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 rhyme-proof"

Till my last breath—

When click! the string the snick 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 needna doubt, I held my whisht;
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht;
I glowr'd 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, e'en 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 bonnie Jean

Could only peer it;

Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,

Nane else cam near it.

Her mantle large, of greenish hué,

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 Irwine stately thuds:

Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,

And

On to the shore;

many a lesser torrent scuds,

With seeming roar

Low, in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient borough rear'd her head;
Still, as in Scottish story read,

She boasts a race,

To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,

And polish'd grace.

By stately tow'r or palace fair,

Or ruins pendent in the air,

Bold stems of heroes, here and there,

I could discern;

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

My heart did glowing transport feel,

To see a race' heroic wheel,

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel

In sturdy blows;

While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their suthron foes.

His Country's Saviour2, mark him well!
Bold Richardton's 3 heroic swell;

The chief on Sark+ who glorious fell,

In high command;

And he whom ruthless fates expel

His native land.

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shades
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'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.

With deep-struck reverential awe7
The learned sire and son I saw,
To Nature's God and Nature's law

They gave their lore,

This, all its source and end to draw,
That, to adore.

Brydone's brave ward I well could spy
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;

Who call'd on fame, low standing by,
To hand him on,

Where many a patriot name on high,

And hero shone.

I The Wallaces.

2 William Wallace.

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

4 Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.

5 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.

6 Barskimming, the seat of the Lord Justice Clerk (Miller).

7 Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor Stewart. $ Colonel Fullarton.

WITH musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming fair;
A whisp❜ring throb did witness bear,
Of kindred sweet,

When with an elder sister's air

She did me greet.

'All hail! my own inspired bard!
In me thy native muse regard!
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,

Thus poorly low!

I come to give thee such reward

As we bestow.

'Know, the great genius of this land
Has many a light, aërial band,

Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,

As arts or arms they understand,

Their labours ply.

'They Scotia's race among them share; Some fire the soldier on to dare;

Some rouse the patriot up to bare

Corruption's heart:

Some teach the bard, a darling care,

The tuneful art.