THE VISION. DUAN FIRST. THE sun had clos'd the winter day, To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been The thresher's weary flingin tree The lee-lang day had tired me; And whan 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, The auld clay biggin An' heard the restless rattons squeak About the riggin. All in this mottle, misty clime, I backward mus'd on wasted time, * Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol, ii, of Macpherson's translation. How I had spent my youthfu' prime, But stringin blethers up in rhyme, Had I to guid advice but harkit, I might, by this, hae led a market, Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit My cash-account: While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,. I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! Or some rash aith, That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof Till my last breath. When click! the string the snick did draw; And jee! the door gaed to the wa'; An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, Now bleezin bright, A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, Come full in sight. Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht; The infant aith, half-formed, was crusht; I glowr'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 : An' come to stop those reckless vows, Ahair-brain'd, sentimental trace,' Was strongly marked in her face; A wildly-witty rustic grace Shone full upon her; Her ev'n turn'd on empty space, eye, Beam'd keen with honour. Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, Could only peer it; Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 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 thro' his woods, On to the shore; And many a lesser torrent scuds, With seeming roar. Low, in a sandy valley spread, She boasts a race, To ev'ry 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,. My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a race heroic wheel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel· While back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their suthron foes. The Wallaces. : His COUNTRY'S SAVIOUR, mark* him welF Bold Richardton'st heroic swell; The chief on Sarkt who glorious fell, In high command; And he whom ruthless fates expel His native land. There, where a sceptr❜d Pictish shades In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd Thro' many a wild romantic grove, || William Wallace. + Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish independence. Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, 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. § 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 Coils-field, where his burial place is still shown. Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. |