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ORIGINAL 
 
 POEMS 
 
 ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 
 
 Matt) ^mtnitWot an* Entertaining; 
 
 WITH A VARIETY OF AKUSING 
 
 AND OTHER PIECES ; 
 WITH NOTES AND BEMARKS. 
 
 By W: GORDON, Nairn. 
 
 The Muse inspir'd me at my leisure hours, 
 To write this Book — which you may read at yours : 
 My subjects, no doubt, are of different kinds — 
 But different readers may have different minds. 
 
 ELGIN: 
 
 Printed for the Author, by B. Johnston. 
 1828. 
 
a Or 
 
 ■ 13 ' 
 
 rt\b* 
 
 c** 
 
 B&Gi 3KMES S. CHILDCR1 
 ""^w yULY 269 1944 
 
 
*y 
 
 Jlr- 
 
 Contorts* 
 
 Page 
 
 Observations on the Honest Man's fire-side . 13 
 
 On viewing Lord Neilson's tower at Forres . 15 
 
 The Farmer's Fat Calf . . ,16 
 
 On the Nairn Bridge ' . . .20 
 
 The Tax'd Dog . • . .22 
 
 On passing through the town of Tain . . 23 
 
 Amusing letter to Murdo M'Nab, a tailor ** . 24 
 A fire-side farce ; or, a proof of the strength of Bessy 
 Brewster's Ale . . . .26 
 
 Odes to the memory of the renowned hero, Sir William 
 Wallace . . ... .32 
 
 Observations on the life and death of the unhappy Mary 
 
 Stuart, Queen of Scotland . . 35 
 
 Letter to a Parson with a snufT-horn . .38 
 
 On the much lamented death of the Princess Charlotte 39 
 On the uncertainty of Human Life . . .40 
 
 On the four Seasons of the year : 
 
 Winter . 41 
 
 Spring . . 43 
 
 Summer . . 44 
 
 Harvest . * . 46 
 
 Janet Smuggler and the Gauger . 47 
 
 Lines to Miss L. Rose with a flower . . 50 
 
On the Shock of an Earthquake . . .51 
 
 Letter to a Young Man with a Bible . 53 
 
 On the monument of Mr John Straith, Nairn . 54 
 
 The Industrious Man and the Sluggard . 55 
 
 The Industrious Man's answer . . . .56 
 
 To the Managers of the Nairn Pier . . 57 
 
 The Old Man's Address to his Spectacles . 58 
 
 To H. F., Esq. with a book . 60 
 
 An advice to the careless Scholar . . .61 
 
 Epistle to Tarn M 'Nappy, a Butcher . 62 
 
 Health and the Doctor ... . 63 
 
 The Humours of Geddes Fair . . . 66 
 
 Lines wrote on a blank leaf of Gray's Spelling-book 68 
 The Joys of Hope • . * . . . .69 
 
 The Thoughtless Man's Dream . . ,72 
 
 On seeing a Spider hanging by its own thread . 78 
 
 Lines on Kilravock Castle . . . .80 
 
 Observations on Culloden Moor where the Battle was 
 fought . . . . . ' . 81 
 
 Notes and Remarks on the battle ... 82 
 
 r On the great Battle of Bannockburn . . 84 
 
 The Poet's Muse . . . . 88 
 
 Observations on the Life of Napoleon Buonaparte ib. 
 
 The Downfall of Buonaparte . 89 
 
 Buonaparte's Escape from the Island of Elba . 92 
 
 A Song on the Memorable Battle of Waterloo . 94 
 Napoleon's last Farewell to France . . 96 
 
 Observations on the progress of Napoleon Buonaparte 98 
 On Peace . . .... 99 
 
 Observations on the Joys of Peace . . . 101 
 
 The Scotch Piper from Waterloo. — (A song) . ib. 
 
 Scotland addressing her sons on th^ir return from 
 
 Waterloo . . . . . 104 
 
The Soldier's Waterloo Medal (A gong) . 105 
 
 The Farmer's lament for Buonaparte . , 106 
 
 Prince Leopold's visit to the North . . 107 
 
 Letter from the Author to his Son in London . 108 
 
 On viewing the Founding of the Pier of Nairn . 110 
 
 Address to the Whisky Stoup .... ib. 
 
 Tam I pyal's advice to Rob Radical . . 112 
 
 Epistle to a friend in Ross-shire • . 114 
 
 On observing a fly fluttering round the candle . 116 
 
 The sleepy Man and the Eight-day Clock • 117 
 
 A Question and Answer . . • • 119 
 
 Observations on the present moment . - ib. 
 
 Ode to passing thoughts - - 120 
 
 The Farmer and the Laird - - 122 
 
 Lines sent to a friend with a shaving jug - 126 
 
 The African Slave 127 
 
 The poor Negro rejoicing over the Bible - - 129 
 Address to all Bible and Missionary Societies - 130 
 On the Rising Sun - - 136 
 Observations on viewing Strathpeffer Well - 139 
 Lines to a friend on the first morning of the New Year 140 
 The Pleasures of Nature, or the benefit of Retirement 142 
 Notes and observations on Elegance and Nature - 144 
 The Sounding Church Bell - - - 145 
 Poetical Address to the Town of Nairn - - .1 47 
 The Answer - - - 148 
 Notes and observations on the Burgh of Nairn - 150 
 On receiving an Apple from a Young Lady - 151 
 Excess and Sobriety contrasted - •• - 152 
 The Picture of Man displayed - - 155 
 The grave discovered, or an early walk in the Church- 
 yard - - - - 159 
 On pleasant sleep - 162 
 
On detecting a bad shilling - - 163 
 The Cottage in ruins - - - - 164 
 Notes and observations on the old man and his cottage 167 
 Address to Virtue and Vice - - - 168 
 A view of the Garden in November - - 170 
 Lines from the Author to Mr. Sceptic - - 172 
 The unhappy Man's end, or the last view of the Pro- 
 fligate - - - - 175 
 Observations on the Profligate's end - - 178 
 The Happy Man's end, or a view of the good Man at 
 
 the hour of death - - - - - 179 
 Observations on the good Man's end - - 181 
 The Sick Man's reflections - - 182 
 The Wise Man's choice - - - 183 
 Pride observed - - 184 
 The Liar detected - - 186 
 The Swearer checked - - - • ib. 
 The Thief apprehended - - - 187 
 Dishonesty observed - - - - - ib. 
 The midnight robbers - - 188 
 Auld Janet's diverting petition to the Snuff Manufac- 
 turers - - - 193 
 A King and a Beggar; (A dream) - - 197 
 Lines on the death of the Author's Son, to a friend 199 
 The Grand Drama, or a view of the stage of Human 
 
 Life 201 
 
 Notes and observations on the Grand Drama of life 205 
 
 Lines to a Lady with a gilted china tea-pot - 206 
 
 The Scull ----- 207 
 The diverting history of Davie and Bett, in five parts : 
 
 Part I. Davie in love - - 208 
 
 Part II. Davie's Scotch courtship - - 210 
 
 Part I IL Davie's joyful contract - - 212 
 
Part IV. Davie Scroggie's brythal - - 214 
 
 Part V. Davie and Bett after Marriage - 218 
 
 The sparrows and the cat - - 219 
 
 On seeing a round of beef set on the table - 220 
 
 On the Arms and Thistle of Scotland - 221 
 
 On the death of his Majesty George III. - 223 
 To his Majesty George IV. on his accession to the 
 
 Throne ... . 224 
 
 Lines to Mr. G. M'K. a young officer - - 225 
 
 On the death of Buonaparte in the Island of St. Helena 226 
 
 The weaver's diverting expedition - - 227 
 
 The fall o' Patie's ill-guided Mare - - 230 
 
 Patie's Lament for his Mare - - - 233 
 
 Johnny Crony and his dog at a country kirk - ib. 
 
 On meeting a drunken Irishman with a broken nose 2;^6 
 
 Remarks on Intoxication - - 238 
 
 Lines to a young gentleman with a watch - 239 
 
 Lizy Linzie's Legacy - - 241 
 
 The Auction ----- 244 
 
 On the Battle of Auldearn - - - 245 
 
 On viewing Burgie - - - 248 
 
 Observations on the power of love - - 249 
 Remarks on reading the history of Admiral Lord 
 
 Neilson - - 251 
 
 Diverting Enigmas for amusement - - 253 
 
 Answers to the Enigmas - 257 
 
 Diverting Epitaphs - - - 258 
 
 On viewing the Ancient Cathedral of Elgin - 260 
 
 Address to the town of Forres - - 261 
 
 Notes and observations on the town of Forres - 263 
 
 Amusing Scotch Songs - - 264 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The Author of the following Poems having been 
 induced, by the urgent entreaties of his friends and 
 intimate acquaintances, to publish his Works, which 
 contain various poetical observations on the nature 
 of life and scenes of Scotland, this volume he now 
 issues to the world, trusting, that the public will 
 overlook its imperfections as being simply the pro- 
 duct of native genius, without pretensions to any 
 thing else. 
 
 The Author has been encouraged to publish this 
 volume by subscription, and respectfully returns his 
 most grateful thanks to his numerous subscribers who 
 have favoured him with their names ; and fondly 
 hopes that his poems will be found both amusing 
 and instructive, and meet with general approbation. 
 
 Nairn— October, 1828. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 While I was stepping on the stage of time, 
 My scribbling pen was much amus'rf with rhyme ; 
 Remarking things that here I bring to view, 
 Some things diverting, and things useful too. 
 As some do wish to hear of what have been, 
 And some to hear of things that they have seen ;' 
 Some love to hear a cheerful Scottish song, 
 And others love a joke if not too long. 
 Yet no doubt critics who view my designs, 
 Will mark out faults and try to cut my lines ; 
 But since perfection here was seldom found, 
 Let him that's perfect only strick the wound. 
 For some I know will give themselves some toil, 
 To try my works and criticise my style; 
 Yet plainest language we can easy see, 
 Describes our verses with best social glee. 
 Though many write high elevated strains, 
 By dint of learning and laborious pains ; 
 Yet still the lines that nature clearly paint, 
 Our Scottish scenes most brightly represent. 
 This book I wrote, yet cannot rank my name 
 With Burns or Scott of high immortal fame ; 
 Yet my first works and verses that I penn'd, 
 With joy around my native land I send. 
 Go then, my poems, quickly round our shore, 
 Since on our braes you never were before ; 
 Some here will buy you, others here may not, 
 As in a corner now we live remote. 
 Yet still extend o'er Scotia's healthy soil, 
 Keep on your way o'er many a distant mile ; 
 
Go search for friends — though foes may meet you soon, 
 
 Yet you shall live when I must be laid down. 
 
 I send you out imperfect, yet still go, 
 
 From Nairn town to lodge with high and low ; 
 
 And since on Scotia's carpet you have come, 
 
 My end is gain'd if useful found to some. 
 
 Though many things amusing are in you, 
 
 Some other pieces here deserve a view ; 
 
 And when read o'er with an attentive eye, 
 
 With my remarks the reader may comply. 
 
 For some things here we all have need to know. 
 
 And some things here the scenes of life will shew ; 
 
 Yet though diversion in them you may find, 
 
 Some things are here that may instruct the mind. 
 
 I wrote those strains in purpose to amuse, 
 
 Which some will praise and others will refuse ; 
 
 But now I stop hecause I must be brief, 
 
 And dedicate them to my noble Chief. 
 
 I am, kind reader, 
 
 Your most obedient Servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
XI 
 
 Co 2&ts (Bvatt 
 THE DUKE OF GORDON, 
 
 The following Poems fy Songs are most respectfully inscribed. 
 
 May it please your Grace, 
 Although I know that Scotland abounds with many grand and new 
 publications, yet I beg leave to lay before your Grace the works of 
 my poetical pen. 
 
 As the sons of Scotland in times of old took pleasure in poetry, 
 in order to amuse themselves and their country, and still when na- 
 ture strikes the lyre, and the muse inspires the mind, it gives us the 
 greatest pleasure in our day, to write and sing the rural scenes of 
 Scotland, our native soil. 
 
 I hope you will have the goodness to excuse my freedom in laying 
 the following poems under your Grace's patronage ; which treat of 
 various subjects and different events. I humbly trust that my remarks 
 and observations will be found instructive and amusing ; and as I 
 know, my Lord, that you love to encourage the genius of your coun- 
 try, I thought of none more worthy to receive the dedication of this 
 first volume of my works, than your Grace, being my illustrious 
 Chief. Wishing that you may long be the joy of the happy land 
 wherein we dwell, and as useful to it as any of your illustrious an- 
 cestors have been, is the earnest wish of, 
 
 May it please your Grace, 
 
 Your Grace's most obedient, 
 
 and devoted Servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Nairn— October, 1828, 
 
ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS 
 
 Observations on the Honest Man's Fire-side, 
 
 An honest man's the noblest work of all, 
 The grandest pillar on this earthly ball. 
 Although his station here may not be high, 
 His name shall last, and live when others die 
 
 How happy is the honest man, 
 
 That still can show his face, 
 He justly deals with every one, 
 
 And lives in joy and peace. 
 By honest means he gets the things 
 
 That he should here provide, 
 And honesty a blessing brings 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 If he has got a virtuous wife, 
 
 It makes his pleasures more ; 
 Contentedly they step through life, 
 
 And have enough in store. 
 Of what they honestly possess, 
 
 She is a faithful guide, 
 Which makes them live in happiness 
 
 About their fire-side. 
 
 A 
 
14 
 
 His interest he observes with care, 
 
 His business he attends, 
 And when it's over — in his chair 
 
 A while at night he spends. 
 His children then give him delight, 
 
 All sporting by his side, 
 While joyfully they spend the night 
 
 About the fire-side. 
 
 A good example here he shows, 
 
 While happy he is seen, 
 And still his well-ruTd family goes 
 
 Exceeding neat and clean. 
 He loves them to be decent here, 
 
 Yet never wishes pride, 
 But still in Scotland's dress appear 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 Although with wealth he is not stor'd> 
 
 Contentedly he lives ; 
 He envies neither king nor lord, 
 
 But takes what fortune gives. 
 He likes a steady friend to come, 
 
 In whom he can confide, 
 To ha'e a friendly crack wr him ? 
 
 About the fire-side. 
 
 He never likes to spend too much, 
 
 He counts his loss and gain, 
 And though he boasts not to be rich. 
 
 He wishes not to hain. 
 He gives or takes what may appear, 
 
 That he can eas'ly bide, 
 And true industry keeps Scotch cheer 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 No judge he fears, nor jury here, 
 
 That terrify the cheat, 
 And when the rogue must disappear, 
 
 He steadily keeps his seat ; 
 The lawyer never makes him fright, 
 
 He seeks a better guide, 
 And honest motives, keeps him right 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 
15 
 
 When thousands grieve from day to day, 
 
 About this world's affairs, 
 He undisturb'd, keeps on his way, 
 
 Through comforts and through cares ; 
 He knows that Providence's field, 
 
 Is always long and wide, 
 And still a new supply can yield 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 Although this world's frowns come on, 
 
 He takes it not amiss, 
 Because his heart is set upon, 
 
 A better world than this. 
 He views the changing things-are here, 
 
 They alter like the tide, 
 Resign'd to this, he still can cheer, 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 Conducted by the rules of grace, 
 
 He minds what conscience says, 
 And wishes joyful inward peace, 
 
 But seeks no outward praise. 
 Through every trouble here we find, 
 
 He patiently can wide, 
 While hope and joy, cheers up his mind, 
 
 About his fire-side. 
 
 May every honest man like this, 
 
 A steady life pursue, 
 And providence shall always bless, 
 
 And safely guide him through ; 
 Though worldly straits near run him out. 
 
 That here are hard to bide, 
 Some friend will always come about, 
 
 To help his fire-side. 
 
 On Viewing Lord Neilson's Tower at Forres. 
 
 What lofty tower is that, which stands so high, 
 That here attracts the passing traveller's eye ; 
 Fame making answer, says that tower was placed, 
 To bear in mind a worthy friend deceas'd. 
 
16 
 
 What worthy friend ? Lord Neilson ! she replied, 
 Who lov'd Great Britain, and for Britain died ; 
 Yet though he's gone and left the world behind, 
 This tower here stands to keep him still in mind. 
 Loud did I sound, and quickly did I run 
 To tell the victories that brave Neilson won ; 
 His fame I sounded round Great Britain's shore, 
 Which shall continue though he is no more. 
 Under great George he fought courageously, 
 And in his service lost an arm and eye ; 
 On Britain's bulwarks all his time was spent, 
 And was a terror always where he went. 
 What British heart would not his memory love, 
 Who to our country did so faithful prove. 
 May all commanders both by land and sea, 
 Still play their part as faithfully as he. 
 When danger came he to our cause stood fast, 
 True to his king, and steady to his last. 
 To show that Forres loves his memory still, 
 Trafalgar tower they rear'd upon this hill, 
 To keep in mind brave Neilson bold and true, 
 Who show'd the world what British tars could do. 
 
 The Farmer's Fat Calf. 
 
 A rich Scotch farmer had a calf, 
 
 Fed up for famous veal, 
 And on that time twa butchers came, 
 
 To buy the calf for sale. 
 
 But though they came on full intent, 
 
 The fatten calf to see, 
 The farmer kept the calf so dear, 
 
 They couldna then agree. 
 
 The price they would not give, but thought* 
 
 It too much by the half; 
 But did resolve between themselves, 
 
 That night to steal the calf. 
 
17 
 
 The place wherein the calf was kept, 
 
 On it they set a mark ; 
 In hopes when they came back at night, 
 
 To find it in the dark. 
 
 Resolving for to steal the calf, 
 
 The butchers did unite ; 
 But when they thought to gain the prize, 
 
 The butchers got a bite. 
 
 The farmer's place was near the wood, 
 Close by the King's highway ; 
 
 Because they kept a public house ; 
 For lodgers there to stay. 
 
 By chance that night, a show-man came, 
 
 To find his lodging there ; 
 And brought with him some dancing dogs, 
 
 Three monkies and a bear. 
 
 But all the house was taken up, 
 
 .He scarce could find a bed ; 
 And what was worse, there was no way, 
 
 To put the beasts he had. 
 
 At last the land-lord did contrive. 
 Although the place was small ; 
 
 To change the fat calf from her stance, 
 And give the beasts her stall. 
 
 The bear within the stall was plac'd, 
 
 Because it was secure ; 
 They put the dogs and monkies in, 
 
 And closely shut the door. 
 
 But when they all had gone to bed, 
 
 The butchers came at last ; 
 Intending for to steal the calf, 
 
 But found the stall made fast. 
 
 Yet soon they broke the trusty lock, 
 As they were well prepared ; 
 
 The one went in to steal the calf, 
 The other stood on guard. 
 
 A3 
 
18 
 
 But when the Butcher had got in, 
 
 Sore frighted was he there ; 
 For all at once he found himself, 
 
 Fast grasped by the bear. 
 
 He roar d out for his neighbour's help. 
 Though he had scarcely breath ; 
 
 Yet still the bear kept fast her hold, 
 And squeez'd him near to death. 
 
 He cried the devil sure is here, 
 
 Without the smallest doubt ; 
 If that be true, his neighbour said, 
 
 Its as well I am out. 
 
 He has me now the butcher cried, 
 
 And winna let me slip ; 
 Yet though he sadly did roar out, 
 
 The bear kept fast her grip. 
 
 The monkies then began to squeak, 
 
 The dogs began to bark ; 
 The bear, the butcher, and the dogs, 
 
 All tumbled in the dark. 
 
 The other butcher at the door, 
 
 Was frighted with the din ; 
 And yet to save his neighbour's life, 
 
 Fear would not let him in. 
 
 At last the people in the house, 
 They heard the butcher's cries, 
 
 And every one came running out, 
 As fast as they could rise. 
 
 The butcher that was guard without, 
 Knew they would find their plan ; 
 
 And when he found they were perceived, 
 He took his heels and ran. , 
 
 The landlord getting ready first, 
 It an quick to fetch a light ; 
 
19 
 
 In haste he then came running out, 
 To know the matter right. 
 
 He first ran to the stable door, 
 But there no noise he heard ; 
 
 Yet shortly he found out the place 
 Where all the din appeared. 
 
 He quickly then began to mind 
 
 The monkies and the bear, 
 And when he reach 'd unto the door, 
 
 He found the noise was there. 
 
 In haste he then ran to the house, 
 And did the show-man call ; 
 
 But how surpris'd were they to find 
 The butcher in the stall. 
 
 The wild bear had him most secure, 
 Fast gripp'd between her paws ; 
 
 And all his face was over blood, 
 Scratch'd sadly by her claws. 
 
 When they perceiv'd his dreadful state, 
 They cried what brought him there ; 
 
 O, I will tell you that (says he,) 
 But save me from the bear. 
 
 The show-man then with his long pole, 
 Did quickly end the strife ; 
 
 He made the Russian quit her hold, 
 To save the butchers life. 
 
 And when relieved he told the truth, 
 Though worn out and weak, 
 
 He own'd he came to steal the calf; 
 But found a sad mistake. 
 
 He was in such a dreadful state, 
 Which made his words prevail ; 
 
 He got away, but made a vow, 
 No more to come to steal. 
 
20 
 
 ON THE NAIRN BRIDGE. 
 
 Some time after it was finished ; one of tJie 
 Pillars giving ioay 9 the Bridge seemed to 
 make the following complaint : 
 
 I am a new and useful bridge, 
 
 But must assistance call, 
 Help me my townsmen, do not grudge 
 
 To come or I shall fall, 
 A mortal wound I have this day, 
 
 That pierc'd me to the bone ; 
 My noble pillar now gives way, 
 
 Near my foundation stone. 
 
 When first I was erected here, 
 
 I seem'd to be secure ; 
 And as no blemish did appear. 
 
 They thought I was made sure. 
 
 I was admir'd for being strong 
 
 And beautiful also, 
 But little did they think ere long, 
 
 That I would fail below. 
 
 Small was it when it first began, 
 
 But it got larger soon, 
 The stones they loos'd by one and one, 
 
 And afterwards came down. 
 
 I was perceiv'd by those who pass'd, 
 
 Where few thought I would fail, 
 I thought to stand it, but at last 
 
 The water did prevail. 
 
 To get me rear'd upon the spot. 
 
 Cost great expence and time, 
 And my good builders surely got 
 
 The best of stone and lime. 
 
21 
 
 But one thing that they did omit, 
 For that my heart's near broke, 
 
 Because they did not set my foot 
 Upon the solid rock. 
 
 It's that alone hurt me so soon, 
 
 And makes me to lament, 
 Because though strong I must come down, 
 
 If help does not prevent. 
 
 I have been standing in this state, 
 
 From January till March, 
 Although the current, sore has beat 
 
 Beneath my wounded arch. 
 
 One rapid speat may finish me, 
 
 And send me quickly down, 
 And my downfal a loss would be, 
 
 To country and to town. 
 
 There*s none that ever saw me here* 
 
 Or heard about my name, 
 And all who cross'd me far and near, 
 
 Are griev'd to see me lame. 
 
 I stood these ten months here you see. 
 
 To bring them over dry, 
 Which makes me to regretted be, 
 
 By all who passes by. 
 
 Now run and let my builders know, 
 
 To help me while they can, 
 Or down my arches all must go, 
 
 Without the help of man. 
 
 With greatest speed they must begin 
 
 To cure my mortal wound, 
 And let the stones that they put in, 
 
 Be all with iron bound. 
 
 Since I am young and in my prime, 
 
 And useful to you all, 
 Far better me to speak in time, 
 
 Than afterwards to fall. 
 
22 
 THE TAX'D DOG. 
 
 An old Miller having lately hilled his trusty 
 dog, rather than pay the duty for him, the 
 Author seeing wJiat John had done, wrote 
 the following lines. 
 
 John Knock the miller at the bog, . 
 For sax lang years had kept a dog, 
 A useful beast although nae beauty, 
 And Bauty brawly did his duty. 
 But as he chanc'd ae night to bark,. 
 At Mr Scribe, a worthy clerk ; 
 He frighted sare beside the dyke> 
 And was resok'd to tax the tyke, 
 His stick sare made the dog to snarl, 
 And since he rais'd upon the carl, 
 Though Bauty hadna tail nor. lugs, 
 He mark'd him in the list o' dogs. 
 Then John was summon'd in a haste, 
 And paid eight shillings for the beast ; 
 But came hameswearing sare wi' anger,r 
 That Bauty there should live nae langer. 
 Bow wow. (says Bauty) at their backs, 
 And will ye fell me for^the tax; 
 I'll run now master where ye'll send me, 
 But pay for me and dinna end me. 
 Na na, says John, I'll pay nae mair, 
 I grudge my siller now.sae sare, 
 I'll hang you, or I'll cut your throat, 
 Before I pay for you a groat. 
 Wow wow, says Bauty hard are ye, 
 To fell a poor auld dog like me ; 
 Tell me my fauts, let them be named, 
 Before I'm fell'd or yet condemn'd. 
 I thought that ye wou'd tali.' my part, 
 When loud I bark'd and kept your cart, , 
 
23 
 
 And watch'd your house these sax years past, 
 
 \YT mony a cauld and surly blast. 
 
 Ye ken a trusty dog I've been, 
 
 And took you always for my frien' ; 
 
 But now I grudge to spend my time, 
 
 And then be fell'd without a crime. 
 
 Was I not kind as ere was whelpet, 
 
 But if I'm fell'd I canna help it ; 
 
 Yet still its hard though ye're the miller, 
 
 That I should die to save your siller. 
 
 Yes yes, says John, ye'll die the day 
 
 And be despatch'd without delay ; 
 
 I'll pay nae tax, I plainly tell you, 
 
 And for that reason I must fell you. 
 
 But wow says Bauty what is that, 
 
 I wish that I had been the cat, 
 
 To be kept free o' tax'd dog laws, 
 
 Since I must die now in the cause. 
 
 Nae doubt I am a dog, its true, 
 
 And faithfu' lang ha'e been to you ; 
 
 Yet though the beast was never fauty, 
 
 John ran in haste and hang'd poor Bauty. 
 
 On Passing through the Town of Tain. 
 
 Tain ; I your Borough often times have seen, 
 And happy in you, many a day have been, 
 Industry still I find in you appears, 
 New taste and beauty, for some by past years 
 In youthful days, that now have pass'd away, 
 To reach your shore our sails we did display : 
 Before I rightly knew this world's cares 
 I oft attended all your yearly fairs ; 
 Now I perceive improvements made on you, 
 Which ornaments, and adds still to your view ; 
 You will improve, because in you I find, 
 Those who are active, generous, and kind. 
 
24 
 
 In you both law, and learning may be found, 
 Useful to Ross, and all the country round ; 
 Your privileges long may they remain, 
 And trade still nourish in the town of Tain. 
 
 Amusing Letter to Murdo M'Nab, a Tailor* 
 
 Now Murdo these few lines I gie, 
 
 To ken if ye intend, 
 To send the black breeks back to me, 
 
 That I gae you to mend. 
 
 For near three months have pass'd indeed, 
 
 Since they should be begun, 
 Yet brake your promise like your thread , 
 
 And left my breeks undone. 
 
 Though ye're as nimble as a bird, 
 
 To get new work secur'd, 
 Ye think nae mair to break your word, 
 
 Than jumping on your board. 
 
 But now repair the twa three steeks, 
 
 The job I canna want, 
 To keep frae me my good black breeks, 
 
 Would even vex a saint. 
 
 If I were wearing kilt and hose, 
 
 For seamp'ring o'er the hill ; 
 I wadna care a dite suppose 
 
 The breeks ye kept them still. 
 
 For long in Scotland kilts were wore 
 
 By chiefest of your clan ; 
 But mend my breeks though they were tore, 
 
 And show that ye're a man. 
 
 I ken to follow fashions quick, 
 
 New claes is your outlook ; 
 But then ye hae a waefu trick, — 
 
 The auld lies in the neuk. 
 
25 
 
 That shows a tailor's kindness cauld, 
 
 Yet ae thing I must do ; 
 Because ye winna mend the auld, 
 
 Ye shanna mak the new. 
 
 But by this time I sairly dread, 
 
 My breeks is kick'd about ; 
 Though breeks ye ken I daily need, 
 
 And canna do without. 
 
 They're made o' braw stout Scottish death, 
 
 The very best o' woo ; 
 And for to lose them I am leath, 
 
 Though unco lang wi' you. 
 
 Yet though they be auld Scotland's mak, 
 
 Which nae ane can control ; 
 Observe this letter, send them back, 
 
 And quickly mak them whole. 
 
 But dinna wi' your bessin thread, 
 
 Repair my breeks o'er slight ; 
 But mend them well, and mend wi' speed, 
 
 And send them hame the night. 
 
 For want o' breeks makes me to grumble. 
 
 As visibly appears, 
 Ye may as well lay by your thimble, 
 
 Your bodkin and your sheers ; 
 
 As to pretend our jobs to tak, 
 
 And then to let them lie ; 
 That is the only way to mak' 
 
 Your customers gae by. 
 
 Nae doubt ye had my favour lang, 
 
 But lost it sarely now ; 
 Though breeks we need, when ye get thrang, 
 
 Your words are seldom true. 
 
 Yet ye should try to please us a', 
 
 And when that ye get rich, 
 Stick up the needle in the wa' ; 
 
 Ye needna draw a stich. 
 
 B 
 
26 
 
 I ken ye dinna want the day, 
 
 For siller ye desire, 
 And lang may ye hae on the way, 
 
 A hot goose at the fire. 
 
 But for my breeks, ye're sair to blame, 
 
 This well may lat you ken, 
 Yet here I dinna stain your name, 
 
 Though this comes frae my pen. 
 
 But I shall mak ? yoursel* the judge, 
 
 Your fauts I canna bear ; 
 For want o' breeks mak's me to grudge, 
 
 Since breeks we now must wear. 
 
 I am, Mr Tailor, 
 
 Your auld Customer, &c. 
 
 A FIRE-SIDE FARCE ; 
 
 Or j a Proof of the Strength of Bessy Brew- 
 ster's Ale. 
 
 Auld Scotland's Ale is unco guid, 
 There's aye pith in her barley bree ; 
 
 It paints the cheeks — and warms the bluid, 
 But meikle o't dings heads ajee. 
 
 My neighbour Bessy keeps good Ale, 
 
 Though some thinks it but sma' drink ; 
 But when that we the strength o't see, 
 
 Nae matter what they a* think. 
 Some say it's thick, some say it's thin, 
 
 For some like to misca' drink ; 
 But if they tout twa bickers out, 
 
 They'll sav that it is braw drink. 
 
27 
 
 A' them wha deal in Bessy's Ale, 
 
 Say it's a noble past're ; 
 Because they think it's meat and drink, 
 
 They dinna like to cast her. 
 And think in truth, for slocking drooth, 
 
 Nae bodie should gae past her ; 
 For while they sit they gather wit, 
 
 And think they sit the faster. 
 
 To put things right — the other night, 
 
 Some friends that lik'd a wee drink ; 
 Beside the crook, in Bessy's neuk, 
 
 Sat down to tak' a free drink. 
 Lang did they sit — fu did they get, 
 
 And always cried for mair drink ; 
 Until the stoup made chairs to coup, 
 
 And some they got a sair clink. 
 
 The house was thrang, and things got wrang, 
 
 And got in desperation ; 
 Rob bow d his back, his snuff to tak', 
 
 Which soon brought on vexation. 
 His wig by chance did all at once, 
 
 Get in to inflammation ; 
 Then aff ran Meg, to get the pig, 
 
 To drown the conflagration. 
 
 His wig they teas'd, yet still it blaz'd, 
 
 Poor Rob was sadly frightit ; 
 Confusion round the fire was rais'd, 
 
 Before they got it rightit. 
 Yet while Meg ran, ben for the cann, 
 
 As fast as she was able ; 
 They drown' d it out wi' reman stout, 
 
 That stood upon the table. 
 
 But when they saw the wig burn'd a', 
 
 The fire cou'd gae nae forder ; 
 They tint their fears, and took their chairs 
 
 Beside the fire-side border. 
 B2 
 
Then Bess she thought, there should be brought^ 
 
 What Providence had stor'd her ; 
 A good big plate o' bread and skate, 
 
 To settle a disorder. 
 
 Braw was the dish, good was the fish, 
 
 And every one got plenty ; 
 Some prais'd the cook, and wealth they took, 
 
 The skate was sweet and dainty. 
 They a' ate on, except auld John, 
 
 The Ale made him sae cheery ; 
 He tumbled o'er, and brake his shin, 
 
 His head gaed tipsy teery. 
 
 John being drunk, near Jost the spunk, 
 
 He fell and few there kent it ; 
 Yet though he lay, he coudna say, 
 
 The waefu' cause that sent it. 
 The cry was made that John was dead, 
 
 For he had almost fainted ; 
 But wives and men, came running ben, 
 
 And chanc'd for to prevent it. 
 
 Some took his head, some took his feet, 
 
 For he was wounded fairly ; 
 And wives it's true, were greeting fu\ 
 
 They griev'd for him sae sairly. 
 At last wi' care, he got his chair, 
 
 Yet still there were mair blunders ; 
 For o'er they dang a whisky pig, 
 
 And brake it a* to splinders. 
 
 When Bessy heard the dreadfu' clash, 
 
 And saw her whisky skaling ; 
 She made the very house to ring, 
 
 Wi' scolding, and wi' railing. 
 It sairly griev'd hersel' and Meg, 
 
 To see it run sae clearly ; 
 And cried that them who brake the pig, 
 
 Must pay the whisky dearly. 
 
29 
 
 At last wi' Bessy they agreed, 
 
 And got her to her cham'er ; 
 Then every thing seem'd right again, 
 
 When free o' Bessy's clamour. 
 Wha then should pay the whisky pig, 
 
 Made such a speculation, 
 That Rob, he on the table struck, 
 
 To bring some regulation. 
 
 Yet though he cried, and fairly tried, 
 
 To get the din silenced ; 
 Though some sat down, yet very soon, 
 
 A dreadfu' row commenced. 
 Some got sad raps, — plates, stoups, and caps, 
 
 Flew round on each direction ; 
 Some squeezed sore ; they thought the door 
 
 Their only safe protection. 
 
 In rage they fought, yet wha would thought, 
 
 When stools o'er heads were clinking ; 
 Auld Donald sat — beside the cat, 
 
 And a' the time was drinking. 
 He had a good stout Roman nose, 
 
 As red as ony daisy ; 
 But in the thrang, it got a bang, 
 
 That almost made him crazy. 
 
 The bluid in streams, ran o'er his beard, 
 
 The snuffy draps ran wi' them ; 
 W r hen a' the wives cried out he's fell'd, 
 
 The farce was good to see them, 
 Auld Kate might mind upon the row, 
 
 For very near they brunt her; 
 The fire near set her in a low, 
 
 And sadly did afront her. 
 
 But still the battle did increase, 
 Some ran for help to skail them ; 
 
 Yet though they cam' on full express, 
 They scarcely there cou'd quell them. 
 B3 
 
30 
 
 Some said that Rob began the fray, 
 
 But when they had a parly ; 
 Wha think ye then had a the faut, 
 
 But wicked Johnny Barley. 
 
 Baith great and sma', he rul'd them a*, 
 
 His pith they coudna stand it ; 
 For some they got sair heads to claw, 
 
 As lang as John commandit. 
 Some fools he made them wise and strong, 
 
 And wise men he confus'd them ; 
 But them that fell amang the throng, 
 
 He dreadfully abus'd them. 
 
 Sair was the blast, but at the last, 
 
 When mony marks were on them, 
 The din increas'd, for wi* the rest, 
 
 John Barley fell among them. 
 For in the corner stood the ale, 
 
 That made them a* sae warm ; 
 Then down cam* cask, and ale, and a*> 
 
 That ream'd wi' working barm. 
 
 The ale ran ben, the ale ran but, 
 
 And Bess her loss lamentit ; 
 But a' the comfort that she got, 
 
 It coudna be preventit. 
 But peace again began to smile, 
 
 The dreadfu' habble endit ; 
 And them that had their noses elowr'd, 
 
 Had need to get them mendit. 
 
 Rob still was there without a wig, 
 
 Yet through the house he trampit ; 
 And John that got the broken shin, 
 
 Upon a stick he lampit. 
 Says Kate, this was a dreadfu* night, 
 
 A' them that's here they saw that ; 
 Indeed says Donald, that is true, 
 
 My nose can witness a' that. 
 
31 
 
 Then they became a' friends but Tam, 
 
 The ale had beat him sairly; 
 Because they said he hadna paid, 
 
 He tried to leave them fairly. 
 The night it blew, and Tam was fu', 
 
 He stammer'd wi' the sparky ; 
 And sittin' by an auld pig stye, 
 
 He tumbled in wi' harky. 
 
 Tam wonder'd then, but didna ken, 
 
 Where he had got his station ; 
 For there he had an ill made bed, — 
 
 Nane courser in the nation ; 
 While Janet sought him a* the night, 
 
 Wi' grief and great vexation ; 
 But comin' round, poor Tam she found, 
 
 In harky 's habitation. 
 
 Then Janet brawl'd, the sow she squal'd, 
 
 Poor Tam was sairly frightit ; 
 To rise he sprawl' d, and Janet haul'd, 
 
 Before she got him rightit. 
 But lang before he reached his door, 
 
 The sun, the town had lightit ; 
 And Janet had a waefu* trade, 
 
 Before she got him tightit. 
 
 Now surely Bessy's Ale is good, 
 
 By this same intimation ; 
 It's best brown stout, without a doubt, 
 
 And aye meets approbation. 
 It's brisk we ken, when prais'd by men, 
 
 Of every occupation ; 
 For some they think, that Bessy's drink, 
 
 Drowns grief and a' vexation. 
 B4> 
 
32 
 
 On Ancient Scottish History. 
 
 ODES 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THE RENOWNED HERO, 
 
 SIR WILLIAM WALLACE, 
 
 Governor and General of Scotland — about the year 1302, 
 
 Though martial deeds in former days, 
 Were too long stain'd with blood, 
 
 Yet mem'ry bids us mark his praise, 
 Who true to Scotland stood. 
 
