AULD BRIG. O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, And agonizing, curse the time and place Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory, In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story; Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, The herryment and ruin of the country; Men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, 150 160 170 Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on damn'd new brigs and harbours! NEW BRIG. Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough, In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 180 Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' raisins, And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them, 190 WHAT farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, No man can tell; but all before their sight A fairy train appear'd in order bright; Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd: They footed o'er the watery glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet; While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. O had M'Lauchlan, thairm-inspiring sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland rage, Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares, How would his Highland lug been nobler fired, 200 And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired! While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. A venerable Chief, advanced in years; Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, 210 220 Benevolence, with mild benignant air, A female form, came from the towers of Stair: Last, white-robed Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, The broken iron instruments of death: 230 At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. THE VISION. DUAN FIRST. THE sun had closed the winter day, While faithless snaws ilk step betray The thresher's weary flingin'-tree And when the day had clos'd his e'e, Ben the spence, right pensivelie, There lanely by the ingle-cheek All in this mottie misty clime, But stringin' blethers up in rhyme, ΙΟ 20 Had I to guid advice but harkit, While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, I started, mutt'ring 'blockhead! coof!' Or some rash aith, That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof When click! the string the snick did draw; And 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; I glowr'd as eerie 's I'd been dusht In some wild glen; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows; I took her for some Scottish Muse By that same token; And come to stop these reckless vows, A hare-brain'd, sentimental trace, A wildly-witty rustic grace Shone full upon her; Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Beam'd keen with honour. 3309 40 50 бо Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, Could only peer it; Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, Her mantle large, of greenish hue, Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw And seem'd to my astonish'd view Here rivers in the sea were lost; There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, Here Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There well-fed Irwine stately thuds; Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, On to the shore And many a lesser torrent scuds, Low in a sandy valley spread, An ancient borough rear'd her head; Still, as in Scottish story read, She boasts a race, To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, And polish'd grace. By stately tower or palace fair, Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of heroes, here and there, I could discern; Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 70 80 90 |