-ba's cast. Mause. Well, Bauldy, how gaes a ? Baiddy. Faith unco right : I hope we'll a' sleep sound but ane this night. Madge. And wha's the unlucky ane if we may ask ? Bauldy. To find out that is nae difficult task. Poor bonny Peggy, wha maun think nae mair On Pate turned Patrick, and Sir William's heir. Now, now, fTood Madge, and honest Mause, stand be, "While Meg's in dumps, put in a word for me. rU be as kind as ever Pate could prove, Less wilfu', and ay constant in my love. 8C. I.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 581 Madge. As Neps can witness, and the bushy thorn, 'Where mony a time to her your heart was sworn. Fy ! Bauldy, blush, and vows of love i^egard ; AVhat ither lass will trow a mansworn herd ? The curse of Heaven hings ay aboon their heads. That's ever guilty of sic sinfu* deeds. I'll ne'er advise my niece sae gray a gate ; Nor will she be advised, fu' well I wat. Baiildij. Sae gray a gate ! manswoi^n ! and a' the rest ! Ye lied, auld roudes, and, in faith, had best Eat in your words ; else I shall gar ye stand. With a het face, afore the haly band. "^ladge. Ye'U gar me stand I ye shevelling-gabbet brock ! Speak that again, and, trembling, dread my rock. And ten sharp nails, that, when my hands are in, Can flyp the skin o' ye'r cheeks out o'er your chin. Bauldif. I tak ye witness, Mause, ye heard her say, That I'm mansworn. I winna let it gae. JMadgc. Ye're witness too, he ca'd me bonny names, And should be served as his good-breeding claims. o o ^ Ye filthy dog ! [/'V/V.v to Ills Jia'w I'lic afnrif. xi stout battle. Mausk ouicdvours to redd tJicm. O o ?> 582 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT IV. Mause. Let gang your grips ; fy, Madge ! howt, Bauldy, leen ; I wadna wish this tulzie had been seen, It*s sae daft Hke. ^ [BaUldy gets out o/" Madge's clutches with a bleeding nose. > Madge. 'Tis dafter hke, to thole An ether-cap hke him to blaw the coal. It sets him well, with vile unscrapit tongue. To cast up whether I be auld or young ; They're aulder yet than I have married been. And, or they died, their bairns' bairns have seen. Mause. That's true ; and, Bauldy, ye was far to blame. To ca* Madge ought but her ain christened name. Bauldy. My lugs, my nose, and noddle find the same. Madge. Auld roudes ! filthy fallow, I shall auld ye. Mause. Howt, no ; ye'U e'en be friends with ho- nest Bauldy. Come, come, shake hands ; this maun nae farther gae ; -Ye maun forgi'e 'm. I see the lad looks wae. Bauldy. In troth now, Mause, I have at Madge nae spite : But she abusing first was a' the wyte Of what has happened, and should therefore crave My pardon first, and shall acquittance have. SC. I.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 583 Madge. I crave your pardon I gallows-face, gae greet, And own your taut to her that ye wad cheat, Gae, or be blasted in your health and gear, 'Till ye learn to perform, as well as swear. Vow, and lowp back ! was e*er the like heard tell ? Swith, tak him deil ; he's o'er lang out of hell. Baiddy. [^running oJf.~\ His presence be about us ! curst were he That were condemned for life to live with thee. Madge. \_taugJiing.'] I think I've towzled his ha- rigalds a wee j He'll no soon grein to tell his love to me. He's but a rascal that wad mint to serve A lassie sae, he docs but ill deserve, Mausc. Ye towin'd him tightly ; I commend ye for't ; His blooding snout gave me nae little sport : For this forenoon he had that scant of grace. And breeding baith, to tell me to my face. He hoped I was a witch, and wadna srand. To lend him in this case my helping hand. Madge. A witch ! how had ye patience this to bear. And leave him een to see, or lugs to hear ? Mausc. Auld withered hands, and feeble joints like mine, Obligjs fowk resentment to decline ; O o 4 584 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT IV. Till aft 'tis seen, when vigour fails, then we With cunning can the lack of pith supply. Thus I pat aff revenge till it was dark. Syne bade him come, and we should gang to wark ; Fm sure he'll keep his tryst ; and I came here To seek your help, that we the fool may fear. Madge. And special sport we'll have, as I protest ; Ye'll be the witch, and I shall play the ghaist, A hnen. sheet wond round me like ane dead, I'll cawk my face, and grane, and shake my head. We'll fleg him sae, he'll mint nae mair to gang A conjuring, to do a lassie wrang. Mause. Then let us go j for see, 'tis hard on night, The westlin cloud shines red with setting light. {^Exeunt. SC. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 585 SCENE 11. When birds begin to nod upon the bough, And the green swaird grows damp with falling dew. While good Sir William is to rest retired, The Gentle Shepherd tenderly inspired, Wj'.lks through the broom with Roger ever leel. To meet, to comfort Meg, and tak farewell. Pa TIE and Roger. Roger. Wow ! but I'm cadgie, and my heart lowps light. O, Mr Patrick ! ay your thoughts were right : Sure gentle fowk are farther seen than we. That naething have to brag of pedigree. My Jenny now, wha brak my heart this morn. Is perfect yieidmg, sweet, and nae mair scorn. I spake my mind ; she heard. I spake again ; She smiled. I kissed, I wooed, nor wooed in vain* Faiic. I'm glad to hear't. But O ! my change this day Heaves up my joy, and yet I'm sometimes wae. I've found a father, gently kind as brave. And an estate that lifts me 'Doon the lave. 586 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT IV. } AVith looks all kindness, words that love confest, He all the father to my soul exprest. While close he held me to his manly breast. Such were the eyes, he said, thus smiled the mouth Of thy loved mother, blessing of my youth, Who set too soon ! And while he praise bestowed, Adown his gracefu' cheeks a torrent flowed. My new-born joys, and this his tender tale Did, mingled thus, o'er all. my thoughts prevail ; That speechless lang, my late kend sire I viewed. While gushing tears my panting breast bedewed. Unusual transports made my head turn round. Whilst I mysell, with rising raptures, found The happy son of ane sae much renowned. But he has heard ! Too faithful Symon's fear Has brought my love for Peggy to his ear. Which he forbids. Ah ! this confounds my peace. While thus to beat, my heart shall sooner cease. Rog. How to advise ye, troth I'm at a stand : But were't my case, ye'd clear it up afF hand. Pat. Duty, and haflen reason, plead his cause : But what cares love for reason, rules, and laws ? Still in my heart my shepherdess excels. And part of my new happiness repels. SC, II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 587 SANG XVII. Tune " Kirk wad let me be." Duty and part of reason, Flead strong on the parent's side, Which love so superior calls treason ; The strongest must be obeyed : For now, though Vm one oj the gentry. My constancy J alsehood repels. For change in my heart has no entry. Still there my dear Peggy excels. Rog. Enjoy them baith. Sir "William will be won: Your Peggy *s bonny ; you re his only son. Pat. She*s mine by vow-s, and stronger ties of love; And frae these bands nae change my mind shall move. I'll wed nane else ; through life I will be true. But still obedience is a parent's due. Rog. Is not our master and yoursell to stay Amang us here ? or, are ye gawn away To London court, or ither far-afF parts. To leave your ain poor us with broken hearts ? Pat. To Edinburgh straight to-morrow we ad- vance ; To London neist, and afterwards to France, Where I maun stay some years and learn to dance. ^ 588 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT IV. And twa three other monkey tricks. That done, I come hame struttmg in my red-heeled shoon. Then 'tis designed, when I can well behave^ That 1 maun be some pfetted thing's dull slave. For some few bags of cash, that, I wat well, I nae mair ijeed nor carts do a third wheel. But Peggy, dearer to me than my breath. Sooner than hear sic news, shall hear my death. Rog. 1 hey xi'fia have just enough can soundly sleep ; The o'oxwne only fashes f auk to keep. Good Mr Patrick, tak your ain tale hame. Fat. What was my morning thought, at night's the same : The poor and rich but differ in the name. Content's the greatest bliss we can procure Frae 'boon the lift ; without it kings are poor. Rog. But an estate, like yours, yields braw con- tent, When we but pick it scantly on the bent : Fine claiths, saft beds, sweet houses, and red wine. Good cheer, and witty friends, whene'er ye dine j Obeysant servants, honour, wealth, and ease : Wha's no content with these are ill to please. Fat. Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amiss j But mony a cloud hings hovering o'er the bliss. The passions rule the roast ; and, if they're sour. Like the lean kye, will soon the fat devour. SC. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 589 The spleen, tint honour, and aiFronted pride, Stang like the sharpest goads in gentry's side. The gouts and gravels, and the ill disease, Are frequentest with fouk o*erlaid with ease : While o*er the moor the shepherd, with less care, Enjoys his sober wish, and halesome air. Rog. Lord, man ! I wonder ay, and it delights My heart, whene'er I hearken to your flights. How gat ye a' that sense, I fain wad lear. That I may easier disappointments bear ? Pat. Frae books, the wale of books, I gat some skill ; These best can teach what's real good and ill. Ne'er grudge, ilk year, to ware some stanes of cheese. To gain these silent friends, that ever please. Rog. ril do't, and ye shall tell me whilk to buy : Faith I'se have books though I should sell ray kye. But now let's hear how you re designed to move. Between Sir William's will, and Peggy's love. Pat. Then here it lies : His will maun be " obeyed, My vows I'll keep, and she shall be my bride : But I some time this last design maun hide. Keep ye the secret close, and leave mc here j I sent for Peggy. Yonder comes my dear. Rog. Pleased that ye trust me with the secret, I, To wyle it frae me, a' the delis defy. [Exit Roger. 590 THE GENTLE, SHEPHERD. [ACT IV. Pa TIE solus. With what a struggle must I now impart My father's will to her that hauds my heart ! I ken she loves, and her saft saul will sink, "While it stands trembling on the hated brink Of disappointment. Heaven support my fair. And let her comfort claim your tender care. Her eyes are red ! Enter Peggy. My Peggy, why in tears ? Smile as ye wont, allow nae room for fears : Tho' Im nae mair a shepherd, yet I'm thine. Pen. I dare not think sae high : I now repine At the unhappy chance, that made not me A gentle match, or still a herd kept thee. ^\ ha can, withoutten pain, see frae the coast The ship that bears his all like to be lost ? Like to be carry 'd, by some rever's hand. Far frae his wishes, to some distant land ? l^ac. Ne er quarrel fate, whilst it with me remains. To raise thee up, or still attend these plains. My father has forbid our loves, I own : But love's superior to a parent's frown. I falsehood hate : Come kiss thy cares away j I ken to love, as well as to obey. Sir v'v illiam's generous ; leave the task to me. To make strict duty and true love agree. SC. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 591 Peg, Speak on ! speak ever thus, and still my grief j But short I dare to hope the fond relief. New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire, That with nice air swims round in silk attire : Then I, poor me ! with sighs may ban my fate. When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate; Nae mair again to hear sw^et tales exprest, By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest ; Nae mair be envied by the tattling gang, "When Patie kiss'd me, when I danced or sang : Nae mair, alake ! we'll on the meadow play ! And rin haff breathless round the rucks of hay ; As afttimes I have fled from thee right fain. And fawn on purpose, that I might be tane. Nae mair around the Foggy-know FU creep, To watch and stare upon thee, while asleep. But hear my vow, 'twill help to give me ease ; May sudden death, or deadly sair disease. And warst of ills attend my wretched life, If e'er to ane, but you, I be a wife. SAXG XVIIL Tune " Wac's my heart tJKit \\ c should sunder." Speak on, .speak thus, and sl'ill niii grief, Iluld up a licart that's sinking under These fears that soon icill li'jnt relic/', When Pate must from his Peg-i;'v sunder. 592 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT IV. A get tier face, and silk atthe, . A lady rich in beauty s bbssom, Alake poor me ! will now cojispire To steal theejrom thy Peggy's bosom. No more the shepherd, who excelFd The rest, zvhose wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell. Ah! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadmvs where zve often strayed. Ye banks where we were wont to xvander. Sweet-scented rucks, round xvhich we play d. You'll lose your sxveets when zve re asunder. Again, ah ! shall I never creep Around the K710W with silent duty, Kindly to watch thee, while asleep, And wonder at thy manly beauty ? Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow, Thd thou shouldst prove a wandering lover. Thro' lije to thee I shall prove true Nor be a wife to any other^ Pat, Sure Heaven approves, and be assured of me, I'll ne'er gang back of what I've sworn to thee : And time, tho' timf- maun interpose a while. And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle j 8c. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 593 Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face. If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place, rd hate my rising fortune, should it move The fair foundation of our faithful love. If at my foot were crowns and sceptres laid. To bribe my soul frae the delightful maid ; For thee I'd soon leave these inferior things To sic as have the patience to be kings. Wherefore that tear ? Believe, and calm thy mind. Peg. I greet for joy, to hear thy words sae kind. When hopes were sunk, and nought but mirk despair Made me think life was little worth my care. My heart was like to burst ; but now I see Thy generous thoughts will save thy love for me. With patience then I'll wait each wheeling year, Hope time away, till thou with joy appear ; And all the while I'll study gentler charms. To make me fitter for my traveller's arms : ril gain on uncle Glaud ; he's far frae fool. And will not grudge to put me through ilk school ; Where I may manners learn SANG XIX. Time " Tweedside." JFhen hope was quite sunk i?i despair. My heart it zcas going to break ; Mij life appear d n-ortJiless my care, But uozv I ivill save t for thy sake. pp 594 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT IV. Where er my love travels by day. Wherever he lodges by nighty With me his dear image shall stay. And my soul keep him ever in sight. With patience Til wait the long year^ And study the gentlest charms ; Hope time away till thou appear^ To lock thee for ay in those arms ; Whilst thou was a shephei^d, I prizd No higher degree in this life ; But noxv Til endeavour to rise Ta a height is becoming thy wife. For beauty that's only skin-deep, Mmtfade like the gowans of May^ But inxvardly rooted will keep For ever, ivithout a decay. Nor age, nor the changes of life. Can quench the fair fire of love, Jf virtues ingrain d in the ivife, And the husband have sense to approve. Pat. ^I'hat's wisely said. And what your uncle wares shall be well paid. Though without a' the little helps of art, Thy native sweets might gain a prince*s heart : SC. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 595 Yet now, lest in our station, we offend. We must learn modes, to innocence unkend j Affect afttimes to like the thing we hate. And drap serenity, to keep up state : Laugh, when we're sad j speak, when we've nought to say ; And, for the fashion, when we're blyth, seem wae : Pay compliments to them we aft have scornM ; Then scandalize them when their backs are turn'd. Peg. If this is gentry, I had rather be What I am still ; but I'll be ought with thee. Pat. No, no, my Peggy, I but only jest With gentry's apes ; for still amangst the best. Good manners give integrity a bleeze When native virtues join the arts to please. Peg. Since with nae hazard, and sae small expence. My lad frae books can gather siccan sense ; Then why, ah ! why should the tempestuous sea. Endanger thy dear life, and frighten me ? Sir William's cruel, that wad force his son. For watna-what's, sae great a risk to run. Pat. There is nae doubt, but travelling does im- prove. Yet I would shun it for thy sake, my love. But soon as I've shook aff my landwart cast. In foreign cities, hame to thee I'll haste. Peg. ^Vith every setting day, and rising morn, VW kneel to Heaven, and ask thy safe return. Pp2 596 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT IV. Under that tree, and on the Suckler brae. Where aft we wont, when bairns, to run and play, And to the Hissel-shaw where first ye vow*d Ye wad be mine, and I as eithly trow*d, ni aften gang, and tell the trees and flowers. With joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours, SANG XX. Tune " Bush aboon Traquair." At setting day, and rising morn, With soul that still shall love thee, Til ask of Heaven thy safe return, With all that can improve thee. Til visit oft the hirken bushy Where frst thou kindly told me Sweet tales of love, and hid my blushy Whilst round thou didst enfold me. To all our haunts I will repair^ By greenwood-shazo or fountain, Or where the summer-day Td share With thee upon yon mountain. There will I tell the trees andflmverSy From thoughts unfeignd and tender ,, By votvs you re mine, by love is yours A heart which cannot wander. SC. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 597 Pat. My dear, allow me, frae thy temples fair, A shining ringlet of thy flowing hair ; "Which, as a sample of each lovely charm, I'll aften kiss, and wear about my arm. Peg. Were't in my power with better boons to please, I'd give the best I could with the same ease j Nor wad I, if thy luck had fallen to me. Been in ae jot less generous to thee. Pat. I doubt it not ; but since weVe little time To ware*t on words, wad border on a crime : Love*s safter meaning better is exprest. When 'tis with kisses on the heart imprest. Pp3 598 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [aCT V. ACT v. SCENE I. See how poor Bauldy stares like ane possest. And roars up Symon frae his kindly rest : Bare-legg'd, with night-cap, and unbutton'd coat. See, the auld man comes forward to the sot." V Symox and Bauldy. Sym. W HAT want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour. While drowsy sleep keeps a' beneath its power ? Far to the north, the scant approaching light Stands equal *twixt the morning and the night. What gars ye shake and glowr, and look sae wan ? Your teeth they chitter, hair like bristles stand. Bduldij. O len me soon some water, milk or ale. My head's grown giddy ; legs with shaking fail j I'll ne'er dare venture forth at night my lane ; Alake ! I'll never be mysell again. I'll ne'er o'erput it ! Symon ! O Symon ! O ! \_Symon gives him a drinh. Sym. A\'hat ails thee, gowk ! to make sae loud ado ? You've wak'd Sir M'illiam, he has left his bed j He comes, I fear ill pleas' d ; I hear his tred. SC. I.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 599 Enter Sir William. Sir IFil. How goes the night ? Does day-light yet appear ? Symon, you're very timeously asteer. Sj/m. I'm ^orry, Sir, that we've disturb'd your " rest ; But some strange thing has Bauldy's sp'rit opprest ; He's seen some witch, or wrestled with a ghaist. ^ Bauldy. O ay, dear Sir, in troth 'tis very true ; And I am come to make my plaint to you. Sir IFiL [^smi/ing.'] I lang to hear't Bauldi/. Ah ! Sir, the witch ca'd Mause, That wins aboon the mill amang the haws, First promised that she'd help me with her art, To gain a bonny thrawart lassie's heart. As she had trysted, I met wi'er this night ; But may nae friend of mine get sic a fright ! For the cursed hag, instead of doing me good, (The very thought o't's like to freeze my blood !) Rais'd up a ghaist or deil, I kenna whilk. Like a dead corse in sheet as white as milk ; Black hands it had, and face as wan as death. Upon me fast the witch and // fell baith, And gat me down ; while I, like a great fool, A\'as laboured as I wont to be at school. My heart out of its hool was like to lowp ; I pithless grew with fear, and had nae hope, Pp4 600 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT V, Till, with an elritch laugh, they vanished quite : Syne I, haff dead with anger, fear and spite, Crap up, and fled straight frae them. Sir, to you, Hoping your help, to gie the deil his due. I'm sure my heart will ne'er gie o'er to dunt. Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be burnt. SirfVil. Well, Bauldy, whate'er's just shall grant- ed be ; Let Mause be brought this morning down to me. Bauldy! Thanks to your honour ; soon shall I obey : But first I'll Roger raise, and twa-three mae. To catch her fast, or she get leave to squeel. And cast her cantraips that bring up the deil. \_Exit. Sir Wil. Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt. The witch and ghaist have made themselves good sport. What silly notions crowd the clouded mind. That is through want of education blind ! Si/m. But does your honour think there's nae sic thing As witches raising deils up through a ring ? Syne playing tricks, a thousand I cou'd tell, Cou'd never be contrived on this side hell. Sir JVil. Such as the devil's dancing in a moor, Amongst a few old women crazed and poor, SC. I.] THfi GENTLE SHEPHERD. 