 Wallace, a champion of our land, 
 His fame demands our lines ; 
 
 As Scotland's right, long did he stand. 
 His name immortal shines. 
 
 When haughty Edward, England's king, 
 
 Our honours brought away, 
 And wish'd all Scotland for to bring 
 
 To slav'ry, by his sway. 
 
 But noble Wallace quickly rose, 
 True Scotland's friend, at length, 
 
 Not fearing Edward's threat'ning blows, 
 Deep policy, nor strength. 
 
 Like yonder flower that rose unseen, 
 Where Scotland's thistle grew, 
 
 So has our champion Wallace been, 
 Though long great Edward's foe. 
 
 A youth of noble parentage, 
 That armour well could bear ; 
 
 Soon with his foes he did engage, 
 While England stood in fear ; 
 
 His hardy heart, his bloody sword, 
 
 And fierceness of its blade, 
 His native country long secur'd, 
 
 Which then made Scotland glad, 
 
33 
 
 Resolv'd no more her wrongs to bear, 
 
 True friends to him he drew, 
 Who rais'd the shield and pointed spear, 
 
 And kept to Scotland true. 
 
 Her cause he boldly took in hand, 
 Which England then might feel, 
 
 While his brave hardy, warlike band, 
 Drew swords of glittering steel. 
 
 The strength and power that they had, 
 
 Made multitudes to die, 
 While Scotchmen rais'd the burnish'd blade, 
 
 Oft did the English fly. 
 
 Through Scotland then blood mark'd the hill, 
 
 While Wallace did command, 
 Yet soon his noble conquering skill, 
 
 Set free his native land. 
 
 Castles and towns, he loved to keep, 
 
 While he for Scotland stood, 
 Yet for her sake he had to sleep, 
 
 Oft in some lonely wood. 
 
 The Scottish battles well might tell, 
 
 Brave Wallace' warlike toil, 
 While slaughter'd foes in numbers fell, 
 
 All round his native soil. 
 
 At Loudon hill at Biggar too ; 
 
 Falkirk, and Elchock park, 
 And all the battles he came through, 
 
 Makes us his fame remark. 
 
 Brave Wallace' name long time shall be, 
 
 In Scotland's records found ; 
 Wishing to set his country free, 
 
 Still makes his name renown'd. 
 
 For many victories did he gain, 
 
 To keep the English down ; 
 Though Wallace wish'd the Bruce to reign 
 
 And wear the Scottish crown. 
 B 5 
 
34 
 
 Disdaining Edward's threatening boast. 
 
 Here often we may see, 
 He conquer'd England's mighty host, 
 
 To set old Scotland free. 
 
 But treachery came round at last, 
 By bloody false Monteath ; 
 
 For English gold bound Wallace fast, 
 Who suffer'd cruel death ; 
 
 Thus fell the champion of our land, 
 Condemned by England's laws ; 
 
 His country long he did command, 
 Yet died for Scotland's cause. 
 
 NOTES AND REMARKS ON THE HISTORY OF 
 SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. 
 
 Here we find that the brave Wallace, a noble hero in the cause of 
 Scotland, suffered death at last for her sake. None in history 
 that antiquity can produce, had a more courageous heart, nor stood 
 nobler in the cause of their native land, than the brave Wallace, yet 
 we find it was too often dearly bought, by the effusion of human 
 blood, for pillage rapine, and murder, were scarcely counted crime> 
 in those days to satisfy revenge, and to obtain the summit of their 
 destructive wishes ; when Scotland and England, were slaughtering 
 each other to maintain their rights, which were no sooner gained, 
 but just as quickly lost, with redoubled destruction. Too long in- 
 deed did that ruining war continue; for when we contrast those 
 troublesome times with the present, we have reason to rejoice that 
 those bloody days have long since passed away, and the blooming rose 
 and sharp pointed thistle now grown up harmoniously together : 
 while Scotland and England flourishes in happiness and joy, under 
 the mild and united Government of Great Britain, wisely governed 
 by our noble, good and peaceful sovereign George the Fourth. 
 
 In this our days that passes on, 
 
 Friendship makes peace secure ; 
 But in the bloody days by gone, 
 
 Bought dearly by the sword. 
 
 On Scotland's hills her sons stood true, 
 While slaughtering gain'd them praise, 
 
 Yet still we live more happy now, 
 With George in peaceful days. 
 
35 
 
 Observations on the Life and Death of the un- 
 happy Mary Stuart j Queen of Scotland. 
 
 The life of Mary Queen of Scots, 
 We find was stain'd with many blots ; 
 For strong suspicion made her fade, 
 And lose her kingdom, and her head. 
 
 Unhappy Mary, when her life we view, 
 With all the trials that she had come through, 
 Though Queen of Scotland, this may let us see 
 That high crown'd heads from troubles are not free, 
 When James the Fifth, from life's short stage had gone, 
 •Mary his daughter next came to the throne, 
 But yet in France her early days were spent, 
 While Scotland grievous troubles underwent. 
 For popery then o'erspread the Scottish land, 
 And priestcraft seem'd to have the chief command ; 
 Yet reformation then was coming round, 
 Though some were burn'd whose names are yet renown'd. 
 Much grief and pain the protestants endur'd, 
 Till subtle Beatoun was at last secured : 
 To be reveng'd on him for deeds by past, 
 They in his castle, murder'd him at last. 
 But to return to Mary our young Queen, 
 Who from her country for a while had been, 
 While bloody wars through Scotland did advance ; 
 She was betroth'd to Dauphin then of France: 
 But when the marriage there was solemniz'd, 
 Scotland was griev'd, and very much surpris'd. 
 For orders came that protestants must fly, 
 Or then with popery instantly comply. 
 Yet reformation hasted still about, 
 Though bloody laws by France was given out, 
 To have the protestants wholly overpowerd, 
 And drive them out with slaughter, fire, and sword. 
 But brave John Knox, and other preachers too, 
 Stood for their doctrine, and to Scotland true. 
 Come life, or death, they boldly took their lot, 
 And protestants still more in number got ; 
 BO 
 
 ■ 
 
36 
 
 For their religion they were much alarm'd, 
 
 While to chastise them, troops around them swarm'd. 
 
 Yet though they thought to sweep them from the earth, 
 
 They broke there images nigh the town of Perth. 
 
 Increasing still, directed by the hand, 
 
 Who rul'd that event in our happy land ; 
 
 Their bloody threat'nings boldly they defied, 
 
 Until we find that Mary's husband died. 
 
 But we perceive that in a little while, 
 
 Our Queen return'd to see her native Isle. 
 
 And though her subjects mourn'd some time before. 
 
 She was receiv'd with joy on Scotland's shore ; 
 
 But long in Scotland she had not remain'd, 
 
 Until Lord Darnley, all her favour gain'd. 
 
 They soon were married, yet w r e plainly find, 
 
 The love they had, was not of lasting kind ; 
 
 For though that Darnley then was made a kiDg, 
 
 Yet Mary's favours quickly took the wing. 
 
 Short time with her in Scotland he remain'd, 
 
 Yet in his absence, soon her name was staiu'd : 
 
 Her favourite Rizzio that she much admir'd. 
 
 Too often in her presence she desir'd: 
 
 Who Darnley's friends observ'd and mark'd full well, 
 
 Till with the dagger Rizzio quickly fell. 
 
 They sought the murderers, but they were not found, 
 
 W T ho quickly fled, and reach'd to English ground. 
 
 Then Darnley soon to Scotland made his way, 
 
 Yet we perceive his foes around him lay ; 
 
 A plot was laid, whoever was employ'd, 
 
 And by gun-powder Darnley was destroy'd. 
 
 Then Bothwell next, began to raise a strife, 
 
 He married Mary, and divorc'd his wife, 
 
 Yet soon the nation well might understand, 
 
 In Darnley's death, that Bothwell had a hand. 
 
 But soon we find that justice did pursue, 
 
 Although that Bothwell thought great deeds to do : 
 
 Strong troops he had to guard him and his Queen, 
 
 Yet in a while their intrigues all were seen. 
 
 The Queen and he resorted to Dunbar ; 
 
 Yet though their troops were more in number far, 
 
37 
 
 A party met them, by direction led, 
 
 Who seiz'd the Queen — then Bothwell quickly fled. 
 
 Being both suspected, that they knew the plot, 
 
 When Darnley fell, and cruel death had got ; 
 
 The Queen, a prisoner, there they made her fast, 
 
 And in Lochleven Castle she was cast. 
 
 Which plainly shows, how vain it is to try^ 
 
 To hide our actions from the secret eye ; 
 
 Though some here falsely think their deeds to hide, 
 
 Time brings them out, and makes the faults more wide. 
 
 Great many years, the Queen a prisoner lay, 
 
 Yet from Lochleven, she escap'd away ; 
 
 And suddenly, she rais'd a mighty force, 
 
 Yet soon we find, that made the matter w r orse. 
 
 For Queen Elizabeth on the English Throne, 
 
 View'd Scotland's scenes as they were going on ; 
 
 And soon was told that Mary did intend, 
 
 To have her crown, if she could not defend. 
 
 Norfolk, and Mary seem'd to have in view, 
 
 Elizabeth's power, shortly to subdue ; 
 
 And raze up popery. But their plans got breath — 
 
 Norfolk was tried, and quickly put to death. 
 
 Then Mary, she was seized again we find, 
 
 Till England's Queen made known what she design'd ; 
 
 A prisoner Mary was oblig'd to lie, 
 
 And by Elizabeth was condemn'd to die. 
 
 The morning dawn'd, the day approach'd at last, 
 
 When Mary's troubles soon would all be past ; 
 
 While English Earls round her did attend, 
 
 To see the Queen of Scotland's fatal end. 
 
 Her crucifix, she held it in her hand, 
 
 Praying for her soul, her son, and native land ; 
 
 Raising her eyes, with dropping tears to heaven, 
 
 And wish'd her enemies all might be forgiven. 
 
 The executioner quickly then appear'd, 
 
 And in his hands the slaughtering hatchet rear'd ; 
 
 How shocking surely was the scene to view, 
 
 The second stroke away her head it flew. 
 
 Life's tender thread was quickly cut away, 
 
 And on the scaffold Mary bleeding lay ; 
 
38 
 
 'Who then had bore the horro* of the shock, 
 And lost her head upon the fatal block. 
 Thus fell Queen Mary by Elizabeth's pow'r, 
 Condemn'd by her to meet that fatal hour : 
 Which lets us see, though worldly views are great, 
 None can avoid their terminated fate. 
 
 Mary Stewart, Queen of Scotland, was beheaded at Fotheringay, 
 February the 18th, 1587, in the 46th year of her age, and 18th of 
 her captivity ; her body was interred in the Cathedral of Peters- 
 borough, but removed by her Son James the 6th, to Westminister 
 Abbey. Queen Elizabeth, of England, died in 160o. and James 
 was immediately declared her successor, and arrived in London the 
 7th of May, 1605. 
 
 Letter to a Parson icith a Suufi? Horn. 
 
 Dear Reverend Sir, I kept your mill, 
 Far longer than I 'ntended ; 
 
 It nae doubt wanted many a full, 
 Since I to you should send it. 
 
 But things that we forget the day 
 We may forget the morn ; 
 
 Such is the case now I may say, 
 For I forgot your horn. 
 
 When many things come in to do, 
 There's something still neglected ; 
 
 Although the person in your view, 
 Be very much respected. 
 
 If snuff ye want, this lang time past, 
 It certainly must grieve you ; 
 
 But now your box, I send at last, 
 In purpose to relieve you. 
 
39 
 
 I seldom tak' a pinch mysel', 
 Or keep a box for sneeshan ; 
 
 Which made me that I cou'dna tell. 
 Nor think on your condition. 
 
 I ken ye wou'dna mind the nose. 
 
 If ye were a beginner ; 
 But snuffing by a custom goes, 
 
 Baith xvi the saint and sinner. 
 
 I remain, Reverend Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient servant, 
 W. G. 
 
 On the much lamented death of the Princess 
 Charlotte, — November 6th, I8I7. 
 
 Britannia now her robes of mourning wears, 
 
 Grief dims her eyes, and bathes her cheeks with tears ; 
 
 She now laments — for her she did adore, 
 
 The lovely Charlotte — now alas no more ! 
 
 Beloved Princess — favourite of our land, 
 
 Is soon remov'd by death's relentless hand ; 
 
 In the full prime of life — her glories fade, 
 
 To join the mansions of the numerous dead. 
 
 Nearest and dearest, must be grieving all, 
 
 While thousands more regret the sudden call ; 
 
 All mourn for her, and the offspring of her womb, 
 
 W T ho both lie mouldering in the silent tomb : 
 
 Cut like the blossoms of an early flower, 
 
 And every prospect blasted in an hour. 
 
 Vain are our hopes, although they may be great, 
 
 Who here can know the sudden turn of fate. 
 
 When joy was look'id for — Oh unhappy news- — 
 
 Death unexpected, alters all our views ; 
 
 For her we grieve, but why dare we repine, 
 
 To Heavens Great Lord — the greatest must resign. 
 
40 
 On the uncertainty of Human Life. 
 
 Death shifts all stations from their place, 
 How short may be our day ; 
 
 Of human life we have no lease, 
 Uncertain is our stay. 
 
 Death's message we must all receive 
 
 Which is the fate of men ; 
 This fleeting stage, we all must leave, 
 
 And know not how, nor when. 
 
 We know not how, nor can we see, 
 What here our end may prove ; 
 
 We know not when — that we may be 
 Preparing to remove. 
 
 Though life now makes our vigour show, 
 
 Not likely to be done ; 
 Yet we some other world may know, 
 
 Before to-morrow's sun. 
 
 Uncertain is life's vital spark, 
 Which leaves the clay behind ; 
 
 Oh, now the present hour should mark 
 That thought upon our mind. 
 
 For death, the conqueror still has been, 
 Through every land and clime ; 
 
 And hastes to break the chain between 
 Eternity and time. 
 
41 
 
 On the Four Seasons of the Year. 
 
 The different seasons of the year we view, 
 Summer, and Winter, Spring, and Harvest too ; 
 But while we mark them, as they pass away, 
 Let us be mindful of a future day. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Now winter with his threatening blast, 
 Comes on with all his might ; 
 
 The pinching frost binds all things fast, 
 And lonely is the night* 
 
 The tow'ring clouds, they swiftly fly, 
 Blast after blast draws near ; 
 
 The sea's strong billows rages high, 
 And all things cold appear. 
 
 See ! how the timorous hare pursued, 
 
 Is made the hunter's prey ; 
 Because her tracts are eas'ly view'd, 
 
 And covers, where she lay. 
 
 While restless birds with fluttering wing, 
 
 Above the snow they cry ; 
 No more their charming notes they sing, 
 
 But all in flocks they fly. 
 
 The woods of Scotland now stript bare, 
 Have lost their beauteous form ; 
 
 Of nature's change each tree must share. 
 While trembling with the storm. 
 
42 
 
 And charming flowers no blossoms .show,. 
 
 To ornament the field ; 
 For all things clad with driven snow, 
 
 To winter now must yield. 
 
 Man, birds, and beasts of every kind, 
 
 The pinching cold commands ; 
 While boisterous blows the winter's wind, 
 
 And sweeps o'er all our lands. 
 
 See yonder traveller fore d along, 
 
 His road he scarce can know ; 
 Near blind with drift, the north blows strong, 
 
 Yet onward he must go. 
 
 Shivering with cold, all cover d white, 
 
 How great is his desire ; 
 To reach his home that's warm at night, 
 
 And find a cheerful fire. 
 
 Then safely there from cold, and harm, 
 
 He hears the rattling hail ; 
 Yet sits with joy, secure and warm, 
 
 Though loudly blows the gale. 
 
 Like him may we improve each hour, 
 
 And weather every blast ; 
 To find a resting home secure, 
 
 When all life's storms are past. 
 
 And since dull winter needs supply, 
 
 Let us make no delay ; 
 But have a lasting store laid by, 
 
 For death's cold winter s day. 
 
43 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 How charming the mornings the spring has return'd, 
 The birds on the branches begin now to sing ; 
 
 They through the long winter, for want often mourn'd, 
 But now they rejoice at the voice of the spring. 
 
 Mild come9 the new season, the warm breeze is blowing, 
 And nature begins to provide for our food ; 
 
 The true British Farmer begins now his sowing, 
 And robin again has retir'd to the wood. 
 
 The labourer also is working with pleasure, 
 
 While toil makes him healthy and happy here still ; 
 
 He turns up the earth, to bring forth her treasure, 
 And shepherds, they now feed their flocks on the hill. 
 
 All nature revives, and the sun has got nearer, 
 Though distant from us for a while it has been ; 
 
 The days, they get longer, more pleasant, and clearer, 
 And trees, they get on their new mantle of green. 
 
 Now view in the garden, the fruit buds appearing, 
 
 And herbs from the ground, they are rearing their head ; 
 
 The soft show'rs that are falling, the earth they are cheering, 
 And the flow'rs now they bloom that in winter lay dead, 
 
 The primroses blow, and the lilies are shewing 
 
 Their blossoms, which have come again to our view; 
 
 The gardener rejoices, his plants they are growing, 
 For spring makes the landscape look perfectly new. 
 
 The beauties of nature, with wonder we view them, 
 While beams from the sun make the earth to produce; 
 
 But mind on the hand that can yearly renew them, 
 And makes every herb for to spring for our use. 
 
44 
 
 The season advances — time is not delaying, 
 The earth's vegetation hastes fast on its way ; 
 
 While nature comes forth, all her beauties displaying, 
 The sweet vernal spring, now makes all things look gay. 
 
 We see all creation displays the spring morning, 
 But while it appears, and for summer makes room ; 
 
 May the buds of free grace, now our hearts be adorning, 
 And daily increase till they come to full bloom. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Fair summer now fine in array, 
 
 To us returns again ; 
 The sun's bright beams adorn the day, 
 
 And yields the fruitful plain. 
 
 The cuckoos to the woods resort, 
 
 The summer to proclaim ; 
 And anglers for their fishing sport, 
 
 Attend the purling stream. 
 
 New rural pleasures we possess, 
 
 In Britain's fertile land ; 
 Since nature in her richest dress, 
 
 Displays her beauties grand. 
 
 The pleasant prospect makes us cheer, 
 While we the fields go through ; 
 
 How charming all things now appear, 
 That summer did renew. 
 
 The trees around are clad with fruit, 
 
 The corn richly grows ; 
 The roses in their bloom are out, 
 
 Each flower their grandeur show*. 
 
45 
 
 The bleating lambs on every hill, 
 We see them sporting round ; 
 
 The shepherd's pipe plays loud and shrill, 
 While woods return their sound. 
 
 The swallow flies with vigorous wings, 
 
 Her time she now employs ; 
 The early lark aloft she sings, 
 
 Cheer'd with the summer's joys. 
 
 The laden bees, we see abound, 
 They hum from flower to flower ; 
 
 To bring their store of honey round, 
 When summer days are o'er. 
 
 The painted butterfly, and white, 
 
 They also take our view ; 
 While fluttering round with great delight, 
 
 The summer days all through. 
 
 For rural joys have come again, 
 
 To charm the creatur's eye ; 
 While warm sun-beams paint the scene, 
 
 And yields the azure sky. 
 
 Ten thousand beauties strike our view, 
 
 To make us wiser still ; 
 While birds, and beasts, and nature too, 
 
 Display the Maker's skill. 
 
 See how all tribes rejoice to meet, 
 
 The summer's warm breeze ; 
 While in the groves the birds sing sweet, 
 
 Amongst the leafy trees. 
 
 But since all creatures know their day, 
 
 While nature is in prime ; 
 May we ourselves, as well as they, 
 
 Improve our summer time. 
 
46 
 HARVEST. 
 
 Autumn has now brought in her store, 
 Which gives great joy to rich and poor ; 
 Because the fruits of Britain's shore, 
 From harm are safely lodg'd secure. 
 
 The fruitful earth that we admir'd, 
 Through vernal spring, and summer days ; 
 Has given the treasure we desir'd, 
 And for our labour richly pays. 
 
 The farmer all the season through, 
 Anxious and early us'd to rise ; 
 But view him, here rejoicing now, 
 While he his new built crop surveys. 
 
 Xo more he thinks upon his toil, 
 Since nature's bounty cheers his mind ; 
 And now he fears no rain to spoil, 
 Nor dread the boisterous shaking wind. 
 
 Hi9 active reapers we may see, 
 Since stores and stacks are safe and dry ; 
 They sing at night with merry glee, 
 And joyful lay their sickle by. 
 
47 
 
 The farmer's tointer then resounds, 
 To cheer his servants in employ ; 
 Since all is safe the music sounds, 
 Each farmer's house abounds with joy. 
 
 The gard'ner he rejoices too, 
 When bringing home his richest fruit. 
 And now the moor-fowl, we may view, 
 In covies flying round about : 
 
 The sportsmen in them take delight, 
 While through the fields they gladly roam ; 
 And then arrives the happy night, 
 That here displays our harvest home. 
 
 Because the farmer pleasure had, 
 To see his fragrant corns grow ; 
 Now great abundance makes him glad, 
 The produce of the British plough. 
 
 His yards are stor'd, his barns are full, 
 The happy year at last is crown'd ; 
 But let our hearts be grateful still, 
 To Him who safelv brought it round. 
 
 JANET SMUGGLER AND THE GAUGER. 
 
 When meeting with the Author, Janet made the following 
 complaint. 
 
 O'er Wevis' hills the drift drives fast, 
 
 It's cauld, ye may believe me ; 
 But at our house I met a blast, 
 
 That sairer far must grieve me. 
 
 O mony a rough night I met wi\ 
 
 And sometimes scarce could rise man, 
 But nae blast ever troubled me, 
 
 Sae sair as our excise-man. 
 
48 
 
 In Ferntosh I hae been lang, 
 And a' my frien's before me, 
 
 But smuggling here has set me wrang, 
 And nae thing they'll restore me. 
 
 I'm daidet wi' the warld now, 
 Far mair than e'er you saw me, 
 
 And since a drap I chanc'd to brew, 
 Ye'll hear what did befa' me. 
 
 Ye ken yoursel' I ne'er lik'd strife, 
 Since ere the warld kent me, 
 
 For still I was a frugal wife, 
 Wi' a' that goodness sent me. 
 
 I was a braw brisk lass it's true, 
 
 As cheerfu' as a mavis, 
 And twenty years I hae been now 
 
 A married wife o' Davie's. 
 
 O mony ups and downs had we, 
 
 And wi' the warld strivn, 
 But ae day Davie chanc'd to dee, 
 
 Then I was deen o' thrivin.' 
 
 Yet Davie left wi' me a stell, 
 That brewd a drappie clearly, 
 
 For my dear Davie and myseF, 
 A spark we aye lik'd dearly. 
 
 The whisky pot I set it on, 
 Since Davie left me single, 
 
 And for to brew a drap o' yon, 
 I brawly raisd the ingle. 
 
 But just as it began to run, 
 
 Nae thinkin' upon danger, 
 A man cam' in wi' little din, 
 
 Who seem'd to be a stranger. 
 
 Says he to me, I cam' to try, 
 And ken what ye are doin ; 
 
 Well well, says I, come ye ben by 
 A wee drap I am brewin'. 
 
49 
 
 / 
 
 Braw was the coat that clad his back, 
 
 I took him for a Major ; 
 But Oh how sad was my mistak', 
 
 Who was it but the Gauger ! 
 
 Wae worth him, and his gauging stick, 
 What brought him in to vex me ; 
 
 For in my house he play'd a trick 
 That sairly did perplex me. 
 
 Says he, c Good Wife,' ye're in the faut, 
 Your pot ye now maun gi'e me,* 
 
 And a' your whisky and your maut 
 I now must tak' them wi' me. 
 
 For I'm a gauger out and hame ; 
 
 A' smugglers I must tak them, 
 And in my master Geordie's name 
 
 Your gear I now must brak them. 
 
 He then kick'd a thing upside down, — 
 
 He set my ale a skailing, — 
 In staves my stauns he brak them down, 
 
 And set my wort a sailing. 
 
 He rummag'd round baith mad and keen, 
 
 Like daft folk in a passion. 
 Says I to him, what do ye mean, 
 
 Says he, this is our fashion. 
 
 Shame fa you and your fashions baith, 
 Says I, this way to guide me, 
 
 To spill my ale and play sic skaith, 
 And brak my things beside me. 
 
 I've heard o' gaugers lang ere now, 
 
 That they aye came for evil, 
 And now I brawl y ken it's true ; 
 
 Ye dinna use me civil. 
 
 Says I, if ye hae lost your wit, 
 
 I beg that ye will tell me ; 
 My beer I ken ye mean to get ; 
 
 But srausrer, dinrfft fell me, 
 C 
 
50 
 
 Yet though I cried he wasna kind. 
 But dash'd my gear to splinders; 
 
 He took my pot, and bade me mind 
 To fa' nae mair in blunders. 
 
 My whisky then he took it a', 
 And rag'd like fire in powther ; 
 
 He seiz'd my maut, and took awa' 
 My pipes upon his shouther. 
 
 Och, now we drink but darna brew, 
 The smuggling's finish'd fairlie ; 
 
 For times are sadly altered now, 
 Besides the days o' Charlie. 
 
 In Scotland here, lang time I saw ? 
 
 We brew'd to keep us frisky, 
 But gangers now ride on the law, 
 
 In search a smuggled whisky. 
 
 LINES TO M1«S L. ROSE WITH A FLOWER, 
 
 Dear Madam, as I know that you 
 Take pleasure in a flower, 
 
 I send you one that lately grew 
 Near by my cottage door. 
 
 This is the time that they appear 
 
 delightful to the eye, 
 But soon the season of the year 
 
 Shall make them fade and die, 
 
51 
 
 I send them while their blossoms last 
 
 To give a sweet perfume, 
 Before the storniy winter's blast 
 
 Shall strip them of their bloom. 
 Their blossoms shortly must fall down, 
 
 No more their heads to raise, 
 And they shall be forgotten soon 
 
 Through winter's dreary days. 
 The nipping frost shall soon arrive 
 
 To make them hide their heads, 
 But yet their roots shall still survive, 
 
 When all their beauties fade. 
 Their time like ours is but a day, 
 
 They disappear you see ; 
 They grow, they flourish, and decay, 
 
 And shortly too must we. 
 Like them quite lifeless in the ground, 
 
 Through ages we remain ; 
 But flowers each year as it comes round, 
 
 They spring and blow again. 
 May we like them when time has passed, 
 
 And endless spring appears, 
 Then bear the blossoms that shall last 
 
 Throughout eternal years. 
 
 I remain, Madam, 
 
 With the greatest respect, 
 
 Your most obedient Servant, 
 W. G. 
 
 ON THE SHOCK OF AN EARTHQUAKE, 
 JVhich happened in the North of Scotland, on 
 the night of the 13th of August, 1816. 
 
 When we our Maker's pow'r discern, 
 It strikes oar wondering view, 
 C 2 
 
52 
 
 While wisdom it should make us learn 
 To love and fear him too. 
 
 A warning shock from him was given, 
 Which made the earth to roll ; 
 
 He holds the world yet reigns in heaven, 
 And regulates the whole. 
 
 The earthquake's shock he quickly brings 
 
 At his divine command; 
 The tottering earth on nothing hangs, 
 
 And guides it with his hand. 
 
 The earth he shook, yet hurt us not ; 
 
 The evil did remove, 
 But yet this warning we have got 
 
 To make us more improve. 
 
 We felt the awful earthquake here, 
 Which rais'd the fearful look, 
 
 While quick destruction did appeai\ 
 And trembling houses shook. 
 
 The summits of etir northern hills 
 
 Were shaken by his hand, 
 Whose wonders all the world fills ; 
 
 He sways it at command. 
 
 Unknown- worlds he rules them all; 
 
 Their seat from him they have, 
 And he whose hand holds up our bail 
 
 Can here consume or save. 
 
 Our happy land he- could destroy, 
 
 And yet he did it not ; 
 Much does Great Britain here enjoy, 
 
 For still he saved the spot. 
 
 Yet vain it is for us to think 
 
 Our habitation sure, 
 When He at once this globe could sink, 
 
 Although it seems secure. 
 
5S 
 
 If He contends where can we go, 
 
 Or think to hide our head, 
 No place but He can overthrow, 
 
 Since all the world he made. 
 
 The careless here involved in guilt, 
 Though harden'd as the rock, 
 
 We saw them trembling while they felt 
 The unexpected shock. 
 
 But those who seek with hearts sincere 
 Their Maker for their guide, 
 
 There's nothing here may have to fear 
 Although this earth divide. 
 
 LETTER TO A YOUNG MAN WITH A BIBLE. 
 
 Dear James, 
 
 This bible I have bought for you, 
 
 And by the bearer send, 
 In hopes that you will read it through, 
 
 And unto it attend. 
 
 It must not be by you forgot ; 
 
 Still use it all your days. 
 What it condemns practise it not, 
 
 And mark well what it says. 
 
 It is a book that you should know, 
 
 It will your mind adorn ; 
 It is a book wrote long ago 
 
 For thousands yet unborn. 
 
 It is a book deserves respect, 
 
 Because it was design'd 
 To be a guide for to direct, 
 
 And edify the mind. 
 
 Besides, it is a useful book, 
 Of value great indeed, 
 
54 
 
 For still the more in it you look, 
 The more you'll see your need. 
 
 I remain, Dear James, 
 
 Your Friend and Well-wisher. 
 
 W. G. 
 Nairn, 24th June, 1821. 
 
 ON THE MONUMENT OF MR. JOHN STRA1TH. 
 Erected at Nairn, May the ZSth, 1816, 
 
 Since death divides dear friends in every age, 
 
 And none abides forever on the stage. 
 
 The mouldriug body in the grave must rot, 
 
 But yet the faithful should not be forgot. 
 
 A monument is erected here, 
 
 In mem'ry of a teacher we revere. 
 
 It bears his name, and is this day complete, 
 
 Fronting the centre of the Nairn street. 
 
 The worthy Straith into the dust was laid, 
 
 And by his friends profound respect was paid. 
 
 Although we find his time on earth was gone, 
 
 This stands in mem'ry of what he has done. 
 
 Full forty years his labours here appear'd, 
 
 And for that reason was this pillar rear'd. 
 
 By those who once were placed beneath his trust, 
 
 Though widely scattered still respects his dust. 
 
 He like a father, loving, just, and kind, 
 
 Sow'd seeds of virtue in the tender mind. 
 
 His good example blossoms, and appears 
 
 In those he train'd up in their early years. 
 
 The scholars* welfare still he had in view, 
 
 To guide them right and to instruct them too. 
 
 May other teachers here in after days, 
 
 Merit such honour and deserve such praise. 
 
55 
 
 Belov'd he was both by the rich and poor ; 
 Still here respected till the latest hour. 
 Justice he lovd while he this life stept through, 
 Opposing vice as far as he could do. 
 Honest in dealing, while he at his door 
 Neglected not to mind the needy poor. 
 Severe he was on those whose faults he saw, 
 To make them wiser by his good school law ; 
 Hesolving still while they with him remain'd, 
 A father he should be as well's a friend. 
 In learning quickly he made them improve; 
 The more they learn 'd the more they gain'd his love. 
 2Iis name is here in those last lines I wrote; 
 By all respected, not to he forgot. 
 
 A LESSON, 
 The Industrious Man and the Sluggard. 
 
 The Sluggard says : — 
 What, what, is this sae much ado 
 About industry, friend, wi' you ; 
 Ye are sae fond that ye may thrive, 
 Ye save your nap and rise at five, 
 And wi' industrious anxious care 
 Ye sit o'er late and work o'er sair. 
 To keep your wife and wee anes snug, 
 Ye fear nae blast to pinch your lug ; 
 But think and tak' o'er muckle fash, 
 To scrape for gear and gather cash. 
 To keep your family tight wi' braws, 
 And wealth o' store when winter blaws, 
 Ye work sae close and wi r good will 
 That your industry plagues you still. 
 But that is nae the case wi' me ; 
 Frae thocht and wark I aye keep free, 
 And though that want here comes and gaes, 
 I claw nav elbow at mv ease. 
 
50 
 
 Though a' thing tumbles o'er the dyke^ 
 Industry here I never like." 
 
 The Industrious Mans Answer. 
 
 Sae seems upon you sluggard noo, 
 
 Your ragged coat attracts my view ; 
 
 Ten thousand clouts about it wags, 
 
 And laziness patch'd on the rags. 
 
 Look at your hat how it hangs down, 
 
 Wi' torn rim without a crown, 
 
 And on your head a wisp o' hair, 
 
 But seldom has a keam been there. 
 
 Ye hae a sark nae worth a groat, 
 
 The very colour o' the pot ; 
 
 And baith your waistcoat and your breeks 
 
 They only stick wi* twa three steeks ; 
 
 Your stockings they hang o'er your feet, 
 
 While tatter'd sheen lats in the weet ; 
 
 Ye're in a patch frae tap to tae, 
 
 And laziness brought a' your wae ; 
 
 For while that laziness commands, 
 
 That rascal sloth binds baith your hands. 
 
 But if ye would industrious be, 
 
 Ye might be richer far than me. 
 
 Your family starves for want o' stock, 
 
 Because ye lie till twall o'clock, 
 
 And the fire-side neuk ye keep, 
 
 Wi' idle hands as black's a sweep. 
 
 But now gae work while ye hae health, 
 
 And yet industry may bring wealth ; 
 
 For laziness it strips the back, 
 
 And brings the sluggard still to wrack. 
 
51 
 TO THE MANAGERS OF THE NAIRN PIER. 
 
 The Pier being raised by subscription, the Au- 
 thor sent the following Lines, inclosing Ttvo 
 Guineas. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 Though these few lines to you I send, 
 
 Excuse a poet's pen, 
 Who wishes well what ye intend, 
 
 My siller lets you ken. 
 
 Twa Guineas, I have sent you here, 
 
 Inclos'd within this letter, 
 To help to pay the Nairn Pier, 
 
 The sooner up the better. 
 
 Those who'll be kind and help the town, 
 
 They winna be forgotten, 
 Because the Pier, if rear'd up soon, 
 
 May stand when we are rotten. 
 
 The siller, it is scarce nae doubt, 
 
 And trade is unco dull ; 
 But for to bring the job about, 
 
 We a must tak' a pull. 
 
 I ken the gathering o' the cash, 
 Will gie you muckle trouble, 
 
 Yet Providence, for a' your fash, 
 May recompense you double. 
 
 In hopes the town will flourish still, 
 And trade get more and more, 
 
 I send you this wi J as good will, 
 As when I sign'd before. 
 
 May Nairn's faithful friends unite, 
 To help this good design, 
 
 C5 
 
58 
 
 And may they a pay in their mite, 
 For I have sent you mine. 
 
 I am, Gentlemen, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 W. G. 
 
 The Old Marts Address to his Spectacles. 
 
 Oh, Spectacles ! you let me see, 
 That creeping age makes sight to flee - y 
 Your twa glass windows plainly tell, 
 And bid me now to mind myseF. 
 The doctor bade me wash my een, 
 To make the w r orld clearer seen ; 
 But yet his water couldna do, 
 Till once that I applied to you. 
 
 I mind the time you was despis'd, 
 In days of youth, ere you was prized, 
 My granny used you, at four-score, 
 And left you here amang her store : 
 I got you there, but did suppose, 
 That you was made to grace the nose, 
 But when your windows I look'd through. 
 I saw I should apply to you. 
 
 I once could thoughtless rove and rant, 
 But auld age cam' to tell my want ; 
 He says, when sight it wears awa, 
 For every ee, we just need twa. 
 Now Spectacles, your een are glass, 
 And soon may break, but ne'er the less, 
 Sae must my own, — I fear it's true, 
 And that makes me apply to you. 
 
59 
 
 When braw sharp een gae me delight, 
 
 For you, I didna care a dite ; 
 
 Till tott'ring age stepp'd down the brae, 
 
 Then I esteem'd you every day. 
 
 The world canna gie such help, 
 
 Though once thro' darkness I could skeip ; 
 
 But blint'ran een eclips'd my view, 
 
 And made my nose apply to you. 
 
 Now Spectacles ; you teach us a r 
 The gift's nae priz'd till it's awa, 
 The value o't we never ken, 
 Till lost, nae mair to come again. 
 Yet I like you, and ye are mine, 
 And o'er my lugs, your lugs may twine ; 
 Wi' you I read, but then I rue 
 The time I lost, ere I got you. 
 
 Auld Spectacles, I had you lang, 
 Since e'er my twa good een gaed wrang ; 
 Though some may think it's only pride, 
 Ye' re now my help, and a' my guide. 
 Sight winna mair come back, I doubt — 
 In Scotland a' my teeth wore out ; 
 And while my tott'ring legs they bow. 
 My nose must still apply to you. 
 
 Augh, helpful friend, ye're unco kind, 
 Although ye canna help the blind, 
 But yet ye tell, though ye are dumb, 
 Prepare in time for what's to come. 
 Since near my een ye cross the brigg, 
 And when my bald head needs a wig, 
 Ye baith bid me be wiser now, 
 Since Spectacles I must have you. 
 
 For when through baith your een I look, 
 Ye mark the page out in a book, 
 That bids me now, in time, apply 
 For better sight, when ye're laid by 
 C 6 
 
60 
 
 For now's the time, while you are on r 
 To catch the time, ere time be gone : 
 Let me improve, as I should do, 
 The time I must apply to you. 
 
 Now Spectacles, you tell me plain, 
 That borrow'd sight cannot remain, 
 And when ye come to help the sight, 
 It's time to think on inward light. 
 For when upon my nose ye ride, 
 The more I look, ye say — provide ; 
 For days, when death makes pale the brow. 
 Then I need not apply to you. 
 
 To H. F. Esq. WITH A BOOK, Entitled 
 The Life of Napoleon. 
 
 Sir. 
 
