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; A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace," 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 came near it. Her mantle large, of greenish hue, And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 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 com mand, 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. Il 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'sfield, where his burial-place is still shown. Barskimming the seat of the Lord Justice Clerk. **Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor and present Pro fessor Stewart. "Some hint the lover's harmless wile; And make his cottage scenes beguile "Some, bounded to a district space, Explore at large man's infant race, To mark the embryotic trace Of rustic bard; "Of these am I-Coila my name; I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, "Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; Or wake the bosom-melting throe, With Shenstone's art; Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow Warm on the heart. "Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, The lowly daisy sweetly blows; Though large the forest's monarch throws His army shade, Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, Adown the glade. "Then never murmur nor repine; Strive in thy humble sphere to shine : And, trust me, not Potosi's mine, Nor kings' regard, Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, A rustic bard. "To give my counsels all in one, Thy tuneful flame still careful fan; Preserve the dignity of man With soul erect And trust, the universal plan Will all protect. "And wear thou this"-she solemn said, And bound the holly round my head: The polish'd leaves, and berries red Did rustling play; And, like a passing thought, she fled In light away. ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID; OR, THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make a rule, The rigid righteous is a fool, The rigid wise anither: The cleanest corn that e'er was dight, Solomon.-Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. I. O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce wisdom's door For glaikit folly's portals; I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, III. Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, But cast a moment's fair regard, And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) IV. Think, when your castigated pulse Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail Right on ye scud your sea-way; See social life and glee sit down, O, would they stay to calculate Or your more dreaded hell to taste, VI. Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, A dear loved lad, convenience snug, But, let me whisper i' your lug, VII. Then gently scan your brother msn, One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it: And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. VIII. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone He knows each chord-its various tone We never can adjust it; TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.* An honest man's the noblest work of God. РОРЕ. HAS auld K******** seen the deil? To preach an' read. "Na, waur than a"!" cries ilka chiel, Tam Samson's dead! K********* lang may grunt an' grane, To death she's dearly paid the kane, The brethren of the mystic level Death's gien the lodge an unco devel: Tam Samson's dead! When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, the last of his fields ;" and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composcú his elegy and epitaph. + A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide the Ordination, stanza ii. Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that time ailing. For him, see also the Ordination, stanza ix. |