601 Who are rejoiced to see him frisk and lowp 0*er braes and bogs, with candles in his dowp ; Appearing sometimes hke a black-horned cow, Afttimes like bawty, badrans, or a sow : Then with his train through airy paths to glide, While they on cats, or clowns, or broom-staffs ride ; Or in the egg-shell skim out o'er the main. To drink their leader's health in France or Spain : Then aft by night, bumbaze hare-hearted fools. By tumbUng down their cup-board, chairs and stools. \A hate*er's in spells, or if there witches be. Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me. Sym. 'Tis true enough, we ne'er heard that a witch Had either meikle sense, or yet was rich. But Mause, though poor, is a sagacious wife. And lives a quiet and very honest life ; That gars me think this hobleshew that's past Will land in naithing but a joke at last. Sir Jfll. I'm sure it will: But see increasing light Commands the imps of darkness down to night ; Bid raise my servants, and my horse prepare, "Whilst I walk out to take the morning air. 602 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT V. SANG XXI. Tune ** Bonny grey-eyed morn." The bonny grey-eyed morn begins to peep, And darkness flies before the rising ray ; The hearty hind starts from his lazy sleep, To follow healthful labours of the day : Without a guilty sting to zvrinkle his broWj The lark and the linnet tend his levee, And he joins their concert, driving his plow, From toil of grimace and pageantry fixe. While flustered xvith wine, or maddened with loss Of half of an estate, the prey of a main. The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss, Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain. Be my portion health, and quietness of mind, Placed at due distance fi^om parties and state, Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind, Meach him who has happiness linked to his fate. [Exeunt. SC. 11.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 603 SCENE II. While Peggy laces up her. bosotn fair, With a blue snood Jenny binds up her hair ; Glaud by his morning ingle takes a btek, The rising sun shines motty through the reek, A pipe his mouth ; the lasses please his een. And now and then his joke maun intervene. Glaud, Jenny, and Peggy. Gland. I WISH, my bairns, it may keep fair till night ;- Ye do not use sae soon to see the light. Nae doubt now ye intend to mix the thrang, To take your leave of Patrick or he gang. But do ye think that now when he's a laird. That he poor landwart lasses will regard .? Jen. Tho' he*s young master now, I m very sure He has mair sense than slight auld friends, tho' poor. But yesterday he gae us mony a tug, And kissed my cousin there frae lug to lug. Glaud. Ay, ay, nae doubt o't, and he'll do*t again j But, be advised, his company refrain : Before he, as a shepherd, sought a wife, A\ ith her to live a chaste and frugal life ; But now grown gentle, soon he will forsake Sic godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake. 604 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT V. Peg. A rake ! what's that f Sure if it means ought ill. He'll never be't, else I have tint my skill. Glaud. Daft lassie, ye ken nought of the affair, Ane young and good and gentle's unco rare. A rake*s a graceless spark, that thinks nae shame. To do what like of us thinks sin to name : Sic are sae void of shame, they 11 never stap To brag how aften they have had the clap. They'll tempt young things, like you, with youdith flushed. Syne make ye a' their jest, when ye're debauched. Be wary then, I say, and never gie Encouragement, or bourd with sic as he. Peg. Sir WilHam's virtuous, and of gentle blood; And may not Patrick too, like him, be good ? Glaud. That's true, and mony gentry mae than he. As they are wiser, better are than we ; But thinner sawn : They're sae puft up with pride. There's mony of them mocks ilk haly guide. That shaws the gate to Heaven. I've heard mysell, Some of them laugh at doomsday, sin and hell. Jen. Watch o'er us father ! heh ! that's very odd ; Sure him that doubts a doomsday, doubts a God. Glaud. Doubt! why they neither doubt, nor judge, nor think. Nor hope, nor fear; but curse, debauch, and drink: SC. II.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 605 But I'm no saying this, as if I thought That Patrick to sic gates will e'er be brought. Peg. The Lord forbid ! Na, he kens better things : But here comes aunt ; her face some ferly brings. Enter Madge. Madge. Haste, haste ye ; we're a* sent for o'er the gate. To hear, and help to redd some odd debate *Tween Mause and Bauldy, 'bout some witchcraft spell, At Symon's house : The knight sits judge himsell. Glaud. Lend me my staff j Madge, lock the out- er door, And bring the lasses wi' ye ; I'll step before. [_EMt. Madge. Poor Meg ! Look, Jenny, was the like e'er seen. How bleer'd and red with greeting look her een ? This day her brankan wooer takes his horse. To strute a gentle spark at Edinburgh cross ; To change his kent, cut frae the branchy plain. For a nice sword, and glancing headed cane ; To leave his ram-horn spoons, and kitted whey, For gentler tea, that smells like new won hay ; To leave the green-swaird dance, v/hen we gae milk, To rustle amang the beauties clad in silk. But Meg, poor Meg ! maun with the shepherd stay. And tak what God will send, in hodden-gray. 608 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT V* Peg. Dear aunt, what need ye fash us wi' your scorn ? That's no my faut that Pm nae gentler born. Gif I the daughter of some laird had been, I ne'er had notic'd Patie on the green : Now since he rises, why should I repine ? If he's made for another, he 11 ne'er be min**- And then, the like has been, if the decree Designs hini mine, I yet his wife may be. Madge. A bonny story, trowth ! But we delay : Prin up your aprons baith, and come away. {^Exeunt. SC. III.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 607 SCENE III. . Sir William fills the twa-arm'd chair, While Symon, Roger, Glaud, and Mause, Attend, and with loud laughter hear Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cause : For now 'tis tell'd him that the tawz Was handled by revengefu* Madge, Because he brak. good breeding's laws. And with his nonsense rais'd their rage. Sir William, Patie, Roger, Symon, Glaud, Bauldy, and Mause. Sir IVil And was that all? Well Bauldy, ye was served No otherwise than what ye well deserved. Was it so small a matter, to defame. And thus abuse an honest woman's name ? Besides your going about to have betrayed By perjury an innocent young maid. Bauldy. Sir, I confess my faut thro' a* the steps, And ne'er again shall be untrue to Neps. Mause. Thus far. Sir, he obliged me on the score ; I kend not that they thought me sic before. Bauldy. An't like your honour, I believed it well j But trowth I was e'en doilt to seek the deil : 608 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT t Yet, with your honour's leave, tho' she's nae witchj She*s baith a slee and a revengefu' j And that my some-place finds. But I had best Haud in my tongue ; for yonder comes, the ghaist^ And the yoling bonny xcitch^ whase rosy cheek Sent me, without my wit, the deil to seek* Enter Madge, Peggy, and Jenny. Sir JVil. [^looking at Peggy. ~\ Whose daughter's she that wears th' aurora gown, With face so fair, and locks a lovely brown ? How sparkling are her eyes ! What's this ! I find The girl brings all my sister to my mind. Such were the features once adorned a face. Which death too soon deprived of sweetest grace* Is this your daughter, Glaud ? ^ Glaud. Sir, she's my niece y And yet she's not : but I should hald my peace. Sir JVil. This is a contradiction : What d'ye mean ? She is, and is not ! Pray thee, Glaud, explain. Gland. Because I doubt, if I should make ap-" pear What I have kept a secret thirteen year. Alaiise. You may reveal what I can fully clear. ^ Sir JVil. Speak soon ; I'm all impatience ! Pat. So am I ! For much I hope, and hardly yet know why. # SC. III.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 609 Glaud. Then, since my master orders, I obey. This honny fundl'mg^ ae clear morn of May, Close by the lee-side of my door I found, All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt round, In infant-weeds of rich and gentle make. What cou'd they be, thought I, did thee forsake ? Wha, warse than brutes, cou'd leave exposed to air Sae much of innocence sae sweetly fair, Sae helpless young ? for she appeared to me Only about twa towmonds auld to \q. I took her in my arms, the baimie smiled With sic a look wad made a savage mild. I hid the story : She has passed sincesyne As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine. Nor do I rue my care about the wean, For she's well worth the pains that I have tane. Ye see she's bonny, I can swear she's good. And am right sure she's come of gentle blood : Of whom I kenna. Nathing ken I mair. Than what I to your honour now declare. Sir IVil. This tale seems strange ! l^at. The tale delights my ear ; Sir JVil. Command your joys, young man, till truth appear. 3fause. That be my task. Now, Sir, bid all be hush : Peggy may smile ; thou hast no cause to blush. Qq 610 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT V. Long have I wished to see this happy day, That I might safely to the truth give way ; That I may now Sir William Worthy name. The best and nearest friend that she can claim : He saw't at first, and with quick eye did trace His sister's beauty in her daughter's face. Sir TVil. Old woman, do not rave j prove what you say ; 'Tis dangerous in affairs like this to play. Pat. What reason. Sir, can an old woman have To tell a lie, when she's sae ne'er her grave ? But how, or why, it should be truth, I grant, I every thing, looks like a reason, want. Omnes. The story's odd ! we wish we heard It out. Sir JVil. Mak haste, good woman, and resolve each doubt. [Mause goesfoncard, leading Peggy to Sir William. Mause. Sir, view me well j has fifteen years so ploughed A wrinkled face that you have often viewed. That here I as an unknown stranger stand, Who nursed her mother that now holds my hand ? Yet stronger proofs I'll give, if you demand. Sir ini. Ha ! honest nurse, where were my eyes before ! I know thy faithfulness, and need no more ; SC. III.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 611 Yet, from the labyrinth to lead out my mind, Say, to expose her who was so unkind ? [*S'ir William embraces Peggy, and makes her sit by him. Yes, surely thou'rt my niece ; truth must prevail : But no more words, till Mause relate her tale. Pat. Good nurse, go on ; nae music's hafF sae fine. Or can give pleasure like these words of thine. Mause. Then, it was I that saved her infant-life, Her death being threatened by an uncle's wife. The story's lang ; but I the secret knew. How they pursued, with avaritious view. Her rich estate, of which they're now possest : All this to me a confident confest. I heard with horror, and with trembling dread. They'd smoor the sakeless orphan in her bed ! That very night, when all were sunk in rest. At midnight hour, the floor I saftly prest. And staw the sleeping innocent away ; With whom I travelled some few miles e'er day : All day I hid me ; when the day was done, I kept my journey, lighted by the moon. Till eastward fifty miles I reached these plains. Where needful plenty glads your cheerful swains ; Afraid of being found out, I to secure My charge, e'en laid her at this shepherd's door. And took a neighbouring cottage here, that I, Whace'er should happen to her, might be by. (^q2 61^ THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT V. Here honest Glaud himsell, and Symon may Remember well, how I that very day Frae Roger's father took my little crove. Glaud. [zvith tears of joy happing dawn his heard.'] I well remember't. Lord reward your love : Lang have I wished for this ; for aft I thought, Sic knowledge some time should about be brought. ^Pat. 'Tis now a crime to doubt ; my joys are full. With due obedience to my parent's will. Sir, with paternal love survey her charms. And blame me not for rushing to her arms. She's mine by vows ; and would, tho' still unknown, Have been my wife, when I my vows durst own. Sir Wil. . My niece, my daughter, welcome to my care. Sweet image of thy mother good and fair. Equal with Patrick : Now my greatest aim Shall be, to aid your joys, and well-matched flame. My boy, receive her from your father's hand. With as good will as either would demand. [Patie and Peggy embrace, and kneel to Sir William. Pat. With as much joy this blessing I receive. As ane wad hfe, that's sinking in a wave. Sir nil. [^raises them.'] I give you both my bless- ing ; may your love Produce a happy race, and still improve. er be ; "J rie : V ?. J SC. III.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 613 Peg. My wishes are complete ; my joys arise. While I'm hafF dizzy with the blest surprise. And am I then a match for my ain lad. That for me so much generous kindness had ? Lang may Sir William bless these happy plains, Happy while Heaven grant he on them remains. Pat. Be lang our guardian, still our master be ; We'll only crave what you shall please to gie The estate be yours, my Peggy's ane to me. Claud. I hope your honour now will take amends Of them that sought her life for wicked ends. *SV;* JVil. The base unnatural villain soon shall know, That eyes above watch the affairs below. I'll strip him soon of all to her pertains, And make him reimburse his ill-got gains. ' Peg. To me the views of wealth and an estate, Seem light when put in balance with my Pate : For his sake only, I'll ay thankful bow For such a kindness, best of men, to you. Sym. What double blythness wakens up this day ! I hope now, Sir, you'll no soon haste away. Sail I unsaddle your horse, and gar prepare A dinner for ye of hale country fare ? See how much joy unwrinkles every brow ; Our looks hiiig on the twa, and doat on you : 'Even Bauldy the bewitched has quite forgot Fell Madge's taz, and pav.'ky Mause's plot. O q 3 614 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT V. Sir JVil. Kindly old man, remain with you this day, I never from these fields again will stray : Masons and wrights shall soon my house repair. And busy gardeners shall new planting rear : My father's hearty table you soon shall see Restored, and my best friends rejoice with me. Spn. That*s the best news I heard this twenty year; New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear. Glaud. God save the king, and save Sir William lang. To enjoy their ain, and raise the shepherd's sang. Rog. Wha winna dance ? wha will refuse to sing ? What shepherd's whistle winna lilt the spring ? Bauldy. I'm friends with Mause j with very Madge I'm 'greed. Although they skelpit me when woodly fleid : I'm now fu' blyth, and frankly can forgive. To join and sing, " Lang may Sir William live." Madge. Lang may he live : And, Bauldy, learn to steek Your gab a wee, and think before ye speak ; And never ca' her auld that wants a man, Else ye may yet some witches fingers ban. This day I'll with the youngest of ye rant. And brag for ay, that I was ca'd the aunt Of our young lady ; my dear bonny bairn ! Pig. No other name I'll ever for you learn. 8C. III.^ THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 615 And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu' be. For a* thy matchless kindness done for me ? Mciuse. The flowing pleasures of this happy day Does fully all I can require repay. Sir Wil. To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, to you. And to your heirs I give in endless feu. The mailens ye possess, as justly due. For acting like kind fathers to the pair. Who have enough besides, and these can spare. Mause, in my house in calmness close your days. With nought to do, but sing your Maker's praise. Omnes, The Lord of Heaven return your honour's love. Confirm your joys, and a' your blessings roove. Pat. l^presejitiiig JxOGER to Sir William.] Sir, here's my trusty friend, that always shared My bosom-secrets, ere I was a laird ; Gland's daughter Janet (Jenny, think nae, shame) Raised, and maintains in him a lover's flame : Lang was he dumb, at last he spake, and won. And hopes to be our honest uncle's son : Be pleased to speak to Glaud for his consent. That nane may wear a face of discontent. Sir ini. My son's demand is fair ; Glaud, let me crave, That trusty Roger may your daughter have, r 616 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [acT V. With frank consent ; and while he does remain Upon these fields, I make him chamberlain. Glaud. You. crowd your bounties, Sir, what can we say. But that we're dyvours that can ne'er repay ? Whate*er your honour wills, I shall obey. Roger, my daughter, with my blessing, take. And still our master's right your business make. Please him, be faithful, and this auld gray head Shall nod with quietness down amang the dead. Hog. I ne'er was good a speaking a' my days. Or ever loed to make o'er great a phrase : But for my master, father and my wife, I will employ the cares of all my life. Sir JVil. My friends, I'm satisfied you'll all behave, Each in his station, as I'd wish or crave. Be ever virtuous, soon or late ye' 11 find Reward, and satisfaction to your mind. The maze of life sometimes looks dark and wild j And oft when hopes are highest, we're beguiled : Aft, when we stand on brinks of dark despair. Some happy turn with joy dispels our care Now all's at rights, who sings best let me Peg. When you demand, I readiest should obey: I'll sing you ane, the newest that I hae. pair, -^ hear. J SC. III.] THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 617 SANG XXII. Tune " Corn-rigs are bonny." My Patie is a bver gay, His mind is never muddy ; His breath is sweeter than nexv hay, His face is fair and ruddy : His shape is handsome, middle size ; Hes comely iti his wauking : The shining of his een surprise ; 'Tis Heaven to hear him tawking. Last night I met him on a baxvk, JVhere yellow corn was growing, There 7nony a kindly word he spake, That set my heart a glozving. He kissed, and vowed he wad be mine. And bed me best of ony. That gars 7ne like to sing sincesyne, O corn-riggs are bonny. Let lasses of a silly mind Refuse what maist they re wanting ; Since we for yielding were designed, JVe chastely should be granting. 618 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. [ACT V. Then Fll comply, and marry Pate^ And syne my cockernony He s fixe to t ouzel air or late, fVhere corn-riggs are bonny. Exeunt omnes. APPENDIX. No. I. MEMOIRS of the late David Allax, Painter in Edinburgh ; commonly called the Scots Ho- garth. x\.s his history is unknown to his countrymen in general, it was thought proper to introduce, here, some account of the late David Allan, who, with his pencil, has kept aHve Allan Ramsay's characters, and preserved from change, or decay, their manners, furniture, and accommodations, with so much fide- lity, and judgment. In farther illustrating his pasto- ral, whatever concerns this ingenious, and congenial artist, must excite a lively interest ; and his admi- rable edition of it is frequently referred to in the preceding descriptions of its scenary, so intimately connected with his designs in aquatinta. 620 LIFE OF DAVID ALLAN, [apP. In the Scots Magazine for November 1 804, page 822, appeared this '' Query respecting Allan the Painter. "To the Editor.- "Sir, " I would be obliged to any of your correspon- dents, through the medium of your Magazine, if they could furnish any memoirs of the late celebra- ted David Allan, the Scottish Hogarth : as I do not believe any account of him w^as ever published, any information regarding him would be an acquisition to your readers. I am. Sir, yours, &c. Edinburgh, 7 A c: ' Oct. 22. 1804. 3 ^* ^* An " x\xs\rER" to this " query" appeared next month, in page 912 ; but it contains nothing, save the date of his death, with an enumeration of some of his paintings, and prints ; a bad pun ; and infor- mation, that, " in the Life of Burns the Poet, there is frequent mention made of this ingenious artist, in the Letters of Burns and Thomson, that do him im- mortal honour." This is the only answer that has ever been obtained ; and no account of him has at all appeared, excepting a very superficial one since, in 1805, in what is called the Bi agraphia Scoiica. NO. I.] THE SCOTS HOGARTH. 621 The following Memoirs are drawn up, chiefly, from the communications of his mdoxv, now in Edin- burgh J and of his brother James Allan, farmer at Hall near Denny in Stirlingshire, a son of his father by a second marriage. David Allan the painter, who likewise etched, and aquatinted, second son of David Allan shore- master at Alloa, and Janet Gullan from Dunfermline, was born at Alloa on the 1 3th of February 1 744. In consequence of a fright she got, and the deli- cate state of her health, he was born in the sixth or seventh month of his mother's pregnancy, who died a few days afterwards ; and no nurse could be found whom he could suck in the neighbourhood, owing to the smallness of his mouth. After some time at length a suitable one being heard of, the child, which was both little and weak, being wrapped up careful- ly, was laid in a basket among cotton, and sent by a man on horseback to be suckled by a woman who lived at the distance of some miles from Alloa. In consequence of a recent storm, the snow was lying very deep on the ground ; the horse, entangled a- mongst it, stumbled, and both the man and his ten- der charge fell off. The infant was thrown out of the basket, and received so severe a cut on his head that the mark it left remained til! his death. 