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They footed o'er the wat’ry glass so neat,
'The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet :
While arts of Minstrelsey among them rung,
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung.
O had M'Lauchlan,* thairn-inspiring sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When through 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 fir'd,
And ev'en his matchless hand with finer touch in-

spir'd! No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, But all the soul of Music's self was heard; Harmonious concert rung in every part, While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart.

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable Chief advanc'd in years; His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; Then crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye; All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn; Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, By Hospitality with cloudless brow. Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;

* A well known performer of Scottish music on the violin,

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,
A female form,* came from the tow'rs of Stair;
Learning and worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode;
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath [wreath,
The broken iron instruments of Death ;
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling




The sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way

To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaws ilk step betray

Whar she has been.

The thresher's weary flingin-tree
The lee-lang day had tired me;

* The Poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in possession of Stair. She afterwards removed to Afton-lodge on the banks of thé Afton, a stream which she subsequently celebrated in a song entitled, “ Afton Water."--Ed,

| Duan, a term of Ossion's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii, nif Macpherson's translation.

And when the day had clos'd his e'e,

Far i' the west,
Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie,

I gaed to rest.
There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill’d, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,

The auld clay biggin;
An' heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin.
All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mus'd on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,

An' done nae-thing,
But stringin blethers up in rhyme,

For fools to sing.
Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by thie, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit

My cash account:
While here, half mad, half fed, half-sarkit,

Is a' th' amount.
I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a' yun starry roof,

Or some rash aith,
That I, henceforth, would be a rhyme proof

Till my last breath When click! the string the sneck did draw; And jee! the door gaed to the wa’; An' 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 ;
The infant aith, half-form'd was crusht;
I glow’rd as eerie's I'd been dusht,

In some wild glen;
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht,

And stepped ben.
Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows;
I took her for some Scottish Muse,

By that same token;
An' come to stop those reckless vows,

Wou'd soon been broken.

A “hair-brain'd sentimental trace,"
Was strongly marked in her face;
A wildly-witty, rustic grace

Shone tull upon her ;
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space,

Beain'd keen with Honor.

Down flow'd her robe, a Tartan sheen,
Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
And such a leg! my bonie Jean

Could only peer it;
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,

Nane else came near it.,

Her Mantle large, of greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew; Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw

A lustre grand; And seem'd, to my astonish'd view,

A well known land,

Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There, mountains to the skies were tost; Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast,

With surging foam; There distant shone Art's lofiy boast,

The lordly dome. Here Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds; Auld hermit Ayr staw thro’ liis woods,

On to the shore;
And many a lesser torrent scuds,

With seeming roar,
Low, in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient Rorough 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 tow'r or palace fair,
Or ruins pendant in the air,
Bold stems of heroes, here and there,

I could discern;
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,

With features stern,
My heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a Race* heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel

In sturdy blows;
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their Southron foes.

* The Wallaces.

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