The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, And shooting-meteors caught the startled eye.

The paly moon rose in the livid east,

And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately form, In weeds of wo that frantic beat her breast, And mixed her wailings with the raving storm.

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I viewed: Her form majestic drooped in pensive wo, The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.

Reversed that spear, redoubtable in war,

Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurled, That like a deathful meteor gleamed afar, And braved the mighty monarchs of the world.

"My patriot son fills an untimely grave!"

With accents wild and lifted arms she cried: "Low lies the hand that oft was stretched to

save,

Low lies the heart that swelled with honest pride.

"A weeping country joins a widow's tear;

The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; The drooping arts surround their patron's bier; And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh!

"I saw my sons resume their ancient fire;
I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow;
But ah! how hope is born but to expire!
Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.

"My patriot falls but shall he lie unsung, While empty greatness saves a worthless name? No: every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, And future ages hear his growing fame.

"And I will join a mother's tender cares, Through future times to make his virtue last; That distant years may boast of other Blairs!".. She said, and vanished with the sweeping blast.

TO MISS FERRIER,1

ENCLOSING THE ELEGY ON SIR J. H. BLAIR.

NAE heathen name shall I prefix

Frae Pindus or Parnassus;

Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks, beats
For rhyme-inspiring lasses.

Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three
Made Homer deep their debtor;

1 Author of The Inheritance, etc.

But, gien the body half an e'e,
Nine Ferriers wad done better!

given

Last day my mind was in a bog,
Down George's Street I stoited;
A creeping cauld prosaic fog
My very senses doited.

Do what I dought to set her free,
My saul lay in the mire;

tottered

stupefied

Ye turned a neuk I saw your e'e-
She took the wing like fire!

The mournfu' sang I here enclose
In gratitude I send you;

could

And [wish and] pray in rhyme sincere,
A' gude things may attend you !1

VERSES

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE, IN
THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH.

ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
The abodes of covied grouse and timid sheep,

1 The original manuscript of this piece is in the possession of Miss Grace Aiken, Ayr.

My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 'Till famed Breadálbane opens to my view. The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, The woods, wild scattered, clothe their ample sides;

The outstretching lake, imbosomed 'mong the

hills,

The eye with wonder and amazement fills;
The Tay, meandering sweet in infant pride,
The palace, rising on its verdant side ;
The lawns, wood-fringed in Nature's native taste;
The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste;
The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream;
The village, glittering in the noontide beam

*

*

*

*

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell:
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods;
The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods

*

*

*

*

Here Poesy might wake her Heaven-taught lyre, And look through nature with creative fire; Here to the wrongs of Fate half reconciled, Misfortune's lightened steps might wander wild; And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds: Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch her scan,

And injured Worth forget and pardon man.

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

TUNE-The Birks of Abergeldy.

The beautiful falls of Moness, at Aberfeldy, excited the poet to verse; but on this occasion it came in a lyric form, for he remembered a simple old ditty, called the Birks of Abergeldy, referring to a place in Aberdeenshire, and struck by the nearly identical name of this spot, his thoughts fell into harmony with the tune possessing his mind.

CHORUS.

BONNY lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go ?
Bonny lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,

And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The little birdies blithely sing,

glances

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, hang

Or lightly fit on wanton wing

In the birks of Aberfeldy.