622 LIFE OF DAVID ALLAN, [aPP. The child was not expected to live ; and from the circumstances attending his birth, together with his early misfortune, his arrival made some noise in the place, and excited an interest in his fate, not only in the village where the nurse resided, but throughout the whole country round it. Among those who came to see him, was a worthy lady in its vicinity, who had so much compassion for him, that, every day, when she rode out in her carriage an airing, she called at the nurse's house and took the infant along with her, till, by her particular care and attention, -he was at last preserved. After he was sent home from nursing, the maid who had the care of him, went with him in her arms, into a crowd, collected to see some experiments ma- king with loaded cannons ; when he, again, nearly lost his life, through her stupidity in running with him across the opening before the guns, at the time they went off. The first essay of his genius for designing, was oc- casioned by his having got a burned foot, when a little boy, which confined him to the house. One day, at this time, his father said to him. " You idle little rogue ! you are kept from school and doing no- thing ! Come ! Here is a bit of chalk. Draw some- thing with it on the floor." This trifling incident NO. I.] THE SCOTS HOGARTH. 623 discovered young Allan's natural bent both to h I self and others ; and turned his attention to an art towards which he instantly found himself instinctive- ly attracted. He took the chalk, and began to deli- neate figures, animals, houses, &c. as his fancy di- rected, and from that time it was seldom out of his hand. After this, when he had been some time at school, and was about ten years old, his master happening somewhat ludicrously to exercise his authority over some of the scholars, he could not refrain from co- pying the group on his slate, and exhibiting it for the amusement of his companions. His master was an old man, short sighted, and extremely vain, who used to strut about the school dressed in a tartan night-cap, and long tartan gown, with the rod of correction, which he often applied very injudiciously, constantly in his hand. Purblind however as he was, he got sight of Allan's picture, in which he made a most conspicuous, though not a flattering, figure. His wounded feelings were immediately trans- ferred to the little humourist, and the chastisement he received was commensurate to his master's self- conceit, and the merit of the drawing. The resem- blance was so severe, and the impression, made by the laugh it raised, sunk so deep, that the object of it remained unsatisfied till he had made a complaint 624 LIFP OF DAVID ALLAN, [APP. to old Allan, and had the boy taken from his school. When questioned by his father how he had the ef- frontery to insult his master, by representing him so ridiculously on his slate ? His answer was, " I made it iikfi him j and I only did it ior Jm." The natural propensity ; the ruling passion pre- vailed. It was vain to attempt to turn aside, to smo- ther, or extinguish the fire of genius. His father observed its irresistible direction; and wisely follow- ed the course pointed out by nature as the only road by which his son could rise to eminence. Upon the 23d of February 1755, being then eleven years of age, he was bound an apprentice to the celebrated printers, Messrs Robert and Andrew Fouhs, for se- ven years, to attend their painting academy in the u- nivefsity of Glasgow. In New-Hall House there is a sketch in oil colours by him whilst there, of the inside of the academy, with an exact portrait of Ro- bert Foulis, the founder and conductor of it, critici- sing a large picture, and giving instructions to his principal painter about it. In this school engraving was taught, as well as painting, and drawing. In the year 1764, some of his performances at- tracted the notice of the late Lord Cathcart ; whose seat, Shaw Park, is situated in Clackmannanshire, near Alloa. Lady Cathcart introduced him to the NO. I.] THE SCOTS HOGARTH. 625 notice of the late Lady Frances Erskine, Lady Char- lotte Erskine, Mrs Abercromby of Tullybody, and some others in the neighbourhood, who proposed he should go to Italy, to prosecute his studies more ad- vantageously. He set out, furnished with letters of recommendation, and, amongst the rest, with one to Sir William Hamilton then in Naples; and also with letters of credit to support him whilst abroad. Du- ring his residence in Italy, Lady Cathcart wrote to him frequently, with all the care, and affection of a mother. In Italy he studied about eleven years, with unre- mitting application. In Rome, in 1773, and after- wards, he gained the prize medal given by the Aca- demy of St Luke fof the best specimen of historical composition. The two medals, one of gold, and the other of silver, are now in the possession of his wi- dow in Edinburgh. ^Except Mr Gavin Hamilton of Murdostown in Lanarkshire, he was the only Scots- man that had ever been so distinguished by that aca- demy. On his return to Britain he resided about two years in London; but, falling into a bad state of health, he was ordered home to Scotland, for a change of air. In 1786, soon after his arrival in Edinburgh, on the death, in 1775, of his distinguish- Rr 626 LIFE OF DAVID ALLAN, [aPP. ed predecessor Alexander Runciman, he was ap- pointed director and master of the academy establish- ed at Edinburgh by the Board of Trustees for ma- nufactures and improvements, for the purpose of dif- fusing a knowledge of the principles of the fine arts and elegance of design in the various manufactures and works which require to be figured and orna- mented. This charge he retained the remainder of his days. I' Having, probably some time before, projected a new edition of The Gentle Shepherd ; he, in autumn 1786, the same year in which he was made master of the academy in Edinburgh, paid his unexpected visit at New Hall, for the purpose of collecting fi- gures, and copying the original scenes on the spot, which had produced the pastoral comedy. He was accompanied by a friend, who had been a captain in the army, of the name of Campbell, from Glencross house, whom he has complimented by introducing his likeness in the character of " Sir William Wor- thy." All the other figures, being copied from in- dixidual nature, are likewise portraits. The out, and inside of " Gland's Oiutead ;' the Monks Burn, and its loiver or middle I'tn ; were all drawn on the side of that stream : and his designs for the " 11 ash- ing Green,'' and " Ilab/jie's Tloxr,'' afterv/ards aqua- tinted for the second scene of the drama, were also NO. I.] THE SCOTS HOGARTH. 627 delineated from the " howm** on the Esk behind New-Hall House, * Where lasses use to wash and spread their claiths," and from the " little lin," between and the Carlops, which falls into the bason called Feggi/'s Fool, " farer up the burn" in nature, as in the pastoral, than the "hovvm." Ramsay was realized by the publication of this e- dition in 1788 ; and on the 28th of October in the same year, this faithful painter of his scenes was married to Miss Shirley Welsh, the youngest daugh- ter of Thomas Welsh, who was a carver and gilder in Edinburgh, but had withdrawn from business. By his wife he had five children ; three of whom were cut off by disease in their infancy. He himself died of a dropsy, preceded by an asth- ma occasioned by his sedentary life, and close appli- cation to his business, on the 6th of August 1796, in the fifty-third year of his age; leaving behind him a widow with one son, David, and one daughter na- med Barbara Anne Allan. His son David Allan, a promising youth, was sent out a cadet to India ia September last 1806. R r 2 628 LIFE OF DAVID ALLAN, [aPP. In person our Scots Hogarth had nothing attrac- tive. His figure was a bad resemblance of his hu- morous precursor of the English metropolis. He was under the middle size ; of a slender, feeble make, with a long, sharp, lean, white, coarse face, much pitted by the small pox, and fair hair. His large, prominent eyes of a light colour, looked weak, near sighted, and not very animated. His nose was long, and high ; his mouth wide ; and both ill shaped. His whole exterior, to strangers, appear- ed unengaging, trifling, and mean. His dejwrtment was timid, and obsequious. The prejudices, naturally excited by these exter- nal disadvantages, at introduction, however, were soon dispelled on acquaintance ; and, as he became easy and pleased, gradually yielded to agreeable sen- sations ; till they, insensibly, vanished ; and were not only overlooked, but, from the effect of contrast, e- ven heightened the attractions by which they were, so unexpectedly, followed. When in company he esteemed, that suited his taste, as restraint wore off, his eye, imperceptibly, became active, bright, and penetrating ; his manner and address, quick, hvely, and interesting, always kind, polite, and respectful ; his conversation, open, gay, humorous, without sa- tire, and communicative, playfully replete with bene- volence, observation, and anecdote. On the anti- NO. I.J THE SCOTS HOGARTH. 629 quities, and literary history of his country, he had employed much of his attention, and delighted to discourse. The following additional character of him has been given, which he well deserved, " His pri- vate life was marked by the strictest honour, and in- tegrity. His manners were gentle, unassuming, and obliging. He will be long remembered, and his loss regretted, by every one who enjoyed the happiness of his friendship." Biogr. Scot. As a painter, at least in his own country , he neither ex* celled in drawing, composition, colouring, nor effect* Like Hogarth, too, beauty, grace, and grandeur,. either of individual outline and form, or of style, constitute no part of his merit. He was no Correggio, Raphael, or Michael Angelo, He painted portraits, as well as Ho- garth, below the size of life ; but they are recom mended by nothing, save a strong homely resem- blance. They are void of all the charms of elegance;, and of the claro-obscuro. As an artist, and a man of genius, his characteristic talent lay in expression ;. in the imitation of nature with truth and humour j> especially in the ludicrous representation of laugh- able incidents in low life, where her more animated, and more varied, effects, operate most powerfully and freely, unfettered, and undisguised, by the drill of ceremonious uniformity ; and where blunders and absurdities, arc most numerous, and striking. His R r 5 630 LIFE OF DAVID ALLAN, [aPP. vigilant eye lay always on the watch, for every eccen- tric figure, every motley group, or ridiculous inci- dent, out of which his pencil, or his needle, could draw innocent entertainment and mirth. As already noticed, all the dramatis personam of his scenes, and the scenes themselves, for The Gentle Shepherd, are portraits, selected from particular na- ture. His character, as a painter, was marked pre- cisely by the same features with that of Allan Ram- say, as a poet. He has done ample justice to his meaning, and humour ; because his opportunities of observation, from his acquaintance with his originals, were the same, and their minds being congenial, the effects these produced were alike on both. Allan's pictures, are but Ramsay's scenes realized, and pre- sented to the eye. Both, equally, possessed similar powers of perceiving, and perpetuating, whatever is ridiculous, or uncouth, in shape^ dress, attitude, ex- pression, or association ; of imitating, arresting, and preserving, for the entertainment, and information of posterity, by the only possible means of doing so, those genuine characteristic differences in figure, cast of features, manner, and modes of life, appropriate to every age, and district, so varied, discriminative, and striking, yet so difficult to catch precisely with the pencil, and so elusive of every effort at descrip- tion with the pen j of exhibiting pure, unaffected 1^0. I.] THE scars hogarth. 631 nature, peculiar, as well as general, with truth ; and of drawing the emotions and passions, under their real, and particular effects, and appearances at the scenes of action : But the meaning of the poet, una- voidably, remained imperfect, and obscure, without the explanations of the painter, , In New-Hall House there is an excellent portrait of our Scots Hogarth, painting from a statue, after a picture done in the year 1774, byDominico Corvi at Rome ; and also most correct likenesses in basso relievo of Mr and Mrs Allan, received from his wi- dow, which were taken for, and under the direction 'of, the painter himself, by the celebrated Tassie, forming one elegant, spirited, and beautiful piece of sculpture within the same oblate oval frame. No. n. POEMS connected zvith, and referred to, in the li.- i.usiRAiio'ss ; from the IForh (f Dr Alexan- der Pennecuik of Nciv Hally published in the, year 17I0. To my Friend ; inviting him to the C aunt r if. Sir ; fly the smoke, and clamour of the town : Breathe country air ; and see the crops cut down : Revel o*er Nature's sweets ; dine on good beef j And praise the granter of the plenteous sheaf. Rr 4 632 POEMS FROM [apP. Free firom all care we'll range thro' various fields. Studying those plants which mother Nature yields. In Li/nes meandering brook we'll sometimes fish ; The trout's a brave, but no expensive dish. When limbs are wearied, and our sport is done, We'll trudge to Cantszvalls, by the setting sun ; And there, some hours, we'll quaff a cup of ale. And smoke our pipe, backed by a wanton tale. We'll read no Courant which the news home brings ; For what have we to do with wars, or kings ? We'll ne'er disturb our heads with state affairs ; But talk of plough, and sheep, and country fairs. Churchmen's contentions we abhor to hear : They're not for conscience, but for worldly gear. We'll fear our God ; wish well to king and nation j "^ Worship, on Sabbath, with the congregation j v Thus live in peace j and die in reputation. . J The j1 lit hors ANSWER, to his b?'ot/icr J a^ies Pex- necuik's many letters dissuading him from stay- ing longer in the Count ry ; and inviting him to come and settle his residence) andfolkiv his em~ phyment, in Edinburgh. His brother vvas a practising member of the Faculty of Advocates, Some say I have both genius and time. To make friends nierry with my country rhyme ; NO. 11.] DR PENNECUIK's WORKS. 633 And raise the strain of my coy modest muse, From coarse-spun stockings, and plain dirty shoes. I hear the birds, here, sweet companions, sing ; To welcome home the verdure of the spring. While herbalizing shady groves, and mountains, I quench my thirst by crystal streams, and fountains ; There, joyfully, I sit me down and smell. The flowery fields, and Heliconian well. I am no Nimrod ; nor make it my care. To see a greyhound slay a silly hare : Though I can follow that, when I have leisure. For exercise, I swear, more than for pleasure. The noble horse, that saves us oft from death, I think' t bad sport to run him out of breath. When there's no need, it was not spoke in jest. Merciful men show mercy to a beast. I love the net ; I like the fishing hook ; To angle by the pretty murmuring brook. To curl upon the ice does greatly please ; That hearty, manly, Scottish exercise. That clears the brain, stirs up the native heat. And gives a gallant appetite for meat. In winter, too, I often plant a tree ; Remarking what the annual growth may be : 634 POEMS FROM [aPP. Order my hedges, and repair my ditches. Which gives delight, although not sudden riches; So, when of these sweet solitudes I tire. We have our trysts, and meetings of the shire j Where some few hours, the tedious time to pass, We sit, and quaff a merry moderate glass. Visits we interchange with one another. In boil accord^ like sister and like brother. Which makes our harmless meetings still to be, A bond and cement of society. Pleased, I return to garden, book, or study ; Far from the court, my friend, far from the woody : While you enpy Jalse pleasures in their prime, &c. Near unto Libberton, or Fosters JVynd, The good old man may, cozie, live, you find. I will not be so graceless, James, nor bold. To stifle him with smoke, though he be old. Nor will I, to repair my former losses. Consent he break his Hmbs in your stay closes ; But near to Stirling Yards, or Heriofs JFork, Where he may freely breathe . There must he quartered be, God's praise to sing. For his refreshful breathings in the spring ; And when stern fate that breath shall countermand, The greedy Gray Friars we have near at hand, &c. NO. II.] DR PENNECUIK's WORKS. 635 Elegy on the Death of Alex a-sder Penkecuik of New Hall, sometime Chirurgeon to General . Bannier, in the Sxoedish wars ; and, since, Chi- rurgeon-General to the auxiliarij Scots army in England. The Author's Father. 'O' Come, try your talents ; mourn, and bear a part, Ye candidates of learned Machaon*s art : For death, at length, hath shuffled from the stage The oldest jEsculapius of our age : A Scotsman true ; a faithful friend, and sure ; Who flattered not the rich, nor scourged the poor. Where shall we go for help ? Whom shall we trust? Our Scots Apollo's humbled in the dust ! Many poor souls will miss him, in their need ; To whom his hands gaye health ;. yea clothes, and , bread. Thrice thirty years do now these hands destroy. That cured our maladies, and caused our joy. Five mighty kings, from's birth unto his grave. The Caledonian sceptre swayed have. Four times his eyes have seen, from cloak to gownj Prelate and Presbyter turn upside down. He loved his native country as himself; And ever scorned the greed of worldly pelf. V 636 POEMS FROM [aPP. From old forbeirs, much worth he did inherit j A gentleman by birth, and more by merit. Nothing is here expressed, but what is true. Farewell, old Fennecuik ! Reader, adieu ! Inscription to be put at the foot of Jonas Hamil- ton o/" Coldcoafs * Picture, draxvn by . Painter, thou hast, now, with grace^ Drawn me Coldcoafs martial face. And manly looks, which do discover Something, likewise, of the lover. . His Roman nose, and swarthy hue. To all do testify and shew. To none alive that he will yield In Venus' tent, or Mars's field. As JVorster fight, and Nanny Fell, From's valiant deeds, and feats, can tell. No less for Bacchus shall his name. Stand in the register of fame. Save Coldcoat, none Dalhousie f knew. Who Jonas could at drink subdue : * Now Macbiehlll ; between New Hall, and Romanno. j- Ramsay Earl of Daliiousie ; Allan Ramsai^^s chief. j^o. n.] DR pennecuik's works. 637 Brave Nicolson, who's in his gra^e, Did from him many a parley crave : Drummoiid * who's yet alive can tell. How, from them all he bore the belL No epitaph we need, on stone. To mark this hei^o when he's gone. His name, and fame shall surely stand, While Session Books f there's in the land. The LiNTOUN Cabal, or the Jovial Smith of Lin- touns Invitation of his Club to their Morjiing's Draught, xvhom he had made drunk the night be- fore, after a great Stojin. Fly fearful thoughts of funeral. Call here James Douglas of the Hall I, And all the rest of that cabal Let*s rant and merry be. * Sir William Drummond of Hwwthornckn ; son to the ccTe- brated poet, whose portrait, with that of his friend Ben Jonson, Allan Ramsay hung out for his si^n as a bookseller. Sir William, Dr Pennecuik's'companion, was proprietor of the farms of Upper and Nether JVh'tteJield, between Neav Hall, and Romanno. \ Parish-church books, in which fines for fornication, &c. are recorded. X The Hall-House of Lintoun. Some of the old feus in the village are held for the payment of a placl, when demanded from a hole in the back-wall of the Hall-House of Lintovia. 638 POEMS FROM [APP. We'll set a table in the smiddy *, And drink till all our heads grow giddy, If it should cost our necks the woody f ; Fye haste lass ! Bring them ! Flee ! But hark ? I think no shame to tell it ; Be sure you first fetch GiBbie Elliot. Tell him we're trystcd at a sallet, ''( And he must say the grace. I swear by omiia vincit amor, And by my bellows and fore-hammer. My tongue for thirst begins to stammer,^ M hene'er I see his face. He turned religious in his fever. For better thriving late than never. Yet swears it scorched so his liver, Before to drouth inclined, That though this night he drink the sea. The morn he'll e'en as drouthy be ; Nor speak a word of sense can he Till first his skin be lined.- * The Sm'idJy was a place of so much consequence in those days, that the ruins of a smithy above the influx of the Lyru into the Tweed, to wliich the last Earl of March, who refolded at Nsidpath Castle, (to whom Dr Pennecuik's works are dedicated,) used to walk every good day to converse and hear the news, is still shown, about three miles from Peebles. f The gallows. " ' NO. 11.] DR PENNECUIK's WORKS. 639 % Bring haggis-headed JVilUam Younger* !