Frae 'tween the ribs they're keekin' oot, we ken them every ane,
E'n though there should be naething left except a nose and chin;
The fashion o' some unco mooth we see and brawly min',
And on some braid and manly broo yet trace the sorrow-line.
What happy memories some recall! and when we ithers see,
A something for a moment dims the dazzled burning ee;
Some wear the smile o' heaven itsel', and some a frown sae dire ;
Ah, sirs! there's something unco in the faces in the fire.

Whiles bye in hurryin' groups they pass, whiles lingerin' ane by ane,
As if they each in memory's ha' some honoured place wad win;
Some tell o' nichts when social joy and mirth appear'd supreme,
Some help us owre to dream again some early passion-dream.
Oh! dootless 'tis for some wise end they gaze upon us there-
To warm affections chilling fast, or chase tormentin' care;
Or gar us bound through life again unclogg'd by age's mire:
Ah! vile's the wretch wha joyless sees the faces in the fire.

The faces o' neglected freens we're sure to see them there;
There o' impatient creditors we'll meet the angry stare.
If e'er, wi' mean unmanly art, ye plann'd a lassie's wrang,
Ye'll see her pale despairin' face the glowin' coal amang.
Ye may frae hunger's deadly haun hae saved a wanderin' wean-
Its features, for a moment seen, ye ne'er may mind again,
But, ah! the face o' her ye wrang'd, in hopes 'twad ne'er transpire,
Is ever, ever present 'mang the faces in the fire.

There's ane that was a freen langsyne-alas! where is he noo?—
Fu' mony a year aboon his grave has fa'en the summer dew.
There's ane that was a crabbit wicht-we min' his spitefu' girn,
And there's the happy lassie's face that leev'd beside the burn.
And whase is yon? We mind it noo-ah! Willie, wanderin' still;
Soon may ye hae a safe return, wi' health and wealth your fill ;
And then (for to your freenship we shall ance again aspire)
We'll tell ye hoo we saw ye 'mang the faces in the fire.

ELEGY.

NOT WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.

Nature's robe was autumn tinted,
Golden tints that poet's lo'e;
Rain to scanty showers was stinted,
Richly fell the needfu' dew.
Bloomin' on the ryegrass meadows
Babs of clover-flowers were seen;
Darker grew the woodland shadows,
Darker grew the swellin' bean.

Brooding by the forest fountains,
Blackbirds sat, nae mair embower'd;
Mistier 'mang their brother mountains
Tintoc and Benlomond tower'd.
Summer's hopes had grown maturer,
O'er despair the day seem'd won;
For the farmer's wealth grew surer
With each settin' of the sun.

But the autumn hopes and beauty

Couldna tether wanderin' Death; Grim and stern he did his duty

"Nickin' thread " and " chokin' breath." And without a scythe or lister

(Baith in vain were tried before),

But wi' alcohol and blister

He had stricken Willie M- -e.

Willie was nae "freak of nature;" Strappin', straucht, and strong was he; But, devoted to the creature,

Willie's sin was barley-bree!

Thochtless as an unshod fillie,

He had leev'd through sun and storm,
And had been the drouthiest billie
Ever patronis'd a worm.

Sairly Willie's comrades miss't him,
For his jokes were rich and rare;
Aften owre their drams they bless'd him-
Drams they could but barely spare.
Aft (for lees are deem'd nae sinnin'
When the dram ca's round the crack)
They had sworn they saw him grinnin',
Cauld and ghastly, at their back.

See them on a winter e'enin',

While the sleet is fa'in' fast,
And the beeches, northward leanin',
Sway like willows in the blast.
See them from their ingles venturin',
Scornfu' of their temptsome glouff,
And, defyin' tempest, saunterin
Slowly to their whisky-houff.

Blest wi' boxfu's of tobacco,

Owre and owre their pipes they fill,
Round they drive the burnin' aqua,
And the red deceivin' yill.
Each displays, nae gesture lackin',
A' his wisdom and his lore;
Till at last they fell a-crackin
Of their comrade, Willie M-

Loudly they declar'd his praises,

Willie's was an honoured name-
Fair and fresh as summer daisies,
Lang wad last his fisher fame.
"But," quoth ane, wi' whisky flurried,
"Curse me, callans, whare I sit,
But oor comrade should been buried,
Whare he wished, at Waterfit.

"Aft amang the hazel bushes,
Dippin' down in purlin' Cart,
He has tell't me a' the wishes
Of his warm and honest heart.

'Here,' quoth he, when Death wins ower me,
When I'm heukit, stiff, and dead,
'Neath thae brackens straught afore ye
Lay my auld grey frostit head.

