EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.

H

ERE Holy Willie's sair worn clay Taks up its last abode ; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
Poor silly body, see him;
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun'-
Observe wha's standing wi' him!

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance ye've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,
For pity ye hae nane !
Justice, alas! has gien him o'er,
And mercy's day is gane.

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are,
Look something to your credit;
A coof like him wad stain your name,
If it were kent ye did it.

ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',

He often did assist ye;

For had ye staid whole years awa',
Your wives they ne'er had missed ye.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass
To school in bands thegither,
Oh, tread ye lightly on his grass-
Perhaps he was your father.

TH

THE VISION.

DUAN FIRST,

HE sun had closed the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
And 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 closed 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 eyed the spewing reek,

That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,
The auld clay biggin';

And heard the restless rattons squeak
About the riggin'.

All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mused on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,
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, and clerkit
My cash-account:

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

I started, muttering, Blockhead! coof!
And heaved on high my wauket 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 sneck did draw,
And, jee the door gaed to the wa';

And 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 glower'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;

And come to stop those reckless vows,

Would soon been broken.

A "hare-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 bonny Jean

Could only peer it;

Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,
Nane else cam 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 Irwine stately thuds:
Auld hermit Ayr staw through his woods,
On to the shore;

And 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 every 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 features stern.

My heart did glowing transport feel,

To see a race heroic wheel,

And brandish round the deep-dyed steel

In sturdy blows;

While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their Suthron foes.

His COUNTRY'S SAVIOUR, mark him well!
Bold Richardton's heroic swell;