- -/ And James, that little brandy-monger ! Laird Giffard, wh* looks like cauld and hunger, He may come t'warm his soles ! Their entertainment shall be good ; God grant they part, but dirt, or blood ! Pay but their drink, we'll trust their food. Cause Scrogs provide us coals ! But stay ! There come my dainty lads ; By ane, and ane, like whores and bawds : They smell the ak^ and need no gawds To post or prick them hither. Now, welcome ! by my faith ! good fellows ! I see you haste, like nimble swallows ; Lord keep your craigs lang frae the gallows ! That we may drink together. But tell me Sirs, how this can be ? I'he storm*s made all our .s'At'C/; to die. And yet spared such a company I Come, let us, then, be frolic ? Laird G}ffard\ cries, fye fetch my mother ! Or my dear sister ! choose you whether : * IViU'iam Touiiger of Hog-yards., who signed the Petition to the Prince of Orange, in the name of all the Lintoun Lairds. See Pen- neaiii's U^orls. f James Giffard, whose name remains, among those of the Co- venanters, on the Harbour Craig ; who " erected, in 1GG(3, at his 640 POEMS FROM [APP. And Master Robert *, bring him hither! For I have ta'en the colic. Tm Hke to vomit gut and gall ! Good Lord have mercy on my saul ! My giddy head will make me fall ! In faith, I am no jester. IVill Younger^ pray ! and Gibbie, preach ! &c. Letter in "verse from Mr William Clerk Advo* cate\, to Dr Alexander Pennecuik of Nexo Hall, May 1714. Most noble doctor ; glory of our time : Parnassus' prince ! Protector of our rhyme ! sole expence," the Cross of L'tntoun, that " lively specimen of na- tural genius," so wonderfully produced " without the assistance of art." See Armstrong^ s Companion to the Maji of Peelles-shire ; and who is mentioned at the head of the Lintoun Lairds, in the Address to the Prince of Orange, in Dr Pennecuik's works. * Robert Elliot, minister of Lintoun, whose Epitaph, dated 1682, and character, in verse, appears among Dr Pennecuik's poems. Glhlle, was the son, and assistant of Robert. f Brother to B^ron Clerk ; nephew to the Lady of Sir David, and cousin to Mr Forbes of New Hall. From his liking to visit, and shift about, from house to house ; among hh companions, he got the name of Wandering IVll/te. When at New Hall House, he slept in one of the garret rooms, adjoining to those of Allan P..amsay, and Mr Tytlcr. . NO. II.] DR PENNECUIK's WORKS. 641 Receive this compliment from honest JVillj "Who's just returned from our kind Coivics mill, With troops of gipsies, who molest our plains ; Praise Spittlchaiigh ! most charming of our swains. But, now all's calm ; serene ; as you may think. Since JViWs turned poet, with Lady Effy's drink. Dr Pennecuik's Answer. Brave generous fVill ! I cannot well rehearse, How pleased I was to read your lofty verse ; So eloquent, that every line did smell. Of Tully, and the Heliconian Well. But, while both wit and fancy you show forth ; The praise you give me far exceeds my worth. Oh ! how unequal is the match indeed. Betwixt your young, and my old hoary head ! Your blood is warm j your fancy's on the stage : This is your spring j but winter of my age : My muse cools, like my blood, and still grows worse j Yours towers aloft, like the Pegasean Horse. Kind, and stout patriots you are, I vow ! With your brave Club, to catch the Gipsy Crew. Your names should be engraven on marble stones. For clearing Tweeddale of these vagabonds. S s 642 POEMS FROM [aPP. Had Cffwie * not been known, I do protest, Kind Jonas had been captive with the rest, And sent to prison, if we should allow. All to be rogues that have the gipsy hue. Yet, if I live, expect a better tale, \^^hen we meet, blyth, at Lady EfFy's ale. A Pastoral Elegy, upon the generally lamented death of that xcorthy gentleman William Dou- glas, Esq. elder, of Dor nock; who departed this life the day of July 1715. Pan and Pastora, to the Shepherds asleep. Ah ! Shepherds break your pipes ! Rise, and give ear! The doleful cry of Dornodis death comes here. Awake, and weep ! Turn careless of your flocks. And yell, till, echoing, you do rend the rocks ! Aji?um, Milk, Aloffat, no more gently glide ; But, in hoarse rapid floods, your streams divide. * Contraction for Coldcoat, now Machiehill, then the property of Jonas Hamilton, a man of a dark complexion, often mentioned by Dr Pennecuik with jocular affection. NO. II.] DR PENNECUIK's WORKS. 643 The music of our birds is at a close ; And every murmuring brook weeps forth its woes. Our comfort's gone ; and we must feel the cross j And still bewail the universal loss, &c. Dr Pennecuik's other pastoral poems are to be found in his works, printed in the year 1715; to which very incorrect, and only, edition, are annexed the following encomiastic verses, by Alexander Fencook, entitled. To the ingenious, afid zcort hi/ Avthor, ofthefolloiV' ing Description (of Tweeddale), and Poems. Proud England boasts to be the Muses' seat ; Glories in Spencers flights, and Cmioleys heat ; l^en Jonsons manly sense, Ethredges plays ; Chaucer's bright wit, and Herbert's heavenly lays ^ Milton s inspired thoughts, and Sidneys strains. Who sung the sweetest of the Arcadian swains. These are the Muses' darling sons indeed ; Yet equalized by bards be-north the Tweed. Our famous Scotland's snowy hills give birth To wits, and warriors, famous on the earth. On barren heaths, which never felt the plough, And frozen hills the richest learning grow j s2 644 POEMS FROM [APP, Tossed in cold cliffs of Caledonians coasts. With Boreas' blasts, and Hyperborean fros. v.] ON' THE SCENARY. 66^ NO.V. ^ ORIGINAL POEMS, On the Scmary of the Gentle ShepJierdt Connected with the Illustrations. THE MANSION. " Gray on the bank ' < . ? " By aged pines, half sheltered from the wind ** A homely Mansion rose, of antique form, " For ages batter'd by the polar storm.'* Mac [iher son's OiSiAN, Frag, of a N, Tale* With pinnacles, and chimneys, rising high Above its roof in numbers great, there stands An aged Mansion, buik in gothic taste. Though light and airy as the Greek refined. And wildly suited to the scenes around *. Across the front, there stretches, to the north,, And west, as far as eye can reach, a ridge Of hills of various shapes ; retiring some. And some advancing, conic some with heath Of sable hue o'erspread, and cairn'd a top, Memorials rude of Druid festivals. * See the Description of New-Hall HouS ; Visiu of the Washing Green ; Map ; &c. T t4 064 ORIGINAL POEMS [app. Whilst others, green and smooth, with easy sweep. Ascend from out the murmuring glens between. And such are those that rise direct in front. Designed the 'Spitals from their hospitals. Beyond the intervening lawns, and woods. Pavilions gay, and crossing avenues. On either side, a dingle deep plunges back. With timber filled : One, watered, dashing down In bright cascades, the Fairies Deiis ycleped : The other, dry, is from its Chapel named j And near a Hermitage and Mineral Well, O'er a sequestered glade, runs out below : Expanding both, as they, descending, join A noble glen, behind the Mansion proud. Upon the point they form projecting bold. East, o'er the Fairies* Den, the Garden slopes Upon its prominence, and spreads beneath The Stables at its head, surrounded all. Except, with rising trees. A Park, to rear. And feed the bleating offsprings of the hills, A concave carpet wide across the Esk, East of the garden, where alone the banks. Rich grassy braes, and whins, and broom, and heath. Are flat, within a varied sylvan scene. From it to the Monk's Burn, where, from MorJcs Rig Among the hills, the 'Spitals near, arrived. It falls in lins into the glen, extends. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 665 West, o*er the Chapel Den, the lawn Of friendship, with its Obelisk, swells, and fills The space to Marys Lin and Bozvcr. Besouth, The river's bank falls back without the Bower ; Between, and Habbys House and Hozv, among The glades, and knolls, and prominences near. Their verdant hills below, and crowded, far. The azure Tweedsmuir Tweeddale mountains high. Whence Annan, Tweed, and Clyde, their offsprings, flow. The Glen, from where the Chapel stands, is rude. And craggy up to Habbys How, shut close With copse. Behind the House, its towering points Project into an open glade, the stream In playful windings " wimpling thro* the howm.'* Below, a valley enters from the south. With sloping banks, and gliding current grave ; And from its head, like hoary pillared tower. The Harbour Craig looks down. Monk's dell and burn Join next from t'other sfde, and thence the plain Monk's Haugh is named, till 'bout the lofty brow. And glistening Lake, inclosed, behind, it bends. ^\'ith woods, and clumps, and shrubs, and copses thick. The mounts, and banks, and glades, are filled, and skreened. 666 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP, Irriguous, round the venerable Mansion; Embosomed close, upon its prominence. Once in this Seat, when in the feudal times A gloomy Castle 'twas with sullen towers, Of which some parts within and near't remain. There lived a Chieftain, from his wide demesnes. O'er all his tenants and retainers bound, Inheriting, with various services, From powers unquestioned then, and usage long^. The highest jurisdiction, even o'er life Itself. The Castle stood upon its point. Then bare, defended by the Glen, and deep Ravine on either side, and, green, the hills Reflected, gay, the sun's meridian warmth. In front. With holes, and slits, and *cullis, sure,- With openings sly above it, whence to crush. Or pierce the head, devoted, underneath. Its walls were furnished, and its ponderous port. No woods, luxuriant, waved at hand, to hide The lurking foe : Secure within itself. It sternly, rough, and proud, defied attack : No shelter, strong, it needed from the blast. So thick its buttressed walls impregnable. Within, 'twas hung with armour bright, and filled With martial trophies gained for ages back. >Ja v.] ON THE SCENARY. 667 The Hall, the court of justice, and th6 place Of council, both, was used, for meetings grave, And social. At the upper end, the chief. And his compeers about the table sat ; "While at the lower, and a little sunk. His stout dependants all were welcome made, The common produce, or the common spoils To share. The plenteous banquet o'er, the bowl Went jovial round, each knight, in turn, aloud. His fair proclaiming, and reciting, oft. His deeds of high renown in beauty's cause* The bard, enthusiastic, sung the feats Of former times, the kindling spirits keen The chorus joining, with the voice, and ring Of arms involuntary ; till the breath Of lovely Mary, sister to the Chief, Struck in with softest melody, and soothed Their rage with powers resistless : Such the rage Excited by the northern blast, amidst The turbulent roaring billows of the main ; When, yielding to the gentle zephyr, soon Their fury sinks, and nought but gaiety is seen, And charms, and smiles attractive. Thus they fared Whilst, from the hills, the vassals could supply Their Chief: But if perchance a hostile clan. From deadly lead, hid, under cloud of night. Or their own feastings, had reduced their stock ; 668 ORIGINAL POEMS, [aPP. A plate of spurs the plundering signal gave. To sally forth, direct, in quest of more *. Within this Castle, thus the Chieftain lived ; When ruddy autumn now began to reign. The Garden^ then upon the west, with fruits Hung luscious ; and the vassals all, on pain Of utmost punishment, were, strict, forbid To enter ; when, upon the wall a youth. An aged widow's sole surviving child. Well known, and thievish as those days produced. Was, late, arrested, as one luckless night. By two confederates aided from within. He clambered o'er, with ruby cherries laden. Straight, in the Dtmgeon-pit he was confined. Informed, by his associates who escaped. His mother, ere^ the dawn, had, full of fears. Though distant, left her cottage for the Castle : For oft, before, her son had in such pranks Been caught ; had oft within the Pit been close Immured. The Dungeon, then, was darkly raised Beside the Chapel, on the brow, still left In ruins. From this pitted tower, in front. Close by its door, the Jugs for culprits hung. An iron collar by a chain suspended. * Such is said to have been the ancient practice among the chieftains of Tweeddale and its neighbourhood. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 669 0*er, loose, a pile of stones, on which they stood Conspicuous. Before she'd reach'd the Castle The Chief had risen, with knights, and vassals, fresh : Trom out the Jrith, the orient lamp began To lighten up the vale ; the mists, dispersed. The hills t'ascend, and of their mantles gray To free them fast : The cock, the harbinger Of day, had crowed : The merry lark had left The ground : The morning tempted to the chase ; And loud, to summon to't, the horn had blown ; "V^'hen tidings of the theft, and thief were brought. In heat of youthful passion ; to be gone Impatient, with his hounds and followers ; Out from the Keep he ordered was, and fast Within the collar to be chained, and shown, A warning, or his self, or ways to shun. Till from their sport they should return at eve. Without delay he to the pile was dragged ; Forced up the heap ; and fixed within the ring. But scarce had he been left till in the breeze Had died away the sounds of men and dogs. When, by a hapless move, a slippery stone Slid out from under foot, and took away His breath. Bereft of life, he lonely hung, AVhen at the Castle gate his mother knocked, Bedimmed with age, without perceiving aught ; Asked for her son her only son ; implored That Mary, favourite loved, would from her brother 670 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP* Procure his pardon. But, when to the tmcer The servants led her she approached its door Heard not his voice and looked- and saw her child The only support of her palsied limbs ; Though wild, and wicked, still her sole resource-*- Last prop in sinking years she screamed aloud, Distracted ! strong a while, her feeble arms. In frantic clasp, upheld him, now a corse. Till nature sunk ! The tender sister wept O'er youth, and age ; and when, within the Castle, The wailing widow, from her stupor, oft. With shriek, wild starting, called upon her son ! Her healing art unable to do more. She threw her eyes to heaven, and begged relief! A fluttering glimmer yet remained of life Within its socket, at the close of day ; When to the room, in which she had been laid. The Chieftain came in haste, and heard her cry, With faltering tongue, exhausted- where' s my child? A mother's curse attend his murderer ! May he ne*er know the value of a son ! Stamped be his jmmc itself, with barrenness ! The voice of nature joined within him : Like A statue, pale and motionless he stood ; But heard no more. One grave inclosed the dead. O, why should, thus, the man, because possessed. Of what is held the choicest gift of heaven. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 671 Oi feelings exquisite, be tortured oft, Though more than guihless, with the pangs of guilt \ A settled horror, thence, o'erspread his mind. The hall grew silent j and the hills no more Re-echoed to the chase : He left them both : And whilst upon a weary pilgrimage, To papal Rome itself as some report. To do away the mother's hasty wish. And quiet the torments of a troubled soul, He went, his sister, to relieve her mind Dejected, formed, beyond the Chapel De??, Toward the west, between and Habbys Hoxv, Beside a lin, an arbour, on a point. That still retains the name of Mary's Bower *,' Oft to her Bozver she pensively withdrew^. Till he absolved returned, and with him joy. * This is another way of telling the same traditional story that is repeated in the Description of Mary's Lin and Bower. Though in particulars they often vary, in the main all the accounts agree. They likewise evidence the antiquity, and importance of this Seat, first, it would seem, a Convent, then a Castle, and af- terwards a Mansion-House ; and confirm what is said, with re- gard to it, in the Life of Baron Ckrk, that it once *' held mosc of the surrounding district.'* 672 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP* THE METEOR. - The following Poem contains an exact description of the remarkable Meteor that appeared on the 18th of August 1783 at- twenty-five minutes past nine in the evening, as seen by the author ; and the scenary in the first part of it is faithfully copied from the objects about the place in which he was at the time*. It is written in the manner of Ossian, as if by a Saxon soon after the Conquest, which happened in the month of Octo- ber ; in order to heighten the effect of the descrip- tion by the introduction of the Gothic superstition. The Meteor's progress was from the north-west ; but it is here altered, to favour the idea of its being the forerunner of William's Invasion, in September, the following month, agreeably to the common opi- nion, that all appearances of Heavenly Bodies, not perfectly understood, indicated the deaths of Sove- reigns, or the Revolutions of Empires. See Philosophical Transactions, vol. Ixxiv. *' Now it is the time of night *' That the graves, all gaping wide, *' Every one lets forth his sprite, " In the church'Way paths to ghde. Shakespeare. Midsummer Nigkt^s Dreamy Act 5. Sc. 3. * The Advocate's Room at New Hall. See the Descriptici* Qf New-Hall Heuse% NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 673 " Sl'.one, like a Meteor, streaming to the wind. Milton, P. Lost. B. I. " Streamed, like a Meteor, to the troubled air. Gray. The Bard. *' That, through the shade of night projecting huge, *' In horrid trail, a spire of dusky flame, ** Embodied mists and vapours, whose fir'd mass " Keen vibrates, streaming a red length of air, ** While distant orbs with wonder and amaze * Its dreaded progress watch, as of a foe ' Whose march is ever fatal, in whose train " Famine, and War, and desolating Plague, *' Each en his pale horse rides, the ministers " Of angry heaven, to scourge offending worlds ! Mallet. The Excursion, Canto 2. 'TwAS in the pride of the rolling year : It had come to the fullness of its strength : A part of the yellow grain yet rustled on the field : The young of the bounding doe were fleet as the wind : The hun- ter marked them on the hill, and sighed for the sound of their approach : The pass was stained with their youthful blood. The plains rejoiced in their labours: The hills exulted in the fruits of their toils. No galling curfew vet had tolled j the middle of the second hour, of the night, was come, and still the fire might be kindled on the hearth. I was sit- Uu 674 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP. ting thoughtful in my hall; a lamp burned -before me J serene and sultry was the evening ; I was op- pressed with the heat, though no fire was in the place ; My window opened to the twinkling of the stars : The moon threw her borrowed light upon the floor, and gleamed along the side of the glen, reposing her steady beams on the wood, or sparkling in the stream below ; the tops of the trees were bright in the wood that rose, and round as her silver edge when she first appears, but the shades were dark as the cave within the hollow rock j she glis- tened on the dew, in the fullness of her light, mark- ing the distant temple on the brow, and the ruins * among the lofty trunks ; the withered leaf from a- bove dropt gently through the spreading boughs. Not a cloud could be seen : Only the farthest stars were hid by the rising mist ; slow, as the yielding light, they descended behind the steaming plain. I thought on the Maid of the wood f ; how she pined in the artless bower, to the west, and listened to the falling of the stream : I marked the hum of the dis- tant lin, beyond, between the birks in the how J. Far beneath the noise of the waters was heard, in * The ruins of the Chapel. See the Description of New-Hall House. f See the Description of Marifs Lhi, and Bower ; and the Mansion, the preceding poem. t In Habbie's How. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 675 the howm. The western breeze came skimming down the hill, and gently sighed in passing through the glen ; the leaves hardly rustled as it went along. Nocturnal exhalations rose : the merry gleam danced upon the heath: the dusky bat fluttered round the trees : at dreary intervals, from the dark recess on either side, was heard the moaning of the owl ; she Sat in the hollow tree, o'er the rill that murmurs from the dashing rock above, to glide down the slo- ping fall below, and meet the current in the glade * ; wild was the screech she returned ; her hootings were like those she sends forth before the approach- ing storm ; she answered to another's cry ; cold ran the blood of the traveller; the screams floated in the wind, like the lamentations of the dying in the hands of the midnight murderer. The raging bull bellows through the woods : The boar whets his tusks on the aged oak : The bowlings of the wolf is heard afar ; swift, as the arrow from the hunter's bow, th' affrighted deer fly o'er th' extend- ed heath. But the shrouded ghost, as the shadow of a lingering cloud, stalks slowly o'er the paths of the dead ; wan and wrapt in white he had sullen risen from beneath his stone ; the turf heaved as he rose : , * Tiie " howm," or Washing Green, below the Fairies' Den, and Lia. S':e the Description of Ncuj-Hall House, &c. The " liowm'' is inimcdiateiy behind New-Hall House. Uu2 676 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP. The cold wind shrilly whistles among the dropping ailes ; the blue taper scarcely through the horn shows the relic j half extinguished by the sickly damps, wearisomely it burns ; faintly his slow ap- proach is heard through the winding vault ; a glim- mering light, from the pale moon, steals through the shattered roof, and dimly marks his way : Mournful, he issues from the gate of tears ; the drowsy hinges creak : Like the pillared smoke ascending before a sable cloud ready to thunder on the earth, tall and white, he walks his, round before the gloomy pile ; his cold step is on the silent grave ; the great bell is heard to toll on high j the hollow sound dully echoes from the awful tower, and slumbers in the breeze : Wild, and dismal is the shriek i from the habita- tions of the dead. All else was calm and still : Silence reigned : The feathered race were fast asleep. Faint gleamings, like the transient lights that shoot athwart the heavens, brightened in the south. White, as the sun behind the mist of the morning, a dazzling glare filled the hall ; the lamp was lost in the blaze. I ran to the window : The heavens were on fire ; I could distinguish the smallest object on the earth : The gleam was extinguished : The stars withdrew their lights : The moon gave up the contest. From the west of south the Meteor approached : Large, and round, it seemed, at first, to stand, like another NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 677 moon J but, to her, as white as she appears when, pale behind th^ beams of the sun^ she waiteth for the hour of her strength. Slow, and equal was its pace, forniing an easy bend. It flattened as it moved, and dragged, a fiery tail ; many were the stars it left in its train ; a hissing sound was heard as it passed ; prodigious was its height, though so bright it seem- ed at hand. The blinded owl ceased to scream; the silly bat fell stupified to the earth ; the feathered race, starting, turned their heads from behind their wings ; nature awoke. Soon, it disappeared behind the northern hill : The noise of its bursting was heard, like the sound of distant thunder, beyond the lofty mountain, when the winds are hush, and the bounding roe panteth on the hill. The moon resumed her reign : The stars put forth tlieir heads : The exhalation kindled on the heath : The owl renewed her note : The bat, shrunk within its wings, rose from the earth, and fluttered in the air : The waters, far below, murmured through the glade : The trees rustled to the sighing gale : The feathered race hid their heads behind their wings : Wearied nature slept. The astonished traveller mu- sing went on his way : I returned to my seat. Oulckly the invaders came : Fierce was the foe U u 3 678 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP, from the southern shore. The Valkyriur *, the choo- sers of the slain, attended on the field : Ihey were mounted on swift horses ; their swords were drawn in their hands : They selected such as were destined for slaughter : Many were the heroes they conduct- ed to Valhalla, to attend them at the banquet, and serve them with their horns of mead : The groans of the dying filled the land : He perished at the head of his people. Wide and waste are the forests of the stranger. , Wiien shall we see the race of Odin I THE HARBOUR CRAIG, " Amazed at antic titles on the stones." Drydeh's Firgily G. I. ** An hour after, he saw something to the right which looked at a distance hke a castle with towers, but which he discovered afterwards to be a craggy rock." Johnson. Idlert NO. 97. ** At sight of the great church, he owned that indeed it was a lofty rock, but insisted that in his native country of St Kilda there were others still higher; however, the caverns formed in it (so he named the pillars and arches on which it is raised) were hollowed, he said, more commodiously than any he had ever seen there." Mallet, from Martin's Vot/age to Si Kilda. ** nor caves, nor secret vaults ** could keep these Christians " Or from my reach or punishment." Mas SINGER. Virgin Marlyr, Act 1. * Sec Gray's Poems, The Fatal Sisters, A'o/f. NO. v.] ON THE, SCENARY. 