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,
Frae the manse o' Urr;
The crest, an auld crab-apple (295)
Rotten at the core.

Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here is Satan's picture,
Like a bizzard gled,
Pouncing poor Redcastle
Sprawlin' as a taed.

Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's the worth and wisdom
Collieston can boast;

By a thievish midge

They had been nearly lost.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here is Murray's fragments
O' the ten commands;
Gifted by black Jock

To get them aff his hands.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Saw ye e'er sic troggin?
If to buy ye're slack,
Hornie's turnin' chapman-
He'll buy a' the pack.

Buy braw troggin
Frae the banks o' Dee;
Wha wants troggin

Let him come to me.

Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on-
He's aff like fire.

Auld Nick! auld Nick! it is na fair,
First showing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,
To put us daft;

Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare
O' hell's damn'd waft.
Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,
And hellish pleasure ;

Already in thy fancy's eye,

Thy sicker treasure!

Soon heel's-o'er-gowdie! in he gangs,
And like a sheep-head on a tangs,
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs
And murd'ring wrestle,

As, dangling in the wind, he hangs
A gibbet's tassel.

But lest you think I am uncivil,

To plague you with this draunting drivel,
Abjuring a' intentions evil,

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,
Reclined on the lap of thy mother;
When the tear trickled bright, when the
short stifled breath.

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,
And by fell death was nearly nicket;
Grim loan! he got me by the fecket,
And sair me sheuk ;

But by guid luck I lap a wicket,
And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a shore o't,
And by that life, I'm promised mair o't
My hale and weel, I'll tak a care o't,
A tentier way;

Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,
For ance and aye!

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,
That little wist a fa'.

Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer
O' mony a saucy quean;

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"
Quite sick of merit's rudeness,
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,

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,
Ane smiling simmer-moru I strayed,
And traced its bonnie howes and haughs,
Where linties sang and lambkins play'd,
sat me down upon a craig,

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?
His forbears' virtues all contrasted-
The very name of Douglas blasted-
His that inverted glory.

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore;
But he has superadded more,

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
HIS HOUSE.

BLEST be M'Murdo to his latest day!
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care,
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair!
Oh, may no son the father's honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain!

Smpromptu on Willie Stewart, (303)
YOU'RE welcome, Willie Stewart,
You're welcome, Willie Stewart,

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May,
That's half sae welcome's thou art.
Come, bumpers high, express your joy,
The bowl we maun renew it;
The tappit-hen gae bring her ben,

To welcome Willie Stewart.

May foes be strang, and friends be slack,
Ilk action may he rue it;
May woman on him turn her back,
That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart.

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;
For lack o' gear ye slighted me,
But, trowth, I care na by.
Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Ye geck at me because I'm
poor,

But fient a hair care I.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o'clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,

Whene'er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,

That looks sae proud and high.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head another airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would na gie her in her sark,
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;
Ye need na look sae high.

Montgomery's Peggy. (305)

TUNE-Galla-Water.

ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir
Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.
When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy;
I'd seck some dell, and in my arms

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;
And I'll kiss thee, yet, yet,

My bonnie Peggy Alison;

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near,
I ever mair defy them, O;
Young kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae blest as I am, O!

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O,

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever, O!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I
never, O!

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
Thou hast nae mind to marry;
I'll be as free informing thee

Nae time hae I to tarry.
I ken thy friends try ilka means,
Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Depending on some higher chance
But fortune may betray thee.

I ken they scorn my low estate,
But that does never grieve me;
But I'm as free as any he,

Sma' siller will relieve me.

I count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae long as I'll enjoy it :

I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.

But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
And aye until ye try them:
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,

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,
Nae travel makes him weary.

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
Of surly, savage winter.

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,
From ev'ry ill defend her;
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth,
The destinies intend her:
Still fan the sweet connubial flame
Responsive in each bosom,

And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.

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,
Put clods upon his head;

And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

;

But the cheerful spring came kindly on
And show'rs began to fall
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,

And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;

And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee!
They tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm

And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.