 This book I now return to you, 
 
 Safe with a thousand thanks, 
 And many things it brings to view, 
 
 Of Bonny's warlike pranks. 
 
 When I Napoleon's life have read, 
 
 The plates attract my eye, 
 Which shews the various schemes he had* 
 
 Assuming to get high. 
 
 Each page displays his history free, 
 
 The time that he surviv'd, 
 And many of his plans we see, 
 
 Most deeply were contriv'd. 
 
 He grasp'd for greatness, raising strife 
 
 While he dispos'd of crowns, 
 And bloody was his tragic life, 
 
 With all his ups and downs. 
 
61 
 
 But mark although he threatened all, 
 
 We see what time does bring, 
 At last it brought his woeful fall, 
 
 When John Bull clipp'd his wing. 
 
 Poor Bonny climb'd his ladder fast, 
 
 That he might catch the crown, 
 But wild ambition rais'd the blast, 
 
 That made him tumble down. 
 
 Wishing you many happy days to enjoy the pleasures 
 of your library, 
 
 I remain respectfully, Dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient Servant, 
 W. G. 
 
 An advice to the careless Scholar, 
 
 Stop careless scholar, hear my short address, 
 Which shews your loss, and what you may possess, 
 Learning gives honour, learning leads to gain, 
 But learning lost, is time all spent in vain. 
 Improve your time, and now learn while you can, 
 As education brightens up the man, 
 It makes him see, when others they are blind, 
 It gives instruction, and improves the mind. 
 Take this advice now youth, if you be wise, 
 If in the world, you would wish to rise, 
 In early days let learning store your mind, 
 And in old age, its value you will find. 
 Observe in Spring, if blossoms throw not out, 
 When Summer comes, there will be little fruit, 
 Such is the case with those who time neglect, 
 When manhood comes no fruit can they expect. 
 
62 
 
 Youth is tbe time appointed for to learn, 
 
 For after that you have your bread to earn, 
 
 And various troubles will your mind engage, 
 
 When for yourself you act upon this stage. 
 
 Be wise in time and mind your book and pen ; 
 
 For time flies quickly, not to come again, 
 
 The anxious scholar learns all the day, 
 
 But you that's careless loses all for play. 
 
 Your parents wholly loses all there cost, 
 
 Your teacher's pains are altogether lost, 
 
 You lose their favours, but what's worst of all, 
 
 You lose your time which you can not recal. 
 
 You lose the favours of your dearest friend, 
 
 A loss perhaps, that may not be regained, 
 
 Y r ou lose instruction which you might obtain, 
 
 And may not have it in your power again : 
 
 But will regret your loss another day, 
 
 When through the world you must make your way. 
 
 If you allow youth's morning to be gone, 
 
 And not improv'd till world's cares come on, 
 
 Then you will own that you was once a fool, 
 
 To follow triffles and neglect your school. 
 
 EPISTLE TO TAM M'NAPPY, A BUTCHER. 
 
 Honest Tarn, 
 
 As felling lang has been a trade, 
 And beef is needed a* the year, 
 
 Send my account for what I had, 
 Because wi' you I mean to clear. 
 
 The shorter that we keep our debt, 
 The langer we can deal thegether, 
 
 And when we're free as when we met, 
 Ye wi' my cash can pay another. 
 
63 
 
 I ken ye want a lang tail'd score, 
 But still the shorter aye the better, 
 
 And they that ha'ena muckle store, 
 Should never be o'er deep a debtor. 
 
 For great accounts gi'e weighty knocks, 
 To let them multiply and grow, 
 
 And some they canna pay an ox, 
 So easy as to pay a ewe. 
 
 If great accounts lie lang between's, 
 Your siller you may ne'er receive, 
 
 And short accounts keep lang good friends, 
 The mair that's paid the less to crave. 
 
 While Tarn ye deal in beef and veal, 
 
 It is the only way to do, 
 Your siller get or ye may fail, 
 
 And neither can buy ox nor cow. 
 
 And some may cheat you o' the half, 
 Of a' the beef gaes in their pot, 
 
 Then ye would be as poor's a calf, 
 And couldna hardly buy a stot. 
 
 Besides some here might run awa, 
 And like a sheep ye would look silly, 
 
 Then your lang purse would turn sma, 
 Ye couldna use the bloody gullie. 
 
 Make credit short always wi' such, 
 And crave in time for what they got, 
 
 Then ye may shortly turn rich, 
 And never need to cut a throat. 
 
 1 remain, Tarn, your's &c. 
 
 HEALTH AND THE DOCTOR. 
 
 A Doctor ance that hadna wealth, 
 By chance ae day met in wi' health, 
 
64 
 
 And as they happen'd to meet in, 
 
 This way, the doctor did begin : 
 
 My worthy friend since we advance, 
 
 And on the road met in by chance, 
 
 Excuse me when I ask your name, 
 
 And where ye stay when ye're at hame ; 
 
 Ye seem as if ye took your brose, 
 
 Your cheeks are fresh as ony rose ; 
 
 Baith fat and stout ye now appear, 
 
 Wi' healthy face and colour clear. 
 
 Yes, yes, says Health, I'm strong and stout, 
 
 And mony a year I gaed about; 
 
 My name is Health, a hardy chiel, 
 
 And every body likes me week 
 
 I still am needed day and night, — 
 
 It's me that here keeps thousands right ; 
 
 The great and meanest that ye see, 
 
 Their chafts look thin that ha'ena me, 
 
 Lang lang ha'e I been prais'd by a', 
 
 Baith frae the greatest to the sma', 
 
 For every one likes to obtain me ; 
 
 But tell me doctor if ye ken me ; 
 
 Yes, says the doctor, If it's you, 
 
 I heard about ye lang ere noo, 
 
 Aud often wi' you I ha'e been; 
 
 Yet to my trade ye're nae a frien', 
 
 Weel may I ken ye on my cost. 
 
 I sometimes wish that ye were lost, 
 
 For when ye cheer through a' the town, 
 
 My pot it boils, but seldom brown ; 
 
 Although my shop is crammed quite full 
 
 O' drugs, prepar'd wi' noble skill, 
 
 Yet while that ye can keep possession, 
 
 There's little call for my profession. 
 
 Indeed says Health that may be true. 
 
 But I am greater far than you ; 
 
 Although your drugs may useful be, 
 
 They never bloom the face like me. 
 
65 
 
 It's me that cheers the man o' might ; 
 It's me that mak's the heart sae light ; 
 It's me that mak's the labourer smile, 
 When sair distressed wi' weary toil ; 
 I mak' the sons of Scotland strong, 
 Out o'er the hills to drive along ; 
 I mak' the ladies' beauty shine : 
 Now doctor, is your hand like mine. 
 'Deed, says the doctor, I confess, 
 That greater gifts ye now possess, 
 Yet ye must own it's true indeed 
 That for the doctor still there's need, 
 And for to cure them in their bed 
 I do my best, as that's my trade, 
 A' kinds o' trouble that begin — 
 Sair brocken brows or cutet shin ; 
 Whatever time they get a clour,. 
 It's me that must effect the cure. 
 I study physic for their use, 
 As good as doctors can produce ; 
 Though death sometimes may defy me, 
 I always wish them for to try me. 
 Indeed says Health ye're unco right 
 To work till life does tak' the flight ; 
 Your wit it may be good indeed, 
 And may ye aye come muckle speed ; 
 But if I fail and come na back, 
 Your drugs are hardly worth a plack. 
 Nae doubt ye may hae wealth o' skill, 
 Yet health, ye ken is needed still ; 
 Although a thousand times ye doubt me, 
 Your cures are nae complete without me, 
 Baith keen and briskly they contended, 
 Till their debate at last was ended; 
 But yet the doctor he confest, 
 That health unpaid for still is best, 
 
66 
 
 The Humours of Geddes Fair, in 1816, when- 
 it was kept in the Church- Yard ;-r-but re- 
 moved in 1826. 
 
 At Scotland's Fairs, are some kicks up a din, 
 When Highland whisky wi' Scotch pride meet in. 
 
 I took a walk to Geddes Fair, 
 
 Nae far frae Nairn town ; 
 And mony a ane was gathered there 
 
 Through a' the country roan . 
 
 The Fair was on a hillock head, 
 
 Where numbers lie interr'd : 
 It yearly stood above the dead, 
 
 In Geddes' auld Kivk-yard. 
 
 Five hundred things were there for sale, 
 
 Spread on the letter'd stanes ; 
 And tents wi' whisky, and wi' ale, 
 
 Rear'd on their neighbours' banes. 
 
 The merchants there they sold their goods ; 
 
 The coopers sold their cogs, — 
 A' kinds o' dealers cam' in crowds, 
 
 And wealth o' highland brogues. 
 
 Some cam' whose hearts were ance quite sair. 
 
 And buried there their mother; 
 Bu*t then they drank aboon her there, 
 
 When good friends met thegither. 
 
 Yet while they drank, and sold, and bought. 
 
 As they had come to do, 
 Some drouthy lads began and fought 
 
 As soon as they got fu.' 
 
 They habbl'd on aboon the dead ; 
 
 The day was unco surly ; 
 The whisky had got in their head 
 
 And rais'd a hurlv burly. 
 
67 
 
 Yet they that had an empty purse 
 
 They look'd like silly gouks, 
 While others haith did fight and curse. 
 
 Disturbing honest folks. 
 
 They to the graves paid no respect, 
 
 But squabbl'd on thegither ; 
 Some trampl'd o'er their father's neck ; 
 
 Some danc'd upon their mother. 
 
 Ae tent was there thrang out an' in, 
 
 VvT drinking belter skelter, 
 And Donald there had rais'd a din 
 
 About his auld horse helter. 
 
 Although that they had friendly met, 
 They fought and made a splattering; 
 
 The tent at last they overset, 
 
 When sticks o'er heads were battering. 
 
 Then a' their friends ran there in throngs, 
 That they might mak' a settling, 
 
 For highland rungs and women's tongues 
 Did mak' a waefu' rattling. 
 
 The Farce wad mak' you laugh that day, 
 Had you been there to see them. 
 
 When in the middle o' the fray 
 The tent it tumbled wT them. 
 
 Some cried that they had got their death, 
 While others there were squalling. 
 
 The rest crawl'd out beneath the cleth, 
 That under it were sprawling. 
 
 Yet they got up that had been down. 
 
 And on their feet got fairly, 
 But some had lumps upon their crown, 
 
 I wat they felt them sairly. 
 
 Wi' clinks they got, their heads they clav/d 
 O that they got their sairin' ! — 
 
6S 
 
 Then ev'ry lass, she gripp'd her lad, 
 That had gi en her her fairin', 
 
 For bonny lasses wet their cheeks, 
 To see their sweethearts striving, 
 
 And some had torn kilts, and breeks, 
 Wi 1 thumping and wi' driving. 
 
 Well might they mind upon the day, 
 And a' them that were wi' them ; 
 
 For some, they tumbled down the brae, 
 Before the folks could gree them. 
 
 But night came on, and soon got dark, 
 
 To part the dead and living, 
 Yet some they took another spark v 
 
 To quiet the lasses grieving. 
 
 The whisky soon made up the peace, 
 And a' their matters mended, 
 
 Then young, and auld, they left the place, 
 Sae Geddes Fair was ended. 
 
 This fair stands about two miles from the borough of Nairn, near 
 to the ancient Castle c£ Reat, where the clans of Scotland, in former 
 times, had many bloody scenes. 
 
 Lines icrote on a blank leaf of Gray's 
 Spelling-book. 
 
 This book, I see it has been pen'd, 
 
 By learned Mr Gray, 
 In hopes that scholars would attend.. 
 
 To spell well every day, 
 The wisest scholar learns best, 
 
 And marks well every letter, 
 He soon gets on before the rest* 
 
 And every day gets better. 
 
09 
 
 But thoughtless boys who never tried, 
 
 To read this book correct, 
 The teacher's tards must be applied, 
 
 To punish for neglect. 
 
 The Joys of Hope. 
 
 O ! cheering hope you ease our load, 
 Oft times on life's uncertain road, 
 Through every scene hope leads us on, 
 Till all shall pass, and life be gone. 
 
 While on this earth's terrestrial face, 
 
 We hastily move along, 
 It's hope that often gives us peace, 
 
 When all things else go wrong. 
 
 It's hope that here conducts us all, 
 And calms our thoughtful fear, 
 
 Through all our trials great and small, 
 Hope always we require. 
 
 Observe yon rowing galley slave, 
 He grieves his state to see, 
 
 His rattling chains he cannot leave, 
 Yet hopes he may get free. 
 
 Hope tells him he may get away, 
 Though now in bondage plac'd ; 
 
 He hopes to see some happy day, 
 That he shall be releas'd. 
 
 Next view the mariner tempest-toss'd, 
 He finds the storm prevail, 
 
 And pressing for his wish'd for coast, 
 Hope makes him stretch the sail. 
 
70 
 
 Though threaten d by the raging deeps. 
 Each dashing \Vave comes new* 
 
 Yet closely by the helm he keeps : 
 Hope says, he may come through* 
 
 Next we perceive the criminal lie 
 
 In prison — strongly bound ; 
 By law he is condemn d to die, 
 
 Yet still some hope is found. 
 
 Hope says, his king may be so kind 
 
 His freedom to restore ; 
 This hope a while keeps up his mind? 
 
 Till hope can live no more. 
 
 Next view yon sick man on his bed, 
 
 How weakly there he lies, 
 While hope remains it makes him glad^ 
 
 Hope says, he yet may rise. 
 
 Though near his end he hopes and says ; 
 
 That death may yet delay, 
 Hope makes him hope for healthful days, 
 
 Till hope at last gives way. 
 
 The farmer next we here perceive, 
 
 Hope makes him sow his land, 
 He hopes a fragrant crop to have, 
 
 That wealth may full his hand. 
 
 He hopes and toils and labours here, 
 
 The passing season through, 
 Still hoping for a plenteous year, 
 
 It's hope that holds the plough. 
 
 Next view the man immersed much 
 
 In speculation trade, 
 Hope whispers that he shall get rich, 
 
 And he by hope was led. 
 
 Hope makes him sell — hope makes him buy, 
 
 Awl trade by land and sea, 
 A thousand things hope makes him try, 
 
 That greater he may be. 
 
71 
 
 A charming maid, next takes our eye, 
 
 Her lad has gone to sea, 
 Hope makes her on his love rely, 
 
 Though distant far he be. 
 
 Hope makes her walk the whiten'd shore. 
 His absence makes her mourn, 
 
 But when she hopes and weeps no more, 
 Hope says he will return. 
 
 The faithful soldier next we view, 
 
 Plac'd in the battle field, 
 He fights in hope to conquer through. 
 
 And make the enemy yield, 
 
 Led on by honour, he is found 
 
 Where thousands lie about, 
 Yet hope still makes him keep his ground, 
 
 That safe he may get out. 
 
 The young man next attracts our view, 
 
 He acts the lover's part, 
 He woos a maid and loves her too, 
 
 Yet cannot gain her heart. 
 
 He hopes and often hopes in vain, 
 
 For her that he desires, 
 Yet hope still says, he shall obtain, 
 
 The maid that he admires. 
 
 Next we may see the traveller tir'd, 
 
 Its hope that leads him still, 
 Hope helps him to his home desir'd, 
 
 And makes hira climb the hill. 
 
 Ten thousand objects may appear, 
 
 His anxious mind to fright, 
 But hope makes him press on and cheer, 
 
 To reach his home at night. 
 
 All stations here on hope relies, 
 
 It's hope that leads us on, 
 And if our hope here fades and dies. 
 
 Ail joys on earth are gone. 
 
72 
 
 What would we be if hope gave way, 
 
 In hope our joys we find, 
 Through trials of each passing day, 
 
 It's hope that cheers the mind. 
 
 The good man also needs it too, 
 
 For hope makes him rejoice, 
 Sure future hope still leads him through, 
 
 And grace gains him the prize, 
 
 Hope holds him up though oft cast down, 
 Hope makes his faith hold fast, 
 
 He lives in hopes to gain a crown, 
 And dies in hope at last. 
 
 The Thoughtless Mail's Dream ; or a view 
 of the last Messenger. 
 
 The thoughtless man who long had been deceiv'd, 
 By things of time, for nothing else he crav'd, 
 Tli at way he liv'd and seldom thought on good, 
 Till he one day, went through a spreading wood. 
 The day was fine, the sun exceeding hot, 
 Which made him look out for a shelter'd spot, 
 Where he might have a pleasant cool retreat, 
 And rest himself a little from the heat. 
 All round him there the birds in numbers sung, 
 And with their notes, the lofty forest -rung, 
 He being tir'd, and list'ning to the sound, 
 Fell fast asleep, upon the foggy ground. 
 Insensibly he pass'd the summer day, 
 Fie dream'd, yet knew not on what place he lay, 
 But thought himself on an extensive field, 
 Which prospect seem'd great happiness to yield. 
 Imagination painted to his mind, 
 That he was running, and did look behind, 
 And saw a spectre hastening quickly on, 
 Destroying thousands; and regarding none. 
 
73 
 
 Struck then with tenor at this awful sight, 
 The man he thought ho hasten'd on his flight ; 
 But still flic spectre was advancing near, 
 Which made its looks more frightful to appear. 
 Grim was its aspect, frightful to behold, 
 And unrelenting levell'd young and old, 
 Cutting down millions of the human race, 
 Without regard unto the fairest face ; 
 To make escape, no way w T as to be found 
 From any part of that extensive ground. 
 The man there dreaming trembl'd every limb, 
 Seeing its steps advancing nearer him ; 
 Still as it came he thought he heard it cry, 
 Stop ! mortal man ! and think that you must die ; 
 Stop ! and consider whither are you bound, 
 The road you're on is but uncertain ground ; 
 Stop for a moment — think upon your state, — 
 Look for yourself before it be too late ; 
 Think where you are — think where you soon must be,- 
 Think if you are prepar'd to meet with me. 
 The man, affrighted, knew not what to do, 
 He thought the spirit closely did pursue, 
 And saw it vain for him to think to fly ; 
 Then in his^cjream he thus begins to cry : 
 Oh, frightful spirit ! terrify me not, 
 Your looks by me shall never be forgot ; 
 You make me tremble at your awful size, 
 Your pale, pale face, and ghastly hollow eyes, 
 And that long dart you now hold in your hand, 
 Before it here a mortal cannot stand. 
 Is this the time that I shall be laid low ; 
 I fear your dart prepares to strike your blow ; 
 I find that over me you must prevail, 
 I cannot run — my tott'ring limbs they fail. 
 O ! come no closer, let me now go free ; — 
 What is your name, — and what want you of me ? 
 The man he thought the spirit quickly said, 
 What I am sent for cannot be delay'd ; 
 All nations know me, peasant, prince, and king, 
 And thoughtless mortals always dread my sting : 
 D 
 
74 
 
 Death is my name, from house to house I run, 
 
 Through every country underneath the sun ; 
 
 My sudden stroke makes dearest friends to part, 
 
 I have no feeling for the grieving heart ; 
 
 The mourning parent my sharp stroke must bear, 
 
 Nor do I grieve to see the mothers tear ; 
 
 Ten thousand deaths no change on me have made. 
 
 And few I leave to reach the hoary head ; 
 
 For near six thousand years this field I kept, 
 
 And fading mortals from this stage I swept, 
 
 My dart is pointed by that mighty One, 
 
 Who rules all worlds, and here created man. 
 
 I am the final messenger of God, 
 
 Who keeps this field that is both long and broad. 
 
 There's none that has escap'd me yet but two, 
 
 But think not that shall be the case with you, 
 
 For none is able from my pow'r to fly, 
 
 All here is under my great master's eye; 
 
 The universe he rules as he thinks fit, 
 
 And ail who breathe to me they must submit, 
 
 For rich and poor are all alike to me, 
 
 I level all and none can set them free ; 
 
 The greatest monarch is no more secure, 
 
 Than he that humbly beggeth at his door. 
 
 The man still dream'd and thought he did reply, 
 
 O spectre ! must all mankind fade and die ? 
 
 Are you to make all flesh to disappear ? 
 
 What was the reason that you first came here ? 
 
 The man he thought the spirit then cried out ! 
 
 To do my duty I am sent about ; 
 
 Although my name makes all the world afraid. 
 
 Death is a debt that must by all be paid. 
 
 Sin brought me here, and here I shall remain. 
 
 While mortal forms are born to die again ,- 
 
 With rapid speed this world I'm marching through, 
 
 Yet still the grave destroys all I can do. 
 
 All nations here to me they are the same, 
 
 Who bear the image of the human frame, 
 
 This very dart which makes the weakest yield, 
 
 Cuts down the valiant champion in the field, 
 
75 
 
 With age nor rank no difference here I make, 
 
 To hiojh and low I pay the same respect, 
 
 For while the begger lays his budget down, 
 
 I make the monarch drop his spangl'd crown, 
 
 The fairest face that's clad in beauties bloom, 
 
 I turn to earth, for in the earth there's room ; 
 
 The door of long eternity I am, 
 
 I send the creature back from whence he came. 
 
 Who here may boast of vigour or of strength ? 
 
 See, in the church-yard graves~of every length. 
 
 I change the face and carry it away, 
 
 The wrinkl'd brow I with the suckling lay ; 
 
 None is so great that can escape from me, 
 
 None is so small that can exempted be : 
 
 None is beyond my reach that I can leave, 
 
 I lay the tyrant with the groaning slave. 
 
 Sometimes I come with terror or surprise ; 
 
 Sometimes I come unnoticYl in disguise, 
 
 And when I come I can make no delay, 
 
 But drive the spirit from the lifeless clay. 
 
 View mortal, now, the havoc I make round, 
 
 To swell the church-yard and the burying ground, 
 
 And all that lie beneath the rolling sea, 
 
 Have by my hand been levell'd there by me. 
 
 Man, thoughtless man, you creature of a day, 
 
 You soon grow up and soon must pass away, 
 
 Yet thou'rt a being great to comprehend, 
 
 You once began but never more shall end ; 
 
 Yet though 1 reign and shall your being kill, 
 
 You have a soul that far exceeds my skill, 
 
 Which shall endure when you on earth shall cease, 
 
 And in an endless world have its place, 
 
 In happy regions with the saint above, 
 
 Sounding His praise who sav'd them by his love, — 
 
 Or land in mis'ry not to be releas'd ; 
 
 In one of them that soul must there be plac'd. 
 
 What would they give who now past hope there lies, 
 
 To have the precious offer you despise. 
 
 I swept them off to meet their awful fate, 
 
 They now repent but it's by far too late. 
 
76 
 
 Look down to that deep awful gulph below, 
 
 Where sinners fell when I had struck my blow. 
 
 But those who wisely here prepares for me, 
 
 They shall ascend where endless joys shall be; 
 
 For look at yonder glorious heav'nly land, 
 
 Where thousand times ten thousand thousand stand ; 
 
 They all prepared before I cut them down, 
 
 And now they sing and wear their glorious crown ; 
 
 Hear how they triumph past the reach of fear ! 
 
 See grief despis'd no more to know a tear, 
 
 Yet I must live in this low world of sin, 
 
 And that bright world I dare not enter in c 
 
 I here must reign to be the wicked's foe, 
 
 And awful scenes I send them for to know ; 
 
 But all the just I rest them in the tomb, 
 
 And send their spirits to their father's home. 
 
 Yet soul and body here is loath to part ; 
 
 But part they must divided by my dart, 
 
 Like man and wife I make their union cease, 
 
 But that is only for a little space, 
 
 For hear the noise ! the morning hasteth on, 
 
 When flame shall burn and all this world is gone ; 
 
 Then soul and body, intimate before, 
 
 Uniting meet to part Bgain no more. 
 
 O ! awful morning to the wicked then, 
 
 When soul and body trembling meet again ; 
 
 Yet glorious spirits that were sav'd through grace, 
 
 Shall meet the body with a smiling face, 
 
 And when ten thousand rolling years have run, 
 
 Their joy together only is begun. 
 
 But wicked men eternal years must spend, 
 
 Where conscience gnaws and wailings never end. 
 
 When I cut down the mortal body here, 
 
 At judgment bar the spirit must appear, 
 
 To have its doom wherever it shall be. 
 
 Through endless boundless long eternity. 
 
 Vain mortal man, repent now while you may, 
 
 The vital spark may quickly flee away, 
 
 And when my grappling hand lays hold on you, 
 
 Then you will find you have enough to do, 
 
77 
 
 Behold your neighbours carried one by one, 
 
 Unto the grave appointed here for man ; 
 
 For all you know yourself may be the next, 
 
 And then for evermore your doom is fix'd. 
 
 Trust not to health, for it shall pass away, 
 
 Trust not to strength, for it must soon decay. 
 
 Trust not to life, for I this night may call, 
 
 And then the tree must lie as it shall fall. 
 
 Mind that your days are but a handbreadth made ; 
 
 And when you see me numb 'ring up the dead, — 
 
 While mercy's offer d, now for refuge fly, 
 
 All soon goes hence, and I myself must die. 
 
 Upon those words, the man wak'd with surprise, 
 
 And, trembling, lifted up his slumb'ring eyes ; 
 
 But was more happy than I here can name, 
 
 When he look'd round and saw it was a dream, 
 
 Then to himself he said — What can this be ? 
 
 This is a warning that is given me ; 
 
 To let me know how I have time misspent, 
 
 This vision surely unto me was sent : 
 
 From henceforth now I shall my ways refrain^ — 
 
 The way I liv'd, I shall not live again, 
 
 But still shall mind the warning of this day. 
 
 Then he arose andvwent upon his way. 
 
 But yet his dream his mind so much imprest, 
 
 His wicked life disturb'd him of his rest. 
 
 And we may see what grace it can bring round, 
 
 For he reform'd, and was most thoughtful found. 
 
 His views were changed — and as he grew in days, 
 
 He more delighted in his Maker's praise. 
 
 From scenes of vice — God's praise he did proclaim, 
 
 And was converted — by his warning dream. 
 
78 
 
 On seeing a Spider hanging by its own thread 
 on the Ceiling of a Room. 
 
 While Nature's works attract our view, 
 
 What wonders do we see ; 
 Each day we rise, there's something new. 
 
 That may most useful be. 
 
 If we look round us and observe, 
 
 Great many things we find, 
 That, as a lesson, well may serve 
 
 To check a thoughtless mind. 
 
 Behold this little Spider here — 
 
 Most wonderful indeed \ 
 Who from the ceiling top draws near* 
 
 Suspended on its thread. 
 
 And as it moves, amaz'd we stand, 
 
 While it attracts the eye ; 
 Yet was created by the Hand 
 
 Who formed you and I. 
 
 Feeble and weak, it here may seem, 
 
 Yet it may eas'ly prove, 
 It had its life and power from Him, 
 
 Who makes great nature move. 
 
 The lion roams the forest through, 
 
 And for his prey he cries : 
 This Spider needs subsistence too, 
 
 Though smaller in its size. 
 
 One powerful Hand makes them exist. 
 
 And feeds them every day, 
 Yet man, who crumbles back to dust, 
 
 Depends as much as they. 
 
 Millions of creatures moving here, 
 
 Upon this earth we view ; 
 And he who makes them all appear, 
 
 Leads on this Spider too. 
 
79 
 
 Both life and breath it did obtain ; 
 
 A finger makes it die ; 
 And yet to give it life again 
 
 Would all this world defy. 
 
 We find that He who formed all, 
 
 By nature leads it there ; 
 And that which saves it from a fall, 
 
 Is finer than a hair. 
 
 Yet though this Spider is but mean, 
 
 It is in nature's plan, 
 And in it plainly may be seen, 
 
 An emblem of man. 
 
 Though man, on earth, was fomi'd to be 
 
 Both governor and king, 
 As helpless in himself is he 
 
 As this poor crawling thing. 
 
 Of that great One, who rules all things, 
 
 Man daily stands in needs ; 
 And like this Spider, daily hangs 
 
 On life's small brittle thread. 
 
 This creature spins and nicely twines, 
 
 It works its web with care ; 
 But yet we see that it designs 
 
 To make of it a snare. 
 
 Conceal'd within, unseen without, 
 
 Like many in disguise ; 
 It lies in wait, and then runs out 
 
 To catch the silly flies. 
 
 Unnotic'd, it secures its prey, 
 
 Although- its hold be small ; 
 "Like many here who in their day, 
 
 Would wish their neighbour's fall. 
 
 This Spider works its web with care, 
 
 Though feeble and unsure, 
 And when within it lodges there, 
 
 It thinks itself secure. 
 
80 
 
 But something at tbe last eomes rounds 
 
 An air of flying* breath, 
 Breaks all the cords that it had bound, 
 
 And brings about its death. 
 
 Such is the way with men, who sure 
 
 On their own works depend ; 
 They hold life's thread, which seems secure, 
 
 And oft forget their end. 
 
 For like this Spider some hold fast, 
 
 Unthinking every day, 
 Till death approaches with his blast, 
 
 And cuts the thread away. 
 
 LINES ON KILRAVOCK CASTLE. 
 
 TJie Author \ when lodging one night at the house of Hugh 
 Rose, Esq. of Kilravock, left the following lines on the 
 table. 
 
 May wealth and virtue here increase, 
 
 To beautify this place, 
 And long may perfect happiness 
 
 Attend the Rose's race. 
 
 Their noble motto still has been 
 Both constant, just and true ; 
 
 And may it always here be seen, 
 To grace the name of Hugh. 
 
 The scented rose, year after year, 
 Blows sweetly on the thorn, — 
 
 So may the Roses growing here, 
 This spreading bush adorn. 
 
 And while this castle shall stand fast 
 
 Upon the solid rock, 
 May blooming roses to the last, 
 
 Be growing from the stock. 
 
81 
 
 May fortune here her gifts display, 
 To every bud that blows; 
 
 And make them useful in their day, 
 To ornament the Rose. 
 
 Kilravock Castle — April 3. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON CULLODEN MOOR, 
 
 Where the decisive Battle was fought, April 16, 
 
 1746. 
 
 On viewing the spot in June, 1828, the Author 
 wrote the following Lines. 
 
 Culloden seat I pass'd upon my way ; 
 
 Fair is the mansion, and the scenery gay, 
 
 Where lives the Forbes, still respective found, 
 
 And may he long live happy on his ground. 
 
 But now the scene is changed. — I climb'd the hill, 
 
 And reach'd the battle moor remember'd still. 
 
 This is the spot, where graves may plainly shew, 
 
 That Scotia's sons promiscuous lie below. 
 
 O f blood-stain'd moor, thy bounds I now look round, 
 
 Where slaught'ring armies once travers'd thy ground, 
 
 To view your heath this day I have come through, 
 
 But cannot pass without remarks on you. 
 
 This is the spot that history well can tell, 
 
 The bloody moor where many brave men fell, 
 
 Who vainly fought to gain their prince a crown ; 
 
 Yet hundreds thoughtless here they were cut down ; 
 
 Here armies met where foe met with their foe ; 
 
 Here death or vict'ry rais'd the slaught'ring blow. 
 
 War's swift destruction on this moor have been, 
 
 When ball and sword on both sides cut so keen. 
 
 The royal standard triumpb'd on this field ; 
 
 The kingsmen gain'd and made the princemen yield. 
 
 The rebel army lost their pow'r that day, 
 
 Swift was retreat and hundreds bleeding lay. 
 
82 
 
 But how unfeeling were the conquerors found, 
 
 When all was over they traversal this ground, 
 
 Thirsting for blood more honour to attain, 
 
 Their slaught'ring swords despatch'd the wounded men, 
 
 Here many left their widows to regret 
 
 The termination of their timeless fate, 
 
 Though hardy Scotchmen o'er our mountains ran, 
 
 Their blood here mix'd amongst their neighbour clan. 
 
 O ! heath clad moor, when shall you be forgot, 
 
 Where clans promiscuous lie around your spot ; 
 
 The active man, the hardy, and the brave, 
 
 Perhaps a hundred fill one rotting grave. 
 
 Upon this spot were tears of sorrow shed 
 
 For Albion's sons who soon to death were bled. 
 
 The grieving* maid her lover did deplore, 
 
 And mourning mothers met their sons no more, 
 
 O ! civil war no more our sons destroy, 
 
 But let our nation live in peace and joy ; 
 
 For many hasted to that battle hour. 
 
 Whose bones now moulder in Culloden Moor. 
 
 NOTES AND REMARKS. 
 
 Having made observations on the spot where the battle teas 
 fought, I beg leave here to give the reader a short sketch of 
 the occasion of that memorable event 
 
 We observe^ that Prince Charles of the royal Stuarts, coming over 
 from France in 1745, wishing to regain the crown, was the cause of 
 the battles of Prestonpans, Falkirk, and Culloden ; for we find that 
 when the Prince landed on the Western Isles of Scotland, he soon 
 got a great many of the Highland chieftains to join him, being all 
 heads of different clans, they quickly raised an army to fight in the 
 cause of Prince Charles ; yet we observe, that his friends were not 
 all true, for though many of these Highland chieftains stood close 
 by the Prince at Culloden Moor, yet others of their pretended friends 
 kept back when most needed and came not near the engagement ; 
 for although the Royal Army under the Duke of Cumberland passed 
 on from Aberdeen all the way north to Culloden Moor, they met 
 with no opposition, though there was an army of 2000 men near 
 Speymouth under the command of many other Scottish chiefs who 
 seemed to stand in the cause of the Prince, yet on hearing of the 
 rapid march of the king's army they quickly retreated to Elgin, and 
 
s. r 
 
 kept back from the battle, as some suppose by the treachery of Lord 
 George Murray, Secretary, while the Duke of Cumberland's army 
 marched on till they reached the town of Nairn, where they halted 
 for one day, and then kept on their way till they met with the High- 
 land clans on Culloden Moor where the bloody engagement took 
 place. 
 
 In taking down our remarks, we find from information that there 
 was no house on the moor at that time except one small hut where 
 an old man had lived for many years, and when he looked out and 
 discovered such an immense number of men quickly preparing for 
 battle round his little dwelling, he was so much alarmed that he 
 knew not what to do, and being so very old he could not run any 
 distance to save himself. He immediately then went to his prayers, 
 but when the firing began, in a few minutes a cannon-shot drove in a 
 piece of the roof of his ancient cottage, which quickly made him to 
 leave it and take his chance, fearing that the next shot would knock 
 in the walls which soon came to paps. He saved his life ; but in a 
 very little time many were launched into eternity — and their dead 
 bodies scattered round the old man's hut upon the moor. 
 
 For death soon mark'd the day too well, 
 
 And stain'd the field with gore ; 
 Where many sons of Scotia fell, 
 
 Who drew the claymore. 
 
 We find that the Battle commenced about the middle of the day, 
 where there was soon dreadful slaughter ; yet few of the king's 
 troops fell, compared to the destruction of trie undisciplined High- 
 Jand Clans ; for whole columns were falling at once by grape-shot 
 from the cannon of the royal army ; while the dragoons met them on 
 both flanks cutting down and trampling them with their horses.-— 
 The Prince's army completely lost the day ; yet it is said that some 
 of them marched ofr the moor and escaped with their chattered co- 
 lours. The Prince was obliged to fly for his life, and a sum of 
 thirty thousand pounds was offered for his head. Many prisoners 
 were taken, while the surviving clans of the rebel army were all 
 scattered to distant mountains ; and many that day were killed on 
 the retreat — for we learn from Scottish history, that from Culloden 
 moor all along the way to the town of Inverness, the bodies of the 
 dead lay in great numbers ; — and many who came to see the result 
 of the Battle, and had on the highland dress, met immediate death 
 by the enraged soldiers of the Duke's army. That memorable event 
 will long be remembered — for many persons of note were taken pri- 
 soners : the Lords Lovat, Balmerino, and Kilmarnock, were be- 
 headed ; but the Earl of Cromarty, and many others, were pardoned. 
 May happy Scotland never more meet with the scourge of civil war. 
 but bear in mind the bloody Moor of Culloden. 
 D6 
 
8* 
 
 In traversing the spot, the various trenches where the dead lie are 
 all yet plainly to be seen, particularly one very large where there 
 had been upwards of one hundred men promiscuously thrown in, 
 supposed to-be of Barral's regiment ; also, near that spot, there are 
 about 13 graves of wounded men, who were taken and shot on the 
 moor the day after the battle was over — their different graves are all 
 yet to be seen as beautiful and green as any of the different trenches 
 there, where the numerous dead lie, many surrounded with brown 
 heather. A little to the westward of the moor there is now a Tower 
 erected on an eminence by Mr Mackintosh of Raigmore, from which 
 there is a grand view both of the sea and surrounding country, — 
 where fine country seats & beautiful scenery now present themselves 
 to amuse the traveller, all along the road from the town of Inverness 
 to the memorable Eield of Culloden* 
 
 ON THE GREAT BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN, 
 
 Fought under the command of Edward II, King of 
 England ; and Robert de Bruce, King of Scotland? 
 June 25th, 1314, 
 
 When Scotland's records we look through, 
 Deep mark'd with lines of ancient fame, 
 King Robert Bruce, like Wallace true, 
 His martial deeds adorn his name. 
 
 As soon as Bruce was crown' d a king, 
 Which Edward grievously had view'd ; 
 His end he quickly thought to bring, 
 And soon have Scotland all subdued. 
 
 For Edward rais'd a mighty force, 
 And with a hundred thousand came ; 
 Besides, he had ten thousand horse, — 
 To conquer Scotland, was his aim. 
 
 Then war soon like a gathering storm, 
 Began in haste to overcast, 
 While Edward's troops, with threatening form, 
 Came resolutely to meet the blast. 
 
85 
 
 For Bruce, within a little space, 
 Rais'd thirty thousand Scotchmen brave*. 
 Determin'd Edward's troops to face, 
 Their country, and their rights to save. 
 
 A promise firmly there they made, 
 To conquer, or no more return ; 
 While noble Bruce stood at their head, 
 Upon the Banks of Bannockburn. 
 
 Yet Edward view'd them with contempt, 
 Compar'd to his great multitude ; 
 Resolv'd to lay them on the plain, 
 And sweep the Scotchmen like a flood. 
 
