From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,

That makes her loved at home, revered

abroad:

"

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,) "An honest man's the noblest work of God; And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind : What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load,

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined !

Oh Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent,

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!

And oh may Heaven their simple lives prevent

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle.

Oh Thou! who poured the patriotic tide,

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted

heart,

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) Oh never, never, Scotia's realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard !

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.

"Oh prince, oh chief of many throned powers,
That led th' embattled seraphim to war!"— MILTON.

H thou! whatever title suit thee,

Он

Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim and sootie,
Closed under hatches,

Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
And let poor d―d bodies be;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
E'en to a deil,

To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me,
And hear us squeel!

Great is thy power, and great thy fame
Far kenned and noted is thy name;
And though yon lowin' heugh's thy hame,
Thou travels far;

And, faith! thou 's neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion,
For prey a' holes and corners tryin';

Whyles on the strong-winged tempest flyin',
Tirlin' the kirks;

Whyles in the human bosom pryin',
Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my reverend grannie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or where auld ruined castles gray
Nod to the moon,

Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way
Wi' eldritch croon.

When twilight did my grannie summon,
Το say her prayers, douce honest woman!
Aft yont the dike she's heard you bummin',
Wi' eerie drone;

Or, rustlin', through the boortrees comin',
Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter-night,

The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light,
Wi' you, mysel', I gat a fright

Ayont the lough ;

Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight,
Wi' waving sough.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristled hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick — quaick ·
Amang the springs,

Awa' ye squattered, like a drake,

On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim, and withered hags,
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags,
They skim the muirs and dizzy crags,
Wi' wicked speed;

And in kirk-yards renew their leagues
Owre howkit dead.

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain,
May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain ;
For, oh! the yellow treasure 's ta’en
By witching skill;

And dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie 's gaen
As yell's the bill.

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse,
On young guidmen, fond, keen, and crouse,
When the best wark-lume i' the house,
By cantrip wit,

Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
And float the jinglin' icy boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction;

And 'nighted travellers are allured
To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is:
The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkeys
Delude his eyes,

Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.

When mason's mystic word and grip,
In storms and tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!

The youngest brother ye wad whip
Aff straught to h— !

Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard, When youthfu' lovers first were paired, And all the soul of love they shared, The raptured hour,

Sweet on the fragrant flowery swaird, In shady bower,1.

Then you, ye auld sneck-drawing dog! Ye came to Paradise incog.

And played on man a cursed brogue, (Black be your fa’!)

And gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruined a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smootie phiz
'Mang better folk,

1 This verse ran originally as follows:

Lang syne, in Eden's happy scene,
When strappin' Adam's days were green,
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean,
My dearest part,

A dancin', sweet, young handsome quean,
O' guileless heart.