Obrázky na stránke

But gin ye be a brig as auld as me,

Tho' faith, that day I doubt ye'll never see;
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle,
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle.


Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, Just much about it wi' your scanty sense;

Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street,

Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet—
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime,

Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time?
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream,*
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim,
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you.



Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride!This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide; And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn! As yet ye little ken about the matter, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. When heavy, dark, continued a'-day rains, Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains;

A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig.

When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil,
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,

Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course,
Or haunted Garpal* draws his feeble source,
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes,
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes;
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat,
Sweeps dams an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate;
And from Glenbuck,t down to the Ratton-key,
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling sea–
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise!
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies.
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost,
That Architecture's noble art is lost!


Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't! The L-d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't! Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, Hanging with threat'ning jut like precipices; O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : Windows, and doors in nameless sculpture drest, With order, symmetry, or taste unblest;

* The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the West of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit.

+ The source of the river Ayr.

‡ A small landing-place above the large key.

Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ;
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee,
And still the second dread command be free,

Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea.
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast;

Fit only for a doited monkish race,

Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace;
Or cuifs of latter times wha held the notion
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion;
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection!
And soon may they expire, unblest with resur-


O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings,
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings!
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie,
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay;
Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce Conveeners,
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners;
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town;
Ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown,

Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters;
And (what would now be strange) ye godly writers;
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do!

How would your spirits groan in deep vexation,
To see each melancholy alteration;

And agonizing, curse the time and place
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race!
Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory,
In plain braid scots hold forth a plain braid story!
Nae langer thrifty citizens an' douce,

Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house;
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,
The herryment and ruin of the country;

Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d-d new Brigs and Harbours!


Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough, And muckle mair than ye can mak to through, As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle: But, under favour o' your langer beard, Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd: To liken them to your auld-warld squad, I must needs say, comparisons are odd. In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can have a handle To mouth' a citizen,' a term o' scandal ; Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;

Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' raisins,

Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins,
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
Had shor❜d them with a glimmer of his lamp,
And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them,
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.

What farther clishmaclaver might been said,
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed,
No man can tell; but all before their sight,
A fairy train appear'd in order bright :

Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly danc'd;
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd:
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat,

The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.-
O had M'Lauchlan,* thairm-inspiring Sage
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with
highland rage;

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs,
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares;
How would his highland lug been nobler fir'd,
And ev❜n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd!
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;

* A well known performer of Scottish music on the violin.

« PredošláPokračovať »