679 Projecting, lofty, from a sloping bank, Close by the summit of two meeting glens. Towering on high, and single, stands 2. Rock, Once, from the barb'rous hand, a wild retreat. Of unrelenting persecution fierce. In Charles's thoughtless reign the darkest blot. And hence arose its name, the Harbour Craig *. Dark, awful, and tremendous, from his base. Rugged, he rears his sable head upright. Dismally parted from the steep behind j A narrow pass, now almost filled with earth. Still marking plain convulsion horrible, Surprised, with staring eye, the passing swain, When first, afar, it opens to the sight. Descries a hoary venerable ruin. As if by magic hazle wand upreared ! He stops, and, musing, tries to recollect If aught concerning it he ever heard ; Anxious to know its founder, and its fate : With hasty steps, resolved to clear his doubts. He next, in front, advances up the vale ; When, lo ! on nearer view, he stands amazcd To find, at last, 'tis Nature's workmanship ! Yet, still, he scarce believes that he is right. Though rude the pillars, and the caves behind ; * See the Dacrijilion, and y'tea;, of this celebrated rock. U u 4 680 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP. So Strange the workings of the northern blast ! Delighted, curious, he examines sly ; And on inspection close, with eager look, He finds it lettered o*er, on every part. With ancient dates, and aged characters. The pious relics of its fanner guests : For, here, upon the verdant steep beneath. And on its heathy summit used to sit. Devout, sequestered, and attentive, all, A holy, persecuted, audience grave, Lending the anxious ear, whilst, raised on high. His fervent sermons, heated, zealous, preached. The earnest," warm, enthusiastic teacher. Standing between the pillars in the rock ; The grandeur of the pulpit nobly chose. To suit th' exalted subject of his theme. The Author of its being ! hence arose The lofty church, and gothic pile, to lift. Though far behind th' effect of Nature's works, Like these, the mind to elevated thought ; JFeak emblems, both, o/" Heavenly Majesty !. Even now, their carvings rude, where least exposed, Of names, and years, distinctly can be read ; Pleasing,, and innocent, the simple work ! And natural is the wish ! for ever, sure. And constant, has it been the wish of all ; Beyond the grave, to be hemembeiied j oxg ! " O Charles ! O monarch ! in long exile trained. Whose hopeless years th' oppressor's hand to know NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 681 How hateful and how hard ; thyself reliev'd, Now hear, thy people, groaning under wrongs Of equal load, adjure thee by those days Of want and woe, of danger and despair. As heaven has thine, to pity their distress ! Yet from the plain good meaning of my heart Be far th* unhallowed license of abuse j Be far the bitterness of saintly zeal. That impious hid behind the patriot's name Masks hate and malice to the legal throne, In justice founded, circumscribed by laws. The prince to guard but guard the people too ; Chief one prime good to guard inyiolate. Soul of all worth, and sum of human bliss. Fair Freedom ! birthright of all thinking kinds. Reason's great charter, from no king deriv'd, By none to be reclaimed, man's right divine. Which God who gave indelible pronounced. But if, disclaiming this his heaven-owned right. This first, best tenure by which monarchs rule ; If, meant the blessing, he becomes the bane. The wolf, not shepherd, of his subject flock, To grind and tear, not shelter and protect. Wide wasting where he reigns to such a prince Allegiance kept were treason to mankind. And loyalty revolt from virtue's law * :" * Mallet. /Inijjtilor anclTheodcray Canto 2. 682 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP, Eastward, above, ascending to the south. In lengthened bends receding from the rock, A valley runs ; all green and sloping smooth. Divided, equal,, by the languid, dull. And- drowsy turnings of a muddy stream. Then farther, to the east, across, is seen. Sombre, dreary, and waste, the Hahlaw Moor* j A wide extent, o'er which the wearied eye Seeks for a place in vain whereon to rest ; And where the constant lamentations shrill Of bending curlew, saihng over head ; And piteous wailings of the plover gray ; Or lapwing, flitting up and down, above ; As if deploring their unhappy lots. Alone assail th' unwilling ear. Save, ere The close of day, at solemn intervals. Especially before the coming^ storm. The chuckings hoarse of skimming grouse are heard. Still the hid snipe, with flounce, may chance to rise From under foot, and, wavering, take the air With screamings rough afirighted, and, on high. Disliking to desert its rushy spot, Flutter aloft, and, smoothly gliding down. At times, aslant, with droning humming strange Repeated twice, descend a little way. Then, sudden somewhat, with a start uprise. Until, at last, it plunges down, and from * See the Mafi. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 683 Thick rush, at distance, creaks with grating sound. Like wheel neglected long : Or the ill shaped Wild duck from wetter ground, flap from the reeds. With harshest cries, and shoot aloft, outstretched.- ' ' The croakings dull of amorous toads, and frogs. Of reptile class, may, too, in spring be heard. From each dead pool, in mournful harmony. While, close engaged in the obstetric art, . Within their filthy spawn they soak ingulpht : 4-nd the fell hissings of the lurking snake. From out the heath ; if wayward chance should lead A hapless foot across him basking at -ji' ' The heat of noon in coil luxurious, stuff *d With nauseous food entire of vermin hatched Upon the gloomy plain in which he broods. To rouze him, frantic, to th' envenomed bite. Such, by the place, have been invited here ; For other place unfit, and even for this. Unless, by summer's warmth awaked, they crawl. From leaden chains a minute free, again To sleep an hour. In winter, all beneath The howling blast is still, as sleep, or death. Aptly this moor's for deadly conflict fit. And, cloathed in sable, still it seems to mourn The fate of those that, here, in skirmish fell. In brave defence against black Cromwell's scourge j Its point, which of the vale, upon the east. 684 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. One side, descending, forms, retaining, still. The name of Stetl *, extending to the north. Slow, o'er the barren heath, and reedy fen. The cold, and ghastly spirits of the slain May wander long, and mournful, undisturbed : Or, still persisting in a state of war. All pale and bloody with the mortal wound, "Wildly, upon the desert, field, perform Their dreadful, horrid evolutions fell. And, shrieking hideous, 'midst the dreary, sharp,, WhistUngs of the foul blast, fierce, in the dark And silent midnight, to the frightful gleam Of dancing meteoi^ may, at once, engage In airy combat ; but, how frightened from This dismal glare, that caused thy death, would, then. Thy fleeting shade, Eliza ! fiy, with scream Terrific shrill, and face concealed behind Thy trembling hands upHfted ! Oh, what fien4 Could plot thy ruin on that dreadful night. When, home returning from the convoy of Thy friend, the moon that led thee on the path Was, on a sudden, darkly hid behind A cloud that blotted out the way ! The wind Blew whizzing o'er the heath ; the stream ran with A constant dreary murmur through the glen ; * Sec the Map, Mr Bradfute's Poem, and the Statistical Ac- count of IVest Linton. ' NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 685 And when the lightning's flash athwart the gloom Shot vivid, all was black ; thy path it showed Was lost, but showed no more. Now thick from heaven The chilling rain, and blast, descended sharp Upon the tender victim : Helpless, save The fading flower blown o'er the heath, unfit For such a soil, the gardener's darling ! Oh Had but thy father found thee yet ! Again *Tis calm ; the flooded waters roar beneath, And, overhead, the lightnings dart across The dismal canopy. But, when the fen. With vapours filled, sent forth its frightful flame. In kindled air, its meteor from the marsh, Its horrid gleam contrasted with the gloom ; Unable to v/ithstand the shock, at length. Back to its warm and feeling heart the blood Retreated cold. She frantic runs ! Again It glares ! Her tender trembling Hmbs, alas ! Exhausted, and fatigued, can do no more. And, sinking, yield ! Loud now the winds may blow. At peace ; the nipping blast can pinch no more I 1 he sighing reeds protect thy beauteous form. Though bleaching lifeless ; and thy floating shade Attentive listens to the plaintive notes Insensible of cold ; itself composed Of vapour chill. But, soon, this view so dull. Beyond the Steel, and height of Sipnons House, May, yet, be changed into a lively scene. 686 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. Westward, below its site, presents itself, Up from the 1Iakour Craig upon the left, "Winding in hasty turnings out of sight, A deep, and narrow Glen, with rugged banks. From yonder side of which, di-ect in view. Sudden, 'midst b oken fragments, bursting bright. And tumbling from the bowels of the earth, A pure, and rapid current brfskly flows ; His entrance far above. Now, liberty Regained, gay, sparkling, with a cheerful noise. He funs to meet his dark and silent friend. That, from the eastward, down the valley glides. In union close, the coxcomb, and the sot. Each to the other frankly yields a part. And that they may be for each other fit. They jointly steer a middle course between The two extremes. Meandering through the vale At last they join the past'ral Esk ; and down Its glen v/ith wooded banks inclosed, about The Steel, and Symons House above't, stray on, .'Amongst the glades and rocks, till round the Lalce. They turn, and disappear. Ere this, beyond The Steel descending to the north, and Esk, From t'other side a stream, as bright as glass. Falls spouting o'er a rock, within a dell That opening branches off, then onward plays. Till down again it pours, collected by A circling cave that almost closes round NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 687 The bowl beneath, thence leaving only room, * For passage strait, between its craggs, and woods. To let it slily outward steal, when down Another break it springs, and, round the stones. And fragments darting, gains the' Esk. Close by, A rural Onstcad stands, a shepherd's home. And erst supposed the seat of honest Glaud. 'Tis here the haugh, or glade, commences, once The plain on which a part of Cromwell's troops By Monk commanded lay encamped, and hence Monlis Haii'j:fi 'tis named to where it circles round The Lake. No wonder, thus, that Cromwell, Monk, And brave Montrose, the shepherds' future thoughts Employed, when Symon, to his neighbour, first Announced King Charles restored, (not dreamingj then. Of future persecutions,) and their Knight's Return. Amidst the Pentland heights this dell. That meets the haugh, begins, where, high upon The rounded summit of a grassy hill, A bloody skirmish with Monk's soldiers rose In which the leader fell, o'er whom a stone AV'as placed that still remains, and from The chief commander's name, that sent the force, Though absent also there. Monk's Rig 'tis called *. All to the north, and west. In varied hues, . . * 'ihi Jtofmlar accounts of t'acse name?, adopted by Ramsn:/. 688 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. And shapes, the high and fleecy Pentlands rise. And terminate the view. Here, bhthsome bard^ You laid your rural scenes, so fitly chose. Here, Ramsay, did thy Gentle Shepherd feed His gentler flock, and, with his bashful friend, Lie basking in the sun, and light, and gay. Laugh o*er his amorous tale : whilst playful, fresh. And blooming as the rose, his lovely maid. Upon the '' jiowery hoxvm^'' with Jenny shy. Sweetly convers'd, oft, by the " burnie clear," " Trotting and wimpling " thro' the verdant grass ; Or farther up the glen, at " Habbie's How," That still retains its form, and rustic name. Beauteous as from the hand of Nature pure. Unknown to him, timid and watchful, bath'd Her charming limbs in the encircling pool. Cheerful, and artless, is thy native strain! Hence oft, delighted, may the rustic swain, " Beneath the south side of a Craigy Bield," Read o'er thy pleasing scenes, and reading learn To follow out the aimplc, Iwnest life, The oxly source of genuine happiness." NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 689 THE HERMITAGE: , An Elegy. . The scenary of this poem is copied from the ob- jects around the perforated rock, or hermitage, and mineral zvell, between the " Howm,*' or Washing Green behind New-Hall House, and the Squirrel's Haugh on the Esk, above it. See the Map, and Descriptions of the Views. ** About two leagues from Fribourg, we went to see a hermi- tage ; it lies in the prettiest solitude imaginable, among woodsy and rocks." Aduison. On Italy. * And may, at last, my weary age " Find out the peaceful hermitage, " The hairy gown, and mossy cell, " Where I may sit, and rightly spell ** Of every star the sky doth shew, " And every herb that sips the dew." Milton. In days of yore, when common sense retired, And only superstition grossly reigned. In penance often men withdrew from sight. Trusting that pleasure would come after pain. By poverty, and stripes, and watchings long, By checks increased, severities renewed, Xx 690 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP. They sorely mortified the sinful flesh, And, thus, their lusts and spirits they subdued. If but the smallest spark of life was left. One gay accomplishment, by heaven bestowed. To grace, and finish off, its favourite man. They straight debarred him from the blessed abode. The running stream, the hollow glade they sought. There, in the mossy cell, and deep recess. Sunk within hanging woods and lofty banks. They told their beads, and took their lonely mess. They fasted oft, and earnestly they prayed. Devoutly pent within the narrow cave ; And oft they sauntered, pensive, thro' the woods. In quest of herbs, and musing on the grave. 'Twas then, that long there lived, in wild retreat, A Hermit, pale with fasting, and with care; His only drink was water from the brook. He eat of nothing but the coarsest fare. Tall was his person, and his carriage grave. Resigned, though bending with a load ofyears. His eyes bespoke the fervour of his mind. His cheeks were furrowed by his frequent tears. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 691 Low from his chin hung down his silver beard ; His hoary locks upon his shoulders rest ; Unless when heated by religious zeal. Calm, and composed, was all within his breast* Taught, by experience, in his younger days^ How vain, and trifling, are all things below ; Retired, he sought by penance, and by prayer, Th' exalted honours which from goodness flowi North, to the hills, high o'er the boldest bank, A guardian Castles top was just observed : And, on a neighbouring point, was seen, above. Its Gothic Chapel, by the Hermit served ; A twisted, moss-grown, thorn, beneath its sitCj 'Bout half-way down, in the recess that lies On this side south, protected from the sun The Fount from whence the Castle drew supplies* Close to a rock he built his low re the at. Secure from summer's heat, and winter's storm ; An Oratory, with its cross above. And roofs, and chimney, reared, in simple form. His funnelled roof the little chimney crowned ; Through the arched cave he entered to the cell 5 X x2 692 ORIGINAL POEMS [apP. The comer most exposed a buttress propt, Supporting high, and safe, the matin bell. A winding stream ran purling past the grot ; On it, his windows opened, or a glade, G'er each, with taste, he threw the gothic arch. Religion gave the cast to all he made ; Religion, with his native taste combined. The wildly solemn point, as fittest chose Romantic forms, to suit the scenes around ; Taste even on superstition graces throws. A rough hewn plank, two rustic piers upheld ; Out from the pool, at close of sultry day. At dancing flies the lively trouts light sprang. Bit at his crumbs, or on the surface play. iiO "With coals collected from the broken banks. His blazing fires o'er winter's colds prevail ; The woods, in summer, herbs and roots supplied. To cure disease, and swell his scanty meal : Their warm, embowering shades, and varied fruits. Their streams, and rocks, a crowd of tenants drew. That strove, as if, to cheer his vacant hours ; From shelters sung, or gamboled in his view. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 693 By strangers reared, first ushered in the spring, "With simple song, the foundUng cuckoo gray; Oft flying straight in quick vibrations past. Perched oft with tail raised high in amorous play. Upon the lofty summits of the steep. High o*er his head, the gloomy pine-trees grow j Thence came the plaintive cooings of the dove ; Thence came the croakings of the mournful crmc. From the low glade th' aspiring firs ascend. With each its ring of cones beneath its point ; Their horny plates the ruddy cross-bill tears. And digs a winged seed from every joint. The bullfinch feeds upon the tender bud j Like feathered dart, the long-tailed titiuouse flies ; The blue * plays round each mossy branch for food ; And up the trunk the mouse-like creeper plies. The sky-blue heron, like a pillared stone. With patience watching, from the fishy stream. Or from the lofty grove, mounts up, alarmed. With rambhng members, and a piercing scream. Beside the brook, from out th' impending bank, A sweet shrill tune the bobbing ouzel sends, * Blue titmouse. A X 3 694 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. The 7vck ring *, bold though fewer notes repeats, Whilst from high crag he like a blackbird bends. Up from the pebbly beach the wagtail springs. With streaming rudder, at the shifting fly ; The sand lark f darts, with bended wings, athwart, And skims, and loudly pipes, in quivering by. In quick, short flights, along the dry-stone wall, Descending first, then rising to the top. The restless zvheatear, in its motley dress, Eyes round, perks, flirts, and chats at every stop, The creaking 7'ail is heard, but never seen. Now here, now there, the standing corn among j The bunting sits on the surrounding fence. And chirps, at intervals, its easy song. The dazzling goldfinch ornaments the woods j The broivn, the yellow, golden crested, wrens, Their wondrous throats extend j and, with a screech, The painted jV/j/ shoots hurrying cross the glens. Incessant, fleet, and veering, as the wind. The sic'ift, the martin and the srcallozv flies, And as they sho^y 'tis to be foul or fair. Swim near the earth, or play among the skies : Rock, or Ring Ouzel. f Sand Piper. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 695 The young ones twitter from their clay-built huts. Stuck high, in numbers, on the Castle wall j Or from their straw-clad holes within the bank. Extend their throats, and to their parents call. Slow out of sight the cheerful lark ascends j Constant, and varied, as he mounts, he sings : And downward sinking to the topmost spray. The titling warbles with uplifted wings. Afraid, and coy, yet wishing to be seen. First at the window, then the door, appears The friendly redbreast ; on the hearth at last He pertly lands, and lays aside his fears. The muddy buzzard sails from bank to bank ; The bright gray harrier skims along the ground ; The sharp brown haick stands fluttering '" " in air, Or with recurring shrieks keeps wheeling round. At times, though rare, within the woods is seen, By chance detached, and as a passing guest, The spotted hoopoe, with its bended bill. Its blushing plumage, and its graceful crest. The partridge hides its head within the furze ; The grouse sits close beneath the dark brown heath ; X X 4 696 ORIGINAL POEMS [app. But renard, if he chance to steal that way, Rewards their cautious fears with instant death. The lambkins bleated on the rising hill ; The caw-hoy'' s horn was heard, the soothing low ; The magpie chattered in the bushy thorn ; Light skipped the squirrel on the slender bough *. With turned up, snow-white scut, the rabbit round. With drawn-out form, and flattened back-laid ears, Into its sandy burrow nimbly scuds. Or peeping out returns and disappears. The ermine jumped from out the humble brake. And, fearful, rose erect among the grass : The weazel, bounding, crossed the verdant glade, And sought protection in the stony mass. Expanded, smooth, beyond the bustling stream. The bright green lawns about its windings spread. Save, where turned up, and loose, the light brown soil, A heaving heap, the mining mole betrayed. As the strong horse a large round load of hay. Its volute shell the slug drags up the tree ; * About the Squirrel's haugh. See the Description of Mary's J, in and Bower. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 697 The scajty lizard basking in the sun. Seeks its small hole, and leaves the passage free. Pleasing, in summer, carolled from the grove. The thrush, the blackbird, and the linnet sweet ; The bee stood humming on the tender flower 5 Soft was the turf beneath his aged feet. At times, his Gothic cell, and mossy rock. Attract the shepherd from the evening fold ; His artless crucifix displayed a-top Marked it to be a Hermit's cave, untold. His penance so severe, his life so pure. Oft drew the saint beneath his friendly shade ; His earnest, frequent, intercourse with heaven. Oft brought the sinner to request his aid. The virtues of each plant so well he knew. In healing sickness was his skill so sure. Found by the happy patient, oft from far, 'Twas seldom that he failed to work a cure. Deep sunk in trees amongst the rocks above, By secret path approached, a curious well Lay near, the hidden uses all of which He knew, and practised, at his friendly cell ; , ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP. With tender care he drew it from its source, He cut a channel to the solid face. He scooped a bason, raised a cooling shed. And to her Ladys self consigned the place. The Castle's, once a Convent, still, there stood An Hospital * beneath the nearest hill ; 'J'he weary, and the sick, found shelter there. And there he often, exercised his skill. 'Tis said that when, at noon, the pious swain. With humble present, from his hut, drew near. He found him slowly wandering in the wood Charmed with the beauties of the fruitful year. Again, beneath an aged elm espied. Devoutly standing in his russet gown. He saw him lean upon his faithful staff. And tell the beads that from his belt hung down. The witch-like hare now from her form awaked. Crossing the lea with awkward hobble appears ; Or midst the dewy grass, whilst nibbling quick. Oft rising, fearful, shows her lengthened ears. To meet his mate, or seek the evening snail. Out from the hedge the hog-like urchin creeps, * See tlie Description of the ^Spitals of New Hall. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 699 With probing snout steals on ; or rolls him up. And like a ball of thorns from danger keeps. With humming noise the beetle spins along. Straight, through still air, directs his drowsy flight ; The mongrel bat^ with sooty leathern wings, Flits round the trees, and shows the coming night *. Oft at the silent hour when spectres walk, Drawn to his window by the silver ray. He marked the paleness of the wading moon. He marked the sluggish dullness of her way : He saw the twinkling of the distant star : The gleaming current glittered in his sight : Solemn, and dark, came on the sable cloud j And all lay buried in the dreary night. The oxvl sat screaming in the deep recess ; Loud, wild, and dismal, was her mournful cry : The rushing of the waters filled the glen. Resounded from the rocks, in passing by. But, chiefly, in his latter days he used. Close by his window with his rock behind. To, musing, pore upon the passing brook. Pleased with the rustlings of the fleeting wind : * See the List of Animals, in the Description of the IVushlng Green, for those characterized here. 700 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. 'Twas here he studied oft his favourite book j Here did he oft, in contemplation deep. Sadly reflect upon the bypast years. Sadly remember that hisjathers sleep. The shadow of the cloud passed o'er the glade ; Struggling, in vain, went on the murmuring stream ; The rugged rock falls slowly down to dust ; All did remind him death is not a dream. Soon did the father realize his thoughts ; Soon did another mournful instance give j To all on earth an end is Jirmly jix d ; Few are the days the oldest have to live. ' Long did the friendly tear, and grateful sigh, Mark the remembrance of the help he gave 5 And ever, to the memory of his life. Sacred has been preserved his lonely Cave. The plank is gone, but still its piers are left ; 'Twixt and the cell the shining pool still lies. No crumbs now fall, but still, at summer's eve. Its eager trouts, as if impatient, rise. Still, up the steep, his crystal well remains, 'J he faint and languid seek it out with care. And that the holy finder of the spring May be rewarded, is their constant prayer : NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 701 The vaulted bason still entire is seen. The hanging path that joins it to the cell. And yet in simple characters remain Above its gothic door, ** Our Ladifs JVell.'" Beneath its hills, the 'Spital House yet stands *, By the clear rill we trace its ancient site ; Even now its hospitality remains, And travellers still claim shelter as their right. The Monks' burn, near, has yet its former name, Not far below, it joins the trickling rill ; Where meet the streams, the fruitful Glebe croft spreads, Betwixt their conflux and the northern hill f. Part of the Castle still is to be found ; The western point its ruined Chapel shows \ ; And yet a thorn, with many a reverend twist. Lives underneath, and o'er its fountain grows. * See the Maji. f See the Description of the "'Sfiitah of Neiu Hall. X See t)ie Description of Nevj-IIaU House. 702 ORIGINAL POEMS [aPP. For a BATHING HUT m Habbie's How; Dedicated to Peggy, the Gentle Shepherdess, An Ode. " Honida tempestas coelum contr^xit ; et imbres " Nivesque deducunt Jovem : nunc mare nunc silvae *' Thrcicio aquilone sonant." HoR. lib. 5, cartn. 13. * Red came the river down, and loud, and oft *' The angry spirit of the water shriek'd." Douglas, jiict 3. Sc. 2. ** The winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled from the hills Work'd into sudden rage by wintry showers, * Down the steep hill the roaring torrent powers : ** The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise.'* Rambler. NO. /j5. ** Peggt. Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's How, " Where a' the sweets of spring and simmer grow : " Between twa birks out o'er a little lin " The water fa's and maks a singand din : " A pool breast-deep beneath as clear as glass, " Kisses with easy whirls the bordering grass. " We'll end our washing while the morning's cool, " And when the day grows het we'll to the pool, ** There wash oursells 'tis healthfu' now in May, " And sweetly cauler on sae warm a day.'* Gentle Shepherd. j4ct 1. Sc. 2. NO, v.] ON THE SCENARY. 703 Fiercely blew the wintry blast ; Cold, and drenching, was the rain j Mercy on the tender flocks ! On the herds that grazed the plain ! Quickly arose this rapid stream, Largely fed by many a rill ; Esk Head *, the fount from whence he came. Is at the back of Paties Hill. Darkly, and troubled, deep he rolled. Tumbling,' and roaring, as he went ; - Till, frantic, o'er these rocks he rushed. And for a while his fury spent : Now, calmly, in the pool he wheels. Beneath the foam, and mist that rose ; Then, with gained vigour, as before, He dashing down the valley goes. Thus have I seen a tawny bull. By rushing dogs with rage supplied. Come roaring down the mountain's brow, As if he every check defied : But if a swamp should intervene. He foams, and flounders with his train ; Till struggling to an issue found. He thunders down the steep again. Esk Heady at the foot of the Harper Rig. See the Descrip- tions of the Map ; and of the *Spitalt of New Hall. 704 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. Thanks to thee. Rural Hut ! 'twas then, Stopt, with my gun, I sought thy aid ; How freely didst thou take me in. And give me shelter in thy shade ! Long last thy hospitable roof ! Long may thy rustic walls remain ! And may th' unfriendly, envious blast. Attempt to break them down, in vain ! Hence may these hanging trees, and rocks. Be thy protectors always found ! May woodbines, and the ivy green. Cheerful, in summer, clasp thee round ! , Here let me, 'tis a favourite spot, - When languid at the bottom He The finny race, o*erpowered with heat. Take out my book, put up my fly ! Enchanted by thy native scenes ; Lulled by the falling of the streiam ; Here, Ramsay, may I, acted, see Thy Gextle Shepherd in my dream: His artless bower-tree stockinhorn, His dog, and flock, would make him known ; His crook, smart garters, bonnet blue. And plaid across his shoulder thrown : For often, with his bashful friend. Retiring hither from the plain, Blithsome, he told his amorous tale ; Or, piping, played a merry strain : NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 705 Happy, like Damon *, had he found Gay Peggy, with her sparkling " een," As here she bathed her lovely form. When tired with washing on the green : Though much I doubt if Patrick had. Like modest Damon, stole from sight ; He'd " brattled," rather, " down the brae," And laught to see her in a fright : Then, when he'd meet her with her friends. She blushed, looked down, and nought could say, He'd torture with his artful jeers. Till, as he'd wished, she stole away. Whilst in the shape of cheerful lark. Still lively, o'er this place you sing ; Or goldfinch-like these birches haunt. And with shrill music make it ring j O may I oft, to share thy glee. Here wish my heated limbs to cool ; Thy Hut protect my cloaths, whilst I Enraptured plunge into the pool ; As those who into Lethe dive. And there forget fatigue, and painj Imbibe thy spirits as I swim. And, thus, a new existence gain ! Of equal use, in winter storms j And in the heats of sultry days j * In ThomsstCs Seasons. See the Description of HabhWi Hoiv. Yy 106 POPULAR POEMS [aPP. Simple, and rural is thy Hut ; But merit only calls for praise. PEGGY'S MYLLj bel&io the Cabline's Lou pis. A Ballad ; CoNTAiNAND the hystorie o' the Myll a descrip- tion of it its stanss and of the howm forenent it. Of the impudence o' myller Jok quhan Kate trampit at the edge o' the howm and of the zearly meetand on it, below the Pyper's Know. -^ Als alswo how Bess Bamphray maist lost a husband on the road halm to her midder*s cot-house at Monk's Haugh ; and how a ghalst gat her ane against hys wyll. To- gydder wi' a fryendly hynt tae jzoung lasses an ob- servation on the uncertain issues o' schemes and pro- jects the uselessness o' envy and mony odder thyngs whylk the auld-farrand wyll not myss tae notys in bygaand. OuHAN Patie gat Sir William's lands, ^ The auld corn myll at Carlopis AV^as sair fa'n into disrepair, Frae th' pit-whiel tae its ruif-topis ; The' on the Uisge, in Roger's farm. It, ance, bayth late and early, 1^0. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 707 Below the mouth o' Mause's glenn, Culd grynd aits, pease, an' barley : At t'idder mouth atween its rokkis Thys honest vvyse auld wydovv Amang the haws had, synce, hir cruve Be-north the grene and meadow *. He wrychds and masonis set to wark, He wair't on't muckle syller. He chang't its name to Peggy's Myll, And Roger gat a myller : The myller' s name is Mathew Meal, Jok Duist is Mathew's servant, Quho, wi* hys maister's, hys ain dues To draw is maist observant 2 To Mathew Meal the multuris fa' ; Jok Duist gets a' the sequels. The knaveschipis, bannocks, gowpens or lokis j For sucken f, it has nae equals. Its wa's are whyter, now, than snaw j The staneis are layde fu* neitly ; * See the Genii: ShtJiherJ, Act 5. Scene 1. ; the Description of Ulause's Cottage ; and the Map. f Extent of thirlage, or astrictcd grounds. Yy 2 708 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. And' a' the fo'k als they zle bye, Crye, ferlyan, O how staytly ! Its ruif 's now blew wi* bonny sklateis That skinkle o'er wi' dimonts -, An' ay the jawps flee frae the whiel That quirlis at the end on't. The klapper gangs sae kantily. That a' the nychbours lyk it ; E'en Nepis's tung was ne'er sae loud, Quhan chierily she krackyt. Abune, the road lieds throuch the glenn. Up frae the rumblan' water, Atween the hyllis aman the craygis, ' That maks an unka klatter ; But frae the ford and Pyper's know * The byrkis hyng down fu' swietly. And round a howm on t'odder syde The burnie rins mair sliekly : Wi' cauler shankis, and kyltit coatis, Here trampit Kate fu' tychtly, * Below the present bridge at tlie north end of the village of the Carlops, and of Manse's glen. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 709 Quhan duisty Jok jeer't frae the myll I ne'er saw legs sae sychtly. Now, a' the lasses every zier, 'Nieth Paties sunny Hyll-o *, An* a' the lads, miet on this howm, An* danss tae Peggy's Myll-q. The pyper sits upon the know And plays awa fu* chier*ly ; The auld fo'k sit on ilka syd, And gab awa fu' raerr'ly. Sae smart ilk lad, wi' bonnet blue. Ilk quene wi' cockernonny, The grannies own, even in thair day Ihe howm was ne'er sae bonny. And round, and round, lyke Peggy's quhiel. They danss bezond the water : And sae they chier the auld anes heartis, They clack lyk Peggy's clapper. Than, O, quhan Pate and Peggy cumis. And crownis the merry mietand ; Wi joy, it maks thayr heartis sae grit They're a' maist at the grietand ! * See the Description of the ''S/iita/s of New Hall; and the Maji, Yy 3 710 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. The lads zie a' the lasses hame, A quhyl azont the gloamand, Wi' sic a routh o' sport and glle It kiepis them lang frae roamand. Ance, at thys mietand. Will, and Bess, Danss'd a* the day thegidder ; The twa war sae wiel match't, and lyk, You'd thoucht Will Bess*s bridder. Will was auld Symon's cottar's son ; Bess was Gland's cottar's dochter, A virtuous wydow*s only weane. An' mony a herd had socht her. Will was a tycht and strapand chield. And pryz't hymsell upon it ; He had bra' gartands at hys knies. And rybbands round hys bonnet : He was baith straycht, and ruddy face't. And lyk't a bonny lassie. But cu'dna' thynk to tak a wyfe He was sae proud and saucy : A tappet cock in hys ain zaird. Was ne'er mair fu' o' mettle. Or mair perplex't, amang hys hennis, On quhylk o' them to settle ; Ka v.] ON THE 3CENARY. 7H For a* the hyzzies round the place. It mycht bie sene fu' playnly. War stryvand sae that ony ane Wa'd danss wi' hym fu* faynly. Thys Bess als wiel as he observ'tj And 't made hir bozome flutter, ^uhan ilka quene, frae spyt, that day Sniest to hir wi' a stutter t The mair they snyft, the mair sche straive Tae kiep hym to hirsell-o ; And Will, that day, wi' sonsy Bess, Had not, it's sayd, hys fellow. He danss'd wi' sic an air, and glie, And fitted it sae nietly, ^^lat a' the lads, frae schaim, and teynd, Luiked ne'er before sae blately : They cudna* get thair feet tae gang Lyk als they saw swiet Willie's ; They war, compayrd, lyk vspavicd couttis ; Thair quencs, nier Bcss, lyk fillies. At last, it fell sae late, and myrk, The gimmcrs they grew frychtcd y y 4 712 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. That, gyf they didna suin gi*e o'er. They wa'd be a' benychted. Swa, sum thair fryends, and sum thair laddis, Tuik wi' them, tae protek them ; Sum gaed in hirsells, sum in pairs, Juist as it dyd affek them. Amang the last zung Will and Bess, Thouch Bess was in a swydder, Als they had duin a day, agried Tae kiep bie ane anydder: The tane lyv -d at the Harlaw Muir, The todder stayd at Monk's Haugh j But first they set out wi' a cowp. That they mycht not gar fo'ks laugh : A wee bit on, they watched thair tym, And fa'and slaw behynd them. Sklent sliely duin to the burn syd, Quhan nane they thocht wa'd mynd them. Bot myller Jok, quha wowit Bess, Suspekand quhat wad happen. Had gaen for hys quhyt duisty coat, Quhan they thocht Ijest, to pap in : NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 713 He fallow'd them, behynd the cruid, Tae zie quhat they had ettled ; And quhan he fand hys guess was rycht, Hys plan, or lang, was settled. Zont the Wood brae * they 'skapit aff, Tae gang east, by the watter. And thocht they war thair lanes swa suin Als died awa' the clatter ; But Jok was mair ta'en up wi' them Than let them out o' sycht, thoch. And they had odder thyngs than hym To mynd, had it been lycht thoch. They dander'd down the clier burn syde, Quhyls marr'd wi' craigis, and buschis. And quhyls wi' cantie babbland spryngis Fryng'd cross the haughs wi* ruschis. At last, no far frae Habbie*s How, The linn they wiel cu'd hier it. Quod Bess, to Will, wi' a' they stops. And dansses, I'm maist wierit. Then we'll syt duin juist here, quoth he. Upon thys cozie brae syd, * See the Map, 714 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP, Ze needna fier, at liest whyle zou Ha'e me upon zour tae syd. Sche sat hir duin, als Will advys't. The byrks hang o'er, behynd them j Frae zont the glenn, frae out the burn. The muin schone lyk tae blynd them : Frae Habbie's How, a bit below. They heard the watter singand, Quhar quhyt it, *mang the limestane cralgis, Sets luggs that's near't a ringand. Quod Will to Bess ; now Bess, I beg Zou'll tell me now sincerely . Then, first, zou must, guid partner Will, Zour mynd lay open fairly r Before that zou dyd that, indeed A fuil I surely wa'd bie ; Quhan I had ne'er a grip mysell. To gi'e ze me to haud bie : It's no my business fyrst, tae spiek ; They ken, that ken the matter : Quhan I've heard how zou do, I'll, then. About it, tell zou better. NO, v.] ON THE SCENARY. 715 Gyf that's the case, then, Will replys. And I haif nocht els for't then, I'll tell zou a* my m'ynd at ance, And cut the tether short then. To let ze, Bess, then understand At ance quhat is my meaning ; Bie that pure stream thare at our feet ! This day, zou've ta'en me clene in. Before I saw zou at the howm, I'd lauch't at sche wad tell me Quhat, I must now confess to zou, 'Twas, Bess, that thare befell me. Zou danss swa wiel, and luik swa fresch. And gi'e sic tempand glansses ; Quha, thynk ze, that ha*e ene ava, Are prufe 'gainst sic advansses. Wiel, since I must ; mysell, to zou, I totally surrender ! And of my all, without reserve, I mak zou, Boss, a tender ! Quhyl thys he said, he prynts hys worddis Upon hir lippis wyth kysses ; Expectand to get back, for them, At liest als mony yesses* 716 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. 'Tis now zour turn, quod he, tae spiek. Unless zou mien tae mok me Sche gied a lulk ; and than cry'd out, O Will, zou' re lyk tae chok me 1 Quhidder it was compassion moved ; Or that he thocht sche Jok squawl't ; Or 'twas frae spyt at William's luck ; Or juidg't sche for the joke bawl't j Or 'twas regard for Bess's fame. That seemed now in sic danger ; Or frae them a' ; als he ne'er told. We're still als zet a stranger : But swa it was, juist at the tym Quhan Will was lyk tae chok hir, Jok, wi' his mealy coat and face. Appeared, and thus bespok hir. " Bess Bamphray ! turn zour face this way ; Thoch I am died and rotten. Are a' zour promises to Jane, Zour midder, swa forgotten ! Quhan sche thys morning rigged zou out. And tyed zour cockernonny ; Did sche no tell ze tae tak care O' men, thoch ne'er swa bonny ? KO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 717 O Bess attend tae quhat I say ! How often did zou tell us Zou ne'er wad trust a swankie's word j For they war sliddery fallows!" Bess was, at fyrst, swa ta'en wi' Will, Sche nodder saw, nor heard him ; But suih, I trow, quhan they luik't round, Jok, in a twinkland, scared them. Quhyl Will was glowrand, Bess slipp't out, Baith frae hys sycht, and clutches : And, now, his lane, he ran, als chaced Bie fifty diels, and witches ! Als Bess he nodder saw, nor heard. He juidg't he'd fairly lost her ; And, in despair, at last, he went And lay duin on his bouster. Upon the tap of the burn brae, Abune the linn and watter. Stands Halbert's house. I thynk guidwyfe, Says he, I hier a blatter ! The wyfe and weanes ran to the door. To zie quha 'twas was at it ! * Sec the Map. ; and the Descnption of Halhij''s Hous:. 