 To conquer all, great Edward thought, 
 And rule the Scotch by his commands ; 
 While num'rous friends with him he brought, 
 To give to them the Scottish lands. 
 
 Highly he rais'd his hurnish'd spear, 
 And quickly to his legion said : 
 Those bloody Scotch in no ways fear, 
 Where England's Banners are display 'd. 
 
 See how the Bruce his columns lead, 
 But all his efforts I despise ; 
 This day we hope to have his head, 
 Which will make England all rejoice. 
 
 Since I your king fight by your side, 
 W r e shortly here shall have renown ; 
 Come let us quell the Scottish pride, 
 And quickly try to cut them down. 
 
 But vain the thought. — For all his boasts 
 Old Scotia's sons stood firm and true ; 
 For soon he found upon his cost, 
 That they were brave although but few. 
 
 Yet Edward show'd his bold designs, 
 And view'd his shining army well ; 
 In haste he form'd the English lines, 
 W T hile threat'ning vengeance rais'd the gale. 
 
86 
 
 Then loudly blew the trumpet's blast, 
 Prepare for war now every man ; 
 While close the armies met at last, 
 And slaughter quickly there began. 
 
 The noble Bruce soon form'd his band, 
 He flew amongst them as a bird ; 
 And loudly cried, — While I command, 
 Let death, or victory — be the word. 
 
 Our aucestors here long were free, 
 Let Scotland's rights still be seeur'd ; 
 Come now, let death or freedom be 
 With blood markd on the glittering sword. 
 
 Press on biave Scotch, your skill display . 
 Upon your valour I rely, 
 Fight for your native land this rfayy 
 And conqa'rors be, or honour'd die, 
 
 But Edward's troops rush'd with the lance, 
 And seem'd to bear upon them sore, 
 Yet Scotchmen fearless did advance, 
 Till Bannock's banks were clad with gore. 
 
 Sword clash' d on sword with awful sound, 
 While Scotch and English bleeding lay. 
 Yet Bruce's warriors kept their ground, 
 And through the battle clear'd their way. 
 
 Bright was the sun, the day was fair, 
 L'pon that twenty-fifth of June ; 
 But groans soon echo'd through the air, 
 From those who wounded lay cut down. 
 
 For Randolph's columns forced the spear 
 Against great Clifford's troop of horse : 
 And desperate fought, quite void of fear, 
 While still the conflict there got worse. 
 
 Quick death with horror there raged sore, 
 Yet Englishmen kept by their king ; 
 Tdl thousands fell to rise no more, 
 And slaughter d horses swcll'd the ring. 
 
87 
 
 For Scottish warriors made them know. 
 They fought for Scotland's rights and crow? 
 While with the hattle-axe each blow 
 Made man and horse to tumble down. 
 
 Heaps coverM heaps upon the field, 
 Sharp Scottish spears made- thousands die ; 
 Till England's troops were forced to yield, 
 And with their king obliged to fly. 
 
 Four thousand brave men Scotland lost; 
 But yet her sons triumphant gain d : 
 As Bruce defied the English host. 
 And Scotland's rights he still maintairuL 
 
 King Edward on his harness'd steed, 
 In haste then made for English ground, 
 While all his troops dispers'd with speed. 
 And on our shore were scatter'd round. 
 
 They found the slaughter had been great. 
 And made for home without delay ; 
 To Forth, they had a quick retreat, 
 While hundreds fell upon the way. 
 
 King Robert's troops as fast pursued, 
 From Bannock's streams for many a mile : 
 Which, when the Englishmen had view'd, 
 They left behind them all their spoil. 
 
 And fifty thousand on the field, 
 They left to welter in their gore ; 
 But hardy Scotch with sword and shield, 
 Thev wish'd to meet ag;am no more. 
 
 Robert de Bruce, who gained this Battle, was one of the greatest 
 Princes that ever swayed the Scottish sceptre — whether considered 
 as a warrior*, a monarch, or a man. He died in the year 1329, in 
 the okh year of his age, and 24th of his glorious reign. 
 
8S 
 THE POET'S MUSE. 
 
 All scenes attract the Poet's eye, 
 And different events rising new; 
 
 He views them as they're passing by, 
 And with his pen he marks them too* 
 
 In active life, or distant field, 
 
 The Poet something still can find ; 
 
 While Scotland's scenes, new subjects yields 
 And nature dictates to the mind. 
 
 But here the Muse is rarely found, 
 Although the page she must adorn ; 
 
 Yet force can never bring her round — 
 A Poet is a Poet born. 
 
 Higrh rank, nor learning, cannot make 
 The Muse inspire the minds of men. 
 
 A teacher may the hand direct, — 
 But nature leads the Poet's pen. 
 
 Her gifts are given, but never bought, 
 And by the pen they may be shown ; 
 
 As Poetry describes the thought, 
 
 Which makes our views to others known. 
 
 Observations on the Life of Napoleon 
 Buonaparte. 
 
 We find that the famous and learned Sir Walter Scott has wrote 
 different excellent volumes on the Life of the great Napoleon 
 Buonaparte, with the greatest correctness and taste, which gives 
 Sir Walter much honour. Yet we beg leave to throw in here a 
 few amusing Poems concerning Buonaparte, being a sketch of the 
 times during the late war with France : with remarks on the ra- 
 pid rise and fall of Napoleon — shewing his great power in Europe 
 while he was permitted to reign Emperor, and sway the French 
 sceptre. 
 
89 
 
 As some may yet enquire who was Buonaparte, we give 
 the following statement. 
 
 Napoleon Buonaparte was born in Corsica, in the year - 1769. 
 
 Entered as Lieutenant in the Army - - 1785. 
 
 Made General - - - - 1793. 
 
 Made First Consul at the French Revolution - 1799. 
 
 Was victorious at the Battle of Maringo - - 1800. 
 
 Declared Chief Consul in France for life. - - 1802. 
 
 Crowned Emperor of France by the Pope ... - 1804?. 
 
 Proclaimed King of Italy - 1805. 
 
 The Empire of the French, under Buonaparte, extended over 
 France, Italy, Germany, Prussia, Poland, Holland, & Spain 1808. 
 
 Great Britain, still engaged in the war — but at last the wheels 
 of fortune turned — Buonaparte was defeated, his army near- 
 ly destroyed at Russia, and Moscow burned - 1812. 
 
 Buonaparte loses the Battle of Vittoria, and was driven back 
 to France by the Allied Armies -. - - 1813. 
 
 Was completely defeated at the Battle of Leipsick, with the 
 
 loss of 100,000 men ... - 1813* 
 
 Buonaparte abdicated the Throne of France — the Bourbons 
 restored — Peace concluded — and Buonaparte sent to the 
 Island of Elba, - - - - 1814, 
 
 WJien the following Poem was published, entitled, 
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF BUONAPARTE; 
 Or Bonney lost it Fairly. 
 
 Come let us a', both great and sma, 
 
 Rejoice both late and early, 
 Since Paris now has chang'd anew, 
 
 And Bonney lost it fairly. 
 His lofty crown has now come down, 
 
 Which cheers baith ane and a', 
 To see great Bonne y's pride at last. 
 
 Get such a sudden fa*. 
 
90 
 
 Lord Wellington long kept him down> 
 
 And boldly did advance ; 
 He drove his armies out of Spain , 
 
 And then invaded France. 
 Then next the allied armies came, 
 
 Brave Blucher led them on. 
 Each General nobly play'd his part 
 
 To sweep him from the throne. 
 How could he stand that mighty band. 
 
 The northern natives force, 
 When Cossack rage he did engage, 
 
 He still got worse and worse. 
 How little did he think of this, 
 
 When marching to Moscow, 
 That he so soon would lose the crown, 
 
 And be reduc'd so low. 
 When fortune rais'd him great and high, 
 
 He thought to conquer a. 
 An Emp'ror great he was indeed, 
 
 But soon they made him sma'. 
 Though step by step he did ascend 
 
 The ancient throne of France, 
 He took a nearer cut at last, 
 
 For down he came at once. 
 Long did he stain the plains with blood, 
 
 While many now must mourn 
 For those that once were dear to them, 
 
 Who never will return* 
 Oppressed kingdoms suffer'd long, 
 
 Till more they could not bear ; 
 In rage they brought him down, and now 
 
 Another fills his chair. 
 
91 
 
 Now Europe shall sheath up her sword, 
 
 Since happy peace will smile, 
 And many soon shall meet with joy, 
 
 To rest from warlike toil. 
 While Bonney who wish'd a' the globe, 
 
 And all great monarch's crowns, 
 In Elba Island now must be 
 
 Content in smaller bounds. 
 Unsatisfied with what he had, 
 
 He always wish'd for more ; 
 Ambition led his mighty mind, 
 
 Till he ran o'er the score. 
 New kings he made, old kings he chang'd, 
 
 And wheel J them round about, 
 But now they're all wheel'd in again, 
 
 And he himself wheel'd out. 
 What great commotions did he make, 
 
 In hopes his race to raise ; 
 Yet after a ? his long laid plans 
 
 They vanish'd in a blaze. 
 His head was long, his feet were short, 
 
 Yet gallop'd unco fast; 
 He reign 'd with skill, yet we can find 
 
 He conquer'd was at last. 
 Contented he could never be 
 
 Though wearing Louis' crown, 
 Like Caesar he assum'd, till once 
 
 Ambition brought him down. 
 Near fourteen years he took to rise. 
 
 And thought he coud na fa', 
 But yet at last when a' was past, 
 
 He tumbl'd down in twa. 
 
9® 
 
 Buonaparte not being satisfied in the Island of Elba, made his 
 escape — mailed for France, — and landed at Frejus, which was the sub. 
 ject of the following Piece : 
 
 BUONAPARTES ESCAPE FROM ELBA. 
 
 Or his New Cracks in his Auld Chair. 
 
 When Bonney to France bad got back, 
 
 When tbey thought he was- fairly avva, 
 In baste he began for to crack, 
 
 And he shook his pike staff at them a'* 
 They thought that he fairly was gripped 
 
 Nae mair to be fash'd wi' his din, 
 Yet back to the ©hair he got slippet, 
 
 And play'd them the trick and came in. 
 
 His auld tricks he thought then to try them, 
 
 And seem'd to be terrible bauld, 
 He thought wi' his wiles to defy them,. 
 
 Because he had broken the fauld. 
 His matters he said he would right them,_ 
 
 And a' their great plans row about ; 
 He drew out his gullies to fight them, 
 
 For fear that they might run him out., 
 
 Wi' brags and wi' boasts lie was cracking, 
 
 And pelting awa wi' his stick, 
 A mighty great dust he was making,- 
 
 But shortly they play'd him a trick. 
 For though he got back for a wonder, 
 
 In hopes to take back his auld gear, 
 They soon came upon him like thunder, 
 
 To drive him again frae his chair. 
 
 When first- he came back, what a hurry, 
 
 And nothing but joy and mirth, 
 His new friends they long'd for a worrey, 
 
 His auld friends they cried for a birth.. 
 
93 
 
 Says he, now I ventur'd to see you 
 In hopes ye will fight in my cause, 
 
 And frae Louis' grips I will free you, 
 And keep you secure in my claws. 
 
 Out hy to their Elba they sent me, 
 
 But there I had o'er little bounds, 
 That station could never content me, 
 
 Like hashing and cracking o' crowns. 
 Now a' my true generals wha join'd me, 
 
 And left Louis' service for a', 
 Yell now do your best for to mind me, 
 
 For fear of another new fa'. 
 
 Yet baith auld and young they wad wish me, 
 
 To take a while yet o' the crown ; 
 Besides that's a thing that would push me, 
 
 To leave a good birth for my loon. 
 That made me to come o'er the water, 
 
 To raise up another new spree ; 
 Gae now get your guns in a clatter, 
 
 Your Emperor I still wish to be. 
 
 But O now it angers me sairly, 
 
 That they winna gi'e me my will, 
 I think I could conquer them fairly, 
 
 If it wer'na for auld Johnny Bull. 
 His siller and men did oppress me, 
 
 The time I was sorting at kings, 
 And still he seems yet to distress me, 
 
 And draws out his purse by the strings, 
 
 Wi' peace I thought surely to blink him, 
 
 Till I could be better prepar'd, 
 And then I intended to clink him, 
 
 When John wouldna be on his guard. 
 But a' my deep fetches have fail'd me, 
 
 That I for a lang time had made, 
 And Blucher and Wellington fright me, 
 
 And make me to scratch at mv head. 
 
 fc 
 
94 
 
 I dread that John Bull he will fash rae ; 
 
 And Saunders he winna he slack, 
 The Cossacks that sadly did thrash me. 
 
 I fear that they'll he at their back. 
 I ken they a' threaten to skelp me, 
 
 As sure as my name it is Nap, 
 But try what ye can for to help me, 
 
 For now they'll be a' in my tap ; 
 
 Which in a little time came to pass, for Buonaparte soon after his 
 arrival in France from the Island of Elba, by advice of his old Ge- 
 nerals, immediately raised a new army, hoping for success, but was 
 completely defeated at Waterloo, 
 
 A SONG 
 
 ON THE MEMORABLE BATTLE of WATERLOO, 
 Fought the 18th of June, 1815, 
 
 (Tune, Caledonia.) 
 
 You subjects of Britannia's isle, 
 
 Stand by me while I tell 
 About a dreadful battle, 
 
 Where many thousands fell. 
 When cheerful peace seem'd for to smile, 
 
 The wars began anew, 
 And thousands unexpected fell, 
 
 On the plains of Waterloo. 
 
 No sooner had great Buonaparte. 
 
 To France return'd again, 
 Thau quickly he assembld up, 
 
 Three hundred thousand men, 
 Great many to his standard ran, 
 
 All places he came through. 
 Til) he met in with British boys, 
 
 On the plains of Waterloo. 
 
95 
 
 Upon the eighteenth (lay of June, 
 
 The battle it began, 
 And soon upon the blood-stain'd field, 
 
 Lay many a gallant man. 
 The Prussians join'd the British troops, 
 
 Who fought both keen and true, 
 And made the French repent the day, 
 
 They came to Waterloo. 
 
 Lord Wellington the army led, 
 
 That memorable day, 
 And Blucher with his faithful band, 
 
 They nobly clear'd their way. 
 While Highland lads brought down the ranks, 
 
 Of men and horses too, 
 Who fell and never did return, 
 
 Again from Waterloo. 
 
 Our hardy trusty British boys, 
 
 They keenly did advance, 
 And every regiment nobly fought, 
 
 To conquer haughty France. 
 The British bayonets dy'd with blood, 
 
 Their way they did cut through ; 
 The scene was awful to be seen 
 
 That day at Waterloo. 
 
 The cannons roar'd tremendously, 
 
 Death raged on ev'ry side, 
 The field was fill'd with lire and smoke, 
 
 That was both long and wide. 
 The men in heaps lay on the plain, 
 
 Both kill'd and wounded too, 
 For many lost their dearest friends 
 
 That day at Waterloo. 
 
 To hear the groans of dying men, 
 
 Would pierce a heart of stone, 
 Yet till the British gain'd the day, 
 
 The battle still rag d on. 
 
36 
 
 Six eagles there they took, besides 
 
 A hundred cannons too, 4 
 And made their Chief to take his heels 
 
 And run from Waterloo. 
 
 Great many of our countrymen, 
 
 Fell in the bloody fray, 
 But Blucher and brave Wellington, 
 
 At last they gain d the day. 
 The mighty Emperor they subdu'd, 
 
 For all that he could do^ 
 And made the pride of France to fall, 
 
 That day at Waterloo. 
 
 The praise of brave Lord Wellington, 
 
 With pleasure let us sing, 
 Who gain'd great honour to himself, 
 
 His country and his King, 
 And noble Blucher, who kept close 
 
 To Britain's sons so true, 
 Who made the bloody war to cease 
 
 That day at Waterloo. 
 
 Sometime after the Battle of Waterloo, Buonaparte addressed a letter 
 to the Prince Regent. He arrived at Torbay, in the Bellerophon,^ 
 Capt. Maitland ; but on Aug. following, he at last was obliged to em- 
 bark prisoner in the Northumberland, for the Island of St. Helena, 
 15th August 1815 ; when the following diverting lines were wrote. 
 
 Napoleons last Farewell to France. 
 
 [In auld Scotch style.] 
 
 Farewell, my wife — farewell, my loon ; 
 Farewell, my kingdom, and my crown, 
 This warld's wheels, ran queerly roun', 
 
 This mony a day, 
 But now they're whirl'd upside down, 
 
 Sae I nifty say. 
 
97 
 
 The things o' state are unco queer, 
 What ups and downs hae I had here, 
 To gae awa I'm unco sweer, 
 
 But I'm compell'd : 
 And hetter for me for to gae, 
 
 Than to he fell'd. 
 
 Shame fa' the job — the times are fickle, 
 And makes my very skin to prickle ; 
 I wish my gear were in a rickle, 
 
 If I were out : 
 For now I'm in a waefu' pickle, 
 
 Without a doubt. 
 
 I ance in Elba sat fu' tight, 
 
 And a' thing there about me right ; 
 
 But Och at last I took the flight, 
 
 And off I got : 
 Now St. Helena makes me fright 
 
 To see the spot. 
 
 But when I am sent o'er the sea, 
 There's mony a ane will gae ajee, 
 Though we could never rightly gree, 
 
 I'll lay my head, 
 That thousands then will grieve for me, 
 
 And lose their bread. 
 
 Wha would thought this some years ago, 
 When I was conqu'ring high and low, 
 Till frae the throne I gat a throw, 
 
 That I felt sare ; 
 For wi' the fa' and dreadfu' blow, 
 
 I fought nae mair. 
 
 At Leipsick ance, when I stood sure, 
 I might had peace without a clour ; 
 But I was losing every hour 
 
 In bad condition ; 
 And now my case it winna cure, 
 
 Through my ambition. 
 E 
 
98 
 
 At Waterloo, I had a pull, 
 And I lost it against my will ; 
 Then I ran o'er to Johnny Bull, 
 
 To keep me snug ; 
 But shame tak' John, he kept me still 
 
 Fast by the lug. 
 
 Sair was the thrashings he has gi'en me^ 
 And muckle ill has e'er he done me ; 
 Yet still I thought he would befrien' me. 
 
 For a' that's past ; 
 But had I kent, he wouldna seen me 
 
 To keep me fast. 
 
 For now I fear, I lost my chance, 
 Since I must gae to sic a stance ; — 
 Nae mair in war can I advance, 
 
 I leave you a' ; 
 Farewell ! my good auld friends in France- 
 
 For Fm awa, 
 
 Observations on the Progress of Napoleon 
 Buonaparte. 
 
 Here Buonaparte with wonder strikes our view, 
 A man renown'd like him there were but few ; 
 Though no relation, yet he did advance, 
 To be an Emp'ror on the Throne of France. 
 Through revolutions awful for to telL 
 To eminence he rose where thousands fell. 
 Heroic actions soon gain'd him renown, 
 While Europe wonder'd he obtain'd a crown. 
 Through Christendom his name extended far, 
 While nations round he plung'd them into \y?a\ 
 
99 
 
 His policy brought many events round, 
 
 And powerful armies made him keep his ground. 
 
 He gaind repute through bloody scenes, we find ; 
 
 Pressing for greatness with ambitious mind : 
 
 Severe in war to raise his station high, 
 
 Which Jaffa once might early testify. 
 
 He like a champion prosper'd for a time. 
 
 And shedding blood he never thought a crime : 
 
 He rais'd up thrones, and crowns he laid them low, 
 
 And powerful princes fear'd his threat'ning blow. 
 
 Through Europe he great changes brought about, 
 
 Which made him dreaded, and gain'd him repute. 
 
 With hasty steps he to the throne arose, 
 
 Grasping for pow'r, which time brought to a close. 
 
 He stood by France, and France obey'd his law, 
 
 And long he kept the Continent in awe : 
 
 Yet, after all the scenes that he came through, 
 
 Was conquer'd by the Prince of Waterloo. 
 
 His life and actions here attract our pen — 
 
 He quickly rose, he fell, and rose again. 
 
 He sway'd the sceptre with a threat'ning boast, 
 
 Yet he at last the crown and kingdom lost. 
 
 ON PEACE. 
 
 Ratification of the Treaties of Peace between the Allied 
 Sovereigns and France, in 1815; and Louis restored 
 to the Throne. 
 
 Once more now is Europe reliev'd of her labours, 
 
 Though long she was stain'd with the blood of the slain ; 
 
 What news can we hear more delightful to cheer us, 
 
 Than peace to the nations restored again. 
 
 The Emp'ror who kept many kingdoms in motion, 
 
 Is conquer'd at last, and his power is gone ; 
 
 The scene now has chang'd — he has left his promotion, 
 
 And Louis again is restored to the Throne. 
 
100 
 
 How great is the change, and to all interesting. 
 When Europe's great monarchs unite now as one ; 
 That peace may be settled, both firm and lasting, 
 For good to all nations, ami comfort to man. 
 Now harmony reigns, and brings great alteration, 
 And no more to France mighty armies they move ; 
 The horrors of war are dispell'd from each nation, 
 And all the great contest is ended in love. 
 
 Now princes and kings are receiving each other ; 
 The lion embraces the eagle and bear ; 
 Long may they continue like brother and brother, 
 And peace with its comfoits in unity share. 
 What dreadful destruction in country and city, 
 Did that war with France by its havoc bring on ; 
 The heart-grieving father we oft saw with pity, 
 Lamenting the loss of a valuable sen. 
 
 And oft have we seen the fond mother regretting, 
 
 A darling young boy who in trouble she bore ; 
 
 While the grieving young widow was anxiously waiting, 
 
 To meet with her husband, who return'd no mere. 
 
 While thousands in dreadful confinement were lying, 
 
 And pass'd many years in great sorrow and grief, 
 
 War long kept them fast, while their friends oft were crying, 
 
 Till peace, cheerful message, at last brought relief. 
 
 But our British heroes, we must not neglect them — 
 
 By sea and by land they deserve great applause ; 
 
 And Northern powers, let Britain respect them, 
 
 Who nobly assisted to finish the cause. 
 
 Our brave Highland boys, whom nothing annoys, 
 
 In ev'ry great battle most faithfully stood ; 
 
 To fight for their country it heighten'd their joys, 
 
 Kegardless of spilling the good Highland blood. 
 
 But war now has ceas'd, and the nations will flourish, 
 And Peace' olive branch with its blossoms shall spring ; 
 While commerce and trade, with blessings will nourish, 
 The places where war did calamities bring. 
 
 
101 
 
 But may we no more have our eyes dimmed with mourning, 
 For hostile engagements which ended in death. 
 O happy the change ! for to see peace returning, 
 The blood-thirsty sword back again to its 9heath. 
 
 Observations on the Joys of Peace. 
 
 The blessings of Peace we should prize them indeed, 
 For Peace still is best if we rightly take heed ; 
 Though some take delight in the havoc of war, 
 The comforts of Peace are stiH better by far 
 Yet if war comes about, let us conquer the blast, 
 And still to our king and our country keep fast; 
 For if Britain's bold sons had not always kept true, 
 Our snug little Island would be ceas'd long ere now. 
 But in Peace let us glory, with our lot still content, 
 As unity still is true friendship's cement ; 
 For Peace all around us brings plenty about, 
 And we still stand the firmer, the less we dispute. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 THE SCOTCH PIPER FROM WATERLOO, 
 
 Who sat and played Tullochgorum after loosing a Leg 
 by a Cannon shot 
 
 [Tune—" The Laird o' Cockpen."] 
 
 I am a Scotch Piper, ye well may suppose, 
 Wi* ray plaid, my blue bonnet, my kilt and my hose ; 
 The wars now are o'er, which a lang time I saw, 
 And I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
102 
 
 On Scotland's high hills, I was horn and hrecl, 
 And raising* the wind has aye heen my trade ; 
 Among the brown heather the black cocks may craw, 
 I learn'd my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 Yet I listed wi' Donald, and gaed afr in haste, 
 And mony rough battles since that time I fac'd, 
 Yet in every babble since I gaed awa, 
 I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 But at great Waterloo, when I fought for my King, 
 I there lost a leg when I fell in the bing, 
 Yet among them I sat, though I chanc'd for to fa', 
 And I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 Poor Donald fell near me yet still I play'd on, 
 Till fifty fell o'er me r.nd near brak my drone, 
 Yet oui lads iVae the heather they fear'd nane ava, 
 While I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a\ 
 
 Some Scotch blood I lost — but our loons frae the braes, 
 Made some that met wi' them to sleep in their claes ; 
 Sic rumbling and tumbling ye never yet saw, 
 Yet I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 The blood ran like water and muckle was spilt, 
 
 But the French took their heels frae the charge wi' the kilt ; 
 
 While our lads did push on for to conquer or fa' 
 
 I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 Thev a' fought wi' speed and the battle they won, 
 While bayonets were clashing, the Frenchmen did run ; 
 We there gain'd the day which wi' joy I saw, 
 And I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a*. 
 
 Commanded that day by our true noble Duke, 
 We chatter'd their bones and their cannons we took, 
 They wish'd na to meet wi' our bold forty twa, 
 Yet I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
103 
 
 When the habble was o'er since I got sic a thump, 
 I tramped about wi' a new wooden stump, 
 Contented wi' ane since I didna get twa ; 
 I bang'd up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 But now I cam hame and to Scotland got back, 
 And wi' my auld friends round the ingle I crack, 
 For since I met wi' them thegither we draw, 
 And I bang up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 Wi' auld uncle Tammie that aye lik'd a gill, 
 I oftentimes sit o'er his big sneeshan mill ; 
 The wars are our news since I first gaed awa, 
 To bang up my chanter for cheering them a*. 
 
 Now our bonny Scotch lasses how happy are they, 
 To lilt up a daiice, when my bagpipes I play ; 
 Baith keenly and supple their legs they can draw, 
 When I bang up my chanter for cheering them a\ 
 
 But the din o' the wars winna trouble me mair, 
 My big drones I blow for I shanna mair care. 
 Though the warld may fash baith the great and the sma 
 I bang up my chanter for cheering them a'. 
 
 Here care may distress baith the laird and the knight, 
 But there's naething plagues me when my drones are a' right, 
 I make them roar out when I gie them a thraw, 
 And I bang up my chanter for cheering you a'. 
 
 There are some wish for this and some wish for that, 
 But I patiently want what I cannot get at, 
 Content wi' my pension, which yearly I draw, 
 I bang up my chanter for cheering them a\ 
 
 But now since there's peace I'll sit down to my kail, 
 And lilt a Scotch tune o'er a bicker o' ale ; 
 To my king, I shall drink, while my drones they can blaw, 
 And lang may my chanter be cheering you a. 
 
104 
 
 Scotland addressing her Sons, on their return 
 from the decisive Battle of Waterloo, in 1815. 
 
 Ye sons of Scotia, welcome here again, 
 
 From scenes of war, where thousands have been slain ; 
 
 Where mingled nations met upon the field, 
 
 To make the legions of the Gauls to yield : 
 
 Where gallant warriors fell just in their bloom, 
 
 And others just as quickly fill'd their room. 
 
 Approaching numbers soon made up the space, 
 
 Yet still the bloody contest did increase. 
 
 The fate of war made death to level round, 
 
 Yet every nation fought to be renown'd. 
 
 To gain the glorious triumphs of each day, 
 
 All ranks promiscuous on the plains there lay. 
 
 Keen was the contest, and the foe was strong — 
 
 Blood mark'd the field, which had been spilt too long. 
 
 But yet when noise and smoke bedimm'd the air, 
 
 I know, my sons, that you were active there. 
 
 While Scotia's blood was warm in each vein, 
 
 I know ye nobly still press'd on to gain. 
 
 Like your forefathers, who long kept the field, 
 
 With ancient armour and defending shield. 
 
 Inspir'd with valour, and still void of fear, 
 
 01(1 Scotia's sons her standard love to bear ; 
 
 When for their country long they seem'd to feel, 
 
 And drew the broad sword of the burnish'd steel. 
 
 Hardy and strong, always in war expert, 
 
 With bonnet blue, and with undaunted heart. 
 
 And still, my sons,, their spirit you retain, 
 
 Which lead you nobly through each hostile 6cene. 
 
 But thundering wars are now at last silenc'd, 
 
 And blissful peace around us has commenc'd ; 
 
 Which made you cross the rolling seas once more. 
 
 To land in Scotland on your native shore ; 
 
 Where with your friends with joy again you meet, 
 
 Where heath grows bonny, and where birds sing sweet, 
 
 And now, my sons, with joy I welcome you, 
 
 Home, from the blood-stain'd plains of Waterloo, 
 
105 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 TJie Soldier's Waterloo Medal. 
 
 [Tune—" The hearty good fellow."] 
 
 Ye true noble sons of Britannia's Isle, 
 
 From the highest that is in command, 
 
 We welcome you home from your battles and toil, 
 
 Since ye stood in defence of our land. 
 
 To your king and your country you always were true, 
 
 Which still in your mind you should bear ; 
 
 And now all your friends shall be happy with you, 
 
 While the meddle of honour you wear. 
 
 You have conquer'd our foes both in France and in Spain, 
 
 Great armies you had to subdue ; 
 
 But now ye return triumphant again, 
 
 From the action of great Waterloo. 
 
 To honour your nation was always your aim, 
 
 You still have been strangers to fear, 
 
 Which makes you return with laurels of fame, 
 
 While the meddle of honour you wear. 
 
 Most active in war for the field still prepar'd, 
 
 And steady you always were found ; 
 
 As true British soldiers you meet our regard, 
 
 For your names have been always renown 'd. 
 
 Now your wives and your sweethearts meet you, 
 
 No more are they venting the tear ; 
 
 Long may you be happy with them to unite, 
 
 While the meddle of honour you wear. 
 
106 
 
 THE AULD FARMER'S LAMENT FOR 
 BUONAPARTE, 
 
 Wlien Peace came oh, and the times were com- 
 pletely changed^ in 1816. 
 
 The sair lament of Farmer Johnny, 
 When he had lost his good friend Bonner* 
 
 Lament wi' me my neebours a*, 
 
 I beg ye will draw near me ; 
 Wi' perfect grief I'm like to fa', 
 
 Draw in your chairs an' hear me. 
 
 It is not for my mither's death, 
 
 Though many a day I mind her; 
 Nor for my aunt that lost the breath, 
 
 And left her gear behind her ; 
 
 But for my good frien' Buonaparte, 
 
 A lang time a' our story, 
 The thoughts o' him now grieves my heart, 
 
 An' maks me unco sorry. 
 
 They flung him an his arm chair, 
 
 To St. Helena sent him, 
 An' noo there's nae price for our gear, 
 
 Which maks me to lament him. 
 
 While he sat snugly on the throne, 
 
 An' rul'd the braw French nation, 
 The mair he fell'd the mair we sold* 
 
 Which aye kept up our station. 
 
 Nae doubt he was raill'd on by a 
 
 Yet aften times I bless'd him, 
 And ever since he got the fa 1 
 
 For a' his fauts I miss'd him. 
 
 Though some did sair their frien's lament, 
 
 That in the field were lying, 
 I wi' my lang price paid my rent, 
 
 For siller then was flying. 
 
107 
 
 He was my cautioner and back, 
 
 My credit he defended, 
 But noo it's almost like to crack, 
 
 Unless the times be mended. 
 
 Through Scotland noo a change we see, 
 We scarce can pay the reaper, 
 
 Unless our worthy laird could gie 
 His land a wee thing cheaper. 
 
 Then I might chance to live as weel, 
 As when the price was higher, 
 
 And be o' use to a' my Men's, 
 The seller and the buyer. 
 
 As lang as Bonney rul'd the roast, 
 
 My diet then was dainty ; 
 Although the poor folks paid the cost, 
 
 I never wanted plenty. 
 
 But noo since he is sent awa, 
 
 I miss him unco sairly ; 
 My purse was great but noo it's sma, 
 
 And times are alter'd fairly. 
 
 PRINCE LEOPOLD'S VISIT TO THE NORTH, 
 
 September, 1819, 
 
 Wlien the following Lines were written. 
 
 Welcome, Prince Leopold to our northern clime, 
 Thrice welcome here, for we respect your name ; 
 Your presence gives great honour to our place, 
 A healthy corner bless'd with happy peace. 
 While you our towns and ancient seats review, 
 With joy we meet you with your retinue ; 
 For sake of her who once to you was dear, 
 Old Scotland hails you with a welcome cheer. 
 E6 
 
108 
 
 Wishing that you may many pleasures see, 
 And in our nation long may happy be. 
 Britannia's favours ]ong may you retain, 
 And find new joys that ever shall remain. 
 
 LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR TO HIS SON 
 IN LONDON. 
 
 Dear Son, as you have gone away 
 
 From underneath our eye, 
 To London town, where snares each day 
 
 May unperceived lie. 
 
 A sound advice to you I send. 
 
 As I would wish you well, 
 In hopes to it you will attend, 
 
 While you in London dwell. 
 
 First, mind what company you join, 
 
 Wherever you may be ; 
 From those who wicked ways incline, 
 
 Be sure that you keep free. 
 
 Such company the mind beguiles, 
 
 You may see ev'ry day ; 
 The thoughtless by their subtle wiles 
 
 Are often led astray. 
 
 Bad women's vice avoid it most, 
 
 And shun debauched men, 
 Because your character if lost 
 
 May not be gain'd again. 
 
 The youthful heart is easy caught, 
 By those who seem most fair ; 
 
 They wish for others to be taught 
 Their wicked ways to share. 
 
 Some at the first may seem to be 
 Conversable and kind, 
 
109 
 
 But in a little you may see 
 Deception in their mind. 
 
 Another thing you must take heed, 
 
 To mind the sabbath-day ; 
 Attend the church — your bible read, 
 
 Whatever others say. 
 
 To break the sabbath is a crime, 
 
 And see you do not yield, 
 For those who vainly spend their time, 
 
 And stroll from street to field. 
 
 Let not great London change your mind, 
 
 With all its pomp and show, 
 For still in you we hope to find 
 
 What once we made you know. 
 
 In Scotland in your youthful days 
 
 You were by us advis'd, 
 Now shun the various wicked ways 
 
 In London oft practised. 
 
 Mind that your Maker's searching eye 
 
 Perceives you night and day, 
 But if you ask, He will stand by, 
 
 And guide you on your way. 
 
 Let what you are run in your mind, 
 
 While days are rolling on ; 
 Be faithful, honest, just, and kind, 
 
 And gain ill will from none. 
 
 Stand to your master's interest sure, 
 
 As far as you can do, 
 And if I have it in my powr 
 
 I shall be so to you. 
 
 I remain, Dear Son, 
 
 Your Father and Friend, 
 W. G. 
 
110 
 
 ON VIEWING THE FOUNDING OF THE PIER 
 OF NAIRN, July, 22, 1820. 
 
 This day with pleasure we observed here 
 
 The builders lay the first stone of the Pier ; 
 
 A work which of the greatest use may be, 
 
 While Nairn town is bounded by the sea. 
 
 By subscription was this Pier begun, 
 
 And while it stands will show what has been done ; 
 
 Although it caus'd great trouble and expense, 
 
 In future years may it make reeompence. 
 
 Our beach is sandy, chang'd oft by the sea, 
 
 Yet still we hope this Pier will useful be, 
 
 And bring great trafric to the Nairn shore, 
 
 When we, subscribers, here shall be no more. 
 
 May this new harbour make the town possess 
 
 A lasting trade, which daily will increase. 
 
 Long may it stand this burgh to adorn, 
 
 And be of use to those who're vet unborn. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE WHISKY STOUP, 
 Scotland's Skeath. 
 
 O little stoup there's mony a ane ! 
 
 Like well to sit and see you fu' ? 
 But ye do meickle ill again, 
 
 To them that wishes ill to you. 
 
 Though ye're brought in to be a friend, 
 To gie the heart a wee relief, 
 
 Yet mony a day and night ye've been 
 The first beginner o mischief. 
 
 There's mony that's in love wi' you, 
 Because ye keep the pith o' raaut, 
 
 But when that ye hae fill'd them fu' 
 Ye bring them often in a faut. 
 
Ill 
 
 Besides a' that there's something mair, 
 
 Though ye're a stoup that seems hut Rina', 
 
 Your auld Scotch friends ye hurt them sair, 
 And o'er their chairs ye mak them fa* 
 
 At first though quietly ye come in, 
 
 Wi' highland whisky for to cheer them, 
 
 Ye soon kick up a waefu' din, 
 
 The deafest in the house may hear them. 
 
 Ye mak great fools o' auld and young, 
 Although they like you as their heart, 
 
 For when ye loose the wicked tongue, 
 
 There are some that fight hefore they'll part. 
 
 Though twa three neehours meet nae doubt, 
 
 To pass a night wi' you in glee, 
 Why do ye often cast them out, 
 
 And make dispeace where love should he. 
 
 Some men ye mak them heat their wives; 
 
 Some wives ye mak them scold their men, 
 For when that ye are ruling but, 
 
 Dispeace is often ruling ben. 
 
 Though nae doubt some they run to you, 
 That ye may ease them o' their grief, 
 
 And even when they're mortal fu', 
 They're in the very same belief. 
 
 But your advice still makes them worse, 
 
 If they such foolishness suppose, 
 For sorrow comes wi' double force, 
 
 When they hae waken'd frae their dose. 
 
 The evils that ye bring about, 
 
 There's nane that ken like those that feel ; 
 Your friends ye run their credit out, 
 
 And often makes them tak' their heels. 
 
 Though ye are good when need requires, 
 Ye hurt them sair who sit o'er lang, 
 
 The whisky sometimes drowns their fears, 
 But at the last puts a thing wrang. 
 
112 
 
 For drink gets in and wit gets out, 
 And a' thing tipsy teery goes, 
 
 Then pride gets up and heads get down, 
 And some they get a broken nose. 
 
 Noo neebours a' tak my advice, 
 
 When you the little stoup meet wi' ; 
 
 It s nae for haining a' the price, 
 But latna drink your master be. 
 
