His witty fang, wi' jokes fae fu', Slides juift awa like weel-teas'd woo, Sae tight and easy, faith there's few Now in our day,

Can chauut fae blithe, or fing fae true To Ramfay's lay.

As I had got ye'r Magazine,
And glowring owr wi' eager ein,
I met wi' winfome JOCKIE MEIN,

And blefs'd the lad

Syne hy'd me to our herds bedeen,

Wi' tidings glad.

How pleas'd was I fae eith to trace A cheerfu'nefs in ilka face;

Sae fuin's I fhawn them a' the cafe,
And read it o'er,

They wish'd the callant meikle grace,
And gow'd galore.

How happily ilk fhepherd reads Sic tales, clad in plain Scottish weeds; E'en bony laffies, wi' hiegh heads,

Do gladly hear

Sangs tun'd upo' their native reeds,

To them fae dear:

They now expect ye'll fing fae rare, And oft defcribe a Whitfun' Fair,

That, for themfels, nae coft they'll spare

To mak them braw;

Than maun ye tell, wi wit and care,

They're bony a':

They'll a' be there, the kintry 'round Our Efkdale laffies fay they're bound. -Ye'd need to be a wylie loon,

Like ye❜r ain lays,

Or, trowth, I dread they will ye drown
Wi' fowth o' praise.

Lang may ye fing, weel may ye phraze,
Ha'e rowth and plenty a' ye'r days;

And I fall gar

a' our green braes

Ken weel ye'r name;

I'm fure ye ftill fall ha'e the praise

Langholm.

Of

ESKDALE TAM.

LAMENT

FOR

JAMES EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

THE

HE wind blew hollow frae the hills,
By fits the fun's departing beam

Look'd on the fading yellow woods
That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,

Laden with years and meikle pain,
In loud lament bewail'd his lord,

Whom death had all untimely ta’en.

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,

Whofe trunk was mould'ring down with years;

His locks were bleached white with time,

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears;
And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
And as he tuned his doleful fang,
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
To echo bore the notes alang.

Ye fcatter'd birds that faintly fing
The reliques of the vernal quire;
Ye woods that fhed on a' the winds
The honours of the aged year,

A few fhort months, and glad and gay,

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e;

But nocht in all-revolving time

Can gladness bring again to me.

I am a bending aged tree,

"That long has stood the wind and rain;
But now has come a cruel blast,

gane:

• And my laft hald of earth is
Nae leaf o' mine fhall greet the fpring,
Nae fimmer fun exalt my bloom;
But I maun lie before the ftorm,
And ithers plant them in my room.

I've seen fae mony changefu' years,
• On earth I am a stranger grown:
I wander in the ways of men,

Akke unknowing and unknown:

Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd,

I bear alane my lade o' care,
For filent, low, on beds of dust,
'Lie a' that would my forrows fhare.

And laft, (the fum of a' my griefs!)
My noble mafter lies in clay;
The flower amang our barons bold,

His country's pride, his country's stay :

In weary being now I pine,

For all the life of life is dead, And hope has left my aged ken, • On forward wing for ever fled.

Awake thy laft fad voice, my harp;

The voice of woe and wild defpair!
Awake, refound thy lateft lay,
• Then sleep in filence evermair!
And thou, my laft, beft, only friend,
That filleft an untimely tomb,

Accept this tribute from the Bard

Thou brought from fortune's mirkeft gloom.

In Poverty's low barren vale,

Thick mifts, obfcure, involv'd me round; Though oft I turned the wiflful eye, Nae ray of fame was to be found:

• Thou found'st me, like the morning fun

That melts the fogs in limpid air,

The friendless Bard and ruftic fong,

Became alike thy fostering care.