718 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP* Cries Is'bel ; losh preserve us Bess ! At thys tym ; and swa towtit ! ,; Is thys an hour tae gang about, 0*er glens, and braes ; z'r lane too ? And a' sae towzl't ; as if sum chiel Had gotten ze juist wi' weane, too ! But cum z'r wa ; z're walcum thoch : Thare's a guid fyre, tae warm ze : Tak in that stuil, and tell's z'r crakkis ; Nane, here at liest, wyll harm ze. Quhan sche'd sat duin ; O dear, quod Bess, Guid niechbours but I'm wierit ! I saw e'en now my fadder's ghaist ; And styll I thynk I hier it ! Zour fadder's' ghaist ! they a' cryed out. And quhat, Bess, dyd it say to ze ? I'm sure, quod Hab, it could nae cryme. That e'er I heard o', lay tae ze. The stars forfend ! quoth Bess, that I Shuld e'er bie at the mercy Even o* my fadder's ghaist for that \ Wi' frycht, Pd die gyf 'twar sae. wo. v.] ON THE SCENAllY. 710 And zet had It not been for hym., That cam tae my protection, I dried, afore thystym, I'd been Under the diel's subjection. A fadder he has been tae me, Quhan died, als wiel as lievand ; From frae a wicked chiel's attacks Me juist e*en now reprievand ! Foul fa' the worthless loun ! cryes Tib ^ Quha culd it bie, I wonder ? Fm sure he kens himsell, quoth Bess j I wadna lyk tae blunder-: I was sae put besyde my wits, Quhan in hys arms he lock't me j I culd but, 'twixt hys kysses, cry, O, are ze ga'an tae chok me ! Nae suiner had I cryed thys out. Than hierand something spiekand, He cudna' help, between the smakkis, Frae o'er hys schouther keekand : Quhan lo ! als lyk als lyk culd be, Althodi sum wee thing zounger, Azont the burn my fadder stuid. As quhyt as a ralelmonger ! 720 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. His schadow in the waiter shon ; He stuid hys leefu' lane thare ; Upon its edg, a* quhyt, and straucht, Juist lyk a lang hied-stane thare ! Quhane'er the chiel saw*t, and was sure His ene war no baith reeland, He bang'd up lyk a loun bewitch't. Or lyk a thief catch't stieland. Quhan in*s ain voice it cryed " O Bess ! , Attend to quhat I say now ;" I skriecht ! and, als the rever did, I rase, and ran awa too, I jynkit round a hazel busch ; And up the brae I scrambled ; And, as zou zie me, towzled a', I tae zour dor ha'e rambled. I'm sure it's bene a lucky thyng That I ha'e fund zour fyre-syd ; For had I no, bie chanss, cum here, I had died at sum myresyd. Says Is'bel, Hab wyll zie ze haim, Sae suin as ze ha'e warm't ze ; Zour midder wyll be grievand sair Wi' thinkand somethyng's harm't ze ; NO* v.] ON THE SCENARY. 721 He's at the wars bene, and can faicht, Wi' ony ghaist, or warlock-^ O dier, sychs Bess, I wuss he had Bene wi* me frae the Carlop ! - Quod Hab, fyrst j Tib, let's tayst a scon ; And with't zour covenanter ! They'll gi'e us heat ; and mak us bauld ; Quoth Tib, Hab how zou banter ! Sche hurries ben to hir ayn boal. Bie thys slae roung and bonnit ! Wynks he to Bess, I'll wager zou We'll wayt an hour upon it ! Kynd Is'bel brocht the bottyl butt, Cryand, Hab, zou'd gar a fox lauch ! Throuch it, or lang, bayth Hab, and Bess, AVar saifly huised at Monk's Hauch. Niest day spunk' t out the hail affair ; How Jok pass'd for Bett's daddy : And, as he cudna' kiep awa, Sche saw hir muirland laddy. He stappet o'er the burn tae hir, Hir favour tae recover j Z z 722 ORIGINAL POEMS j {aPP. Tae offer hir hymsell again. And sty 11 remayn iiir lovef. Sxhe, now, tho*, was mair canny grown. Afore he cu'd obtain hir, He was oblyg'd tae ca' a priest, ; ^ou^^^^ Tae say a grace, tae gayn hir. .7 lurA Bay th Will and Bess, nexf ziet, War at The howm at Peggy's Myll-o : And, now, being married fo'ks, the rest, Wythout sturt, danss'd thair filLo. Zet a' the niechbours still are clier. And Will hymsell has sayd it, That hadna* myller Jok appiered T la/^I Tae Bess he'd ae'er bene wedded. i^-.v-O Swa nayller Jok, in fek, wass he That tyd thaim fast thegidder j And buxom Bess that nycht sent hayin Als sche had left hir midder : For wythout hym, sche'd lost, I fier. E'er, for a husband, Willie ; And or 'twg[s lang, without remied. Had luikcd bayth sadd, and sillie. N6. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 72S Thus, actions aft lied quyte cohtriir Frae quhat bie thaim's intended ; For Jok ne*er driem'd hys prank wa'd bie Wi' Bess's wedding ended. THE CARLO PS GREEN : OR EQUALITY REALIZED: A Ballad, It'rittcn in the year 1793. With an Episode, founded on a real event, con- taining a comparison between Twccddale Mutton^ and the Edinburgh Races ; including a Soliloquy on Pleasure, particularly that of eatings the way we like it, and the different kinds of it. On one side of the conic rocks The carline louped between ; A glen bends northwards to the Esk, On t'^other side's a green * : Along the glen, a little town Frae th" rocks runs to the bng ; * See the Mnfi ; with the Descriptions of Mausi's CoHa^f. and Roger's Halhaiion ; and of Ths Lin Burn. 724 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. On this the hill, on that the brae. The town's baith snug and trig. The brig is built aburie the ford ; Below it is the stance Of Peggy's mill ; and o*er*t the howm Where was a yearly dance *. The street in breadth is sixty feet ; The houses all are neat. With doors and windows painted white. And roofs of tyle, and slate. Half way between the rocks and brig. The street spreads to a square, A fountain there supplies the town. And keeps it clean and fair. Eastle the rocks a canty inn Gives lodging, beer, and bread j Over the door it has the sign Of Mause the witch's head : 'Tis thirteen miles from Edinburgh, Upon the Biggar road ; Which runs below the Pentland Hills, Through where the green is broad : * See the preceding poem, on Pf^^^^s Mj/ll lelotv The Carlyng^s Loufiis, KO. v.] ON THE SCEJNARY. 725 Be-south the craigs the carline lived. So blithesome Ramsay tells. When Bauldy, Madge once sent away With towzled harigells : The tree still stands, where, like a stane. Half petrified with fear. He stood in sight, and swithered lang Or he durst venture near : It grovv^s beside a little well. East from the inn, and rocks. And of west winds from Car lops Hill, It still can bear the shocks *. The craigs, be-north of Mause's hut, Directly intervene. And make a narrow pass, betwixt The village, and the green : Beyond the green, half round it, south. There sweeps a trotting burn. * See the View of Mausers Cottage^ and Roger's Habitation ; and the Map. Roger's Habitation was once used as an inn. See Dr Pair.dcuik'i Description of Tnveeddale . Before that, it was the mansion of the estate ; and after, in the days of Allan Ramsay, the farmstead to the whole lands of the Carlops, as one sheep walk, on their annexation to New Hall. Z z i3 726 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. Beneath a gently-rising bank. Directing every turn j ' Till, ending in a swelling know. Formed by King Charlie's Nick, It; opens to a haugh below. And lets it pass it quick ; In distant vista, down this vale. Which verdant slopes surround. Appears the house, upon the height Where Symon, once, was found ; The loyal friend of honest Glaud-, That o'er good news to laugh. In old times, oft, across the burn. Called on him at Monk's Haugh *. East, from this valley's southern edge, ' Springs up the Rumbhng Well ; West, up its Dean, three curious mounts Contrast the Carlops Hill f. Behind the opening 'twixt the rocks, Runs, bright, the village 'forth ; ' i ween and gay Patie's *Spital Hill, Its shelter on the north : * See the View, and Description of Claud's Or.stcad ; and the Ma[t. \ See the Map. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 727 As fur*s the square, the houses line The street without a bend ; Along the level street is view'd ..... The fount at farthest en4. .v i'> l-n/ Upon this flat expanded spot. Whence all these round appear, -': r A market's seen, the twenty-third Of April, every yeav * : :!, ,^ 'Twixt Patie's Hiil, and Roger's Rig, The poet's tower ascends f ; There pastoral flutes, with vernal glee. For the prize pipe contend {. Another in October's held. Upon its fifteenth day j This day, when Rajusay first drew breath, The green is ever gay : * See the Descriptions of Mansers Cottage ; andTVi^ L'm Burn ; also the Almanachs, -j- See the Map., for the site of Ramsajj's Toiuer. X These annual contests, among the shepherdi of the Pent- land Hills, at Ramsay's Tower in the spring, for a Scots pasto- ral flute, recall the days oiTIicocri'.us, and Virgil, and the compe- titions for the prize pip-, amidst the Arcadian scenes of Sicily, and Italy, which constitute the chief subjecto of their Idyls, and Eolocrucs. Z z 4 728 ORIGINAL POEMS [APF. To crowds, at e'en, amidst the scenes That gave his drama birth. The shepherds act it, to the life, , And crown his fame with mirth . The tents are pitched upon the heights The merchandize to hold ; And, to attract the dealers more, Well covered from the cold ; There gingerbread, and ribbons gay, Are placed to catch the eye ; For older heads, too, whisky stoups. That all may come and buy. The farmers hale their cattle bring j The young folks all conveen ; And many a fairing is exchanged That day at Carlops Green. Sometimes the drums and streamand pipes. Are like to deave their ears ; Whan thro* the fair the serjeant struts, Enlisting volunteers : * See the Description of Mouse's Cottage^ and Roger's Halita- tlon ; and, in NO. 6. of this Appendix, among the Popular Poems, the Prologue to The Gentle Shepherd^ written by James Forrest, when it was acted at Roger's Rig, near the Carlops. TfO. V*] ON THE SCENARY, 729 Unless when, flourishing his cane, He stops his pipes and drum. And calls on all the gallant youths. Lest here the French should come, . In ane o' their romantic freaks. And on their sweethearts fa'. And tak their fathers* gudes and gear. And leave them nought ava ! Not even, he bawls, brave lads your breeks, Your hizzies even their coats ! For those in France that ha'e the sway Are a' daft Sans Culottes, Ance James, and John, met at this fair : James straight from Edinburgh came j John had a fat yeld cow to sell, ^'\nd wasna* far frae hame. Quoth James, come this way, to yon* shed ? Let's see what's in your mill ? We'll try to mak a bargain there. And crack out o'er a gill. \\\* a' my heart, quo' John: and so Across the green they went ; And tho' it seemed already fu'. Got baith seats in the tent. 73Q ORIGINAL POEMS ; f APP. So soon as James had bpught the cow, : Deep politics began isqiqaii aqo!3 -H He of the peopk was affknd, .-.o Ziho bn/. And to Me rights rfimn, . jsT^id JasJ A fife and drum, that was ga'afl b^oiii; m Fat Frenchmen in their heads j , l^J^ For, whiles, but frae a silly cause :Iej hrJ.. A great event proceeds,^ rl;. e /jiji bn/i ' I'm for equality, cries he !' .' uil ^naVw 4q>I I've read all Thomas Paine : :i iiroY And, lest a word I should forget, .:!. -j / 1 I'll read him o'er again. ^^ / .. -lA What right have those they call the riehr- Come here's to you friend John What right have they to more than we ? I answer, surely none 1 What would you do then, tell me James ? O, by all means divide I I'd like, if /twere but from mere spite, In Croesus' coach to ride. Though, unpractised, I there should be Sick, listless, and in pain ; A jeer to all my neighbours round. And but distresses gain ; NaV.] ON THE SCENARY* 731 Though, unbred up in Croesus* ways, -i^U By them rd lose my heahb;r -.- ^ I'd like, if but to humble him," * ;2i;r ,i , j To rob him of his wealth.-!^-..:. t'V/ But then, tjuoth John, by riding so Ane's head may turji about. And, frae no kenning how to use't, The purse may soon run out. But if, again, what we try for Is to have e(jual rights ; / We ken that's no French nonsense, James, For that a Briton fights. . You're no' awar' an equal purse, If My friend, can never be ; At least if all have equal rights To spend it, and be free : 'Twere as great tyranny to make A lavish prodigal Hoard up his share, as from a scrub. By force to take it all. Besides, at once, your levelling would Destroy all soul, and spirit. By blotting all distinctions out. The only spurs to merit. 732 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP, But as for equal rights, even now. We have them perfect here j For, just Hke any other man. We hang a wicked peer. . Your equal purse would soon be gone ; All would' be as before : Some would pick up what you had lost And add it to their store* Or lang, this sure would be the case ; And what would you do then ? Why, what else would I do, says James, But just divide again ! , Then, cried twa beggars, from without. An island each of lice. What share shall I get of your cow ? Or I get of her price ? / What right have you, no more than we. To any thing that's good ? Or even than our free born lice, Tliat must, through us, have food ? In truth, quoth John, I fear, good friends. You'll not share as a glutton. An English Squire, not far frae this Shared of a black-faced mutton. NO. V,] ON THE SCENARY. 733 Ay, ay, man, whatna story's that ? Says James, let's hear*t ; though lang. But if an hour it tak tae tell't. I wunna' say its wrang. ,WeeI then, quoth John j and so ye see. Come, here's t'ye ! gie's a snuff ? There's ane frae me. Ere I am duin. You'll think it lang enough. The Squire, and's man, baith on their way, Had rode, to near this place. Some eighty years ago, or mair. To see an Edinburgh race. V On Sunday they had got thus far. When he pulled up his bridle ; And, though 'twas late, for dinner called. Not wishing: to be idle. *o The landlord, just the day before. Had killed a prime fat wedder ; So to a leg John Bull and he, Or lang, sat down together, "Why, faith ! says Bull, host, this looks well Then cutting up the loin. Beneath at least an inch of fat. The juice sprang up like w ine ; 734 ORIGINAL POEMS [aP'I* Like port, it filled the ashet full. The cut expanding wide. If all your mutton's so, laughs he ! rU not begrudge my ride. The landlord swore 'twas four years old. The true short breed of Tw^eeddale I And with the rest, if he would stay, ^ None but the Squire should meddle : No, not the king, were he to starve. Should taste a single bit ; Until his honour should have done. Who'd got the first of it. If so, cries Bull, at least I'll stay. Good host, at least this night : By Jove ! I cannot think to stir Without another bite. My man shall go to tovm himself ; While I keep here alone ; And bring me out the news, betimes. Of how the race went on. What signifies it, adds the host. When for a week each day A race is run, although you should. Sir, be from one away. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 73^ Each race, believe me, *s much the same As that which went before : To see five races then yourself. Is just as good's a score. Next day the quarter was discussed y While Tom told all the news ; As, how this rider broke his neck. And, how that got a bruise. Egad ! says Bull, you make so plain, Tom, all that happened there ; I know as well how all has passed As if rd had my share. You shall to-morrow go again. Take notice who*8 the winner ? You may, with perfect ease, be back A little after dinner. There 2ire Jour races after next. Still, ere the Ztfiolc are run ; I surely will have seen enough Before these four are done. Another quarter was produced : It bred a fresh excuse : Till Tom was sent five times, at last. To tov/n to bring the news. *!36 ORIGINAL POEMS [APP. One quarter of the wedder, now ; And but one race remained ; When thus the squire convinced himself. And from the race refrained. Though I have rode two hundred miles ^ For pleasure was it not : And what can give me more delight Than what I here have got ? We all in pleasure, 'tis allowed. Have an undoubted right To choose, each man, what suits himself. And gives him most delight j But was a man, whose finest nerves W ere placed within his palate. To choose a show, before a feast, , I'd surely folly call it: Now, for my part, I do declare That, such are my dull eyes, A sight, even, of such charming meat, Before a race I prize : I, surely, therefore, ne'er can rue. Though I should miss this race ; When I shall put into my guts Such mutton in its place. NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 737 By eating well, at least, we may In bulk, and vigour thrive ; But, who, e'er by the grandest sight Was even kept alive: O'er all the senses, now, so high Is that of eating placed. That every connoisseur in them Is called a man of taste : Hence 'tis that both the eyes, and nose. Are but as centinels Placed o'er the mouth, and but its guards, To see that all is well : Accordingly, that 'tis their chief. On which the rest depend. They know full sure, for were't to close All would be at an end : Our first great object, then, should be To give't the choicest fare ; The others only, after it. Should be our second care: If they should interfere with 't, then. Of course, 't should not be hard. 3 A 738 ORIGINAL POEMS '{apP. At once, to fix, which of the two, I think, should be preferred ; . .'' '' '.'] ' ' The solid pleasures from the mouth We, therefore, ought to prize. Nay even my very hounds do so. Before those from the eyes. Besides, in pleasures more rifined^'i - A As I've heard at some lecture, . Good lodging takes the lead, even there. The child of arckiteciuva : Hence, schemers, high, we builders call Of castles in the air ; And all contrivers architects. Of projects, foul,.cr fair : A sorry architect, I fear, For such a scheme, VA be, To leave, with meat, good lodging, then. An open race to see ; Even were I certain of some sport, To raise a little mirth ; When 'tis exposed to colds, and rains, And breezes, from the Firth ! NO* v.] ON THE SCENARY. 739 The race may, after all, turn out Not to be very good j Then, for a shadeless, empty, show, I'd lodgings leave, and food : And, this delicious meat still more. This mutton, to enhance, I*d 'change, With it, a certainty. For what is but a chance : Now, as one bird in hand's, at least. Worth tzvo before they're catch't ; 'Twould take two chances of good sport, Before this leg was match't. Besides, we've races such as these. From what Tom's daily told. And just as tempting, nearer home. With any man I'll hold ! For the last time, you shall set out. Then, Tom, for Leith to-morrow. Next day the wedder will be done ; I say't with grief, and sorrow : For, our coarse mutton, for a year, I'll not let near my mouth. 3 A2 740 ORIGINAL POEMS [^^^' By Monday 1*11 have eat this up ; And then I'll turn me south. On Sunday last 'twas we came here ; One stage but from the race ; Where I've been stopt, while I can eat, ril ne'er forget the place : The carlines head the carlihe's loups These charming boils, and roasts The mutton d the Car lops Hill Shall ever be my toasts !-* Before that John had well begun This story long to tell, The beggars saw nor he'd divide, Nor even James himsell : For, always, James, when levelling. Looked up towards the rich ; But never thought of looking down, To beggars with the itch. They both had time enough to plan, As well as execute j For many a glass, and snufF, John took. Before that he got through't : NO, v.] ON THE SCENARY. 741 So, like their fishwife friends in France, Since none would be so civil As give them all they sought, themselves. They'd take it, through^ the devil. Whilst loyal John his story told. One eased him of the price ; And t'other got even James's cow OS with him in a trice. Now, when the dealers raise, and look't. Their gills, and stories done. They found, with gjrief, when 'twas too late. Both price, and cow, were gone ! Quoth John to James, what think you now ? Is't this you call equality ? Quoth James to John, it surely is ; Though 'twont do in reality. Or James got back to Edinburgh town, Without, or cash, or cow, He*d got his fill of Sans Culottes, And levelling I trow. The requisitions that were made. At ance, opened baith his een ; 3 A 3 742 POPULAR POEMS [aPP. And sent him hame a wiser man, That day, frae Carlops Green. No. VI. POPULAR POEMS, ON THE SCENARY^F THE GENTLE SHEPHERD, Connected with the Illustrations. The following lines, in the form of a letter, were sent into New-Hall House, by one of the servants, in summer 1802. Verses, ejctempore, to Mr Brown of New Hall. Sir, This will let you understand That Jamie Thonvion is at hand. O'er frae Kinkith, in which he dwells. On t'ither side o' Pentland Hills. Nae ither business he has wi' ye. But comes on purpose for to see ye ; And ask your leave, that he may gang And view the Place where Allan sang j NO. VI.] ON THE SCENARY. 743 Syms House; and Gland's snug Onstead see ; Auld Manses Cruve, and Blasted Tree ; The Lin, and Pool o' cauler water, Whar Meg^ and Jenny, used to squater. In Habby's How, breast-deep, in May, Skreened round wi* birks upon the brae. Now, if this favour ye will grant. And gi'e the license that I want, I here do promise nay I sweer ! I wunna wrang y'r guids nor gier : Sik as the dingand down a dike ; Breaking your timmer ; or the like. O' them I'll tak as muckle care As if they were my ain, and mair ; O' a' your orders being observant. As it becomes Your humble servant Jamie Thomson. It is easy to see that this James Thomson has no resemblance to the celebrated poet of Ednam, but in name, and attachment to the muses. His forte is humour. He is a " canty callan," of the school of Allan; and is as eccentric, and droll, in his look, and manner, as in his genius. He is a common weaver at K'uildth, a hamlet, on a brow of the northern de- clivity of the Pcntland Hills, between the waters of 3 A 4 744 POPULAR POEMS [APP. Leith, and Glencross, not far from the high water- fall, on the latter stream, said by some wiseacres of late to be in Habbie's How; and that such is the po- pular opinion ! A large octavo volume of his poems was published some years ago, corrected by Mr Mac- laurin of Dreghorn, near Kinleith, who wrote, and prefixed to it, an account, and portrait of the poet. Less attention has been paid to them than they de- serve. The south, as well as the north, side of Ramsay's favourite Pictland Hills, has, likewise, its native self- taught bard, of the same trade too ; who resides in the village of Carlops, and was bom in a cottage, called the Turtle Bank *, over the Esk and Wash- ing Green, south from New-Hall House, and east from Habbie's How, in the very middle of the ori- ginal scenary of The Gentle Shepherd. His name is James Forrest, the son of a labourer, and author of several poems in the Scots Magazine, with the signature J. F. His genius is of a serious, plaintive, cast. He furnished the anecdote of Ram-m say, repeated in the description of the Craigy Bield ; and also, among others, three poems con- nected with the scenary, which have considerable merit, and are subjoined, to show that the popular * See the Map. *9 NO. VI.] ON THE SCENARY. 