 TAM LOYAL'S ADVICE TO ROB RADICAL, 
 When raising up a Mow in the South of Scot- 
 land in 1819. 
 
 Ae night as Tarn frae wark had come, 
 
 He scarce had gaen a mile man, 
 When on the street he chanc'd to meet 
 
 Rob Radical in style man. 
 Rob wasna slack, for at his back 
 
 A thousand seem'd to be man ; 
 He had a stick baith lang and thick, 
 
 And cried come join wi' me man. 
 
 Says Tarn to Rob what means the mob, 
 
 Or are ye going far man ? 
 Wi' a' your brags and flying fiag3 
 
 Ye seem to be for war man. 
 Says Rob to Tam, wi' joy we cam', 
 
 If Radicals stan' true man ; 
 Reform we want or raise a rant ; 
 
 Huzza ! for freedom now man. 
 
 To break restraint we a' are bent, 
 To mind nae laird nor law man, 
 
 But throw the tax now aff our backs, 
 For a' our trade's awa man. 
 
US 
 
 Ho, ho ! says Tarn, ye're daft that came 
 
 To seek a change to be man, 
 If that is what ye would be at 
 
 Nae Radicals for me man. 
 
 Ye say nae doubt, ye'll drive about 
 
 And raise a din ; but see man 
 Although ye should, where is the good ? 
 
 Confusion then would be man. 
 Far better wait — keep Scotland quiet, 
 
 And make nae dust ava man, 
 For taxes soon here will come down, 
 
 Then well be better a! man. 
 
 Nae doubt we need some ease wi' speed, 
 
 For times are unco sair man, 
 And trade we want for siller's scant, 
 
 And mony a back is bare man. 
 But in distress seek for redress, 
 
 And dinna try by force man, 
 For in my view it winna do, 
 
 But make the matter worse man. 
 
 Though some cry out they are sae stout, 
 
 They'll fight though they should fa man. 
 Yet though they be six score and three, 
 
 They'll shortly run awa man. 
 And meetings thrang will fail ere lang, 
 
 Sae Rob ye shudna boast man, 
 For if ye lose I'll pawn my hose, 
 
 That ye must pay the cost man. 
 
 Now take advice and count the price, 
 
 And still stand by the king man. 
 Or soldiers here will interfere, 
 
 And drive you in a bing man. 
 Sae fare well Rob, ye took a job 
 
 That ye can scarce get through man 
 But as for me I still shall be 
 
 A loyal and a true man, 
 
114 
 
 When Rob at last heard o' the blast 
 
 That he was like to face man, 
 Says he to Tarn, a fool I am. — 
 
 I think I'll keep the peace man. 
 For now I dread we'll nae come speed, 
 
 And necks may get a thraw man, 
 Sae Tammie now I'll gae wi' you. 
 
 And throw my stick awa man. 
 
 This Poem was written at the time the radicals first began to make 
 their appearance in Scotland, and many of them afterwards suffered 
 the severe sentence of the law. 
 
 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IS ROSS-SHIRE, 
 2d January, 1826; 
 
 Kind Sir, I this hae sent to you ; 
 
 I by the bearer wrote you, 
 Because I found your kindness true, 
 
 I never yet forgot you. 
 
 I'm sure this saxteen years and twa, 
 My steady friend I kent you ; 
 
 And for to tell how we are a', 
 These twa three lines I sent you. 
 
 To wish you well is my design, 
 
 It should be recollected, 
 That correspondence shouldna tine. 
 
 Where kindness is expected. 
 
 I hope our kindness winna break, 
 
 Indeed I dinna flatter, 
 for you and yours I still respect. 
 
 Though ye're across the water. 
 
115 
 
 The crooks o' life may plague us bahh, 
 But lang we needim' mind it ; 
 
 Let's aye look past this warld's skeath, 
 And tak it as we find it. 
 
 But still we aye had plenty yet, 
 
 Kind fortune aye has sent it, 
 And plenty mair we hope to get, 
 
 Sae let us be contented. 
 
 Although frae this ye gaed awa, 
 
 In Ross-shire is your dwelling; 
 Yet let no auld acquaintance fa', 
 • Whatever is our calling. 
 
 We see here changes come about, 
 
 As you and I get aulder ; 
 Sometimes acquaintance here we?rs out. 
 
 And friendship turns caulcler. 
 
 But let us aye mind auld king syne, 
 Where here we met sae keenly, 
 
 When you and yours wi' me and mine, 
 At christmas time met friendly. 
 
 "When here we spent some blythsome hours, 
 Where nane could be mair happy ; 
 
 When I and mine wi' you and yours, 
 Sat o'er a pint o' nappy. 
 
 That made me write this letter here, 
 
 Since here ye dinna tarry, 
 To wish you a', a good new year, 
 
 This goes across the ferry. 
 
 But since that time drives years about. 
 
 Remark this in my letter, 
 As years must run this warkl out, 
 
 Lets aye think on a better. 
 
 Yet still we here may cheerful be, 
 Although we should remember, 
 
 That years run out wi' you and me, 
 The last day o' December. 
 
116 
 
 But lang and happy may ye lire, 
 
 And her that lies beside you, 
 It is my wish ye may believe, 
 
 That a' that's good may guide you. 
 
 But now my pen I must lay by, 
 
 Our best respects we gie you; 
 And if be chance to come our way, 
 
 We'll a' be glad to see you. 
 
 I am, honest Sir, Yours, respectfully, 
 
 W. G. 
 
 ON OBSERVING A FLY FLUTTERING ROUND 
 THE CANDLE. 
 
 O thoughtless fly v your fluttering wings you raise, 
 
 And fearless ramble round the candle blaze ; 
 
 You are in danger and you do not know, 
 
 Until yourself shall work your overthrow. 
 
 No dread you have but round the candle sings, 
 
 Though fire ere long shall scorch your airy wings, 
 
 And let you know when it shall be too late, 
 
 That your own folly brings about your fate. 
 
 O thoughtless fly ! too many are like you, 
 
 Who are in danger and no danger view ; 
 
 Here round the flame you thoughtlessly fly on, 
 
 And risk a life which shortly shall be gone. 
 
 There are scarce six weeks since you this world knew, 
 
 And yet your folly in your time you shew ; 
 
 Your short existence shall be closed soon, — 
 
 Sporting with death you soon shall tumble down. 
 
 Fly thoughtless creature ere thy life be done, 
 
 Then no more can you gamble in the sun ; 
 
 Fly off and find your rest about the room, 
 
 Or sudden death shall quickly be your doom. 
 
 Go seek for rest — from danger now retire ; 
 
 You never knew the scorching of the fire. 
 
117 
 
 In you we see an emblem of our state, — 
 
 But fly from clanger ere it be too late. 
 
 Leave off your sport — escape now while you may, 
 
 Or you shall never see returniug day. 
 
 Your folly's great ; — no more on wings rely, — 
 
 For now they're gone, — and suddenly you die ! 
 
 Observations on the Fly. 
 
 This flutt'ring fly a lesson gives indeed, 
 
 To all who thoughtless through this life proceed, 
 
 Many unthinking draw uncertain breath, 
 
 And like the fly sport round the hand of death. 
 
 They have no fear that life may soon be gone, 
 
 But careless live and thoughtless ramble on ; 
 
 Flutt'ring for pleasures they cannot attain, 
 
 Till death disguis'd may quickly shut the scene. 
 
 Yet vastly different here are men from flies, 
 
 Man's noblest part still lives when insects dies ; 
 
 Though natural death must over both prevail, 
 
 Man holds his being on a higher scale. 
 
 We saw this fly by death fall to the ground, 
 
 But man when gone in yonder world is found. 
 
 This fly now dead her life will not restore, 
 
 Yet man but dies to live to die no more. 
 
 THE SLEEPY MAN and the EIGHT-DAY CLOCK. 
 
 An eight-day clock had just struck one, 
 
 Beside an auld man's bed. 
 Keep silence, says the sleeping man, — 
 
 Your din disturbs my head. 
 
 Ye spoil my rest. Your bell it sounds 
 
 Always when I lie here ; 
 For seven hundred and thirty sounds 
 
 Ye whirl in a year. 
 
118 
 
 All night m you I'm sail* distress'd, 
 
 For loudly when ye call, 
 And tells me aye to tak my rest 
 
 Before the lang hour twall. 
 
 Then early here your hell it cries, 
 
 And wakens me anew, 
 And rails upon me for to rise 
 
 To mind what I should do. 
 
 How can I sleep ? you always rap 
 And plague me wi' your chicks, 
 
 And just when I fa' on a nap 
 Your supple hammer strikes. 
 
 Stop, says the clock, ye speak too fast; 
 
 I was contrived to clink ; 
 But ev'ry hour that I come past 
 
 May tell you now to think. 
 
 For I was made a clock to count 
 Your passing days and hours, 
 
 And soon shall tell the whole amount 
 Of these few years of yours. 
 
 I try to go with yon bright sun 
 
 As well as I can do, 
 To mark your moments as they run, 
 
 Too long misspent by you. 
 
 Go now, improve ere time be gone, 
 My hands may let you know ; 
 
 How fast your time is running on, 
 And yet my wheels go slow. 
 
 Although my works are only brass 
 
 I answer my design, 
 But sleeping here your hours ye pass, 
 
 While I am counting mine. 
 
119 
 
 A QUESTION. 
 
 A question I shall ask at you, 
 
 Explain it if you can ; 
 What I speak of is small to view, 
 
 Yet should he priz'd by man. 
 It never was since time has been, 
 
 Nor never more shall he, 
 And yet at present may be seen 
 
 By you as well as me ? 
 
 ANSWER : 
 
 This present moment, — which never was since the world 
 began, and never will come again. 
 
 Observations on the present moment, which returns no more 
 
 O precious moment ! never here before, 
 Have you expir'd, to come again no more ; 
 Short is your date, — so little in our eye 
 We scarcely know you while your passing by. 
 But though you only come by one and one, 
 You soon sum up the few short years of man. 
 Sixty swift moments make a minute sure ; 
 Sixty swift minutes soon add up an hour. 
 Flour after hour they quickly fly away, 
 Till twenty-four add up the night and day ; 
 Those days roll on which thoughtlessly we spend, 
 Until a month at last comes to an end. 
 Month after month does quickly disappear, 
 Till twelve are added which complete the year; 
 Year chases year most quickly posting on, 
 Until our time at last is w r holly gone. 
 Now ev'ry moment must our time enlarge, 
 And time at last is laid unto our charge ; 
 By this we see though moments seem but small, 
 They are so great We should improve them all. 
 
120 
 ODE TO PASSING THOUGHTS. 
 
 O ! wand'ring thoughts why do ye fly, 
 
 O'er vanity's wide field, 
 Your fleeting views here quickly die, 
 
 And ean no profit yield. 
 
 No lasting joys in you we find, 
 
 You hurt our future view; 
 Go take your flight — and leave the mind, 
 
 For better thoughts than you. 
 
 For every trifle drives you round, 
 
 On this suspended ball, 
 And while within ye keep your ground, 
 
 We ready are to fall. 
 
 Ye swiftly fly o'er land and sea, 
 
 You soon return again, 
 And when that we should serious be, 
 
 Ye come with all your train. 
 
 When sated in the sacred place, 
 Where we might find some good, 
 
 There you approach to spoil our peace, 
 But why dare you intrude. 
 
 Leave us to think on joys more sure, 
 
 That we may yet obtain, 
 Far past the limits of your power, 
 
 Beyond this earthly scene. 
 
 Fly past this world ere it be late, 
 
 It's only ours to day, 
 Come now, my thoughts, and view our state, 
 
 Let wisdom guide your way. 
 
 View human life with blooming face, 
 
 Which cannot still survive, 
 And view Eternity's wide space, 
 
 Where we must soon arrive. 
 
121 
 
 Fly round and see how all things fade ; 
 
 Here take a full survey, 
 And view the mansions of the dead, 
 
 Where mortal man must lie. 
 
 To yonder world then take your flight ; 
 
 Mark well the solemn view, 
 And quick return with all your might, 
 
 And tell what we should do. 
 
 Are we to follow your pursuits, 
 
 Which but a moment live ; 
 Or shall we live and die in doubts, 
 
 That you cannot relieve ? 
 
 No ! worldly thoughts what you produce, 
 
 I know the weight will fail ; 
 At death they are of little use, 
 
 And cannot fill the scale. 
 
 The thoughts that we should now caress, 
 
 Should past this world extend, 
 To think of joys we may possess, 
 
 When thoughts that 're vain must end. 
 
 Yet round the scenes of life you fly, 
 
 And there too much you mix, 
 Though conscience marks you passing by, 
 
 And tells you where to fix. 
 
 We know this world some thoughts requires, 
 
 While we inhabit here; 
 We have our cares, we have our fears, 
 
 Which soon shall disappear. 
 
 Some thoughts of them we must pursue, 
 Till death makes them to cease ; 
 
 Yet let not thoughts of them nor you 
 Usurp the noblest place. 
 
 But may you quickly be made new, 
 And from your wand'rings brought, 
 
 That future scenes may strike our view, 
 To raise you where we ought. 
 
122 
 
 For now the mind you lead to things 
 
 That cannot stand the blast ; 
 But shall we fly upon your wings. 
 
 To fall down here at last. 
 
 No : let us look past all that's vain, 
 
 And seek an int'rest sure, 
 Where vexing thoughts dare not remain, 
 
 Bui endless peace secure. 
 
 For swift the moment comes about, 
 
 And can make no delay; 
 When life and thought must both fly out, 
 
 And leave this breast of clay. 
 
 The Farmer and the Laird. 
 
 Ae morning as the sun came o'er the brae, 
 
 To welcome in a bonny summer day, 
 
 The lavrock cheery sung o'er Scotia's knowe*, 
 
 And Jenny sat beside her bleating ewes. 
 
 Sweet was the morning, nature seem'd to smile, 
 
 To bring the labourer to his early toil, 
 
 The spreading gowans on the hillocks grew. 
 
 And Tarn the farmer whistled at his plough. 
 
 Mair happy far than George upon the throne, 
 
 To see his labour gae sae briskly on. 
 
 His eight black owsen plough'd baith firm and sure, 
 
 And Tam wi' joy he turned up the fure. 
 
 His braid Scotch bonnet clad his auld bauld crown, 
 
 And o'er his nose the drooping sweet ran down ; 
 
 Yet still the barley rigg he trudg'd alang, 
 
 And sometimes sweetly craw'd ane auld Scotch sang, 
 
 But as the morning was sae braw and fair, 
 
 The Laird had risen for to tak the air ; 
 
 While o'er the meadow just by chance he cam', 
 
 Upon the rigg, he there met in wi' Tam. 
 
123 
 
 Good morning, says the Laird — good speed the plough- 
 Good morning sir, says Tarn — good speed to you ; 
 I'm unco glad, to see you rise so soon, 
 To view your Ian' and a your helting roun'. 
 
 Laird : 
 Deed friend it's for my health ye maybe sure, 
 That I have risen at this early hour, 
 To take a walk, this day I have come out, 
 As I am sadly plagued wi* the gout. 
 
 Tam: 
 
 ! sir, that ailment I ha e never kent, 
 
 Though three score years in Scotland I ha'e spent, 
 But were ye born to toil through a' the day, 
 The gout or grips but seldom ye would ha'e. 
 
 Laird : 
 But Tam I'm rich and here may take my ease, 
 
 1 rise and lie whatever time I please, 
 I drive about to pleasures all the year, 
 
 Yet ye seem happier — and mair healthy here. 
 
 Tam: 
 Deed sir I am, I rise up wi' the lark, 
 I say my prayers — and then prepares for wark, 
 To loose an hour deed sir I'm unco laith, 
 I yoke my owsen — and I tie my greath. 
 
 Laird : 
 Are ye so happy with the life ye lead, 
 And work so sore to gain your daily bread, 
 Though I'm the Laird, and my estate is free, 
 Ye seem more happy and content than me, 
 
 Tam: 
 Yes sir ; contentment far exceeds your gear, 
 It makes me sweetly a' my labours bear, 
 Though some cauld blasts may come across my nose, 
 Content I toil, and healthy take my brose. 
 
124 
 
 Laird: 
 Deed friend I see ye have a happy mind, 
 Such true contentment I can scarcely find, 
 Though all these lands are mine within your view, 
 Ye re more contented with your oxen plough. 
 
 Tam : 
 Deed am I sir, but ye still drive awa 
 Till other countries wi' your siller a*, 
 Stay ye at name and get your siller spent, 
 And we'll be happier, and you mair content. 
 
 Laird : 
 Well friend indeed, ye're right without a doubt, 
 Yet to be happy we must drive about, 
 While ye toil sore and yet I plainly see, 
 Ye sing as happy and content as me. 
 
 Tam : 
 Yes sir I sing, while nature sings around, 
 I think and sing while turning up the ground, 
 Hear how the birds their Maker's praise display, 
 And joyful here I sing as well as they. 
 
 Laird : 
 Well friend I find ye're happy with your lot, 
 When at your plough such happiness is got. 
 But I would wish to know the matter right. 
 Are ye as happy in the house at night. 
 
 Tam : 
 Yes sir I am, for when my wark is deep, 
 I tak my kail and then lay by my speen, 
 And when they're o'er — my pray'rs come on anew. 
 Then gaes to bed and sleeps mair sound than you. 
 
 Laird : 
 Deed friend, sometimes I sleep but very ill, 
 Though good Scotch beef — and drink be at my will, 
 Ye're wise and healthy, could I tell the tale, 
 When you're so happy — with your pray'rs and kail. 
 
125 
 
 Tam: 
 Yes sir I am, and also so may you, 
 If ye the matter would but rightly view, 
 That makes me still wi' joy to plough the rigg, 
 Although ye ken my rent is rather big. 
 
 Laird: 
 Well friend, since you're so happy m your place, 
 I'll low'r your rent, and give you a new lease, 
 At Martinmas ye'll get it with good will, 
 Since ye're so happy, ye'll be happier still. 
 
 Tam: 
 Well sir I thank you, that makes me to cheer, 
 For I rejoice, just three nights in the year, 
 But since the story is between us twa, 
 I'll tell you them sir ere you gae awa* 
 
 Laird: 
 Well friend say on because ye are so kind, 
 As three nights of the year cheers up your mind, 
 Since ye're so happy still at your employ, 
 I wish to know the nights that give you joy. 
 
 Tam: 
 The first night sir, is when my seed are down, 
 The second night, is when my craps are roun', 
 The third night is the night I pay my rent, 
 Then nae Scotch Laird can sing wi' mair content. 
 
 Laird; 
 Well friend, I see ye're happier than I thought, 
 I find contentment's got, if rightly sought, 
 I scarce believ'd, though oft times I was told, 
 Health and contentment far exceed my gold. 
 
 Tam: 
 Deed sir it does and since it is so free, 
 Try and ye'll get it here as well as me, 
 And seek for riches of a nobler kind, 
 To last, when your estate you'll leave behind. 
 
126 
 
 The Laird then saw where Tarn had fix'd his choice, 
 
 And thank'd him kindly for his good advice. 
 
 He to the farmer bade a kind adieu, 
 
 And Tarn gaed whistling with his oxen plough. 
 
 LINES SENT TO A FRIEND WITH A 
 SHAVING JUG. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 I now hae sent your shaving jug, 
 To keep the water warm and snug ; 
 And these remarks I here hae wrote, 
 As some hae beards and some hae not, 
 
 On me I ken ye did depend, 
 That I your shaving pot would send. 
 Which will be of more use to you, 
 Than either to a Turk or Jew. 
 
 For they delight in beards of hair, 
 While we delight to have them bare ; 
 By them they are esteem'd indeed, 
 Though we of beards can see no need. 
 
 Yet man to wear a beard was born, 
 Though Scotia's sons their beards hae shorn ; 
 And beards still grow as beards hae been, 
 Though priests and parsons shave them clean. 
 
 Here beards were priz'd in every age, 
 By every Jewish rev'rend sage ; 
 Yet though admir'd by Jew and Turk, 
 Our beards must never reach the kirk. 
 
 I am respectfully, Sir, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 
 W. G, 
 
127 
 
 THE AFRICAN SLAVE; 
 A true Narrative. 
 
 I came from Africa's fair coast ; 
 Poor negro weeps, but weeps in vain. 
 My country and my friends I lost, 
 No more to meet nor see again. 
 
 Here, as a slave, I long have stood. 
 Och, och ! I mind upon the day, 
 That white men seiz'd us in the wood, 
 And then poor negro brought away. 
 
 Tor help from friends long did we look, 
 But Oh, our numbers were but few ! 
 Our spears and tomahawks they took, 
 And negro's arrows and his bow. 
 
 Loud did we raise the hue and cry, 
 But all our tribes were hunting gone ; 
 Poor negro could not fight nor fly, 
 And white Europeans forc'd us on. 
 
 They bound my father most secure ; 
 They tied my mother dear and me ; 
 They fix'd our hands with fetters sure, 
 And drove poor negroes to the sea. 
 
 On ship board then they kept us fast, 
 Nor from the hold were negroes brought, 
 Till India's ground we reach'd at last, 
 Then we poor slaves were quickly bought. 
 
 To different planters we were sold, 
 All scatter'd round a distant shore. 
 Poor negroes sold for sake of gold, 
 Och, Och, to meet dear friends no more ! 
 
128 
 
 With tears my mother sadly griev'd ; 
 My father loudly cried for me. 
 Parting no more to be relieved 
 Till death will set poor negroes free. 
 
 Hard now we labour — forc'd by fear, 
 Poor negroes still at work must keep ; 
 For if we stop, we feel severe 
 Our Massa's sharp and galling whip. 
 
 Sweat like the rain falls from my face, 
 Before the scorching burning sun, 
 Yet negro's labours cannot cease, 
 Till once the day is past and done. 
 
 Though skin is black I feel my pain, 
 Like any other of our kind ; 
 Yet for to bring my Massa gain 
 Poor negro must no hardship mind. 
 
 But though in slavery I am bound, 
 And Massa never lets me free, 
 Some day is hasting quickly round, 
 That negro happier yet may be. 
 
 For now a Bible reach 'd our place, 
 That says there is a God that knows, 
 A God that offers negro grace, 
 And will bring negro from his woes. 
 
 That Bible says that God is love, 
 And still keeps negroes in his mind ; 
 But gods we have here cannot move ; 
 1 now perceive they're deaf and blind. 
 
 That Bible says I have a soul : 
 Astonish'd at the news, I stood. 
 It says one great God made the whole. 
 And loves all negroes that are good. 
 
 It says there is a heaven to gain ; 
 A hell for negroes to avoid ; 
 But I could not the news obtain 
 Until that Bible was mv guide. 
 
129 
 
 It says God sent a Saviour here 
 To save poor negroes such as me. 
 O happy news ! it makes me cheer, 
 That he has died to set me free. 
 My Bible says God rules throughout, 
 And knows the heart of eveiy one ; 
 He saw us long sold like the brute, 
 Although he made poor negro man. 
 Long, long poor negro was delay 'd, 
 But now we humbly plead and crave. 
 O generous Britain give your aid, 
 And think upon poor negro slave. 
 
 THE POOR NEGRO REJOICING OVER THE 
 BIBLE. 
 
 The Bible sent from Britain's land, 
 How precious is that book to me; 
 Each time I take it in my hand 
 Poor negroes' wretched state I see* 
 
ISO 
 
 Of God I never heard before, 
 
 Of Christ, of soul, of heaven, or hell ; 
 
 Renewing gospel reach my soul ; 
 
 Now happy news the white man tell. 
 
 Ever let negroes soul rejoice; 
 
 Great Saviour died for such as I ; 
 
 Heach down from heaven my thoughts to raise ; 
 
 O Lord now hear poor negro's cry. 
 
 Though colour differs in our face, 
 
 Our Maker's hand has made us so, 
 
 But still we number with the race 
 
 That God designs to save from woe. 
 
 All tribes and nations are his right ; 
 
 His mercy reaches every clime ; 
 
 The shining black and blooming white, 
 
 His grace can make their hearts the same. 
 
 ON CONSIDERING THE STATE OF THE 
 NEGROES. 
 
 The following Lines and Address were given by the Author \ 
 to be presented and read at the 13th Annual Meeting of 
 the Bible Society at Nairn, March 29th, 1827. 
 
 As Britain hears the gospel sound, 
 Let us with joy extend it round, 
 That nations may enjoy our light, 
 Which grope in ignorance dark as night. 
 Let us be useful in our day ; 
 Let us Immanuel's name display ; 
 That grace may spread and conquer sin, 
 Till all the world shall be brought in. 
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 To the respectable Members of all Bible and Missionary 
 Societies in Great Britain, on seeing their generous ex- 
 ertions in sending the Gospel to the heathen nations. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 The Muse has now led on my pen 
 To write you this address, 
 
131 
 
 Because you wish all tribes of men 
 To find true happiness. 
 
 Great Britain's sons thought on the place 
 
 Where cruelties abound, 
 And millions of the human race 
 
 In ignorance were found. 
 
 You griev'd to see them falling down 
 
 To gods of every kind, 
 And others worshipp'd sun and moon, 
 
 While nature led the mind. 
 
 They knew not heaven, they knew not hell, 
 
 Nor future state was shewn ; 
 They only in their state could tell 
 
 What nature had made known. 
 
 While millions liv'd like beasts of prey, 
 
 Which nature had supplied ; 
 Unchang'd through life they pass'd their day, 
 
 That way they liv'd and died. 
 
 But sympathy has touch'd your hearts ; 
 
 You view'd their wretched state, 
 And sent the scriptures to those parts, 
 
 From Britain's useful seat. 
 
 Your pitying eye beheld their case 
 
 Though distant far abroad, 
 Who had no bible, sought no grace, 
 
 Nor knew the living God. 
 
 In ignorance long did they lie, 
 
 Insensible and blind ; 
 But superstition soon shall fly 
 
 Like chaff before the wind. 
 
 Because the scriptures you have sent 
 
 Where they were not before, 
 And now the gospel has got vent 
 
 Round many a distant shore. 
 F6 
 
132 
 
 In different languages, we find, 
 
 It daily makes its way, 
 And on the African's dark mind 
 
 Its power can display. 
 
 Although those natives may be black. 
 With nature fierce and wild, 
 
 The rudest negro God can make 
 As humble as the child. 
 
 For he hath bless'd what he hath done, 
 Yet still there's much to do ; 
 
 The work by Britain was begun, 
 But God conducts it through. 
 
 To bring them in you still prepare, 
 Which honours Britain's name ; 
 
 And faithful men you have sent there 
 Salvation to proclaim. 
 
 They now display the joyful news 
 
 In every place they go, 
 And even make the wild Hindoos 
 
 The Saviour's name to know. 
 
 Britannia's sons glad tidings brings. 
 
 And joyfully proceed, 
 To tell their very greatest kings 
 
 That they salvation need. 
 
 God crown'd their labours we perceive, 
 Since they have cross'd the wave, 
 
 While nc U the meanest slave 
 
 They have a soul to save. 
 
 Those savages are wild indeed, 
 Yet they of grace can share, 
 
 For still the Saviour's pard'ning blood 
 Can save the blackest there. 
 
 We hear of wonders in cur day, 
 
 In many f reign .-arts; 
 The gospel triumphs on its way, 
 
 And conquers many hearts. 
 
133 
 
 It now makes cruelties to cease, 
 Where wildest briers grows ; 
 
 And soon the howling wilderness 
 Shall blossom as the rose. 
 
 We view the gospel spreading fast ; 
 
 Great Britain sends it round ; 
 And India soon her gods shall cast 
 
 Unheaded to the ground. 
 
 Much have you done to bring them in, 
 And send the word of truth ; 
 
 From east to west it soon shall run, 
 And spread from north to south. 
 
 But while Great Britain loves to save 
 
 Men on a distant coast, 
 Let not the privileges we have 
 
 Upon ourselves be lost. 
 
 Those nations lay too long indeed 
 With darkness on their mind, 
 
 Yet they may soon ourselves exceed, 
 Though they have long been blind. 
 
 For India's huts, where bloody stains, 
 And horrid deeds were found, 
 
 Now echoes loud with heavenly strains, 
 Chaug'd by the gospel sound. 
 
 Yet millions still deluded lie ; 
 
 In satan's chains they go, 
 And offer human sacrifice ; 
 
 For nothing else they know. 
 
 This lets us see their blinded ways, 
 
 And practices they have ; 
 The wife with joy she ends her days 
 
 Above her husband's grave. 
 
 The faggots laid upon the place, 
 The fiery flames arise, 
 
13* 
 
 And in the hopes of happiness, 
 Most cheerfully she dies. 
 
 Those practices too long have stood, 
 
 Most shocking for to view, 
 And mothers in their infants' blood, 
 
 Their hands they did imbrue. 
 
 But now with joy we live to see 
 
 The dawning of the day, 
 When God from that shall set them free, 
 
 And drive those things away. 
 
 Time shall make all those deeds to cease ; 
 
 Great is the change begun ; 
 For churches now stand in the place 
 
 Where horrid deeds were done. 
 
 It surely should delight us all, 
 When such good news are heard, 
 
 To see the seat of Satan fall, 
 And Jesus' standard rear'd. 
 
 Still new revivals strike our sight, 
 
 Round India's spicy shore, 
 And Britain's sons have given them light, 
 
 That shall go out no more. 
 
 The Scriptures have made grace to grow. 
 
 In many heathen lands, 
 And Ethiopia for it now, 
 
 Is stretching forth her hands. 
 
 I think their cry now reaches me, — 
 
 O ! Britain's sons be kind, 
 Send us the Bible, though we be 
 
 Much blacker of our kind. 
 
 Nature is good to them we know, 
 
 They are the race of men ; 
 But send the Scriptures now to shew. 
 
 How they may grace obtain. 
 
 
135 
 
 Then let our aid be freely given, 
 
 That Bibles may extend, 
 And let them know the way to heaven, 
 
 By men that you will send. 
 
 Convey to them the Gospel light, 
 
 Which we so long have had, 
 That ignorance may take its flight, 
 
 And every land be glad. 
 
 From Heaven's high arch God sees our land, 
 
 He plainly knows our views, 
 And will reward your liberal hand, 
 
 For spreading heavenly news. 
 
 You also thought on Ireland too, 
 
 Though greatly blinded still, 
 The Bible now more good shall do, 
 
 Than Britain's hostile skill. 
 
 For since the word of God has been, 
 
 Placd in her children's hands, 
 It will prove the effectual mean, 
 
 To loose the popish bands. 
 
 Much have the sons of Britain done, 
 
 And may you long be glad, 
 To make the Saviour's name more known, 
 
 Triumphantly to spread. 
 
 O ! happy Britain, long in you 
 
 May purest Gospel shine, 
 Since other lands you send it through, 
 
 And aids this grand design. 
 
 To help great many useful things 
 
 Your liberal hands you raise, 
 But none like this such honour brings, 
 
 Nor higher sounds your praise. 
 
 May your endeavours all be crown'd, 
 Till round this earthly ball 
 
136 
 
 The gospel daily shall abound, 
 Till God is known by all. 
 
 Wishing prosperity to this useful Institution, 
 I remain, with the greatest respe#t, 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most obedient and devoted Servant, 
 
 WILLIAM GORDON. 
 
 Nairn, 29th March, 1827. 
 
 ON THE RISING SUN. 
 
 The Author, on an early passage from Cromarty to Nairn 
 in 1826, being so much delighted with Jie grandeur and 
 majestic splendour of ike Suns sparkling beams, arising 
 in the east above the sea ; when reaching the Nairn shore 
 he wrote the following Lines : 
 
 Hail ! shining orb, the glory of the day, 
 
 Your spreading beams their lustre now display. 
 
 You come to shew your Makers pow'rful hand, 
 
 While you arise triumphant and most grand. 
 
 From the horizon of the azure blue, 
 
 You now come forth to chase the midnight dew. 
 
 Your sparkling beauty strikes the mortal eye, 
 
 W T hile you approach to gild the eastern sky. 
 
 Delightful scene enchanting to the sight, 
 
 Thy presence frights the gloomy shades of night ; 
 
 Before you pow'rs of darkness fly away, 
 
 As you approach to cheer the rising day. 
 
 What earthly scene can now with you compete, 
 
 So grand, majestic, powerful and great ; 
 
 And while around your charming beams they spread, 
 
 Your golden rays make all creation glad. 
 
 What would we be if it were not for you, 
 
 Each day you rise you charm the world anew. 
 
137 
 
 Our globe is cold, yet you make it produce 
 
 Both corn and fruit, and all that's for our use. 
 
 Now varied flow rs array'd with blossoms sweet, 
 
 Opens their bosoms to embrace your heat ; 
 
 While each sweet bird is joyful on the wing, 
 
 The more you rise the sweeter still they sing ; 
 
 And plants from you their beauty must obtain, 
 
 You dress the forest and you deck the plain. 
 
 You shine upon the lofty mountain's brow, 
 
 While every creature takes delight in you. 
 
 See how the lark with dew upon her breast, 
 
 At your approach she rises from her nest, 
 
 To tell the great Creator's praise abroad, 
 
 That you are rising, rul'd by nature's God. 
 
 It's you who makes creation all rejoice, 
 
 W 7 hile high above our fleeting world you rise. 
 
 Great nature works and gloriously you shine, 
 
 Which shows your Maker's great and grand design. 
 
 It's you who makes all vegetation grow ; 
 
 It's you who crowns the labours of the plough ; 
 
 And when your heat breathes through the passing Wind, 
 
 You raise our spirits and enliv'n the mind. 
 
 Your sister moon she also gives delight, 
 
 Receiving light from you to cheer the night ; 
 
 And ev'ry star their different lights send down, 
 
 Like diamonds sparkling in the monarch's crown. 
 
 The firmament declares the works of God ; 
 
 Those heav'nly bodies shew his power abroad, 
 
 While thunder, lightning, and the comet's blaze 
 
 Come forth like you to celebrate his praise. 
 
 W 7 e view those fiery scenes with much surprise, 
 
 W 7 hile glitt'ring stars are twinkling in our eyes ; 
 
 But all their beauty quickly flies away 
 
 When in the east your grandeur you display. 
 
 The heav'nly planets oft attract our sight, 
 
 Displaying grandeur in the darkest night. 
 
 Yet though they are mark'd out by man below, 
 
 Their magnitude there's few on earth can know ; 
 
138 
 
 Perhaps each one may be a world like this, 
 
 Where mortals live design'd for future bliss. 
 
 Yet they are plac'd so distant from our ball. 
 
 You rising Sun to us exceeds them all. 
 
 Our earthly globe seems mighty in our eyes, 
 
 Yet you exceed ten thousand times its size ; 
 
 And countless planets move around you clear, 
 
 Shewing the course of each revolving year. 
 
 We see them move, they all attract our sight 
 
 In close succession every day and night. 
 
 From earth we look at them and wond'ring stand, 
 
 Yet still to us you now appear more grand. 
 
 O rising Sun ! how can my pen describe 
 
 Your usefulness, to every land and tribe; 
 
 But yet, although your splendour is renown'd, 
 
 Ye move by Him who turns creation round. 
 
 Your pow'rful beams annrul qut globe extend ; 
 
 You are so great that none can comprehend. 
 
 But when so glorious, and majestic grand — 
 
 What must He be who rules you by his hand. 
 
 Astonished world ! — wonder and surprise, 
 
 Is it for man that glorious Sun must rise ? 
 
 Yes, your Creator makes it shine for you, 
 
 And ev'ry planet that attracts your view. 
 
 We now admire that bright arising Sun, 
 
 That for our world upon his course must run. 
 
 Yet man oft times denies his Maker's praise, 
 
 Though that bright orb arises and obeys. 
 
 But let us now, while days and hours we spend, 
 
 Still like that Sun be answering our end ; 
 
 May thoughts impress us while we here remain, 
 
 To think on Him who shows this glorious scene. 
 
 For as the Sun above this world extends, 
 
 So should our thoughts, since human life must end. 
 
 And when the last great morning has begun, 
 
 May we arise like that bright morning Sun. 
 
139 
 
 OBSERVATIONS on VIEWING STRATHPEFEER 
 WELL, in August 1827. 
 
 As I passed on from Dingwall town. 
 While nature dress'd the fields in green, 
 I view'd the scenery up and down, 
 Where charming country seats are seen. 
 
 Delighted with the landscape round, 
 Where highest ranks appear to dwell, 
 I went to see the spot renown'd, 
 Strathpeffer's much esteemed well. 
 
 Where on my way I view'd with care, 
 The rising mountains' lofty show ; 
 Yet fertile is the ground that's there, 
 And charming' is the strath below, 
 
 Near by the place I also saw 
 Knockfairlie — where a fort had stood ; 
 When Scotland's natives fear'd no law, 
 And with their spears travers'd the wood. 
 
 At last 1 reach 'd the wish'd for spot, 
 Where some had reason to rejoice, 
 That strength and vigour there they got, 
 Where strong Strathpeffer's waters rise. 
 
 The useful mineral I survey 'd, 
 Surrounded neatly by the hall, 
 Where, naturally, I saw display 'd 
 The doctor's portrait on the wall. 
 
 For useful skill that he had shewn, 
 Now crowns thee, Morrison, with respect ; 
 As he the water's strength made known, 
 And prov'd that mineral's grand effect. 
 
 Where I perceiv'd the rich in wealth — 
 The young — the old — the weak, and lame i 
 All ranks I found there waiting health, 
 Around Strathpeffer's rising stream. 
 
140 
 
 What are life's joys when health decays^ 
 Ev r n to the greatest in our Isle ; 
 But oft this Well new health displays. 
 And makes the lovely face to smile. 
 
 For many in our native land, 
 Have from this mineral found great use ; 
 But let them praise the healing hand, 
 Who made the earth this Spring produce* 
 
 Long may it rise, always to he 
 A blessing to the sons of men ; 
 From troubles here to set them free, 
 And bring sweet healthful days again. 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND 
 
 On the first Morning of the New Year, 1 828* 
 
 Dear Friend, 
 
 This morning has brought in the year, 
 Which shows how time rolls on, 
 
 This year that's come may long appear, 
 But O how short when gone ! 
 
 Week after week, day after day, 
 
 Shall run its limits out, 
 But who is born that now can say, 
 
 What it may bring about. 
 
 Though healthful vigour seems secure, 
 
 And now with us abound, 
 W T e know not if we shall endure, 
 
 Till this new year goes round. 
 
 Our anxious views this day may run, 
 On years we hope to spend, 
 
 And yet this year that's new begun, 
 Mav terminate our end. 
 
141 
 
 Since last year's course began, we know 
 
 There's many in the grave, 
 That had no thought it would be so, 
 
 More than we now may have. 
 
 We saw the aged hoary head, 
 
 Return'd unto the dust, 
 The eldest here they join the dead, 
 
 Return to earth they must. 
 
 But saw we not the young also, 
 
 Cut off in early life, 
 The mother from the child laid low, 
 
 The husband from the wife. 
 
 The rich, the poor, the weak, the strong, 
 
 The virgin in her prime, 
 And friends that we respected long, 
 
 Last year summ'd up their time. 
 
 But while we're here as they were once, 
 
 This we should think upon, 
 Year after year we still advance, 
 
 Till all our years are gone. 
 
 This day the year began we find, 
 
 And swiftly shall fly past, 
 But while we enter, let us mind 
 
 How we have spent the last. 
 
 Have we been oft impress'd with thought, 
 
 About our latter end, 
 Or have we liv'<l the way we ought, 
 
 Our passing years to spend. 
 
 If not while Yieve we have our part, 
 
 Let us in time begin, 
 And seek to get a new made heart, 
 
 With this new year come in. 
 
 On this first morning of the yeap, 
 
 Let us our life review, 
 As we are only lodgers here, 
 
 And most uncertain too. 
 
142 
 
 Swift conies our years, uncertain they 
 
 While here we hold our place, 
 But let us keep in view the day, 
 
 When all our years must cease. 
 
 Ourselves can not our life retain, 
 
 Or lengthen out our days, 
 For death still lurks behind the scene, 
 
 And comes ten thousand ways. 
 
 When tliis we see and understand, 
 
 Each year we have to spend, 
 Let us make for the happy land, 
 
 Where years shall never end. 
 
 Wishing you many happy returns of the season, 
 
 I remain, Dear Friend, Yours, &c, 
 W. G. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF NATURE; 
 
 Or the benefit of Retirement ; wrote by the Author when 
 walking amongst delightful Scenery, 
 
 Once I admir'd the noisy city throng, 
 
 Where many thousands daily move along ; 
 
 All characters I view'd as I went on, 
 
 Which quickly pass'd and suddenly were gone. 
 
 I view'd the rich in elevated show; 
 
 I view d the poor both destitute and low. 
 
 Each different scene I mark'd them passing by, 
 
 Which took my notice and did attract my eye. 
 
 I lov'd the place where multitudes resort, 
 
 Of grand amusements and high valued sport. 
 
 I lov'd the pleasures of the city's noise, 
 
 And surely thought there were no greater joys. 
 
 But when I had those things consider'd right, 
 
 And when I found those joys sooa took the flight, 
 
143 
 
 I saw their fleeting pleasures were but vain, 
 
 Compar'd to joys that man may here attain ; 
 
 For lo ! at last, I by my mind was led 
 
 To yonder fields, where happy views I had. 
 
 And while retirement led me there at noon, 
 
 I found more joys than in the bustling town, 
 
 When I survey'd the pleasures of the field, 
 
 Where nature sweetly all her beauties yield. 
 
 Each varied flower was painted in its dress, 
 
 And verdure green adorn'd the tender grass, 
 
 Bright was the sun while through the leafy trees, 
 
 The wind it whisper'd with a gentle breeze. 
 
 A thousand beauties in that place I found, 
 
 While harmless insects gambled all around, 
 
 The leaping frogs, of water always fond, 
 
 From off the banks took shelter in the pond. 
 
 The spider's net, I found it wrought most fine, 
 
 Which shew'd her knowledge, and her wise design. 
 
 The little ant I saw her busy too, 
 
 While future days she seem'd to keep in view. 
 
 The butterfly improv'd the shining hour, 
 
 And birds they wisely built their nests secure. 
 
 The gentle runlets murmuring along, 
 
 I much enjoy'd while birds they sung their song. 
 
 The silver fishes in the streams were glad, 
 
 And harmless lambs upon the banks they fed, 
 
 The humming bees rejoicing there they flew, 
 
 And honey from the opening blossoms drew. 
 
 All were employ'd while I could thoughtless stand, 
 
 They shew'd the power of their Creator's hand. 
 
 But while I view'd those things with much surprise, 
 
 A solemn thought at last began to rise : 
 
 Seeing those creatures answering their end, 
 
 While thoughtless I my time and talents spend, 
 
 That made me then to reason in my mind, 
 
 The same Creator still to me is kind. 
 
 Each creature here His power may let me see, 
 
 Yet they improve their time far more than rae, 
 
144 
 
 Am I not man, (yes) greater than them all, 
 
 And yet those creatures loudly on me call. 
 
 Though I am destin'd for a higher place, 
 
 Their active life condemns me to the face, 
 
 I find them here all working every one, 
 
 And all creation is at work but man. 
 
 Yet thoughtless I, who knows my Maker's will, 
 
 Those creatures here they far exceed me still ; 
 
 I find great nature makes them all rejoice, 
 
 Though soon they perish never more to rise. 
 
 O ! let me now like them improve my day, 
 
 Since I am made for nobler ends than they. 
 
 Then for the first time I was made to find, 
 
 That meaner creatures may instruct our mind ; 
 
 And ever since I love to walk abroad, 
 
 To view in nature the wond'rous works of God. 
 
 For many things we carelessly pass by, 
 
 Might raise our thoughts to scenes more great and high : 
 
 Which lets us see retirement gives more joy, 
 
 Than all the pleasures of the city's noise. 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON ELEGANCE 
 AND NATURE. 
 
 On walking some time ago through the city of London, I was 
 much delighted with the elegance of the place — the grandeur of the 
 buildings— and the beauty of the splendid shops. I also much ad- 
 mired the fine lineable streets, and lofty elevated spires, which praised 
 the ingenuity of the architect ; and on looking round me I could 
 see beauty, elegance, and fashion — -and on the pavement a great ma- 
 ny of all ranks and denominations promiscuously passing and re- 
 passing each other. But on goiri-g to the same place next day, I 
 could find that even in that short time some had passed^ to retfcrn no 
 more, and had gone to another world : which shows us the uncer- 
 tainty of our time even in the bustle of life ; — yet the pavement was 
 still occupied the same as before by others. And on looking round 
 the city I could discern a thousand different amusements to take up 
 my attention, being very diverting though soon gone. But leaving 
 the busy scenes of life, I chanced to walk out to view the delightful 
 
145 
 
 fields of England, when nature was arrayed in her richest dress, a- 
 dorned with beauty on all sides ; which gave me far mere delight. 
 There I discovered the yellow corn, bending its head, waiting the 
 appointed time to be gathered in for the use of man ; when I looked 
 around me I was charmed with the delightful trees clad with the 
 clusters of the richest fruit ; when I looked down to the fertile earth 
 I was delighted with the different flowers all painted by nature in 
 their beautiful variegated colours : when I looked above me I be- 
 held the meridian sun shining in his brightest splendour, bringing 
 to maturity the produce of the earth ; while the delightful birds 
 were rejoicing on the branches, praising the Hand who formed them, 
 and rules this vast creation. On contemplating the grand har- 
 mony of nature in all its beauty, we may plainly discover its opera- 
 tions highly displayed on all things around us, from the lofty tree 
 that adorns the forest to the tender pile of grass that is nourished 
 and cheered by the dew of the morning. Let us then be grateful to 
 that great Being who ruleth the universe ; who also nourisheth us, 
 and created us to enjoy all the blessings of the pleasures of nature. 
 
 The works of nature still by man were prais'd ; 
 Their beauty shines around from pole to pole ; 
 But while we view them — let our thoughts be rais'd 
 To their great Author, who .displays the whole. 
 Great nature's works delight the human eye ; 
 Yet he who searches for to know them most, 
 Perceives them all directed from on high, 
 And stands admiring till his thoughts are lost. 
 
 THE SOUNDING CHURCH BELL. 
 
 O ! tolling bell thy solemn call, 
 
 Invites us to the sacred place, 
 Where grace is offer'd free to all 
 
 The living sons of Adam's race. 
 
 The bell calls us to worship there, 
 
 If we would wish for future bless ; 
 Now is t^e day we should prepare, 
 
 No offer may be after this. 
 
146* 
 
 I think I hear the bell repeat, 
 
 Come every rank where you should be; 
 Uncertain is your mortal state, 
 
 Come now and hear the offers free. 
 
 In yonder throng let us unite, 
 
 To hear the news should make us glad, 
 Since Britain still enjoys the light, 
 
 That many nations never bad. 
 
 If we have health then let us go, 
 
 Why should we here at home remain : 
 
 As time is fleeting here below, 
 
 We may not have the chance again. 
 
 Since we are liable to die, 
 
 Our passing days they may be few, 
 And when the vital spark shall fly, 
 
 Eternal scenes must strike our view. 
 
 The time shall come that we must cease, 
 Like all the multitudes before, 
 
 And others will take up our place, 
 
 When here we shall be known no more. 
 
 As changeable is life and breath, 
 To yonder church let us go out, 
 
 Pale we may shut our eyes in death. 
 Before next sabbath comes about. 
 
 And then another bell must call, 
 Our grieving friends without delay. 
 
 In mourning robes assembling all, 
 To lay in dust our sleeping clay. 
 
 Then life is past the spirit's gone, 
 No more we hear the bells resound, 
 
 But let us go while time rolls on, 
 Before dead silence wraps us round. 
 
 ^H 
 
H7 
 
 POETICAL ADDRESS to the TOWN OF NAIRN, 
 
 Sent to the Author from England. 
 
 Urg'd by the muse I try to tune the lyre, 
 Although unfit to harmonize its chords, 
 May genius grant the matter I require, 
 Arrange my metre and afford me words. 
 
 Nairn, my birth-place and my dearest home, 
 Tis gratitude that bids me chant your praise, 
 Friendship excites an inward filial flame, 
 For thee and those I knew in youth's gay days. 
 
 Your links and braes o'erspread with whins and broom, 
 Their rural beauty to the eye conveys, 
 Your streets re-echo as the rising moon, 
 Invites your youngsters to their nightly plays. 
 
 In dreams I oft traverse your healthful shore, 
 And sandy hillocks fringed with hoary bent, 
 In thought I meet my comrades dear of yore, 
 Still bound to me by friendship's strong cement. . 
 
 Amongst your whins we've spent the summer days, 
 Birds, bees, and butterflies enticed us there, 
 Our throbbing lungs enhailed the passing breeze, 
 Pregnant with pleasure and unmix'd with care. 
 
 Those childhood companions are dispers'd afar, 
 All bound by fortune o'er the briny main, 
 Some died at home, and others fell in war, 
 A scatter'd few is all that does remain. 
 
 Our teacher and our guardian is gone, 
 Unto that world where virtue meets reward, 
 Where'er his talents or his worth were known, 
 His name excites the feelings of regard. 
 
 His mind possess'd a never failing source 
 Of knowledge, which to youth he did instil, 
 But death has stopp'd its mind-expanding cours . 
 And now he moulders in the grave's cold cell. 
 
148 
 
 But though he's gone his merits shall not die, 
 By those he taught his talents still are known, 
 Like the set sun that gilds the evening sky, 
 Although obscure beneath the horizon. 
 
 Though death bereaves you of your aged friends, 
 Why should you murmur since its Heaven's decree, 
 Though fortune drives the youth to distant lands, 
 In tranquil thought they oft revisit thee. 
 
 Your name is deeply graven in their hearts, 
 Youtii form'd attachment still its strength retains; 
 The joys of childhood tranquil thought imparts. 
 To those who love their country and their friends. 
 
 Let foreign countries boast of glitt'ring wealth, 
 Their numerous wants exhaust their hard won gain, 
 Yours are supplied and bless'd with precious health. 
 Few fortune hunters can that gift retain. 
 
 Long may the decent folk who grace your streets, 
 Enjoy the dainties which the north affords, 
 IV Jay ble s'd contentment with its choicest sweets, 
 Kitchen their diet on their frugal boards. 
 
 May nature's gifts with you be largely shar'd, 
 And bless'd beyond what I can now express ; 
 My birth place claims my most sincere regard. 
 I close my simple — yet heartfelt address. 
 
 J. G. 
 
 London, 22d November, IS23, 
 
 
 On receiving this Address the Author returned the follow- 
 ing Answer, 
 
 Dear Son, your letter here I got 
 That ye to Nairn town have wrote, 
 Which made me easily perceive, 
 Ye mind on them ye chanc'd to leave. . 
 
149 
 
 With joy I read your kind address, 
 Which in my pocket I possess, 
 It gave me pleasure for to see, 
 Ye mind your native home and me. 
 Quite right, my Son, to keep in view, 
 The place that once was kind to you, 
 Before ye tread the world so well, 
 And long- hefore ye kent yoursell. 
 Nairn your birth place still I find, 
 Has not as yet escap'd your mind, 
 For though that England is most grand, 
 I see you praise your native land. 
 Our bonny links that nature clad, 
 Once on a day they made you glad, 
 When summer days to you seem'd short, 
 Delighted with your rural sport. 
 When with your comrades on our braes, 
 Ye had nae thought of future days, 
 No cares of life then troubled you, 
 For every day your joys were new. 
 Then youthful hours with joy ye spent, 
 Amongst our blooming whins and bent ; 
 But though that joys delight might give, 
 They disappeared no more to live. 
 Yet here our links and rising hill, 
 I find that you remember still, 
 Where you have had your early joys, 
 Amus'd with butterflies and toys. 
 But now we find those days expir'd, 
 And all your comrades have retir'd, 
 Both you and they are scatter'd round, 
 Yet still ye prize old Scottish ground. 
 Ye say in sleep ye mind our shore, 
 Where you rejoic'd with youths before, 
 When rural joys were all your theme, 
 But when ye wake it is a dream. 
 Such is the case with all things here, 
 For early joys soon disappear ; 
 Yet if ye vainly spend your bloom, 
 Let higher views now fill their room. 
 
150 
 
 Once thoughtless on our links ye ran, 
 
 But now your age is twenty-one, 
 
 And joys quite new ye must attend, 
 
 But wisely use the time you spend. 
 
 Ohserve the world as ye pass on, 
 
 You see your friends and teacher gone, 
 
 Yet that no ways ye may think strange, 
 
 For men and all life's scenes must change. 
 
 But may ye have content and health, 
 
 Since fortune meets you with her wealth, 
 
 And while within this world ye dwell, 
 
 Live as ye ought and all is well. 
 
 I find the muse directs your pen, 
 
 And useful arts ye now obtain, 
 
 I hope your merits meet renown, 
 
 Since ye respect your native town. 
 
 Now Nairn your birthrplace sends you thanks, 
 
 From many friends of different ranks, 
 
 As you have sent us this address, 
 
 Long may ye meet with great success. 
 
 And while through life's short voyage ye steer, 
 
 May wisdom always guide you here, 
 
 That you may at life's journey's end, 
 
 Meet with a never failing friend. 
 
 But now my pen I must lay by, 
 
 Yet on my kindness still rely. 
 
 From Nairn this I send to you, 
 
 I add no more, dear James adieu. 
 
 W. G. 
 Nairn, 2Mi Dec. 1823. 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE BURGH 
 OF NAIRN. 
 
 The Town of Nairn here spoken of, (now the Author's residence) 
 is a neat Town and a Royal Burgh, situated about 18 miles from 
 Inverness and 1 1 from Forres — standing opposite the mouth of the 
 
151 
 
 Cromarty Frith. The Links of Nairn here mentioned is a pleasant 
 spot of ground on the north side of* the town, near the sea-shore, 
 where round it there grows a quantity of whins, which look beautiful 
 in the summer time while in bloom. Nairn appears to have been an 
 ancient town, by the places of antiquity around it ; for there is a 
 little hill close on the Links, commonly called the Witch-hill, where 
 in the bloody days of persecution, in the reign of Charles the Second, 
 about the year 1676, — in those unenlightened times, there were ma- 
 ny old women burned on that spot, supposed then to be witches, par- 
 ticularly one old woman, of whom it is said that her own son carried 
 the sticks for the fire in which she was burned. On the south side 
 of the town there had been a strong castle— but was demolished by 
 Edward King of England about the year 1303 ; — and it appears 
 that there had been a secret subterraneous passage leading from the 
 Castle of Nairn all the way under the town to the rocks on the back 
 shore, where it would appear there had been another Castle or Fort 
 of Defence, which enabled them in those warlike times to have sup- 
 plies by sea, or to escape from their surrounding enemies by retiring 
 from the one Castle to the other under ground. Nairn is sup- 
 posed to be one of the healthiest situations in the North, being siftu 
 ated between the river and the sea, which makes it very pleasant, and 
 gives it the privilege of pure air. Nairn is a good fishing station, 
 and a place famed for sea-bathing, where there are hot and cold bath*, 
 and many now resort there in the summer months for health* 
 
 ON RECEIVING AN APPLE FROM A YOUNG 
 LADY. 
 
 Ten thousand thanks my lovely fair, 
 
 Your gift with joy I view, 
 This apple nature did prepare, 
 
 Which I accept from you. 
 
 Nurs'd by the sun and summer showers, 
 
 Its beauty now it shows, 
 Red are its cheeks, and so are yours 
 
 More charming than the rose. 
 
 This apple on the branch display'd, 
 I view'd it passing by, 
 
152 
 
 Just like yourself my lovely maid. 
 Whose charms attract my eye. 
 
 1 saw you pull it from yon tree, 
 
 Most beautiful and grand. 
 Which makes it more esteem 'd by me, 
 
 As it comes from your hand. 
 
 Now is the season and the time, 
 
 This apple gives delight, 
 Yet your fair charms in their prime, 
 
 More sweeter far invite. 
 
 But mind my love and understand, 
 Those charms that vgu display, 
 
 Like this fine apple in my hand, 
 At last must fade away. 
 
 Sweet is this apple lovely fair, 
 
 I take it with good will ; 
 Sweet is your fruitful garden there, 
 
 But you are sweeter still. 
 
 Sweet is your sex, still kind we see, 
 
 Experience lets us know, 
 For Eve she gave an apple free, 
 
 Five thousand years ago. 
 
 EXCESS AND SOBRIETY CONTRASTED. 
 
 As Excess once with greatest cost 
 
 His luxuries made known, 
 Of what he had he made a boast 
 
 Extravagantly shewn. 
 
 But just as he was driving fast, 
 
 And all his wealth displayed? 
 He met sobriety at last, 
 
 And this to him he said : 
 
153 
 
 O friend, Sobriety, says he, 
 
 Your ways I much despise, 
 Because ye drive not on like me, 
 
 I very much surprise. 
 
 See how I cut a noble flash, 
 
 Conspicuous and grand : 
 My name is Excess, and shall dash 
 
 As long as I can stand ! 
 
 Besides, I have ten thousand friends, 
 
 Associates with me, 
 And daily upon me attend : 
 
 How happy must they be ! 
 
 Both day and night they love excess, 
 
 I give them joys indeed; 
 Destroying are there happiness 
 
 While they with me proceed. 
 
 Stop, says Sobriety ! my friend 
 
 You hurtful are to man, 
 Excess I think can serve no end. 
 
 I cannot love your plan. 
 
 Your friends may have short joys it's true, 
 
 While galloping they run, 
 But mind the harder they pursue 
 
 The sooner they'll be done. 
 
 For there are many here I know 
 
 Pay dearly for your price, 
 And are from affluence made low 
 
 And plung'd in open vice. 
 
 But all my friends guide well their wealth 
 
 As wise men still should do ; 
 They happy live, enjoying health 
 
 And reputation too. 
 
 They ever more respect shall gain, 
 
 For study conduct prais'd ; 
 Because from excess they refrain, 
 
 Some has been highly rais'd. 
 
154 
 
 I give them pleasures more than yours, 
 Which bring more joy indeed ; 
 
 In peace they live and here secure. 
 The only thing they need. 
 
 Explain me that, Sobriety, 
 
 (Then excess he replied) 
 I see your friends love piety, 
 
 But that I have denied. 
 
 Intemp'rance still has been my guide; 
 
 Each day my joys are new ; 
 And vice and folly by my side 
 
 I often have them too* 
 
 My friends they seldom mind their eml ; 
 
 This world is their theme, 
 And nobly here I make them spend, 
 
 While Excess is my name. 
 
 Sobriety then said, at last : 
 
 Excess, you speak most free, 
 But while your friends this world keep fas 
 
 They further cannot see. 
 
 On future scenes they seldom mind, 
 While under your command ; 
 
 And many here we daily find 
 Are ruin'd by your hand. 
 
 To men you give but fleeting joys, 
 Which cannot be secur'd. 
 
 Excess, here thy hand destroys 
 More than the slaught 'ring sword ! 
 
 But while I am Sobriety, 
 
 I ever hope to be 
 A blessing to society, 
 
 If they be rul'd by me* 
 
 And when good men resign their breathy 
 Who still to me kept true, 
 
 1 give them comfort at their death 
 
 Which excess cannot do. 
 
155 
 
 THE PICTURE OF MAN DISPLAYED FROM 
 HIS CRADLE TO HIS GRAVE. 
 
 Great many pictures here we see, 
 For pictures were and still shall be ; 
 Yet though ten thousand strike our view, 
 Some may be false, but this is true. 
 
 As I was viewing various scenes pass by, 
 A sight of man at last did catch my eye ; 
 Experience shew'd me while his state I saw, 
 And with my pen his picture here I draw. 
 But how shall I exhibit man at best, 
 Brought forth in sin, and oft with sorrow press'd ; 
 Formed of the dust and helpless from the womb, 
 Within a hair-breadth always of his tomb ? 
 See, how he comes into this world below ; 
 He looks all round but nothing can he know ! 
 Feeble and weak the infant man must lie, 
 And can do nothing for himself but cry. 
 See, how he wallows gasping on the knee, 
 While friends rejoice to find the infant free ! 
 With frame complete he draws the vital breath 
 Born for to live, yet still pursu'd by death. 
 He enters life ; see how his days commence ! 
 A stranger then to things of time and sense. 
 To troubles born, as flying sparks ascend 
 His moments come, and just as quickly end. 
 See how the mother views his taking charms ; 
 See how she grasps the infant in her arms ! 
 Inspir'd by love, when all her pains are gone 
 Her flutt 'ring breast receives her infant son. 
 Then nature cries, — the needy infant craves, — 
 The milk approaches, — and the mouth receives ; 
 For he who formed him sweet provision brings, 
 And to the mother's breast the infant clings. 
 See how he breathes, but subject to disease ; 
 His feeble neck his head can scarcely raise ; 
 G 6 
 
156 
 
 While various groups of troubles then appears. 
 
 Which helpless man must bear in infant years. 
 
 Next we observe him learning here to walk, 
 
 While lisping words begin his early talk ; 
 
 He often falls but not allowed to lie. 
 
 Because the mother carefully stands by. 
 
 Then in a cradle we perceive him weep. 
 
 Which must be roll'd to make the infant sleep;, 
 
 Rais'd up again, the careful nurse we see 
 
 Sits with the infant dandling on the knee. 
 
 Fast he advances on life's brittle way, 
 
 And as he grows he changes ev'ry day. 
 
 Amus'd with many difTrent things we find, 
 
 While toys and trifles here attract his mind. 
 
 Next we perceive him frolicsome and vain ; 
 
 To school he goes that he may learning gain; 
 
 And through his youth in folly he is found, 
 
 Still with his fellows thoughtless driving round. 
 
 But in a little all those things pass by : 
 
 See how the world then attracts his eye ; 
 
 His thoughts are chang'd, — his views are perfect new* 
 
 While pride of life becomes his darling view. 
 
 Then we perceive him thoughtless drive along, 
 
 Deprav'd by nature, and with passions strong ; 
 
 The broadest road gains his affections here 
 
 If mercy comes not for to interfere. 
 
 See how the world makes him forget his state, 
 
 Although his hours fly on till day gets late ; 
 
 And though his Maker gives to him a rule 
 
 He slights it often while he lives a fool. 
 
 Though man is lord of all the tribes below 
 
 He oft forgets where he has soon to go. 
 
 See, how he drives, not minding on the cost, 
 
 And risks a crown that may be gain'd or lost I 
 
 Thus he goes on, still mixing in the throng, 
 
 Amus'd with trifles as he moves along; 
 
 With life uncertain here he spends his time 
 
 Till he has reach'd the summit of his prime. 
 
157 
 
 Then in our circle we perceive him move, 
 Toss'd round with pleasures and oppress' d with love ; 
 Yet disappointments oftentimes annoy 
 Till he obtains the partner of his joy. 
 Then marriage here it makes him feel complete ; 
 He thinks with troubles never more to meet ; 
 But vain the thought — though he obtain'd a wife 
 He now must face the trials of this life. 
 Aspiring then for honours and for gain, 
 Which though obtain'd oft times do short remain ; 
 Ten thousand unforeseen events come round, 
 To blast bis views and dash them to the ground. 
 Then we perceive his family quickly rise ; 
 They give him pleasure yet oft times it dies ; 
 For many trials here to him are sent 
 Which man perceives not, nor can he prevent. 
 If he is great with servants in his hall, 
 See, how they wait him and attend his call ; 
 While highest ranks attend him ere and late, 
 Arid coaches drive all round his country seat. 
 What fortune sends and liberally allows, 
 He happy spends whatever she bestows ; 
 Kais'd up by honour to the highest pitch, 
 Behold him then envied for being rich ! 
 But if he's poor he meets with little praise ; - 
 Though he is worthy few his name will raise ; 
 But tried with poverty on life's short road, 
 The humble cottage must be his abode. 
 Observe him then how humbly he must go, 
 Oft times despis'd both by the high and low ; 
 And though he meets sometimes with better days, 
 This world drives him round ten thousand ways. 
 Some times lies high and sometimes may be low, 
 Yet on life's journey here we see him go ; 
 For all the scenes of life he must go through, 
 Till age begins with wrinkles on his brow. 
 Then we perceive his troubles now prevail, 
 And nature slowly then begins to fail ; 
 
158 
 
 While he looks back on days that are gone past, 
 
 Which vanished quickly like the winter blast. 
 
 Sight then gets dim, he cannot see so well, 
 
 The glass minutely must the letters tell ; 
 
 His steps get shorter, and grey hairs appear, 
 
 Which hint the symptom of declining years. 
 
 Then vigour fails, a shock disturbs his hand, 
 
 He then must sit for long he cannot stand ; — 
 
 Ten thousand troubles then invade his frame, 
 
 Threat'ning to send him back from whence he came. 
 
 Then longsome nights, we find, by him are spent, 
 
 And each new day brings on some new complaint ; 
 
 Yet if endowed with grace he looks on high, 
 
 And happy lives though death is drawing nigh. 
 
 If he's renew'd all troubles he can bear, 
 
 He seeks his portion in a happier sphere ; 
 
 To former scenes he bids a long farewell, 
 
 While dwindling on to meet his narrow cell. 
 
 See how his strength then wears unto an end, 
 
 While on a staff his shattered frame must bend ; 
 
 With chirping voice and faculties near gone 
 
 His tott'ring limbs can scarcely bear him on. 
 
 Just like a child now view him here again, 
 
 His failing memry nothing can retain ; 
 
 While scenes around he cannot know at all, 
 
 W T ith eyes so dim he gropes to find the wall. 
 
 Then on a bed poor helpless man is found, 
 
 While mourning friends with weeping eyes stand round ; 
 
 Though kind physicians there display their skill 
 
 Man's dissolution is advancing still. 
 
 At last we view him ghastly, pale, and thin, 
 
 As man wears out the hollow cheeks fall in ; 
 
 Till nature fails and all at once gives w r ay, 
 
 Then death here lays him with his mother clay. 
 
159 
 
 MORAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE PICTURE OF MAN 
 
 This picture here attracts our eye, 
 
 But now by us it may be said, 
 
 We view our own as we pass by, 
 
 When man before us is display 'd. 
 
 Step after step we see him rise, 
 
 Upon his way advancing still, 
 
 But view him when his vigour dies, 
 
 How man comes tott'ring down the hill. 
 
 With life uncertain — full of cares, 
 
 He moves upon this earthly ball ; 
 
 For one that reaches hoary hairs, 
 
 A thousand here we see them fall. 
 
 Then let us think ere it be late ; 
 
 We cannot ever here remain, 
 
 For man must join another state, 
 
 And death must close this earthly scene. 
 
 THE GRAVE DISCOVERED; 
 Or, an early walk in the Church-yard, 1826. 
 
 The sun had risen with brilliant show- 
 To gild the world anew, 
 
 When early I arose to go 
 To take a morning view. 
 
 The spangl'd dew lay on the grass, 
 
 Flow'rs blossom'd all around, 
 And ev'ry place I chanc'd to pass 
 
 Some, new delights I found. 
 
 But walking on, at last I reach'd 
 
 The church-yard's lonely spot, 
 And there a lesson I was taught 
 
 Where none I thought was got. 
 
 I view'd the tombs of those I lov'd, 
 
 While tears dropp'd from my eye, 
 But there no living creature mov'd 
 
 Except the worm and I. 
 
160 
 
 Dead silence close pervaded round 
 
 Amongst the sleeping clay, 
 While there an open grave I found 
 
 Which caus'd me for to stay. 
 
 Both bones and sculls lay scatter'd there 
 
 That join'd the human frame, 
 Which warn'd me that I should prepare, 
 
 As mine must lie the same. 
 
 Those things my great attention took 
 
 While there I did remain; 
 I view'd the grave with serious look, 
 
 And mus'd upon the scene. 
 
 O srave, said I, when you we see 
 
 How solemn is the view ! 
 Because our mortal race must he 
 
 Through time all lodg'd in you. 
 
 Is there no way for us to fly, 
 And keep out of your pow'r ? 
 
 No : man is doom'd in you to lie, 
 Bound in your cell secure. 
 
 You hold the aged and the youth, 
 
 All men must disappear, 
 While tears of grief fall round your mouth 
 
 For those we held most dear. 
 
 The mourning hearse draws nigh your gate 
 With solemn pomp, and slow, 
 
 While friends in crape around you wait 
 To see a corpse laid low. 
 
 For in the grave all sink at last 
 
 Promiscuous, man must lie; 
 Mortality must hold us fast 
 
 Till time shall cease to fly. 
 
 Cold Death, thy friend, aims at the heart ; 
 
 Thy tenants are not few ; 
 Yet boast not grave, man's noblest part 
 
 Triumphs o'er death and you. 
 
161 
 
 Yet from your pow'r none can be kept, 
 
 As fleeting is our breath ; 
 And long in you all ranks have slept, 
 
 Grasp'd in the arms of death. 
 
 But can you always keep us bound ? 
 
 No : Grave you boast in vain, 
 For one bright morning shall come round 
 
 And set us free again. 
 
 Yet still unsatisfied ? O Grave, 
 
 For all you did receive ; 
 Man's last remains you grasp to have, 
 
 And more and more you crave. 
 
 Where are the millions you devour d 
 
 Since Abel you obtain'd ; 
 Are they not all by you secur'o^ 
 
 And will be to the end ? 
 
 No s — Hg who had almighty pow'r 
 
 Rose up and conquer' d you, 
 And gave his promise firm and sure, 
 
 His friends to raise them too. 
 
 Great nature then convuls'd shall be, 
 
 That all may be reveal'd, 
 Then you, O Grave, must set them free 
 
 That you so long conceal'd. 
 
 But shall man's substance all be found 
 
 Wherever it has gone ? 
 Yes : scatter'd dust shall gather round,. 
 
 And bone shall fly to bone. 
 
 You rotting Grave, by sound must burst, 
 
 No one dare you detain ; 
 And he who form'd the man at first 
 
 Shall form the man again. 
 
 But may we wisely now rely 
 On Him who then can save, 
 
 In hopes to reach yon world on high 
 No more to dread the grave. 
 
l-6£ 
 
 And let us weigh those matters well, 
 It's time we were hegmi ; 
 
 For, Grave, within thy darken'd cell 
 There's nothing can be done. 
 
 ON PLEASANT SLEEP. 
 
 The Author wrote the following Lines offer a fatiguing 
 Journey and a good night's, rest: 
 
 O ! gentle sleep, we much admire you 
 
 Since you gave us sweet repose ; 
 Sore fatigu'd we still desire you, 
 
 Man his slumb'ring eyes must close* 
 
 Lightly here wo spoak about you, 
 
 Yet if once you take the flight, 
 Pale and wan we look without you 
 
 Rising from a lonely night, 
 
 Press'd with trouble, faint and weary, 
 
 Sleep, we fondly love your charms ; 
 Through the night both dark and dreary 
 
 Soft ye lull us in your arms. 
 
 While we lie in your embraces, 
 
 From our sight all fly away ; 
 Grief subsides and fear decreases, 
 
 Till we view the rising day. 
 
 Hours in sleep we cannot number, 
 
 Though our time still constant flies; 
 Yet supported by your slumber, 
 
 Like the rose refreshed we rise. 
 
 Much from pleasant sleep is taken ; 
 
 Soundest sleep refreshes best ; 
 Yet let ev'ry day we waken 
 
 Fit us for a longer rest. 
 
163 
 
 Sleep is given to ev'iy creature, 
 All the world's circuit round ; 
 
 Sleep still helps our feeble nature, 
 Though in sleep too oft were found 
 
 Through all nations sleep is needed, 
 Helpless man his head must bend ; 
 
 While all around us lie unheeded 
 Sleeps an emblem of our end. 
 
 Yet to us sweet sleep was granted, 
 Man requires it from the womb ; 
 
 Sleep by us cannot be wanted, 
 Till we cold sleep in the tomb. 
 
 Rut while we through life are moving, 
 In our mind still let us keep ; 
 
 Time we now should be improving, 
 Ere we lie in death's long sleep* 
 
 ON DETECTING A BAD SHILLING. 
 
 Aye, shilling, have ye come to me ? 
 Ye are a cheat I plainly see ; 
 Ye're neatly notch'd and brawly made, 
 Though he that made you risk'd his head. 
 I ken through many hands ye slipp'd, 
 But now in mine ye're fairly gripp'd ; 
 For even though ye bear the crown, 
 Ye are condemn'd to be nail'd down. 
 Nae doubt when newly dress'd in plate, 
 Well did ye look though but a cheat ; 
 Nae worth a dite, yet gaed about, 
 Till your deception was found out. 
 Ye wore the British stamp and milling, 
 And for a while ye seem'd a shilling ; 
 Yet though ye look'd like silver proper, 
 Your banes we see they are but copper, 
 
164 
 
 Ye plated thief, since ye're nae right 
 How dare ye come wi' good day light ;. 
 Though ye appear wi Geordie's face, 
 Ye're now detected wi' disgrace. 
 Just like the hypocrite ye pass'd, 
 Till your disguise came off at last ; 
 For when your coat got fairly thin, 
 Ye shew'd your heart was fause within. 
 We ken ye didna want a letter, 
 Yet still that never made you better ; 
 But since your face gets daily blacker, 
 It baith condemns you and your maker. 
 
 THE COTTAGE IN RUINS ; 
 
 A Scene discovered by the Author in the High- 
 lands of Scotland in 1827. 
 
 As I across yon mountains chane'd to go, 
 I was delighted with the scenes below, 
 The .more that I advane'd the rising ground, 
 The more delight was in the landscape round. 
 Although no beauty mark'd the mountains brow, 
 Yet from the top most charming was the view, 
 While Scotlands rocks and scenes attract' d the sight, 
 I stopp'd to look witli pleasure and delight. 
 The fleecy sheep amongst the heath there fed, 
 While woods and vallies all around w r ere spread, 
 Fine lochs and rivers there attract my eye, 
 Reflecting sweetly from the azure sky. 
 High castles also from that place appear'd, 
 Which Caledonia s ancient sons had rear'd, 
 The landscape round great pleasure gave to me, 
 When looking round as far as sight could see. 
 The sweet moor- cock I found him there reside, 
 And moor-fowl swiftly fluttering past my side, 
 
165 
 
 Yet as I found the sun made no delay, 
 
 Across the mountain then I took my way. 
 
 But when that I had reach'd the other side, 
 
 I found a valley beautiful and wide, 
 
 Where cattle fed and grass in plenty grew. 
 
 And there another scene attract my view. 
 
 I saw a cottage all in ruins there, 
 
 Which seem'd to tumble down for want of care, 
 
 The roof was falling, all the wood was bent, 
 
 Some part had fallen and all the walls were rent. 
 
 A little garden seem'd before the door, 
 
 Without a fence to keep it in secure ; 
 
 Large heaps of stones lay scattered on the green, 
 
 That in some building formerly had been. 
 
 But as I view'd the ruins all about, 
 
 At last I saw an aged man come out, 
 
 Feeble and weak indeed he seem'd to be, 
 
 While on his staff he lean'd to speak to me. 
 
 Kis shaking limbs I saw they seem'd to fail ; 
 
 His locks were white, his face was thin and pale. 
 
 He wish'd to speak but scarce one word could tell, 
 
 For tears of sorrow from his eyes there fell. 
 
 () ! stop your tears my aged friend said I, 
 
 Tell me the reason what makes you to cry, 
 
 I know some grief you heavily must bear, 
 
 When one so aged vents the drooping tear. 
 
 Alas, says he, I grieve, but ere ye go, 
 
 Kind friend, the reason you shall shortly know : 
 
 I mourn to think upon the time that's gone. 
 
 And for my cottage now I make my moan. 
 
 Hee how its walls a-e chatter'd all around, 
 
 See how its roof is tumbling to the ground, 
 
 Where have I now my aged head to lay, 
 
 Alas my cottage now at last gives way. 
 
