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 wheel-hain'd gear on d-d new Brigs and
Harbours!

NEW BRIG.

Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough,
And muckle mair than ye can make 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 hae 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 ower 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 glittering stream they featly danced; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced; 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. Ohad M'Laughlan,* thairm-inspiring sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, When through his dear Strathspeys they bore with HighJand rage;

* A well known performer of Scottish music on the viol

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;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart.

The Genius of the Stream in front appears,
A venerable chief advanc'd in years;
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd,
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound.
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring
Then crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Jo
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye;
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn;
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show
By Hospitality with cloudless brow.

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,

A female forin,* came from the tow'rs of Stair;
Learning and worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode;

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath,
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath

The broken iron instruments of Death;

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.

THE VISION.

DUAN FIRST.†

THE sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,

* The Poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in possession of Stair. She afterwards removed to Aftonlodge on the banks of the Afton, a stream which she subsequently celebrated in a song entitled, "Afton Water."-Ed. + Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of Macpherson's nslation.

An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way
To kail-yards green,

While faithless snaws ilk step betray
Whare she has been.

The thrasher's weary flingin-tree
The lee-lang day had tired me;
And when the day had clos'd his e'e,
Far i' the west,

Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie,
I gaed to rest.

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,
The auld clay biggin ;
An' heard the restless rattons squeak
About the riggin.

All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mus'd on wasted time,
How I bad spent my youthfu' prime,
An' done nae-thing,
But stringin blethers up in rhyme,
For fools to sing.

Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit

My cash account:

While here, half mad, half fed, half sarkit,
Is a' th' amount.

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a' yon starry roof,

Or some rash aith,

That I henceforth would be a rhyme proof Till my last breath

When click! the string the sneck did draw: And jee! the door gaed to the wa'

An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,

Now bleezin bright,

A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw,

Come full in sight.

Ye need nae doubt, I held my whisht The infant aith, half-form'd was crusht I glow'rd as eerie's I'd been dusht,

In some wild glen;

When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht,
And stepped ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows;
I took her for some Scottish muse,
By that same token;

An' come to stop those reckless vows,
Wou'd soon been broken.

A "hair-brain'd sentimental trace,"
Was strongly marked in her face;

A wildly-witty, rustic grace

Shone full upon her;

Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space,

Beam'd keen with Honour.

Down flow'd her robe, a Tartan sheen,
Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
And such a leg! my bonie Jean

Could only peer it;

Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean,
Nane else came near it.

Her Mantle large, of greenish hue,
My gazing wonder chiefly drew;

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw
A lustre grand;

And seem'd, to my astonish'd view,

A well known land.

Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There, mountains to the skies were tost; Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, With surging foam;

There distant shone Art's lofty boast,

The lordly dome.

Here Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods, There, well-fed Irvine stately thuds; Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, On to the shore;

And many a lesser torrent scuds,

With seeming roar.

By stately tow'r or palace fair,
Or ruins pendant in the air,

Bold stems of heroes, here and there,
I could discern;

Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,
With features stern.

My heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a Race* heroic wheel,

And brandish round the deep-dy'd stcel
In sturdy blows;

While back-recoiling seem'd to reel
Their Southron foes.

His Country's Saviour,† mark him well;
Bold Richardton'st heroic swell.
The chief on Sark who glorious fell,
In high command;

And He whom ruthless Fates expel
His native land.

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shadell
Stalk'd round its ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd
In colours strong;
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd
They strode along.

Thro' many a wild romantic grove,¶
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love)
In musing mood,
An aged Judge, I saw him rove,
Dispensing good.

*The Wallaces. t William Wallace.

Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish Independence.

Wallace, laird of Cragie, who was second in command, under Douglas, earl of Ormond, at the famous battie on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory Das principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant laird of Cragie, who died of his wounds after the action.

Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the Montgomeries of Coil's-field, where his burial-place is still shown.

Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice C

VOL. I.

G