745 Opinion on both sides of the Pentland Hills, on this subject, perfectly agrees with evidence, and common sense. VERSES, Written after taking a walk through the Wash- ing Grken, and Habbie's How, at New Hall on the North Esk ; by James Forrest of the milage of the Car lops. Addressed to Mr Brown of New Hall. Weak are the strains my humble muse can show ; With hand unskill'd I touch the trembling string ; Fair science never taught my heart to glow. Nor cleared the way to the Castalian Spring. In rural solitude, I pass my days. Among the swains on Esk's fair winding stream ; To please myself, I sing my artless lays ; To court the voice of fame I never dream. To view the beauties of the pastoral glade. Awhile, I bid the haunts of men farewell ; To Hnger, listening, by the bright cascade. Or hear it gently murmur down the dell -, 746* POPULAR POEMS [APPi Or through the mazy wood-waikj lonely, stray. Where bards, of old, felt inspiration's fire ; In yonder " howni'' my listless limbs to lay. Where tuneful Ramsay strung his melting lyre. O, could I paint, the white, romantic " Lin ;" The fir-crowned steep, high-waving o'er the stream ; The twilight grove, the glass-like " Poor within j The ruddy cliffs reflecting yonder beam j The moss-grown cave, from noon's fierce heat a shade. Fit haunt for love, or friendship's social hour. Or musing bard, by restless fancy led, Who seeks, at eve, the lonely birchen bower. Fair handed spring weaves her green livery here : She rears the primrose on the bank unseen j Robes in its lively dress the thorny briar ; And paints the daisy on th' enamelled green. The purple violet, and the hare-bell blue. In gay profusion, ornament the lawn : The lily bends, surcharged with morning dew. Its reddish-white proclaims the rosy dawn. - Thro* these sweet glens still may the muses stray j Where native beauty scorns the show of art ; Where the plain shepherd sings his simple lay ; And rural innocence enchants the heart. NO. VI.] ON THE SCENARY. 747 PROLOGUE 7b The Gentle Shepherd, when acted at Rogers Rig, near the Carlops *, in the year 1 807- Written by James Forrest : and spoken by F. Govan. Here are no foreign actors with laced coats, ^ Who ne'er can speak a word o' plain braid Scots ; But simple country fo'ks, who seek no fame : Just to amuse ye is our greatest aim. Have patience then a while, till I rehearse My Prologue short, in rough unpolished verse. Thanks be to Allan, that queer, funny wight. Who wrote the Play we mean to act this night. What, though it lash some follies o' the age ; Fair virtue shines triumphant in each page : Here's steady loyalty, that nought could move ; Friendship sincere ; and truth ; and constant love ; Beauty, in tears while hope eludes her view. Fair, like the lilly wet with vernal dew. Such were the lays blythe Ramsay sweetly sung, When on the banks of Esk his lyre was strung ; * See the Map. 748 POPULAR POEMS [app. As, oft, he wooed the muse, at twilight's fall, Among the green-wood glades around New Hall. So long as May produces smelling flowers : So long as bees delight in sunny hours : So long as truth with innocence shall dwell : So long THE GENTLE SHEPHERD shall excel. Let bigots rail j and kankart critics snarl ; And crafty priests about sma' matters quarrel ; We scorn, alike, their malice and their rage : There^s nought immoral seen upon our stage. LINES On returning from the other side of the Pcntland Hills, after visiting, in summer 1806, the place, on Glencorse xvater, which some crazy, interested, or envious persons, have taken it into their heads, in opposition to their senses, and intellects, to call Habbie's How ! 15}' James Forrest, of the village of the Carlops. Ae day a thought cam in my pow. To see that place ca*d Habbie's How ; Up, near the head o' Glencorse water, ^Bout whilk there's been sae muckle clatter. NO. VI.] ON THE SCENARY. 749 What visionary castles fair. The muse-rid bard builds in the air ! I thought to see the light-heeled fawns, . -Gay, sporting o'er green flowery lawns, ' : ":*Mong fragrant birks, where zephyrs fissle; Pan playing on his oaten whissle ; ' An' wi' the nine celestial lasses. Dancing a' round, come frae Parnassus. How was I cheated ! whan I saw The elritch place ! Preserve us a* ! ! ! Nought's there, t'inspire the poet's lays. Or fire his breast wi' nature's praise : Nae smiling flowers o' spring, nor simmer ; Nor bush, nor tree, o* growand timmer. Save twae sma' row'n-twigs, on the rocks Whar the rough-throated corbie croaks i The hills a' round, baith brown, and bare, Will scarce afford to feed a hare ! ! ! Beside a wee bit dub, for room, Whar twa wild goslins coudna' swoom ; In sik a place, it gied me pain To see a bungled, leeand, Stane, Brought this same year, for the first time, An' a' stuck round wi' ill-spelled rhyme. To try to gar fo'k think they see What their ain een show ne'er could be. 750 POPULAR POEMS [APP. The wark o' some doiled 'prentice callan, Set up In Memory d Allax *. In addition to these popular proofs, it may be men- tioned, that New Hall was, during this summer, 1 807, visited by a well-dressed elderly man, accompanied by his son. He was, seemingly, about sixty years of age 5 and after introducing, and naming himself, he said he was born on the estate : That his father was one of Sir David and Mr Forbes*s tenants, and his house was in a field which still goes by his name : That he had, often, heard his father say, that Allan Ramsay used to come every summer to New-Hall House, where he, frequently, continued a month, and six weeks at a time : That he always travelled on foot 5 and often took a walk down the Esk from thence to visit Baron Sir John Clerk, and returned again : That the houses of Glaud, and Symon, were * This Stone being lately placed there ; the erecting of it is thought to have been occasioned by the inquiries of some stran- gers, not long since, at the rustics of Glencross water for the site of Habbie's Hoio upon it ; when they were unfortunately told, by the very people on the spot, that they knew of no such place. See Beauties of Scotlanu, Mid-Lothian. It is a curious fact, that this spot is in the same parish with New Hall, on the nearest extremity of the adjoining estate, and is not so far from it as it is from Fulford or New Woodhouselee, in a different parish, and on the other side of both the intervening estates of Logan House, and Castlelaw, with their mansions, and farmsteads ! NO. VI.] ON THE SCENARY. 751 taken from the Marfield, and Harlaw Moor farms : That he himself, when a boy, was almost drowned in Peggy's Pool, at Habbie's How : And that Sir William Worthy's seat was copied from New-Hall House, and its appendages; the situations, and ap- pearances, of many of which he pointed out, and de- scribed. The first intimation, to the writer of this article, that the original scenes of The Gentle JShepherdwere to be found at Nexv Hall, was communicated in the year 1783, by a lady, then, considerably advanced in life, in the most friendly intimacy, and almost daily in company, with Allan Ramsay's youngest daughter. A piece of the " blasted tree" near the site of Maitses Cottage at the Carlops, has lately been shown in London, as a precious relic, and great cu- riosity. GLOSSARY Ablins, perhaps Aboon, above Aikerbraid, the breadth of an acre Air, long since, early- Air up, soon up in the morning Ambrie, cup-board Anew, enough Aries, earnest of a bargain Ase, ashes At ains, or At anes, at once, at the same time Attour, out-over Auld-farran^ ingenious Aurglebargin, or Eagglebargin, to contend and wrangle Awsome, frightful, terrible Aynd, the breath Back-scy, a snvloin Badran?, a cat Baid, staid, abode Bairns, children Balen, whalebone Bang, is sometimes an action of haste. We say, he^ or :V, came tu'tlh a bang. A hang also means a great number : Of customers she had a hang. Bangster, a blustering roaring person Bannocks, a sort of bread thick- er than cakes, and round Barkened, when mire, blood, &c. hardens upon a thing like bark Barlikhood, a fit of drunken angry passion Barrow-trams, the staves of a hand-barrow Batts, cholic Bawbee, halfpenny Bauch, sorry, indifferent Bawsy, bawsand-fiiced, is a cow or a horse with a white face Bcdecn, irr:m.cdiatc]r, in haste ?R 754 GLOSSARY* Beft, beaten Begoud, began , Begrutten, all in tears Beik, to bask Beild, or Beil-, a shelter Bein, or Been, wealthy A Bein House, a warm well furnished one Beit, or Beet, to help, repair Bells, bubbles Beltan, the 3d of May, or Rood- day Bended, drunk hard Bens, the inner room of a house Bennison, a blessing Bensell, or Bensail, force Bent, the open field Beuk, baked Bicker, a wooden dish Bickering, fighting, running quickly; school-boys battling with stones Bigg, build Bigget, built diggings, buildings Biggonet, a linen cap, or coif Billy, brother Byre, or Byer, a cow-stall Birks, birch-trees Birle, to drink. Common people joining their farthings, for purchasing liquor ; they call it birllng a buivbtt:. Birn, a burnt mark Birns, the stalks of burnt heath Birr, force, flying swiftly with a noise Birsed, bruised Bittle, or Beetle, a wooden mell for beating hemp ; or a ful- ler's club Black-a-viced, of a black com- plexion Blae, pale blue, the colour of the skin when bruised Blaflum, beguile Blate, bashful Blatter, a rattling noise Bleech, to blanch, or whiten Bleer, to make the eye water Bleez, blaze Blether, foolish discourse Bletherer, a babbler. Stammer- ing is called llether'wg, Blin, cease. Never bllrij nsvcr have done, Bhnkan, the flame rising and faUing, as of a lamp when the oil is exhausted Boak, or Boke, vomit Boal, a little press, or cup-board, in the wall Bodin, or Bodden, pi'ovided, or furnished Bodle, one-sixth of a penny En- glish , Bodword, an ominous message. Bod words are nov/ used to express ill-natured messages. Boglebo, hobgobhn or spectre Bonny, beautiful Bonnywalys, toys, gewgaws Boss, empty Bouk, bulk Bourd, jest or dally Bouze, to driiik GLOSSARY. 165 Brochen, a kind of watergruel of oatmeal, butter, and honey Brae, the side of a hill, bank of a river Braird, the first sprouting of corns Branderj a gridiron Brands, calves of the legs Brankan, prancing, capering Branks, wherewith the rustics bridle their horses Brattle, noise, as of horse' feet Brats, aprons Braw, brave, fine in apparel Brecken, fearn Brent-brow, a snoooth high fore- head Brigs, bridges Brisg, to press Brock, a badger Broo, broth Browden, fond Browster, brewer Browst, a brewing Bruliment, a broil Bucky, the large sea-snail ; a term of reproach, when we express a cross-natured fel- low, by a thrazun huchi/. Buff, nonsense ; aSj He blethered buff Bught, the little fold where the ewes are inclosed :;t milking time BuIIlt, to bubble ; the motion of water at a spring-head or nuise of a rising tide Bumbazed, confused ; made to stare and look like an idiot Bung, completely fuddled, as it were to the bung Bunkei's, i. bench, or sort of long low chests, that serve for seats Bumbler, a bungler Burn, a brook Busk, to deck, dre^s Bustine, fustian, (cloth) But, often for without ; as, httt feed or favour Bykes, or Bikes, nests, or hi^es^ of bees Bygane, bypast Byword, a proverb Cadge, carry Cadger, a country carrier CafF, calf; chaff Callan, a boy Camschough, stern, grim, of at distorted countenance Cangle, to wrangle Canker'd, angry, passionately snarling Canna, cannot Cant, to tell merry old tales Cantraips, incantations Canty, cheerful and merry Capernoited, whimsical, ill-na- tured Car, sledge Carena, care not Carle, an old word for a mar 756 GLOSSARY. Carline, an old woman. - Gire- carline^ a giant's wife Cathel, an hot-pot, made of ale, sugar, and eggs Cauldrife, spiritless ; wanting cheerfulness in address Cauler, cool, or fresh Cawk, chalk Chafts, chops Chaping, an ale-measure, or stoup, somewhat less than an English quart A-char, or A-jar, aside. When any thing is beat a little out of its position, or a door or window a little opened, we say, They're a-char, or a-jar. Charlewain, Charles-wain, the constellation called the Plow or Ursa Major. Chancy, fortunate, good-natu- red Chat, a cant name for the gal- lows Chiel, a general term like /c/Io'U}. Used sometimes with respect ; as, He^s a 'very good ch'iel ,* and contemptuously, That chiel. Chirm, chirp and sing like a bird Chucky, a hen Clan, tribe, family Clank, a sharp blow or stroke that makes a noise Clashes, chat Clatter, to chatter Claught, took hold Claver, to speak nonsense Claw, scratch Cleek, to catch as with a hook Cleugh, a den betwixt rock* Chnty, hard, stony Clock, a beetle Clotted, the fall of any soft moist thing CI088, a court or square ; and frequently a lane or alley Clour, the little lump that rises on the head, occasioned by a blow or fall Clute, or Cloot, hoof of cows or sheep Cockernony, the gathering of a woman's hair, when it is wrapt or snooded up with a band or snood Cockstool, a pillory Cod, a pillow Coft, bought Cog, a pretty large wooden dish the country people put their pottage in Cogle, when a thing , moves backwards and forwards, in- chning to fall Coodies, small wooden vessels, used by some for chamber- pots Coof, a stupid fellow Coor, to cover Cooser, a stoned horse Coost, did cast Coosten, thrown Corby, a raven GLOSSARY. 757 Cosle, sheltered in *a convenient place Cotter, a subtenant Cowp, to fall ; also a fall Cowp, to change, barter Cowp, a company of people ; as merry, senseless, corky convfi Cour, to crouch and creep Couth, frank and kind Crack, chat Creel, basket Crish, grease Croil, a crooked dwarf Croon, or Crune, to murmur, or hum, over a song ; the lowing of bulls Crouse, bold Cruve, a cottage Crummy, a cow's name Cryn, shrink, or become less, by drying Cudeigh, a bribe, present Culzie, entice, or flatter Cun, to taste, learn, know Cunzic, or Coonie, coin Curn, a small parcel Cursche, a kerchief ; a linen dress wore by our Highland women Cutled, used kind and gaining methods for gaining love and friendship Cutts, lots. These ciitts are u- sually made o[ straws une- qually cut Cutty, short D.ib, a proficient Dad, to beat one thing against another. He fell w? a dad. He daded his head against tha ivall, &c. Daft, foolish ; and sometime* wanton Daffin, folly, waggery Dail, or Dale, a valley, a plain Daintiths, dainties, delicates Dainty is used as an epithet of a fine man or woman Dander, wander to and fro Dang, did ding, beat, thrust, drive. Ding dang, moving hastily one on the back of a- nother Darn, to hide Dash, to put out of countenance Dawt, to cocker and caress with tenderness Dawty, a fondling, darling Deave, to stun the ears witli noise Dees, dairy-maids Deray, merriment, jollity, so- lemnity, tumult, disorder, noise Dern, secret, hidden, lonely Deval, to descend, fall, hurry Dewgs, rags, or shapings of cloth Didlc, to act, or move, hke a dwarf Digiit, decked, made ready ; also to clean J3inr.a, do not Dirlf, a smarting pain quickly over r> :; 758 GLOSSARY. Dit, to stop oi- close vip a hole I)ivet, broad tgrf Docken, a dock, (the herb) Doilt, confused and silly iDoited, dozed or crazy^ as in old age Doll, a large piece, dole, or share Donk, moist I)onsie, affectedly nea^ ; clean, when applied toanylittle per- son Doofart, a dull heavy-headed fellow Dool, or prule^ the goal which gamesters strive to gain first, (as at foot -ball) Dool, pain, grief Ports, a proud pet Dorty, proud, not to be spoke to, conceited, appearing as disobliged Dosend, cold, impotent Dought, could, availed Doughty, strong, valiant, and able Douks, dives under water Douse, solid, grave, prudent Dow, to will, to incline, to thrive Dow, dove Dawed, (liquor) that is dead, or has lost the spirit, witl.tr- ed (plant) Dowff, mournful, wanting viva- city Dowie, mcLinclioly, sad, dole- ful Downa, Dow not ; /. e, though one has the power, he wants the heart, to it Dbwp, the posteriors, the small remains of a candle, the bot- tom of an egg-shell. Better haff" egg as toom dowp. Drant, to speak slow, after a sighing manner Dree, , to suffer, endure Dreary, wearisome, frightful Dreigh, slow, keeping at dis-. tance. Hence, an ill-payer of his debts, we call dreigh. Tedious. Dribs, drops Drizel, a little water in a rivu^ let, scarce appearing to ran Droning, sitting lazily, or mo- 'ving heavily ; speaking with groans Drouked, drenched, all wet Dubs, small puddles of water Dung, defeat Dunt, a stroke or blow Dunty, a doxy Durk, a poignard or dagger Dynles, trembles, shakes Dyver, a bufikrupt Eags, incites, stirs up Eard, earth, the gnnind E'.'ge (of a hill,) is the side or top Eon, eyes Eild, r.ge EiidcenSj of the snme ago Eilh, ca-^y ; Eilhar, easier GLOSSARY. 759 Elbuck, elbow Elf-shot, bewitched, shot by- fairies Elson, a shoemaker's awl Elritch, wild, hideous, uninha- bited, except by imaginary ghosts Endlang, along Ergh, scrupulous, when one makes faint attempts to do a thing, without a steady re- solution Erst, time past Estler, hewn stone. Buildings of such we call esiler-^ork. Ether, an adder Ettle, to aim, design Evened, compared Eydent, diligent, laborious Fa, a trap, such as is used for catching rats or mice Fae, a foe, an enemy Fadge, a spungy sort of bread, in shape of a roll Fag, to tire, or turn weary Fail, thick. turf, such as are u- sed for building dikes for folds, inclosures, &c. Fain, expresses earnest desire ; as, Fam ivouhl I. Also, joy- ful, tickled with pleasure. Feat, neat, in good order Fairlaw, wlieii we wish well to one ; that a g^od o\ j\ur fate lx^zx bci^ll him Fang, the talons of a fowl Fan^:;, to grip, or hold fa^t Fash, to vex or trouble Fashous, troublesome Faugh, a colour between white and red Faugh-riggs, fallow ground Feck, a part, quantity ; as, Malst fccky the greatest num- ber ; Nae/ecif very few. Feckfow, able, active Feckless, feeble, little5and weak Feed, or Fead, feud, hatred, quarrel Fell, many, several Fen, shift Fending, living by industry Mak a Fen, fall upon method* Ferlie, wonder Fernzier, the last, or fore-run year File, to defile or dirty Fireflaught, a flash of lightning Fistle, to stir ; a stir Fitsted, the print of the foot Fizzing, whizzing Flailing, moving up and down, raising wind by motion, as birds with their vs'ings Flags, flashes, as of wind and fire Flane, an arrow Flang, flung Flaughter, to pare turf from the ground Flaw, lie or fib Fiectch, to cox or flatter Fkg, fright Flcwet, a smart blow F'cy, or Flic, to afrright 760 GLOSSARY Fleyt, afraid or terrified Flinders, splinters Tht, to remove Fiite, or Flyte, to scold, chide Flet, did scold Flushes, floods Fog, moss Fpordays, the morning far ad- anced, fair day-light Forby, besides Forbearers, forefathers, ances- tors Forfairn, abused, bespattered Forfaughten, weary, faint, ai:d out of breath with fighting Forgainst, opposite to Forgether, to meet, encounter Forleet, to forsake or forget Forestam, the forehead Fouth, abundance, plenty Fozy, spungy, soft Frais, to make a noise. We use to say, one ma/:s a frais, when they boast, wonder, and talk more of a matter than it is worthy of or will bear. Fray, bustle, fighting Freik, a fool ; a light imperti- nent fellow Fremit, strange, not a-kin Fristed, trasted Frush, brittle, like bread baken with butter FufF, to blow Fuffin, blowing Furdt-r, prosper Furthy, forward Furlct, four pecks Fush, brought Fyk, to be restless, uneasy Gab, the mouth to prate. Gal sae gash Gabbing, prating pertly Gab again, when servants give saucy returns when repriman- ded Gfibby, one of a ready and easy expression ; the same with auld gabhet Gadge, to dictate impertinently, talk idly with a stupid gravi- ^ ty Gafaw, a hearty loud laughter. Gawf, to laugh Gait, a goat Gams, gums Gar, to cause, make, or force Gare, greedy, rapacious, earnest to have a thing Gash, solid, sagacious. One with a long out chin, we call gash-gabhet, gash-heard Gate, way Gaunt, yawn Gawky, an idle, staring, idioti- cal person Gawn, going Gaws, galls Gavvsy, jolly, buxom Geek, to mock Geed, o'r Gade, went Genty, handsome, genteel Get, or Brat, a child, by way of contempt or derision Gi---ianjrcr, an ill debtor GLOSSARY. 761 Gif,if Gillygacus, or Gillygapus, a staring gaping fool ; a gor- mandizer Gilpy, a roguish boy Gimmer, a young sheep, (ewe. ) Gin, if Gird, to strike, pierce Oirn, to grin, snarl ; also, a snare or trap, such as boys make of horse-hair to catc^h birds Girth, a hoop Glaiked, foolish, wanton, light Glaiks, an idle good-for-nothing fellow. To give the glalJis, to beguile one, by giving him his labour for his pains. Glaister, to bawl or bark Glamour, juggling. When de- vils, wizards, or jugglers, de- ceive the sight, they are said to cast glamour over the eyes of the t'pectator. Glar, mire, oozy mud Glee, to squint Gleg, sharp, quick, active Glen, a narrow valley between mountains Gloom, to scowl or frown Glowming, the twilight, or e- vening gloom. Glowr, to stare, look stern Glunsh, to hang the brow and grumble Goan, a wooden dish for ment Gooli^, a large knife Gorlings, or Gorblings, young unfledged birds Gossie, gossip Gowans, daisies Gove, to look broad and sted- fast, holding up the face Gowf, besides the known game, a racket or sound blow on the chops, we call a go