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 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 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;
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.

"Some, bounded to a district space, Explore at large man's infant race, To mark the embryotic trace

Of rustic bard;
And careful note each opening grace,
A guide and guard.

"Of these am I-Coila my name;
And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
Held ruling power:

I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame,
Thy natal hour.

"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,
And lump them aye thegither;

The rigid righteous is a fool,

The rigid wise anither:

The cleanest corn that e'er was dight,
May hae some pyles o' caff in;
So ne'er a fellow creature slight,
For random fits o' daffin.

Solomon.-Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16.

I.

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel,
Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye've naught to do but mark and tell
Your neebor's faults and folly!
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,
Supplied wi' store o' water,
The heapet happer's ebbing still,
And still the clap plays clatter.
II.

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,
Would here propone defences,

Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
Their failings and mischances.

III.

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared,
And shudder at the niffer;

But cast a moment's fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in,

And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
Your better art o' hiding.

IV.

Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop;

Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail

Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
It maks an unco leeway.
V.

See social life and glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown
Debauchery and drinking:

O, would they stay to calculate
Th' eternal consequences;

Or your more dreaded hell to taste,
D-mnation of expenses!

VI.

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases;

A dear loved lad, convenience snug,
A treacherous inclination-

But, let me whisper i' your lug,
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.

VII.

Then gently scan your brother msn,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human :

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
Decidedly can try us,

He knows each chord-its various tone
Each spring, its various bias:
Then at the balance let's be mute;

We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But not know what's resisted.

TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.*

An honest man's the noblest work of God. РОРЕ.

HAS auld K******** seen the deil?
Or great M*******† thrawn his heel?
Or R******* again grown weel,‡

To preach an' read. "Na, waur than a"!" cries ilka chiel, Tam Samson's dead!

K********* lang may grunt an' grane,
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane,
An' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean,
In mourning weed;

To death she's dearly paid the kane,
Tam Samson's dead!

The brethren of the mystic level
May hing their head in woefu' bevel,
While by their nose the tears will revel,
Like ony bead;

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.