"Let my rod be buried wi' me,
Wi' my flees that ocht could kill;
Syne when mortals canna see me,
Up I'll get and fish my fill.
Lang e'er cock-craw or hen-cackle
I'll be stannin' on yon stane;
Man! what glorious fish I'll tackle,
Jist to let awa again!

"Or, when tir'd of rod and ripple,
When the stars wink in the burn,
When auld neebors meet to tipple,
To a spirit-fish I'll turn.
See me then wi' rapture playin'
In the skinkle of the moon,
Or by haughs and holmlands strayin',
Fear't for neither dam nor linn.

"Aft when lint-powed W-e M-h-n
Whips the stream wi' a' his skill,
I, unseen, ahint him splauchin',

Sair will teaze my comrade Will.
Whiles, a flashin' braw four-pounder,

I will frae the stream be drawn;
Losh! how cheatit Will will wonder
As I, slippin', leave his haun!

"Whiles, in pebbly shallows strandit,
In I'll tempt him, shoon and a';
Syne, while on his back he's landit,
Down the stream I'll scour awa:
Whiles, amang the boulders hidin',
I will jouk him for an hour,
Then, in fifty fish dividin',

Frae his claspit fingers scour.

"Clarkston chiels, and chaps frae Thorny,*
To some ither stream micht flit,
For, by a' the imps of Horny,t
Nocht they get at Waterfit.
Ginlers there wad get their farin'-
Deil nor they were a' defunck!-
And the otter, pike, and heron, ;
Meet wi' mony a sair begunk.'

"Thus were Willie's wishes spoken,
Ere he dee'd but twa short weeks,
And though whiles I thocht him jokin',
Tears were trintlin' doon his cheeks.

The Dominie's sel'

He was grey, thin, and bel',†

And lang frae his cheek had fled youth's rosy glow;
A dark sparkling ee,

Like the robin's, had he,

And like him in this was the Dominie's Oe.

But she had saft locks o' the hazel's ain broom,
That ne'er in forc'd ringlets wav'd wantonly roon,
But aye in smooth braids, that fu' brawly could show
How humble and mild was the Dominie's Oe.

The Dominie's voice

Had nae need to sound twice

To lay the air-castles o' schule-callans low,
Sae sonorous and stern-

"Twas the dread o' ilk bairn

Far different frae that o' the Dominie's Oe.

Her voice was as sweet as the lav'rock's at dawn,

That through the grey mist cheers his mate on the lawn; Sae rich when she sang-when she spak aye sae low

Ilk bairn lik'd to crack wi' the Dominie's Oe.

In the Dominie's life

Ups and downs had been rife,

Romance circling round him wi' strange checkering flow; Better times he had seen

And far puirer had been,

Though nane heard the tale but the Dominie's Oe.
She kent in what fancies the auld man took pride,
What memories to harp on, what themes to avoid,

To chase away sadness and charm away woe;
And sweet was the task to the Dominie's Oe.

In the Dominie's chair,
When at e'en he sat there,

Enjoying the bliss slipper'd ease can bestow,
On the lines of his face

Sober lair had chief place,

As learn'dly and kindly he crack'd wi' his Oe.
How happy was she when a blythe thing he said!

How sweet were the smiles round her dimples that play'd!
But fast fell her tears when he spak o' that woe
That left him alane in the world wi' his Oe..

In the Dominie's heart

Prey'd ae care which nae art,

Nae wiles o' the maiden could soothe or o'erthrow,
"Life's sand's running fast-

When the last grain hath past,

In a' the wide worl' wha'll befriend my sweet Oe?"
Puir man! he ne'er dream'd that a secret she had-
That far owre the sea thrave her ain faithfu' lad-
Until his return brang a love-worthy jo,

VOL. XCI.

Wi' comfort for life, to the Dominie's Oe!

THAT GLOAMIN' LANGSYNE.”

The westlin' sky's glowing
With June's parting smile,
The collier is thinking

Of morn's irksome toil :
O'er woodland and meadow
Yon rain-cloud hath pass'd,
And now from its bosom

The bow's fading fast:

Sae faded Hope's bow on that gloamin' langsyne,
When deeply ye lee'd, May, and wadnae be mine.

Since then, oh! how slowly
Time's creepit awa!
How scantly life's joy-gleams
Hath fa'en round us twa!

Ae weary wish wrinkling

Our brows day by day;

And ae regret robing

Our thoughts a' in grey.

Oh! what had we dune to be parted sae lang?

While loving sae fondly, May, what led us wrang?

Away o'er the ocean,
Where lang I sojourn'd,
Of growing wealth careless,
Our parting I mourn'd.
I fancied ye happy,

Wi' bairns but and ben,
Ae blythe blooming lassie,
And lads growing men :
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