ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD. 195 Here its stuff and lining, Cardoness's head; Fine for a sodger A' the wale o' lead. Buy braw troggin, &c. Here's a little wadset Buittle's scrap o' truth, Pawn'd in a gin shop Quenching holy drouth. Buy braw troggin, &c. Here's armorial bearings, Buy braw troggin, &c. Here is Satan's picture, Buy braw troggin, &c. By a thievish midge They had been nearly lost. Here is Murray's fragments To get them aff his hands. Saw ye e'er sic troggin? Buy braw troggin Let him come to me. Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on- Auld Nick! auld Nick! it is na fair, Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare Already in thy fancy's eye, Thy sicker treasure! Soon heel's-o'er-gowdie! in he gangs, As, dangling in the wind, he hangs But lest you think I am uncivil, To plague you with this draunting drivel, Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st thy head, In the dark silent mansions of sorrow, The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed, Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. The flower stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph form, Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom, When thou shrunk'st frae the scowl of the loud winter storm, And nestled thee close to that bosom. Oh still I behold thee, all lovely in death, Told how dear ye were aye to each other. My child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest, Where suffering no longer can harm ye, Where the songs of the good, where the hymns of the blest, Through an endless existence shall charm thee. While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojourn, Through the dire desert regions of sorrow, POSTCRIPT. Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, But by guid luck I lap a wicket, But by that health, I've got a shore o't, Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't, The Ruined Maid's Lament. OH, meikle do I rue, fause love, Oh sairly do I rue, That e'er I heard your flattering tongue, That e'er your face I knew. Oh, I hae tent my rosy cheeks, Likewise my waist sae sma'; And I hae lost my lightsome heart, Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer O'er the hope and misfortune of being to When, gin the truth were a' but kent, mourn, Her life's been warse than mine. Whene'er my father thinks on me, He stares into the wa'; My mither, she has taen the bed Wi' thinking on my fa'. Whene'er I hear my father's foot, My heart wad burst wi' pain; Whene'er I meet my mither's ee, My tears rin down like rain, Alas! sae sweet a tree as love Sic bitter fruit should bear! Alas! that e'er a bonnie face Should draw a sauty tear! Squire Hal besides had in this case Pretensions rather brassy, For talents to deserve a place Are qualifications saucy; So their worships of the "Faculty" To their gratis grace and goodness. As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight Of a son of Circumcision, So may be, on this Pisgah height, Bob's purblind, mental vision: Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet Till for eloquence you hail him, And swear he has the Angel met That met the Ass of Balaam. Verses ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIG. (300) As on the banks o' wandering Nith, T And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, When, from the eddying deep below, Uprose the genius of the stream. Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, And troubled, like his wintry wave, And deep, as sighs the boding wind Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave"And came ye here, my son," he cried, "To wander in my birken shade? To muse some favourite Scottish theme, Or sing some favourite Scottish maid. "There was a time, it's nae lang syne, Ye might hae seen me in my pride, When a' my banks sae bravely saw Their woody pictures in my tide; When hanging beech and spreading elm Shaded my stream sae clear and cool; And stately oaks their twisted arms Threw broad and dark across the pool! "When glinting, through the trees, appeared The wee white cot aboon the mill, And peacefu' rose its ingle reek, That slowly curled up the hill. But now the cot is bare and cauld, Its branchy shelter's lost and gane, And scarce a stinted birk is left ' To shiver in the blast is lane." 'Alas!" said I, "what ruefu' chance Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees? Has laid your rocky bosom bare? Has stripp'd the cleeding o' your braes? Was it the bitter eastern blast, That scatters blight in early spring? Or was't the wil'fire scorched their boughs, Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?" "Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied: "It blew na here sae fierce and fell, And on my dry and whalesome banks Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell: Man! cruel man!" the genius sigh'd As through the cliffs he sank him down"The worm that guaw'd my bonnie trees, That reptile wears a ducal crown.” On the Duke of Qurrnsbarn. (301) How shall I sing Drumlanrig's GraceDiscarded remnant of a race Once great in martial story? Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore; And sunk them in contempt; Follies and crimes have stain'd the name, But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim, From ought that's good exempt. Verses to Jahn M‘Murdo, Esq. [WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS.] (302.) Oн, could I give thee India's wealth As I this trifle send, Because thy joy in both would be To share them with a friend. But golden sands did never grace The Heliconian stream; Then take what gold could never buyAn honest Bard's esteem. On Mr. M'Murda. INSCRIBED ON A PANE OF GLASS IN BLEST be M'Murdo to his latest day! Smpromptu on Willie Stewart, (303) There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, To welcome Willie Stewart. May foes be strang, and friends be slack, To Miss Jessy Lewars. [WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS.] THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair, And with them take the Poet's prayerThat Fate may in her fairest page, With ev'ry kindliest, best presage Of future bliss enrol thy name : With native worth, and spotless fame, And wakeful caution still aware Of ill-but chief, man's felon snare; All blameless joys on earth we find, And all the treasures of the mind These be thy guardian and reward; So prays thy faithful friend the Bard. Tibbie, I hae seen the Day. (304) TUNE-Invercauld's Reel. Oн Tibbie, I hae seen the day Ye wad na been sae shy; But fient a hair care I. I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, Whene'er ye like to try. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, That looks sae proud and high. But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, There lives a lass in yonder park, Montgomery's Peggy. (305) TUNE-Galla-Water. ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. Were I a baron proud and high, And horse and servants waiting ready, Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy. Bonny Peggy Alison. (306) TUNE-Braes o' Balquhidder. CHORUS, I'll kiss thee yet, yet, And I'll kiss thee o'er again; My bonnie Peggy Alison; Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, Bere's to thy Bealth, my Bonny Lass, TUNE-Laggan Burn. HERE'S to thy health, my bonnie lass, Guid night, and joy be wi' thee; I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door, To tell thee that I loe thee: Oh dinna think, my pretty pink, But I can live without thee: I vow and swear I dinna care How lang ye look about ye. Thou'rt aye sue free informing me Nae time hae I to tarry. I ken they scorn my low estate, Sma' siller will relieve me. I count my health my greatest wealth, I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, But far off fowls hae feathers fair, They may prove worse than I am. But at twilit night, when the moon shines bright, My dear, I'll come and see thee; For the man that loes his mistress weel, Vanng Peggy. (307) TUNE-Last time I came o'er the Muir. YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass, With early gems adorning : Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower, And glitter o'er the crystal streams, And cheer each fresh'ning flower. Her lips, more than the cherries bright, A richer dye has graced them; They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, And sweetly tempt to taste them: Her smile is, as the evening mild, When feather'd tribes are courting, And little lambkins wanton wild, In playful bands disporting. Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe, Such sweetness would relent her As blooming spring unbends the brow Detraction's eye no aim can gain, Her winning powers to lessen ; And fretful envy grins in vain The poison'd tooth to fasten. Ye pow'rs of honour, love and truth, And bless the dear parental name John Barleycorn. A BALLAD. (308) THERE were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high; And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, And they hae sworn a solemn oath ; But the cheerful spring came kindly on The sultry suns of summer came, And he grew thick and strong; The sober autumn enter'd mild, His colour sicken'd more and more, And then his enemies began They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, And turn'd him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit |