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“ A title, Dempster merits it; A garter gie to Willie Pitt; Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,
In cent. per cent. But gie me real, sterling wit,
And I'm content.
My bardship here, at your levee,
On sic a day as this is,
Sae fine this day.
All in this mottie, misty clime,
And done naething, 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.
Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ayr staw through his words,
On to the shore ;
With seeming roar.
She boasts a race,
And polish'd grace.
I could discern;
With feature stern.
In sturdy blows;
Their stubborn foes.
I started, muttering, blockhead! coof! And heaved 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 strink 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 need na 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.
His country's saviour,+ mark him well! Bold Richardton'sť heroic swell; The chief on Sarks who glorious fell,
In high command; And he whom ruthless fates expel
His native land. There, where a sceptred Pictish shade! Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, I mark'd a martial race, portray'd
In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featur’d, undismay'a
They strode along. Through many a wild, romantic grove, f Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, (Fit haunts for friendship or for love,
In musing mood,
They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw,
That, to adore.
A “hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,"
Shone full upon her ;
Beam'd keen with honour.
Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen ;
Could only peer it;
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.
* The Wallaces. + William Wallace.
# Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish independence.
& 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.
11 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 Lord Justice Clerk
** Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor and present Professor Stewart.
Brydone's brave ward* I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye; Who callid on fame, low standing by,
To hand him on, Where many a patriot name on high,
And hero shone.
“ Some hint the lover's harmless wile; Some grace the maiden's artless smile; Some soothe the labourer's weary toil,
For humble gains, And make his cottage scenes beguile
His cares and pains.
Of kindred sweet,
She did me greet.
Thus poorly low!
As we bestow.
Their labours ply. * They Scotia's race among them share ; Some fire the soldier on to dare; Some rouse the patriot up to bare
The tuneful art.
They, sightless, stand, To mend the honest patriot lore,
And grace the hand.
Full on the eye.
His 6 Minstrel lays;'
The skeptic's bays.
The various man.
With tillage-skill ;
Blythe o'er the hill.
Or, when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth
In every grove, I saw thee eye the general mirth
With boundless love.
“When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, Call’d forth the reapers' rustling noise, I saw thee leave their evening joys,
And lonely stalk, To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk. “When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored name, I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.
* Colonel Fullarton.