« ForrigeFortsæt »
E'en there I winna flatter;
Am I your humble debtor :
Your kingship to bespatter ;
Than you this day.
O ye douce folk, that live by rule, Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, Compared wi' you— fool! fool! fool!
How much unlike! Your hearts are just a standing pool,
Your lives, a dyke! Hae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! In arioso trills and graces
Ye never stray, But, gravissimo, solemn basses
Ye hum away. Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise ; Nae ferly though ye do despise The hairum-scarum, ram-stam boys,
The rattlin squad: I see you upward cast your eyes
-Ye ken the road.
IV. 'Tis very true, my sovereign king,
My skill may weel be doubted : But facts are chiels that winna ding,
An' downa be disputed : Your royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e'en right left an' clouted, And now the third part of the string, An' less, will gang about it
Than did ae day.
Whilst 1—but I shall haud me there Wi' you I'll scarce gang onywhere Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,
But quat my sang, Content wi' you to mak a pair,
Whare'er I gang.
To blame your legislation,
To rule this mighty nation !
Ye've trusted ministration
Than courts yon day.
All in this mottie, misty clime,
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 an' clarkit
My cash account: While here, half mad, half fed, half sarkit,
Is a' th' amount.
Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ayr staw through his words,
On to the shore ;
With seeming roar.
She boasts a race,
And polish'd grace.
I could discern;
With feature stern.
In sturdy blows;
Their stubborn foes.
I started, muttering, blockhead! coof! And heaved on high my waukit 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 strink 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-formn'd, 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,
Wou'd soon been broken.
His country's saviour,t mark him well! Bold Richardton'st heroic swell; The chief on Sarks who glorious fell,
In high command; And he whom ruthless fates expel
His native land. There, where a sceptred Pictish shade! Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, I mark'd a martial race, portray'd
In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featurd, undismay'd
They strode along. Through many a wild, romantic grove, 9 Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, (Fit haunts for friendship or for love,
In musing mood,
They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw,
That, to adore.
A “hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,”
Shone full upon her ;
Beam'd keen with honour.
Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen ;
Could only peer it;
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.
* The Wallaces.
+ 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 1443. 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's field, 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.
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.
Brydone's brave ward* I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; Who call'd on fame, low standing by,
To hand him on, Where many a patriot name on high,
And hero shone.
“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 rustio bard; And careful note each opening grace,
A guide and guard.
“Of these am 1-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.
“ With future hope, I oft would gaze Fond, on thy little early ways, Thy rudely carollid chiming phrase,
In uncouth rhymes, Fired at the simple, artless lays
Of other times.
“ I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Delighted with the dashing roar ; Or when the north his fleecy store
Drove through the sky, I saw grim nature's visage hoar
Struck thy young eye.
With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
Of kindred sweet,
She did me greet.
Thus poorly low !
As we bestow.
Their labours ply.
The tuneful art.
They, sightless, stand,
Full on the eye.
His Minstrel lays;'
The skeptic's bays.
The various man.
With tillage-skill ;
Blythe o'er the hill.
“Or, when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth
In every grove,
With boundless love.
And lonely stalk,
In pensive walk. “When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored name, I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.
“I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, Misled by fancy's meteor ray,
By passion driven ; But yet the light that led astray
Was light from heaven. “I taught thy manners-painting strains, The loves, the ways of simple swains, Till now, o'er all my wide domains
Thy fame extends : And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
Become my friends.
• Colonel Fullarton.