II

Here Wealth still swells the golden tide,
As busy Trade his labours plies;
There Architecture's noble pride
Bids elegance and splendour rise:
Here Justice, from her native skies,
High wields her balance and her rod;
There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
Seeks Science in her coy abode.

III

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind,

With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural vale;

Attentive still to Sorrow's wail, Or modest Merit's silent claim:

And never may their sources fail! And never Envy blot their name !

IV

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn,
Gay as the gilded summer sky,
Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn,
Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy!
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine:
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!

There, watching high the least alarms,
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar;
Like some bold vet'ran, grey in arms,
And mark'd with many a seamy scar:
The pond'rous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,

Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repell'd th' invader's shock.

VI

With awe-struck thought and pitying tears,
I view that noble, stately dome,
'Where Scotia's kings of other years,

Fam'd heroes! had their royal home:
Alas, how chang'd the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust!

Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam! Tho' rigid Law cries out: "Twas just

VII

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,

Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore,
Haply my sires have left their shed,

And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar,
Bold-following where your fathers led!

VOL. I.

VIII

Edina! Scotia's darling seat!

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs; Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet, Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs: From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

SONGS

JOHN BARLEYCORN

A Ballad

I

THERE was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

II

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head,

And they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,

And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again,

And sore surpris'd them all.

IV

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong:
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale ;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

VI

His colour sicken'd more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rage.

VII

They've taen a weapon long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee; Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

VIII

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore.
They hung him up before the storm,

And turn'd him o'er and o'er.