 Much have I sufTer'd since I here was born, 
 
 And now I must go wand'ring all forlorn, 
 
 Great was my troubles on this world's stage, 
 
 And I am near an hundred years of a^e. 
 
166 
 
 So struck with years that friends are all laid low. 
 Not one of them is left to soothe ray woe, 
 In yonder church-yard all sunk from my view, 
 Wife, sons and daughters, and relations true. 
 Happy I Hv'd for many years by past, 
 But earthly joys cannot for ever last ; 
 Much have I seen upon this earthly ball, 
 And now I mourn to see my cottage fall. 
 Great many changes have been in my day, 
 Once in this cottage brave Prince Charles lay. 
 Those scenes of Scotland in my mind I bear, 
 And ever shall while I this bonnet wear. 
 Within this cottage I and mine were rear'd, 
 Within this cottage long have I been cheer'd, 
 But now I grieve, alas, though all in vain, 
 For pleasures past will not return again. 
 When I look back on all the years expir'd, 
 And all the scenes with dearest friends retir'd, 
 Although respect a long time mark'd my name, 
 All now has vanish'd like a midnight dream. 
 For worldly comforts short their beauty shows, 
 I found they alter'd like the fading rose ; 
 Time wears out all which can make no delay? 
 And now has swept my earthly joys away. 
 Alas, my cottage and my friends are gone, 
 And now my end is quickly drawing on. 
 But what is worse, though death approaches nigh, 
 I for the journey nothing have laid by; 
 Great is my age, yet thoughtless I have liv'd, 
 And future woes I scarcely ere believ'd ; 
 But now I find they're wise who keep in view 
 A better world, where all things still are new. 
 Ere long this body in the earth must lie, 
 Although, alas, I am not fit to die. 
 Yet now my cottage plainly lets me know, 
 That man, and all his works shall be brought low. 
 O friend, says he, since you to me was sent, 
 To know my state and cause of my complaint; - 
 
167 
 
 Leave me not liere but bring me to some place, 
 To be rereivd and close ray days in peace. 
 The old man then I took him by the hand ; 
 Dim was Iris eyes and long he could not stand ; 
 Weak was his strength to lift his feeble foot, 
 Yet in a while we reach'd a shepherd's hut. 
 I look'd within, but none could I perceive, 
 Though there I wish'd the aged man to leave ; 
 And at the door at last he did sit down, 
 Expecting death to ease his troubles soon. 
 The bleating sheep were feeding all around, 
 And soon the wish'd for shepherd there I found ; 
 I from my packet gave what I could spare, 
 And left the old man on the shepherd's care. 
 But as the sun had cross'd the mountain's brow, 
 The heath-clad moor I had to wander through ; 
 Yet still I could not get out of my mind 
 The poor old man that I had left behind. 
 I oft look'd back while I the place could see, 
 And thought how helpless there that man must be : 
 Whose hoary hairs were bending to the tomb, 
 Yet had no friend, no resting place, nor home. 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE OLD MAN 
 AND HIS COTTAGE. 
 
 By this old man a lesson we may find, 
 
 As all things here are changing in their kind; 
 
 His falling cottage very plainly shews, 
 
 That time nt last brings all things to a close. 
 
 Yet this old man he liv'd not as he ought, 
 
 His latter end had seldom reach'd his thought. 
 
 Till strength decay'd and all his friends were dead, 
 
 And had no home to lay his hoary head. 
 
 He found his sorrows were not few nor small ; 
 
 But those that are wise at last o'ercome them all, 
 
 And find a friend who soon dispels their fears, 
 
 And with his robe can wipe away their tears. 
 
 This poor man's cottage fell to let him know, 
 
 That nothing can be lasting here below. 
 
 On earthly objects why should we rely, 
 
 As all things ncMe must in ruins lie. 
 
168 
 
 For since the things of time cannot remain, 
 Let us now wisely look beyond the scene, 
 And seek a building that shall still endure, 
 In yonder world where pleasures are made sure. 
 This old man's cottage a long time stood fast, 
 Yet rolling years made it decay at last ; 
 And soon this cottage of our human frame 
 Must also tumble down from whence it came. 
 From this old man we may perceive our state, 
 Who trust our building till it is too late ; 
 But let us now consider in our day, 
 And view a better ere the old gives way. 
 May we be wiser than this poor old man, 
 And seek a home more surer while we can ; 
 To find a lasting building and a friend, 
 Where joy endures that never knows an end. 
 
 ADDRESS TO VIRTUE AND VICE. 
 
 Virtue ! how shall my pen aright 
 
 Your honour bright display ? 
 Your taking charms still give delight, 
 
 While we are on our way. 
 
 Your name all nations highly raise, 
 
 While you with grace unite ; 
 Great Britain also sounds your praise. 
 
 With pleasure and delight. 
 
 But beauty may attract we know, 
 
 And much adorn the fair; 
 Yet all is but an ernty show, 
 
 If virtue be not there. 
 
 What is the face, the fairest skin. 
 
 Or lovely sparkling eyes, 
 Unless true virtue be within, 
 
 Where all the beauty lies; 
 
 For virtue's robes are sometimes thewn, 
 Gilded in fairest view. 
 
169 
 
 Till time flies round, and then makes known 
 If virtue 's false or true. 
 
 For virtue still adorns the mind — 
 
 With virtue still we see 
 The humble look and heart most kind, 
 
 Benevolent and free. 
 
 Yet virtue is not bought for gold, 
 
 Though highly here renown d ; 
 Yet as a crown to young or old, 
 
 Wherever virtue's found. 
 
 Thy fame O virtue ! shall endure, 
 
 Thy name shall still be sweet, 
 And when you reach your latest hour, 
 
 A sure reward shall meet. 
 
 But while true virtue gains our praise, 
 
 To vice w r e now must turn ; 
 Its you O vice ! with all your ways, 
 
 That makes the man to mourn. 
 
 It's you with your deceiving smiles, 
 
 That brings degrading stains ; 
 It's you O vice ! that fills our jails, 
 
 And binds the fatal chains. 
 
 It's you that multitudes destroy, 
 While here you hold them fast, 
 
 You make them trust your flattering joy, 
 Till ruin comes at last. 
 
 See how you make the prisoner stand, 
 
 Condemn 'd before the bar ; 
 See how you fill yon distant land, 
 
 Where numerous convicts are. 
 
 It's by your great bewitching power, 
 W^hen to your yoke they bind ; 
 
 That brings some to an awful hour, 
 And an untimely end. 
 
 H 
 
170 
 
 O ! why dare you triumphant go, 
 
 Yet early vice began ; 
 It's you O vice ! that leads to woe, 
 
 And cheats the soul of man. 
 
 But while our fleeting days fly round. 
 
 Let vice ashamed stand ; 
 And virtue more and more abound, 
 
 Bound Britain's happy land. 
 
 A VIEW OF THE GARDEN IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 When cold November's chilling blast, 
 From shaking trees makes leaves to fly 
 
 It lets us know that Autumn's past, 
 And winter shortly drawing nigh. 
 
 One day I view'd my garden here, 
 
 When autumn had gone past, 
 And saw great many plants appear, 
 
 Sore wither'd by the blast. 
 
 And there the charming flowers I found, 
 
 They greatly did decline ; 
 Which through the pleasant summer round, 
 
 Were dress 'd by nature fine. 
 
 I also saw the fruitful trees, 
 
 That high their branches rear'd, 
 
 Their mantle falling by the breeze, 
 Their grandeur disappeared. 
 
 Their leaves that once were green got pale, 
 
 And sadly stripp'd all round ; 
 And with the cold sharp northern gale, 
 
 Were tumbling to the ground. 
 
 I stood a while the cause to find, 
 While leaves fell from the tree, 
 
171 
 
 But while I view'd it struck my mind, 
 A" lesson this givet me. 
 
 Round every tree some leaves were found, 
 To them my thoughts were led ; 
 
 To mind all ranks must reach the ground, 
 The earth must be our bed. 
 
 Some trees were there that stately stood, 
 Dress'd with fine leaves before ; 
 
 They promised well but grew to wood, 
 And fruit they never bore. 
 
 This made me mind though some profess, 
 
 Most fruitful for to be ; 
 Are at the last stripped of their dress, 
 
 As naked as this tree. 
 
 A tree was there which blossom'd soon, 
 
 And seem'd to flourish most, 
 But had no fruit, they all fell down 
 
 Nipp'd by the early frost. 
 
 This is like those who in their youth, 
 
 Religious-like appears, 
 But by temptation lose the truth, 
 
 That crowns the latter years. 
 
 Yet trees were there that had fine fruit, 
 
 JSweet to the taste and eye ; 
 And though their season had run out, 
 
 Their fruit was all laid by. 
 
 This made me mind how happy they, 
 Who bear the fruits of grace ; 
 
 They nor their fruit shall not decay, 
 In Heaven they have their place. 
 
 Still through the garden I walk'd on, 
 Where various leaves there lay ; 
 
 To future views my mind had gone, 
 Then 1 began to say. 
 
172 
 
 Did I not see those leaves once grow. 
 
 Though subject to decay ; 
 This makes me to remember now, 
 
 All nature must give way. 
 
 Those leaves I once saw in their prime. 
 While summer days roll'd on ; 
 
 But now they fall to show our time, 
 Like theirs must soon be gone. 
 
 Amongst the trees I find here'lies, 
 Great leaves amongst the small ; 
 
 Which like ourselves here daily dies, 
 Promiscuously we fall. 
 
 I saw those leaves once raise their head. 
 Though now on earth they die ; 
 
 But when I see their beauties fade, 
 They tell me so must I. 
 
 For though we are to wisdom blind, 
 
 And to good counsel deaf; 
 Nature may make us wisdom find, 
 
 By the falling of the leaf. 
 
 Still from the garden we may see, 
 There's something may be brought ; 
 
 That to us all may useful bc> 
 To occupy the thought. 
 
 LINES FROM THE AUTHOR TO Mn SCEPTIC, 
 Who scoffed at tJwse who tvere Religious. 
 
 Sir, 
 The last time we met in an evening of late, 
 As we cross'd at the back of the hill, 
 The stories ye told made me pity your state, 
 And vour words I remember them still. 
 
173 
 
 Ye said that religion ye never could bear, 
 To be serious, to think or to pray ; 
 And the thoughts of futurity gave you no fear, 
 Till once that your head would get grey. 
 
 But to you honest Sir, my advice I would gie, 
 Although my advice may be lost ; 
 Think now on those things while the offer is free, 
 And never make scoffing your boast. 
 
 Although in this life many bustles you have, 
 Since you're mortal be humble and think, 
 Before you get grey you may fall in the grave, 
 For, tott'ring, you walk on the* brink. 
 
 Ten thousand deceptions may lead you it's true, 
 For still it's the practice with some ; 
 But now when you're able keep death in your view, 
 And think of the world to come. 
 
 For soon from the carpet you must bi away. 
 And may meet with a horrible blast ; 
 So be not deceiv'd, but improve while you may, 
 For death here will cheat you at last. 
 
 This is not your home you may eas'ly see, 
 You must steer for Eternity's shore, 
 And, ready or not, soon away you must be, 
 But here shall return no more. 
 
 Yet with things of no value you daily engage, 
 And higher views slighted for them ; 
 But mind, honest Sir, what you act on the stage 
 Will either acquit or condemn* 
 
 Still walk by God's rules, as you soon must go hence, 
 Be wise for yourself while you can , 
 And seek for a conscience that's void of offence 
 To God, and your good neighbour man. 
 
 Think now on futurity, keep it in view ; 
 
 It's time that you thought on't aright, — 
 
 For one day you'll find, though you think it not true, 
 
 Your deeds shall be brought to the light. 
 
174- 
 
 No doubt, honest Sir, you wish heaven at last, 
 But now is the time to apply ; 
 Since life, health and vigour you cannot hold fast, 
 Live now, as you hope for to die. 
 
 Although that this world deceives you with smiles, 
 It quickly may blast in an hour ; 
 Consider its changes — you will lose your toils, 
 If you seek not a rest more secure. 
 
 Though the world be kind, you must leave it when old, 
 
 And resign all the gifts that it gave ; 
 
 But seek now for riches more lasting than gold, 
 
 For the world is left at the grave. 
 
 What though you had riches like mountains so high, 
 And honours extended abroad, 
 What value will they be to you when you die, 
 If you are a stranger to God. 
 
 No — naked you came, and shall naked <^o out, 
 And back to the earth must return ; 
 The noble and mean here alike rots no doubt, 
 And all meets with death in their turn. 
 
 Now friend, if you wish to be happy at last, 
 Pray in time to get grace to your mind; 
 Eut slight not religion till death lays you fast, 
 Or the greatest mistake you will find. 
 
 To be call'd unprepar'd to an unknown state, 
 How awful may then be your fall, 
 Irrecoverable loss — which then is too late 
 To alter, reverse, or recal. 
 
 But I hope, honest Sir, you will take my advice, 
 And read o'er these verses from me, 
 For now is the time to he making your choice, 
 Where at last you would wish for to be. 
 
 I remain, Sir, Your well-wisher, 
 
 A Friend. 
 M June, 1826. 
 
173 
 
 THE UNHAPPY MAN'S END ; or THE LAST 
 VIEW OF THE PROFLIGATE. 
 
 While walking through this world, we may possess 
 Much of its comforts and its happiness ; 
 But never let those things stand up between, 
 To keep us from things better, yet unseen. 
 
 There was a most unhappy man, 
 Who vainly spent his all, 
 
 Till on his death-bed pillow, he- 
 Was made at last to fall. 
 
 Life's taper being almost out, 
 But conscience cried within, 
 
 While he look'd back upon his life, 
 Stain'd with the deeds of sin. 
 
 His pleasures, like the stormy wind, 
 Had toss'd him to and fro ; 
 
 Wishing to please his foolish mind 
 He sought no more to know. 
 
 But when affliction laid him fast, 
 
 He thus begins to cry : 
 O ! pleasures, must I part with you, 
 
 And nothing else have I. 
 
 What sudden change is this on me, 
 
 For all the wealth I have ; 
 Must I resign this vital breath 
 
 To crumble in a grave. 
 
 Am I that was so great in pow'r, 
 
 Reduced here so low ; 
 How distant were my thoughts of this 
 
 A little time ago. 
 
 When I in wickedness did roll, 
 
 And feasted ev'ry day ; 
 And in the paths of vice, pass'd all 
 
 My precious time away. 
 
176 
 
 With my associates who were 
 
 On worldly pleasures bent, 
 Their bad example still I took, 
 
 And liv'd without restraint. 
 
 While health and strength did cheer my days. 
 
 Their ways were my delight ; 
 With them in wickedness and sin, 
 
 I ran with all my might. 
 
 Forgetting that a moment's time, 
 
 A sudden change might bring ; 
 Now all those pleasures disappear, 
 
 And leaves with me their sting. 
 
 O where is my companions now, 
 
 Can they give me relief ? 
 Can they no comfort give to me 
 
 To mitigate my grief ? 
 
 Have they at last forsaken me, 
 
 For all the love they had, 
 And left me to lament my state, 
 
 And die upon this bed ? 
 
 ! piercing thought, can this be death — 
 
 I banish'd from my sight ; 
 Is it with terror come to make 
 
 My spirit take its flight ? 
 
 Was I not told I have a soul, 
 
 That lives for evermore, 
 Which unrelenting death shall waft 
 
 Upon an endless shore. 
 
 Was I not told a Saviour came—,, 
 But what torments my thought ; - 
 
 How can I think for to be sav'd 
 By him I never sought. 
 
 For now I see there's none but they 
 
 Whose hearts on him are staid, 
 That can be happy at their last, 
 
 When on a death-bed laid. 
 
177 
 
 With cheerfulness they can look back 
 How they have spent their days ; 
 
 While I this night with bitter grief 
 Lament my sinful ways. 
 
 O ! that I had prepar'd for death, 
 
 And sought for saving grace ; 
 Forsaken sin, and thought on God — 
 
 This night I might have peace. 
 
 But I unhappy still was made, 
 
 By pride and folly blind ; 
 Which drove away the thoughts of death, 
 
 And judgment, from my mind. 
 
 Did not my conscience often check, 
 
 When I on sin went on — 
 And told me that I must account 
 
 For all that I had done. 
 
 But I most eager grasp'd at sin, 
 
 For satan laid the bait, 
 And made me quench those rising thoughts, 
 
 To keep my conscience quiet. 
 
 But now my wicked actions come 
 
 With terror in my view ; 
 O ! how shall I account to Him 
 
 Who my transactions knew. 
 
 Must I give in a strict account, 
 
 How I have spent my days, 
 Unto that great impartial Judge 
 
 Who clearly saw my ways g 
 
 My thoughts now tell me that I must, 
 
 Within a little space; 
 But how can I for mercy look 
 
 Who never sought for grace ? 
 
 O ! for new strength — I faint — I fail. 
 
 But no more then was heard ; 
 Eternal silence bound his tongue, 
 
 This world had disappear'd. 
 
1?8 
 
 Quick flew the spirit on its way, 
 The man resign'd his hreath, 
 
 And lay a lifeless lump of clay, 
 Grasp'd in the arms of death. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON THE PROFLIGATE'S END. 
 
 Now from this man's unhappy end 
 
 Let all a warning take, 
 And let all those that live in vice 
 
 Their wretched ways forsake. 
 
 Let us our present hours improve, 
 Or we must bear the blame ; 
 
 And let us shun intemperance' paths 
 Which leadeth down the stream. 
 
 How happy is the man who keeps 
 
 Futurity in mind, 
 And for a better world prepares 
 
 To leave this world behind. 
 
 This man he thought while in his mirtli y 
 
 Great happiness he had, 
 But O ! how diff'rent were his thoughts 
 
 When on his dying bed, 
 
 He did lament his wicked race, 
 
 Which he in folly ran, 
 And saw that it is only grace 
 
 That makes the happy man. 
 
 Unto such thoughtless men at last 
 Death must great terrors bring, 
 
 But those who are by grace prepar'd 
 Despise his pointed sting. 
 
179 
 
 THE HAPPY MAN'S END; 
 
 Or a View of the good Man at the hour of death. 
 
 The good man possesses the pearl of grace, 
 
 Which shews him through life and crowns him at the end j 
 
 Its genuine beauty shall always increase, 
 
 Which time cannot blast nor eternity end. 
 
 Now let us view the happy man 
 
 Who liv'd a life of peace, 
 Upon his death-bed he is laid, 
 
 Yet still is cheer'd by grace. 
 
 Although the world disappears, 
 
 It never vexes him, 
 His happy views shine still more bright 
 
 Although his eyes get dim. 
 
 Contentedly he waits the stroke 
 
 Which we must all endure, 
 Because the anchor of his hope 
 
 Is fixed most secure. 
 
 All round his bed his little ones 
 
 Lament their father dear, 
 Their mother drops the tears of grief 
 
 Because his end is near. 
 
 Nature must speak — he views the scene, - 
 
 It must affect his heart ; 
 Yet with all comforts in this life 
 
 He cheerfully can part. 
 
 Unshaken by the things of time 
 
 He spent each passing day, 
 And still unmov'd, though death appears, 
 
 With joy he this can say : — 
 G 6 
 
180 
 
 O ! threat'ning death, I fear you not. 
 Nor yet dare you destroy ; 
 
 My happy views you cannot blast, 
 But bring about my joy. 
 
 Although thy veil shall soon come on, 
 To make the scene quite new ; 
 
 O happy ! I rejoice to see 
 A better world in view. 
 
 In early days I thought on God ; 
 
 On Him my heart was fix'd, 
 Which made me happy in this life 
 
 And fits me for the next. 
 
 Still happy while I steer'd my course 
 Through life's tempestuous sea, 
 
 Because I kept in view the land 
 Where I hope soon to be. 
 
 Still happy, though the worldly wise 
 Might call me what they may, 
 
 Because the happiness I had 
 None here could take away. 
 
 Still happy, if abundant wealth,. 
 
 By honest means I got ; 
 And happy still, though poverty 
 
 Sometimes might be my lot. 
 
 Still happy while I health enjoy'd, 
 Which made my pleasure more. 
 
 And happy even in distress, 
 Contented as before. 
 
 Still happy, though afflictions rose 
 
 My comforts for to blast, 
 For I look'd further on and saw 
 
 My troubles almost past. 
 
 Still happy for to think, that time 
 Would sweep them soon away ; 
 
 And happy I spent many a year, 
 Which seems now but a day. 
 
181 
 
 Still happy while I liv'd to praise 
 
 Him who was all my trust, 
 And happy at the thoughts of death, 
 
 Though dust must go to dust. 
 
 Still happy yet, hecause I know 
 That death shall set me free ; 
 
 And with my Saviour hope to land, 
 Where happiness shall be. 
 
 But while he spake, life's props gave way, 
 
 He ran his happy race ; 
 He bade his friends a long farewell, 
 
 And shut his eyes in peace. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON THE GOOD MAN'S END. 
 
 Now by this happy man we see 
 
 The happiness they have, 
 Who love religion while they're young, 
 
 And look beyond the grave. 
 
 They weigh this world and sum it up 
 
 With all the joys it brings, 
 And see that time here ends at last, 
 
 The very pomp of kings. 
 
 They see all earthly pleasures fade, 
 Like to the flower that dies ; 
 
 But there true happiuess shall last, 
 When death seals up their eyes. 
 
 For then we know the heavenly mind, 
 
 Its joys shall still increase, 
 And through eternity shall find, 
 
 No end of happiness. 
 
182 
 THE SICK MAN'S REFLECTIONS. 
 
 A healthy man who here of late, 
 Was forc'd upon his bed to lie ; 
 But thinking on his former state, 
 With grief he thus begins to cry : 
 
 O health ! thou friend that I lov'd dear, 
 Have you retir'd from me at last ; 
 Who was my kind companion here, 
 Those many swift gone years that re pass'd. 
 
 While time roll'd on each day and night, 
 Your value then I knew it not; 
 And that you soon might take your flight, 
 Alas, I utterly forgot. 
 
 Though you stood by me in my mirth, 
 
 Afflicted now I must lie here, 
 
 O why did I forget your worth, 
 
 And thoughtless liv'd from year to year ? 
 
 Through life your comforts made me glad, 
 While you with joy still led me on; 
 But all my pleasures now are fled, 
 Since strength decay 'd and health is gone. 
 
 With bitter grief I now lament, 
 How often I have us'd you ill ; 
 For healthful hours I badly spent, 
 Destroying you to gain my will. 
 
 that I had improv'd each hour, 
 That vice and folly made me spend ; 
 
 1 should have sought a world more sure, 
 Where joy and health can never end. 
 
 Then happy I, though change took place, 
 Which mortals here should look for still ; 
 My mind would now be more at peace, 
 Let health and strength go as they will. 
 
183 
 
 O health ! will you return no more, 
 Too long of you I made my boast ; 
 And now this world cannot restore, 
 Thy joys, O health ! forever lost, 
 
 O cheerful health, my dearest friend, 
 What would I give for you again, 
 Without you earthly joys must end, 
 For now my pleasures turn to pain. 
 
 Though honours, pleasures, or estate, 
 To me this day were offer'd free ; 
 What satisfaction — Oh too late, 
 When death's pale hand approaches me ! 
 
 A kingdom could not cheer me now, 
 Nor all this world's fading wealth ; 
 They fall to nothing in my view, 
 Compared to precious days of health. 
 
 THE WISE MAN'S CHOICE. 
 
 True wisdom is the only part, 
 In which we should delight ; 
 
 Unless true wisdom rules the heart, 
 There's nothing can be right. 
 
 The Man that is wise he is wisdom desiring, 
 And wisdom directs him in all he should do ; 
 The world's grand drama he is admiring, 
 Things higher by far are attracting his view. 
 
 The Man that is wise while his life he possesses, 
 True wisdom reminds him it shortly may cease ; 
 He keeps a slack hold of the things that decreases, 
 But minds every day what concerns his peace. 
 
184 
 
 The Man that is wise though the bustle is nigh him, 
 Of characters raix'd in a worldly throng ; 
 If faithful and just true wisdom stands by him, 
 And through all his troubles she guides him along. 
 
 The Man that is wise though his business he's minding. 
 Forgets not what fools in their folly despise ; 
 He is wise for himself and with wisdom is finding, 
 Such comforts at last as shall make him rejoice. 
 
 The Man that is wise he avoids the mischances, 
 Which others endure in the way that is broad ; 
 He views the grand prize, and with wisdom advances 
 To reach the strait gate on the narrowest road. 
 
 The Man that is wise are his moments improving, 
 To shift till to-morrow he never can trust ; 
 In wisdom's grand ways he is constantly moving, 
 And steadily walks in the paths of the just. 
 
 The Man that is wise is to wisdom united, 
 What wisdom has done he forever shall tell ; 
 With wisdom his heart was always delighted, 
 And after this life he with wisdom shall dwell. 
 
 The Man that is wise shall inherit true joy, 
 More lasting by far than this world's renown ; 
 And time never more can his pleasures destroy. 
 For wisdom at last shall procure him a crown. 
 
 PRIDE OBSERVED. 
 
 Those hints on pride 
 
 Are humbling to the view, 
 
 Yet time at last 
 
 Will prove my story true 
 
 Vain creature of the human race, 
 
 Why proudly do you go ; 
 Though beauty now adonis your face, 
 
 Pride still should be kept low. 
 
185 
 
 On flesh and blood place not your trust, 
 
 Nor proudly there rely, 
 The noblest here are only dust, 
 
 And so are you and I. 
 
 Thy blooming cheek and rosy lip, 
 May fade and soon give way ; 
 
 Thy active limbs that swiftly trip, 
 Are only made of clay. 
 
 Just like the painted butterfly, 
 
 Your beauty fadeth soon; 
 Who on the earth again must lie, 
 
 When once her wings fall down. 
 
 Such is your state remember here, 
 Though handsome is your form ; 
 
 All ranks that live must disappear, 
 To lodge beside the worm. 
 
 Then where is all the prideful show ? 
 
 It must be laid aside ; 
 The haughty man must be laid low, 
 
 W T here no room is for pride. 
 
 In early days pride did begin, 
 WTiich stain'd our mortal race, 
 
 And pride if still persisted in 
 Destroys our endless peace. 
 
 Here many a one through pride, we find^ 
 Sore keep the humble down ; 
 
 Yet they of graceful humble mind 
 At last obtain the crown. 
 
 For grace here keeps them humble still, 
 As Providence is their guide, 
 
 And where true wisdom rules the will 
 It always conquers pride. 
 
 For those that re wise are humble now, 
 
 And pride they still despise ; 
 They on their way keep heav'n in view, 
 
 And there shall gain the prize. 
 
186 
 
 THE LIAR DETECTED. 
 
 Liar, you are despis'd by old and young- ; 
 All nations hate a liar's treacherous tongue ; 
 When you speak most with your deceitful mouth, 
 In all you say there's scarce a word of truth. 
 
 You tell a lie like a deceitful guide ; 
 
 You teli another that first lie to hide ; 
 
 You tell the third to make the two more strong, 
 
 But all those lies they are found out ere long. 
 
 That evil habit if you do pursue, 
 
 None will believe you though you should speak true ; 
 
 If lies you practise till death lays yon fast. 
 
 Lies will condemn, you when this life is past. 
 
 THE SWEARER CHECKED. 
 
 Swearer, I now shall ask at you, 
 What profit can you have ? 
 
 Your swearing little good can do, 
 Although you count it brave. 
 
 That evil practice few can bear. 
 Except some thoughtless men, 
 
 Who take delight to hear you swear, 
 As they can swear again. 
 
 You make new oaths of ev'ry kind 
 To make your words seem true ; 
 
 Yet they who swear, we often find 
 Are cheats and liars too. 
 
187 
 
 If swearing you practise each day, 
 Whatever's your pretence, 
 
 You leave a stain on all you say, 
 And shew your want of sense. 
 
 THE THIEF APPREHENDED. 
 
 On seeing a Thief bound on a cart, passing on his way: 
 from Elgin to Inverness Jail, for trial. 
 
 Affecting sight ! how grieving for to see ; 
 Yet this may show what mortals here can be. 
 If left by Him who rules the human mind, 
 Man's heart oft grasps at vice of ev'ry kind. 
 Mind, careless parents, when those scenes you view, 
 The fault sometimes is greatly found with you. 
 When children meet not with a timely check. 
 Too late some parents grieve for sad neglect. 
 A theft encourag'd and not stopp'd in time, 
 Though small at first leads to a greater crime. 
 From early theft we see some cannot stop, 
 But lose their country, or they stretch a rope. 
 
 DISHONESTY OBSERVED, 
 
 Observe the thief how lie prevails, 
 
 While slyly he proceeds ; 
 His neighbours' property he steals, 
 
 And thinks to hide his deeds. 
 
 His eye perceives — his heart envies, — -. 
 
 His hands commit the crime ; — 
 His feet run swift to gain the prize. 
 
 He watches for his time. 
 
183 
 
 Though what -he takes hy subtle art, 
 
 He seldom keeps in store, 
 Yet his deceitful greedy heart 
 
 Pants constantly for more. 
 
 He thinks all right, when by his skill 
 
 He carries on his plan, 
 But one great eye beholds him still 
 
 That's higher far than man. 
 
 He fears not God though man he dreads, 
 
 And scarcely can he cease, 
 Till taken for his thievish deeds, 
 
 The law-must end his race. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT ROBBERS; 
 
 A Tragical Story of Tradition set to verse hy the Author . 
 
 There liv % d a baronet once both great and grand, 
 
 Esteem'd by all the nobles of the land ; 
 
 Endu'd with riches, honours and renown, 
 
 And had his seat near to a spacious town. 
 
 His castle on an eminence there stood, 
 
 Plac'd near the borders of a lofty wood ; 
 
 Romantic scenery made it most retird, 
 
 Yet pleasure always made the place desir'd. 
 
 He had a lady beautiful and. fair, 
 
 Who was his darling and his constant care ; 
 
 She was most charming, young, and handsome too, 
 
 And he admir'd her as all men should do. 
 
 Great joy between them, always did exist, 
 
 Still living happy with contentment bless'd ; 
 
 Envied by many for their happiness, 
 
 And for the treasures that they did possess. 
 
 But riches are uncertain here we know, 
 
 For on a time the Baronet had to go 
 
189 
 
 To pay a visit to a distant friend, 
 
 And soon return was what he did intend. 
 
 He lock'd his gold within his cabinets sure; 
 
 He viev/d the castle and made all secure ; 
 
 Then for his journey quickly did prepare, 
 
 And left his lady on his servants* care. 
 
 But little thinking what was to befall, 
 
 With joy he left her in the splendid hall ; 
 
 Giving his promise to return next day 
 
 He took his horse and quickly rode away. 
 
 But that same night about the midnight hour, 
 
 An awful noise was heard all round the door. 
 
 The lady frighten VI at the din below, 
 
 Then quickly call'd the reason for to know. 
 
 Yet still the noise always did remain, — 
 
 She called' her servants, but that was in vain ; 
 
 She rung the bell and loudly did she call, 
 
 But none of them, would answer her at all. 
 
 The lady then began to dread some harm, 
 
 And soon came down to know the great alarm ; 
 
 But when she came she trembl'd, when she found 
 
 A gang of robbers did the house surround. 
 
 Struck with surprise she trembl'd with the fright ! 
 
 But looking round how shocking was the sight ! 
 
 Her murderVl servants there lay round about, 
 
 All clad with blood, and all their brains dash'd out. 
 
 The midnight ruffians there were not a few, 
 
 With bloody aspects frightful for to view ; 
 
 For death determin'd resolute they stood, 
 
 With brandish VI cutlasses all clad with blood 
 
 The lady there with horror view d the scene, 
 
 Yet her escape no way could she obtain ; 
 
 Her maid upon her knees lay on the floor, 
 
 Pleading to save her from her enemy's pow'r ; — 
 
 But all in vain, — unheeded were her cries ; 
 
 Nor from the spot was she allow VI to rise. 
 
 She call VI for mercy but his sword he drew, 
 
 The bloody ruffian quickly pierc'd her through. 
 
190 
 
 The lady next to death they meant to send, 
 
 Quick to despatch her with a cruel end ; 
 
 But Providence made them sometime delay ; 
 
 And gave the lady time those words to say : 
 
 Stop, stop your hand ! strike not the deadly blow, 
 
 And soon a secret I shall let you know ; 
 
 The bloody sword above my head is reared — 
 
 But for a moment let me now be heard : 
 
 Come, cut her down, a harden'd ruffian cried, 
 
 Great many better by our hands have died ! 
 
 Kis sword he rais'd, but he who had command, 
 
 TIi ere with a grasp kept back his bloody hand. 
 
 The Captain cried, come Madam, make no stay, 
 
 Directly tell us what you have to say ; 
 
 But keep by truth, or then I make a vow, 
 
 This sword shall quickly cleave your head in two. 
 
 The noble lady flatt'ring made reply : 
 
 Upon my word you all may well rely ; 
 
 Your sudden visit first made me afraid, 
 
 Yet I am glad what you have here display'd. 
 
 But spare my life and you ere long shall find; 
 
 I will enrich you and to you be kind ; 
 
 And though my servants all lie murder'd here, 
 
 In some respects it makes my joys appear. 
 
 For my rich husband is a tyrant great, — 
 
 He married me because it was my fate ; 
 
 But, Captain, if to me you will be true, 
 
 Come get his gold and I shall go with you ; 
 
 For now it's long since I wish'd for the day. 
 
 That from this castle I could get away. 
 
 Those mangl'd servants watch'd me ere and late. 
 
 Though I am lady of this great estate 
 
 That fellow there whose scull in pieces lies, 
 
 He kept me fast but no more shall he rise. 
 
 Each servant here was watching over me, 
 
 But now they're dead and you can set me free. 
 
 Then all the robbers suddenly replied : 
 
 We dread your words, but you shall soon be tried ; 
 
lyi 
 
 Produce your jewels, gold, and silver all, 
 
 Or with your servants here your brains shall fall. 
 
 The lady cried, my words you may believe, 
 
 And what I promise I am sure to give ; 
 
 The treasures of this castle you shall have, 
 
 Because this night you acted here so brave ! 
 
 Come now, my lads, and follow me with speed, 
 
 You soon shall find that I am true indeed, 
 
 And if your noble Captain sets me free 
 
 Your hearts shall cheer with treasures you shall see. 
 
 Through many rooms she brought them that were fast, 
 
 Until she reach'd the Baron's room at last ; 
 
 She bursted up his desk before their eyes, 
 
 And there those ruffians found a noble prize. 
 
 Now, says the lady, as 1 said before 
 
 You'll find me true ; but I shall show you more,— ^- 
 
 My rich old Baron keeps his gold concealed, 
 
 But where it lies to you shall be reveal'd, 
 
 Within this desk a secret spring here lies, 
 
 Which in a moment I can quickly raise; 
 
 She touch'd the spring which quickly open flew, 
 
 And stores of gold then open'd to their view. 
 
 Bravo ! the bloody captain cried in haste, 
 
 Here is a treasure that may please our taste ; 
 
 But had we rapidly pierc'd this lady's heart, 
 
 To find this gold would baftie all our art. 
 
 Yes, says the lady, and much more you'll have, 
 
 Because my life I hope you mean to save ; 
 
 Come all with me and I shall quickly she / 
 
 A chest of gold that's in a vault below. 
 
 Then all the robbers cried, good news indet 
 
 Come lady, let us to the vault proceed ; 
 
 Shew us the way— we must not be detain'd, 
 
 This night I hope our fortunes shall be gainV 
 
 Y r es, says the lady, certainly they will, 
 
 The iron chest of gold is almost full ; 
 
 Come follow me, and I shall feast your eye^ 
 
 With riches, that will make you all surprise . 
 
192 
 
 Then off the lady brought them one and all, 
 
 Alongst a passage leading from the hall, 
 
 Until at last they reach 'd an iron door, 
 
 Which rais'd a trap to keep the vault secure ; 
 
 She open'd it and led them down a stair, 
 
 But ere they went they took a special care; 
 
 For fear of danger there they set a watch, 
 
 The boldest ruffian stood to guard the hatch. 
 
 Then to the vault the whole of them were led, 
 
 And found the chest just as the lady said : 
 
 The captain then from her he got the key, 
 
 Rejoicing soon the treasure all to see. 
 
 Eager to see the shining golden sight, 
 
 To turn the key he tried with all his might ; 
 
 But though he tried and thought to force it through^ 
 
 He swore at last the key could never do. 
 
 says the lady — what a foolish task, 
 
 1 just forgot the right key on the desk ; 
 Let me go up and I shall fetch it down, 
 For all the gold must be discover d soon. 
 Then up she ran and scarce a moment staid, — 
 She cried, I found it — I have not clelay'd ! 
 But running against the centinel with a rap, 
 Down stairs he tumhl'd, and she shut the trap. 
 The lady then secur'd the robbers there ; 
 
 Her quick deception bound them in the snare, 
 
 For all was done within a moment's space, 
 
 And from the vault they could not get release. 
 
 The noble lady active was indeed, 
 
 And through her trials bravely did proceed ; 
 
 Then out she ran in haste to bring it round, 
 
 That some assistance might be quickly found. 
 
 An empty stable there she set on fire, 
 
 And throwing in straw she hastily did retire; 
 
 But ere the stable roof was burn'd down, 
 
 Great numbers there came running from the town. 
 
 But when they came how great was their surprise — 
 
 The murder'd servants lay before their eyes ! 
 
193 
 
 lied clotted blood and brains lay near the door, 
 And mangl'd bodies stretch'd upon the floor. 
 All griev'd to see the noble lady's state, 
 But yet they found her fortitude was great ; 
 Then they put out the fire that highly blaz'd, 
 And all combin'd to get the robbers seiz'd. 
 Soon from the Baron's armoury was brought 
 Both guns and swords to ev'ry one who sought ; 
 Then active men the castle did surround, 
 And in the vault the ruffians all were found. 
 They tried to fight but fighting could not do, 
 Death was their doom and justice did pursue ; 
 Then they perceiv'd they were not wise in time, 
 The lady trapp'd them for their bloody crime. 
 Hard was the struggle, but they found at last 
 The castle vault had firmly kept them fast ; 
 They soon were seiz'd and all condemn'd with speed, 
 And suffer 'd death for their atrocious deed. 
 
 AULD JANETS DIVERTING PETITION 
 
 To the Snuff-Manufacturers ', to consider the dearth oU 
 
 To a' snuff-makers up and down, 
 That make rapee baith black and brown, 
 I humbly send you this petition, 
 That ye would low the price o' sneeshan. 
 A favour now frae you is wantit, 
 And if ye be sae kind as grant it, 
 Wi' a* my heart I still shall gie you 
 My blessing though I never see you. 
 As snuff has been an auld invention, 
 That mak's me now the story mention ; 
 Though I hae wealth and always had it, 
 And praise be thankit want nae credit. 
 I 
 
194 
 
 Frae you I want nae meat nor bedding-, 
 
 I hae Scotch brose and want nae cladding ; 
 
 But though wi' health my life I'm leadings 
 
 It's for the nose that I am pleading, 
 
 Since I'm a wife four-score an twa, 
 
 And snuff must be when I'm awa', 
 
 I hope ye'll look at this petition, 
 
 And think upon the dearth o' sneeshan. 
 
 In days lang syne when I was young, 
 
 Our braw cheap snuff the auld wives sung ; 
 
 Then ev'ry one their nose was ridding, 
 
 And got them fill'd wi' cheap Scotch graddan. 
 
 For I in Scotland here was snug, 
 
 Since four-score winters pass'd my lug; 
 
 My head is grey, yet I need still 
 
 My sneeshan pen and sneeshan mill. 
 
 I never wanted hen nor cock, 
 
 Nor good Scotch tow to fill my rock ; 
 
 And under George I sat wi' joy 
 
 Since ere I wore my ham toy. 
 
 But now dear sneeshan weary iat, 
 
 The dearth o't cost me mair than maut ; 
 
 And yet nae doubt I like a drap, 
 
 To keep my good auld banes in sap. 
 
 Bat now upon my word o' truth, 
 
 I grudge my nose mair than my mouth ; 
 
 Since now my siller-mounted mill 
 
 Tries sair my pouch to keep it full ; 
 
 And many a time begins dispute, 
 
 And makes auld John and me cast out, 
 
 Now since the dearth o't mak's dispeaee, 
 
 Tell Parliament about my case, 
 
 To mak the sneeshan taxes sma', 
 
 Then young and auld shall praise you a'. 
 
 Well bless their banes when they are rotten, 
 
 For braw cheap saut that we hae gotten. 
 
 But yet the sneeshan price consider, 
 
 We need the ane as well's the other ; 
 
195 
 
 Since there are sae mony braw snuff-takers 
 
 Depending now on sneeshan-makers, 
 
 The youngest lads that court tlve lasses, 
 
 And wives and men o' different classes. 
 
 Now if ye get this sneeshan letter, 
 
 And mak cheap snuff, I'll be your debtor, 
 
 And mind you while I like the thistle, 
 
 For dearth o't keeps me in a bustle. 
 
 I dinna plead for meal nor corn, 
 
 For a* my stumps o' teeth are worn; 
 
 It's nae my mouth ye weel may learn, 
 
 But just my nose gies me concern ; 
 
 For sneeshan ay keeps us in tune 
 
 When at the fireside we sit down, 
 
 And when a friendly pinch we're taking, 
 
 The mair we snuff the mair were cracking. 
 
 And in the kirk when I get sleepy, 
 
 Ben in the pass upon my creepy, 
 
 My horn mill comes out to cheer me 
 
 And wakens them that're snoring near me. 
 
 Ye ken to sit beneath a sermon 
 
 Wi' sleepy eyes it's nae alarming, 
 
 But snuff frights sleep and eyes get clearer, 
 
 And then the sleeper turns a hearer. 
 
 Now you that make the snuff, consider ; 
 
 Ye see the need o't a' thegither ; 
 
 The greatest needs it as weel's the miller, 
 
 But little o't costs muckle siller. 
 
 The King, God bless him at the helm, 
 
 The dearth o' snuff* 1 hope ye'll tell him ; 
 
 To mak it cheap, O set about it, 
 
 As noses canna do without it. 
 
 And since the times mak many failures, 
 
 Ye'll tell the merchant sneeshan dealers 
 
 To sell as moderate as they're able, 
 
 For snuff is us'd round many a table. 
 
 Ye may believe me as a sinner, 
 
 Since siller ay is getting thinner, 
 
196 
 
 There are many here as some supposes, 
 That scrimp their mouths to fill their noses. 
 If that be right I canna think it, 
 When here we neither eat nor drink it ; 
 Its unco hard the upper story- 
 Should scrimp the waine that's a' our glory. 
 But lang may Scotland richer grow, 
 And black men rear tobacco row ; 
 But be na dear wi't — lat it fa*, 
 Then we can snuff, and smoke, and chaw. 
 I like fu weel the highland heather, 
 And sae do I the sneeshan bladder ; 
 And if I get my wish frae you, 
 I'll cram my mill till it be fu\ / 
 
 But my petition dinna scorn, 
 I write it o'er my sneeshan horn, 
 And to your honours I submit it, 
 But be sae kind as nae forget it. 
 And when it's read frae end to end, 
 Think on me and my sneeshan pen; 
 Grant this, and mind that noses suffers, 
 When sneeshan's dear to constant snuffers. 
 Now since 1 mak' this application, 
 If this meets wi' your approbation, 
 I hope that ev'ry nose ye'll pity, 
 Frae Scotland's end to Lunnan city. 
 This braw petition I send you, 
 Come frae an auld wife leal and true ; 
 And wi' my name I sign this paper 
 In hopes ye'll mak' the sneeshan cheaper. 
 
 And I remain, honest Gentlemen, 
 
 Your guid auld Friend and daily Customer. 
 
 JANET SNUFF-TAKER. 
 
197 
 
 A KING AND A BEGGAR; 
 A Dream, — or the produce of a Winter Night. 
 
 While the author slumbered on bed, imagining that he saw a king 
 and a beggar buried in the same church -yard it awakened the muse, 
 and led his pen to the following piece, shewing, that there is no dis- 
 tinction in the appointed house for man : 
 
 j\e night as I was sleeping sound 
 
 I dream'd, and thought I saw 
 A king and beggar, baith laid down 
 
 Beside an auld kirk wa\ 
 
 The king he had a funeral grand ; 
 
 1 thought some mourn'd sair ; 
 And a the nobles of the land, 
 
 And knights and lords ware there. 
 
 I thought the beggar just was laid 
 
 Close by the very spot, 
 But to his dust nae honour paid ; 
 
 Laid down and then forgot. 
 
 Though his remains were there interrd 
 
 The very self same day, 
 There unco few paid him regard 
 
 Or did respect his clay. 
 
 I thought when a' their friends gaed hame 
 
 The king he grumbl'd sair ; 
 The beggar he began to blame, 
 
 And cried what brought him there. 
 
 Keep out from me — touch not my room, — 
 
 Lie in that rotten bing. 
 To come too near do not presume, — 
 
 Mind that I am a king. 
 
 Stop, says the beggar, I was mean, 
 
 And you a king it's true, 
 But mind, it's nae what ye hae been, 
 
 But just what ye are now. 
 
198 
 
 Ye had your time sae bad we a', 
 
 But what we had is gone ; 
 My good meal bags I left them a', 
 
 And ye hae left your throne. 
 
 Silence ! I thought the king cried out, — 
 
 Your insolence I see ; 
 Ye are a beggar without doubt, 
 
 Your distance keep from me. 
 
 Was I not great and honoured too, 
 
 While I on earth remain'd, 
 And why would I with such as ycu 
 
 Allow my robes be stain'd. 
 
 I thought the beggar did reply : 
 Your robes are now put aff, — 
 
 Your sceptre ye hae laid it by, 
 And sae did I my staff. 
 
 We now are in a level baith, 
 And nae room left for brags, m 
 
 For ye put aff your royal claitb 
 And I put aff my rags. 
 
 I thought the king spake out anew, 
 
 With angry voice indeed : 
 Says he, I kingdoms did subdue, — 
 
 My blow I made them dread. 
 
 I made the world my fame to know — 
 
 My pow'r I made them see ; 
 And why dare you a subject low 
 
 So closely rank with me. 
 
 The beggar cried, that was my lot, - 
 And nae mair need ye speak, 
 
 For here your banes and mine must sot, 
 And now we're baith alike. 
 
 Death made nae diff'rence here ye see, 
 The same fate baith we shar'd, 
 
 And he that soonest shall get free 
 Is he that's best prepar'd. 
 
199 
 
 I ken that ye had royal bluid, — 
 
 I own that that was true, 
 But since we baith were Adam's seed 
 
 That laid me here wi' you. 
 
 At best we were but mortals frail, 
 And death here laid us down ; 
 
 I left my night cap on the nail, 
 And ye hae left your crown. 
 
 To tell you this there is nae crime, 
 
 The wisest here is best ; 
 It's they that wisely spent their time, 
 
 That soundest here can rest. 
 
 But I awaken'd frae my dream, 
 
 The vision quickly fled, 
 And then I found I was at hame, 
 
 Just slumbYing on my betL 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE AUTHOR'S 
 SON.— TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Dear Friend, as we must all go through 
 The various scenes that are in our fate, 
 I with my pen have wrote you now 
 This subject of heart- felt regret. 
 
 For he that you once dearly lov'd, — 
 My son we did so much adore, 
 By death from us he is remov'd 
 To meet us in this world no more. 
 
 In infant years he gain'd our heart, 
 When dandling on the mother's arms ; 
 The more acquaint more loath to part, 
 But be has gone from future harms. 
 
200 
 
 He was ingenious and most kind, 
 And mem'ry bears him in our view ; 
 But pass'd to bid us raise our mind 
 Far far beyond what death can do. 
 
 Who can express the parents' grief, 
 Who part with loving children dear; 
 And none but one can give relief, 
 To make the grieving heart to cheer. 
 
 But death and trials we must meet, 
 Which oft our pleasures here destroys ; 
 Yet though these trials be not sweet, 
 May they lead us to surer joys. 
 
 Yet though our children here we love, 
 Bound with the bands of nature's tie, 
 They may be call'd ere we remove, 
 Yet the survivor must comply. 
 
 All should improve the present hour, 
 Because the next a change may bring, 
 For life is short and death is sure, 
 And time is flying on the wing. 
 
 So now dear friend, this lets us know, 
 Youth cannot think on death too soon ; 
 Let none here trust to scenes below, 
 As death may cut the blossom down. 
 
 We see no age escapes the hand 
 Of death, whose stroke one day is sure, 
 For God who plants at any time, 
 May crop the blooming fragrant flow'r. 
 
 Yet to his will let us submit ; 
 W^e mourn, but why dare we repine, 
 For God removes whom he thinks fit, — 
 My loving son no more was mine. 
 
 I remain, respectfully, Dear Sir, 
 
 Your Friend, 
 
 Nairn, 21 Hh April 1823. W. G. 
 
201 
 
 THE GRAND DRAMA; 
 
 Or, a view of the Stage of Human Life. Wrote from ob- 
 servation and experience. 
 
 This world it is a theatre of arts, 
 
 Yet on the carpet man cannot remain ; 
 
 For when we all have plac'd our several parts, 
 
 We leave the stage and pass behind the scene. 
 
 When we look round this changing life, 
 The various things to view, 
 
 The hurly burly and the strife, 
 And scenes that still are new. 
 
 All ranks and stations — great and sma', 
 
 We see them here engage, 
 And play their part baith ane and a' 
 
 Like actors on the stage. 
 
 The king acts first upon the throne, 
 
 And he is unco great ; 
 The scene is grand while he is on, 
 
 Because he lives in state. 
 
 Yet on life's theatre, we know, 
 His grandeur here must cease ; 
 
 He plays his part — but then must go, — . 
 Another takes his place. 
 
 The parson acts to teach the heart, 
 
 To make us wiser a' ; 
 The lawyer also plays his part 
 
 To shew the dint of law. 
 
 The doctor acts most useful still 
 
 To keep us here no doubt, 
 But death acts here and beats his skill, 
 
 And dings the doctor out. 
 
202 
 
 Some act the lord — some act the knight, — 
 
 Yet they must disengage, 
 And from the drama take their flight, 
 
 As all the world's a stage. 
 
 Some act the champion strong sccur'd, — 
 
 His actions made him rise ; 
 But down at last he drops his sword, 
 
 And ends in, here he lies. 
 
 All act their parts of diff'rent plays, 
 Dukes, barons, squires, and a' ; 
 
 They nobly act to merit praise, 
 But then must step awa\ 
 
 The judge he acts upon the chair, 
 
 And tells their fortunes out ; 
 The criminal he acts with fear, 
 
 While life it stands in doubt. 
 
 The magistrate his part acts too, 
 While justice's sword he sways ; 
 
 The officer must act and do 
 Whatever justice says. 
 
 The laird comes next and plays his part ; 
 
 The tenant he acts still ; 
 The baker acts to keep the heart ; 
 
 The butcher acts to kill. 
 
 The tailor acts whatever comes, 
 
 As nimble as the lave ; 
 The weaver acts amongst the thrums ; 
 
 The barber acts to shave. 
 
 The fiddler acts, — the dancer acts 
 
 The dances of the day ; 
 The young man acts, — the auld man cracks ? 
 
 And helps to act the play. 
 
 Some act the merchant wi' his pack ; 
 
 Some great and some are sma ; 
 Some hae their fortunes on their back ; 
 
 And some throw them awa'. 
 
203 
 
 Some act the farmer useful still, 
 
 To fill the corn peck ; 
 And some the miller o' the mill 
 
 He acts to fill the sack. 
 
 Some act the soldier at his post, 
 
 He acts amongst the brave ; 
 And some the sailor sadly toss'd, 
 
 He acts upon the wave. 
 
 Some act the lover here, who bends 
 
 To court his bonny lass ; 
 Some act the gambler here, who spends 
 
 His money like an ass. 
 
 And male and female must be seen 
 
 Upon the stage, we know, 
 For here the high exalted queen 
 
 Acts in the drama show 
 
 High ranks, low ranks of women kind, 
 
 We on the stage perceive ; 
 The hen -wife also we can find 
 
 Here acting wi' the lave. 
 
 And some act mistress, some act maid, 
 
 Such characters must be ; 
 Some meanly dress'd, some grand array'd, 
 
 Upon the stage we see. 
 
 Some act the lady in full style, 
 
 Some act the beggar's wife ; 
 All on the carpet act a while, 
 
 And play their part for life. 
 
 Some act the good and virtuous wife, 
 
 Whose worth cannot be told ; " 
 But here the torment of man's life 
 
 Is her who acts the scold. 
 
 All characters we daily view, 
 
 Are actors in their day ; 
 Some young, some old, some false, some true, 
 
 Their different parts they play. 
 H6 
 
204 
 
 Some act the thief among the crowd 
 
 With artificial art, 
 And on the wisest oft intrude, 
 
 Who act the noblest part. 
 
 Some act the duce-man — some the fop, 
 Who shews his wit is sma' ; 
 
 Some act the priest, some act the pope. 
 Yet o'er the stage they fa'. 
 
 Some here they act the faithful man. 
 
 The way that good men ought ; 
 But others shew the wicked man, 
 
 Who acts without a thought. 
 
 Each character they have their rule 
 
 That in the play engage ; 
 Some act the wise-man, some the fool, 
 
 The while they're on the stage. 
 
 Some here must act the great man, 
 The time they are in vogue, 
 
 And some they act the honest man* 
 While others act the rogue. 
 
 Some here they act the miser too, 
 Who grasps his golden bags ; 
 
 And others act the spendthrift now, 
 Till cover'd o'er with rags. 
 
 And some here act the sober man, 
 
 We see in every age ; 
 While many act the drunken man, 
 
 And tumble on the stage. 
 
 Some here must act the beggar man. 
 When mair they canna boast; 
 
 Yet others act the gentleman, 
 On other people's cost. 
 
 And some beneath a cloak they act 
 The parts that they go through ; 
 
 They shew their face but hide their back. 
 While they deceive the view. 
 
205 
 
 Some here act right, some here act wrong 
 
 The part that they engage ; 
 Yet in the bustle and the throng, 
 
 Death sweeps them o'er the stage. 
 
 To leave the stage wise men prepare, 
 
 A higher stage they claim ; 
 But worldly wise men leave their care, 
 
 And scarcely leave their name. 
 
 Ten thousand characters we know, 
 
 Are acting in the throng ; 
 But time at last will plainly shew, 
 
 Who acted right or wrong. 
 
 Now since we on the stage appear, 
 
 All actors more or less ; 
 Let us act faithful while we're here, 
 
 And be what we profess. 
 
 The active play will finish soon, — 
 
 We cannot still engage ; 
 For death shall drop the curtain down, 
 
 And we must leave the stage. 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE GRAND 
 DRAMA OF LIFE. 
 
 Though there are a variety of amusing pieces in this book, yet 
 there is none that concerns us more than the grand drama of human 
 life, which I have here been describing. As we are all included a- 
 mongst the number of the actors, who now play their parts upon the 
 stage of time, and are soon gone ; for on looking round me, and observ- 
 ing the busy scenes of life, it led my poetical pen to describe the vari- 
 ous characters now acting on the carpet, — which at present diverts 
 the eye very much ; but as man consists of two parts — the one of 
 short duration now visible, but the other lasting though now invis- 
 ible, I could not think of amusing the one without trying to be of 
 some use to the other, as the mind is of far more importance than 
 the eye. Though we are now highly amused with the scene before us, 
 yet as there is a hereafter, and our noblest part connected with higher 
 
mmmmm^ 
 
 206 
 
 objects than the present drama can produce. As there is much t« be 
 experienced after the play is over, and all of us must be there pre- 
 sent, I could not think of letting this book take its journey through 
 the world — diverting the reader with amusing things now displayed 
 upon the stage, without looking beyond it, and throwing in here dif- 
 ferent Poems for useful hints to the mind. Though they may not 
 please the taste of every one to find them here, yet as we are all ac- 
 tors on the same stage — connexions of the same family — concerned 
 in the same great cause ; and as the night is fast passing away, and 
 in a little time our part of the play must be over, the scene changed, 
 and each one for himself must then see and experience, the eternal 
 realities of things which now lie behind the scene — I hope the reader 
 will excuse me in giving my observations on them, and advice to 
 think in time, — as the grand drama must come to a close ; the cur- 
 tain of death must fall ; and futurity will then display every charac- 
 ter as it really is. 
 
 For as we act our different parts we know, 
 Shall crown our joys or lead at last to woe, 
 But on the stage let wisdom be our theme, 
 As time is short and life but like a dream. 
 
 LINES TO A LADY WITH A GILTED CHINA 
 TEAPOT, 
 
 Who had ordered the Author to send it with the greatest of 
 care, being very brittle. The author returned it with the 
 following answer: 
 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 Your teapot this day I have sent it to you, 
 lloll'd up in the way that you wish'd me to do ; 
 I send it quite safe as I wish'd to he sure, 
 Since it like ourselves might be hurt with a clour. 
 
 For from this same teapot a lesson we take, 
 Ourselves and your teapot were made for to crack ; 
 
207 
 
 Though some call it china and some call it clay, 
 We all are the same and at last must give way. 
 
 Like us now your teapot had need of great care, 
 For if we get hurt we must stand a repair, 
 Your teapot I know that you wish'd it to mend, 
 And so must we all ere we answer our end. 
 
 Your teapot is neat though it seems to get old, 
 Adorned with flow'rs of the best shining gold ; 
 Such teapots, dear Madam, indeed there are few, 
 It is prais'd by admirers so also are you. 
 
 Yet still keep in mind that your teapot may fall, 
 And some day must moulder for so must we all; 
 But if you observe and to wisdom incline, 
 All teapots and china you then shall outshine. 
 
 Now twice in the day from your teapot you drink, 
 Yet ofter by far for yourself you should think, 
 And though that your teapot is gilt on the face, 
 I hope your fair charms shine brighter with grace. 
 
 Your teapot is grandly ornamented no doubt, 
 And you are the same most charming without; 
 But if in the inside your ornament is on, 
 Your beauty shall last when your teapot is gone. 
 
 Now outside and inside your teapot is sound, 
 Though some day like us it must fall to the ground ; 
 For china is brittle so also are we, 
 Now think on this Madam when drinking your tea. 
 
 I remain, Yours, &c. 
 
 W. G. 
 
 Sth October, 1827. 
 
 THE SCULL. 
 
 On viewing a Human Scull in a Doctor s Shop. 
 
 Here we observe tins human head, 
 Depriv'd of flesh and skin ; 
 
208 
 
 Bat life bas gone, the man has fled 
 And nothing left within. 
 
 Here stands his naked scull and brow, 
 
 He cannot hear nor see ; 
 Yet yonder world he knows ere now, 
 
 He's wiser far than we. 
 
 His head on earth no more is vex'd, 
 Though once it might be sore ; 
 
 Nor shall the scenes of life perplex, 
 This poor man's head no more, 
 
 His naked scull lies in our view, 
 From troubles here set free ; 
 
 Yet yonder world he knows ere now, 
 He's wiser far than we. 
 
 Those hollow eyes have lost their balls, 
 Those teeth no more shall grind ; 
 
 Those active jaws now lifeless falls, 
 No motion here we find. 
 
 The cares of life this head went through. 
 
 Yet since death set it free, 
 The man knows yonder world ere now, 
 
 He's wiser far than we. 
 
 THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF DAVIE AND 
 BETT,— In Five Parts. 
 
 Part I. — Davie Scroggie in love, and his Mother s sound 
 Advice how to wile a Wife, 
 
 When Davie and his kye thegither, 
 
 Cam' at gloamin' frae the glen, 
 Ben he cam' to see his mother, 
 
 Some good news to lat her ken. 
 
209 
 
 Sweetly he began to whistle, 
 
 Took his kail and dress'd fir tight,. 
 
 Maggie cried, ye re in a bustle 
 
 Davie — what's the spree the night. 
 
 Weel, says Davie, since I'm wi' you, 
 You shall hear the matter a' ; 
 
 Now the secret I shall tell you, — 
 For to court I'm gaun awa'. 
 
 Mony a burthen did I carry, 
 But hot love now fashes me ; 
 
 In a while I mean to marry, 
 Tell me mother, what say ye ? 
 
 O, says she, w T hat is the reason, — 
 
 Davie are ye fu' or mad ; 
 Wait and see another season — 
 
 That black news now mak's me sad. 
 
 Stop now Davie and consider, 
 Think, or ye may raise a strife ; 
 
 Tak' advice frae me, your mother, 
 First before ye wile a wife. 
 
 Be na' ye like Geordie Miller, 
 He took ane for sake o' braws ; 
 
 Nae doubt she had name o' siller, 
 But they're now as poor's the craws. 
 
 Dinna tak' a pridefu* limmer, 
 
 Or I ken she'll plague you still — 
 
 Try to get a frugal lassie, 
 Either fit for kirk or mill. 
 
 Dinna tak' ane lame or lazy, 
 
 Or the sorrow o't ye'll see ; 
 Ane that's ill may set you crazy, — 
 
 Davie now r mind this frae me. 
 Weel, says Davie, ye're my mother^ 
 
 Your advice I ken is true — t 
 Twenty years we are thegither, 
 
 Yet a wife I must get now. 
 
210 
 
 Kind and carefu did ye rear me, 
 But ye're auld and like to fa', 
 
 Now I want a wife to cheer me, 
 First ere death tak's you awa'. 
 
 I must get a lovely creature, 
 
 For my case I carina tell ; 
 Love and courtship's in our nature — 
 
 Mother, ye may ken yoursel'. 
 
 Weel ken I you wish my thriving, 
 But since love sets me sae light, 
 
 O'er the hill I must be driving, 
 For to court a while the night. 
 
 Davie then cross'd through the heather, 
 Till he reach'd his lass's house — 
 
 Kindly then they met thegitlier, 
 Kiss'd and courted unco cruse. 
 
 Part II. — >Davie Scroggies Scotch Courtship* 
 
 Davie was sae fond o' Betty, 
 
 Greater kindness couldna be ; 
 Davie ca'd her ' bonny petty', 
 
 Betty laugh'd and blink'd her e'e, 
 
 Kisses there were gaun fu plenty, 
 
 Greater love ye couldna seek ; 
 Davie clapp'd her aye hi dainty, 
 
 W? his mou' at Betty's cheek. 
 
 O, quo he, my bonny deary, 
 
 Now a paction let us mak' — 
 Wi* you I would never weary, — 
 
 Then she got the other smack. 
 
 Belt, my dauty, leave your mother, 
 
 Be my wife through life to pull ; 
 Weel, quo Bett, let's go thegither, 
 
 But I still must get my will. 
 
211 
 
 Yes, quo lie, but ye must gather 
 Wi your virt' to keep as right ; 
 
 When the Parson ties the tether, 
 Then we'll hae a rantin' night. 
 
 Tell your mother and your (lady,. 
 
 Bid your friends baith great and smaV 
 Try the night get something ready, 
 
 For I wish to see you a'. 
 
 Soon we'll hae a brythal dainty, 
 And we'll brew a bow o' maut ; 
 
 Then to fill the wame wi' plenty, 
 We may pack twa ewes in saut. 
 
 A' my gear my house and hadding, 
 
 Betty lass I'll gie to you, 
 And before we mak our wedding, 
 
 I shall fell the muckle sow. 
 
 Braw's the place I has to put you, 
 Braw's my house, and barn and byre ; 
 
 Plenty still I hae to fit ye, 
 
 Hens and ducks about the fire. 
 
 Good's my farm ye needna doubt me, — 
 When ye Ye mine ye'll get enough ; 
 
 Cows and sheep I hae about me, — 
 Twenty geese upon the loch. 
 
 Well says Bett since gear provided, 
 I shall ease you o' your pain ; 
 
 A' your gear I well shall guide it, 
 Yours is mine and mine's my aiiu 
 
 Here's my hand I hae consented, 
 
 I shall be my Davie's wife, 
 Though I fifty times repent it, 
 
 Now the bargain's fix'd for life. 
 
 Then says Davie firm we'll mak it, 
 May we join and meet nae skeath, 
 
 This same night we'll be contracted, 
 Then they kiss'd and parted baith. 
 
212 
 
 Part III. — Davie s joyful Contract. 
 
 Bett ran hame and told her mother, 
 
 Crying a' thing now is right ; 
 Langer we'll nae dwell thegither, 
 
 My contract's to be the night. 
 
 Nae mair will I fear your power, 
 
 I'll nae spin another clue, 
 For the day I met my wooer, 
 
 And the bargain's settl'd now, 
 
 Firm's the paction we were making, 
 Sweet's the lad I'm gaun to get, — 
 
 O' my beauty he is cracking, 
 And he brawly kens my wit. 
 
 Nane's like me the lad supposes, 
 
 Round a Scotland's lasses braw ; 
 He says my cheeks are like the roses, 
 
 When in summer days they blaw. 
 
 Weel kens he I just can fit him, 
 
 Though my skin be something brown* 
 
 And since I am daft to get him, 
 Now's the time while he's in tune. 
 
 Rise now mother frae the ingle, 
 
 Throw awa your tow and rock, 
 Since nae longer I'll be single, 
 
 Run and fell the ducat cock. 
 
 Clean the pot in haste to make it, 
 
 Get my cousins in a while ; 
 Since the night I'll be contracted, 
 
 Kame my father's wig in style. 
 
 Frae your nose clean of the sneeshan,— . 
 
 Throw your spectacles awa ; 
 Think upon a bride's condition, — 
 
 Dress the ninht baith clean and braw. 
 
213 
 
 Stop, stop Bett, then cried her mother, 
 
 Lassie are ye in your wit ; 
 Since we been sae lang thegither, 
 
 I must first know who yell get. 
 
 Though nae doubt ye might miscarry, 
 Deed I shanna leave my rock, 
 
 Ye must tell who ye're to marry, 
 First before I fell the cock. 
 
 O says Bett it's Davie Scroggy, 
 Braw's the lad he is and true, 
 
 Yon's his house beside the boggy,— 
 Mother do ye ken him now. 
 
 I, says she, this while I kent him, 
 Now I see that we must part ; 
 
 Kind good luck to you has sent him, — 
 Deed hell get you wi' my heart, 
 
 Since your contract must be hadden, 
 Get your bluid relations a', — 
 
 Run now Bett and get them bidden, 
 And the cock's lang neck I'll thraw. 
 
 In the neuk make them to gather, 
 Then I think we'll bring them ben ; 
 
 Though we winna need a wather, 
 Catch and fell the cripple hen. 
 
 Off ran Bett — the hen she ended ; 
 
 Through her friends she quickly ran, 
 Telling them that she intended, 
 
 Just on haste to get a man. 
 
 Then at night began the action, 
 Jock and Kate and a' cam in; 
 
 Bett and Davie fix'd the paction, 
 Happier there than a' their kin. 
 
 Brawly was the contract keeped, 
 Till they a got fu' at last, 
 
214 
 
 Some fel o'er and some they sleeped, 
 Nane but Davie could stand fast. 
 
 Whisky there was gaun like water, 
 Bett cried out they had enough ; 
 
 S#me gaun hame they got a splatter, 
 Jock fell in a dubby loch. 
 
 Hame they brought him in a blanket, 
 
 Since he got a woefu plash ; 
 Yet they scarcely there were thanked, 
 
 Though his breeks they had to wash. 
 
 But when a the friends were scatterd, 
 
 Every one a' up and down ; 
 Bett and Davie kindly clatter'd, 
 
 Kiss'd, shook hands, and then sat down. 
 
 Many vows between them crowded, 
 When bis breast on Bettys lay; 
 
 Then the bargain was concluded, 
 When to haud the brythal day. 
 
 Part IV. — Davie Scroggies Brythal ; Or the merry 
 Scotch Highland Wedding. 
 
 Davie had a brythal dainty, 
 
 Lads and lasses there anew ; 
 Every laddie had his deary, 
 
 Wi' her curls o'er her brow. 
 
 Mony a ane that day was wi' them, 
 
 A' their friends that they Hk'dbest; 
 Near a hundred came to see them, — 
 
 Donald, Geordy, and the rest. 
 
 Peter frae the braes o' Craggy, — 
 Duncan down frae Aughter Droll ; 
 
215 
 
 Jean M'Nab and Bess M'Caggie, — 
 A' came down frae Patty's Hole. 
 
 Meg M'Clarty, Kate M'lller,— 
 Andrew frae the heather brae, — 
 
 Tarn M'Rob and Jock the miller, 
 Cheerfu' cam to haud the day. 
 
 Then they a' gaed aff in order, 
 To make Bett and Davie fast, 
 
 Briskest bodies round the border, 
 Wi' their pistols fir d a blast. 
 
 A' they that had got a biddin , 
 Lads and lasses, wives and men, 
 
 Hank and file gaed wi' the wedding 
 To the kirk across the glen. 
 
 Firm did the parson tie them, 
 
 None but death could set them free ; 
 
 Hame their friens they did convey them, — 
 Donald play'd his pipes wi' glee. 
 
 Then five fiddlers in the barn 
 
 Rais'd the fun wi' highland reels ; 
 
 Ale was brought, — cheese in a cairn, — 
 And Scotch Bannocks heap'd in creels. 
 
 Highland whisky rous'd them finely, 
 
 In the barn lang and wide ; 
 Lads they gripp'd the lasses kindly, — 
 
 Ev'ry cbiel he kiss'd the bride. 
 
 Braw Scotch tartan plaids well set them, — 
 
 Mony a bonny lad was there; 
 At the brythal friens they met them, 
 
 Drinkin healths and drowning care. 
 
 Good boil'd hens were there fu plenty, — 
 Hunger fash'd nae young nor auld ; 
 
 Mutton legs were there in plenty, 
 Brawly roasted, liet and cauld. 
 
216 
 
 Reman ale it made them boosey, 
 
 Ev'ry ane a sweig they took ; 
 Some were drunk, and some were drowsy, 
 
 Others courted in the neuk. 
 
 Then cam' on the merry bedding, — 
 Bett and Davie were laid down ; 
 
 A' the lasses at the wedding, 
 
 Quickly threw the stocking round. 
 
 Sweet they took a glass and bicker, 
 Wish'd them health and warld's store ; 
 
 And to keep them safe and sicker, 
 Left them there, and lock'd the door. 
 
 Some were eating, some were drinking— 
 A' the house were unco thrang ; 
 
 Some were tumbhng, some were winking- 
 Others roaring out a sang. 
 
 Pipers wi' their drones they chanted, 
 Blowing up their bags wi' win* ; 
 
 Lasses danc'd till some near fainted — 
 Nae thing there but mirth and fun. 
 
 Ben at last cam' Davie's mother, 
 
 Wi' a haggis weel prepar'd, 
 Crying, sit down a' thegither, 
 
 Here's a dish might please the Laird. 
 
 Tasty was it, het and reeking, 
 
 Some about it made a brag ; 
 Every ane a share was seeking, 
 
 Jolly was the haggis-bag. 
 
 Up in haste got cripple Willie, 
 Singing out wi* muckle glee, — 
 
 Bring me ben the auld kail gully, 
 For to try the haggis bree. 
 
 Then they a' sat in beside it, 
 
 Lads and lasses round the plate : 
 
 Jock cried out, let me divide it, 
 This Scotch haggis is a treat. 
 
217 
 
 O how sweet their lips they lickit ! 
 
 Auld and young cried for a speen ; 
 But when Jock the haggis stickit, 
 
 It spouted up in Willie's een. 
 
 Willie roar'd and made a splutter, 
 
 Dang the table in the floor ; 
 Every lass had bree about her, 
 
 When the haggis rais'd the stour. 
 
 Then began a waefu habble, 
 
 Some got blows twa till the mains ; 
 
 But the fiddlers in the squabble 
 Jumpit up beside the hens. 
 
 Just by chance they sav'd their fiddles, 
 Though themsers they got a clour ; 
 
 Up they threw them on the riddles, 
 For to keep them there secure. 
 
 Lasses' braws were spoil'd wi* tallan, — 
 
 Sic a spree ye never saw, 
 For at last down cam the hallan, 
 
 Baith the fiddlers, hens and a'. 
 
 Geordie's feet they were sae fickle, 
 He fell in the knocking stane, 
 
 Maggie tumbling on a heckle 
 Dabb'd her rumple to the bane. 
 
 Madge the henwife sitting wi' them 
 
 Drinking out a reman cog, 
 Rising up in haste to gree them, 
 
 Wi* the dish fell o'er the dog. 
 
 For to please them some were trying, — 
 Wha began, they didna ken, — 
 
 Some were laughing, some were crying, 
 Sad's the din was butt and ben. 
 
 Davie and the bride were frighted, 
 When they heard the dust begin ; 
 
 Up they got to get them righted, 
 But they baith were lockit in. 
 K 
 
218 
 
 Davie there he wi' a rattle 
 Dang the rotten door in twa, 
 
 Then the bride she clos'd the battle. 
 Made a peace and settl'd a'. 
 
 Davie cried, it griev'd me sairly, 
 At my brithal din would be ; 
 
 Nae mair o't, it's o'er quo' Charlie, 
 A* the faut was haggis' bree. 
 
 Jolly then they took a drappie, 
 Ere the brithal a' was deen, 
 
 Men and wives again were happy, 
 And the lasses rubb'd their een. 
 
 Davie had a second beddin', 
 
 Frien's were singing gaun awa* ; 
 
 Twenty tumbl'd o'er the raiddin', 
 Donald wi' his pipes and a". 
 
 Part V. — Davie and Belt. 
 AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 First when Bett she married Davie, 
 What a pleasant dear was she, 
 
 But ere lang she made a shavie, 
 Kicking up a waefu spree. 
 
 Naething then could mak her happy, 
 Wi' her rage she brak the pan ; 
 
 Davie's head she made a knappy, 
 Since he coudna keep her grand. 
 
 In a year or little better, 
 
 Ae day she rail'd up and down, 
 
 And when kindly Davie met her 
 Got the tongs across the crown. 
 
 Davie running frae the worrey, 
 
 Met the parson at the door, 
 O, quo' he ! what's a' the hurry? 
 
 Davie, man, your breeks are tore. 
 
210 
 
 Reverend Sir, indeed I'll tell you, 
 Ance that I can dry my cheek, 
 
 Here's a house that soon would fell you 
 WV a most confounded reek. 
 
 Says the parson, I shall enter, 
 
 Surely reek it canna be. 
 O, says Davie, dinna venture, 
 
 Wi' the reek ye canna gree. 
 
 In he gaed just in a re vie, 
 
 Little kenning o' the rig. 
 Betty thinking it was Davie 
 
 Knocked aff the parson's wig. 
 
 Back he ran to shun the battle, 
 Making for the door wi' speed ; 
 
 O. says he, I got a rattle, — 
 Waefu is your reek indeed ! 
 
 Some, nae doubt, they think it funny 
 When I tie them twa and twa, 
 
 But if this be matrimony 
 Better want a wife for a'. 
 
 Davie and Bett resided long in a fertile meadow in the highlands of 
 Scotland, near an extensive loch surrounded with beautiful romantic 
 scenery ; and after all the bustle at the beginning of their marriage 
 life, they increased in love, lived happy together, and in their Kttie 
 farm rejoiced through life, over the. social cheer of old Scotland. 
 
 THE SPARROWS AND THE CAT. 
 
 A parcel of sparrows I saw them debeat, 
 The strongest fought sair for the best of the meat, 
 The weakest still thought that their right was as good, 
 But they pick'd them severe as they came to intrude. 
 
 The young ones as eager came down from their nest, 
 They join'd in the squabble and fought with the rest, 
 They rais'd up a dust while the feathers they flew, 
 And still the dispute always hotter it grew. 
 
220 
 
 So keenly they flutter'd that some they lay flat; 
 But just in the habble at last comes the cat, 
 She seiz'd on the fattest which sure was her right, 
 That settl'd the din for the rest took the flight. 
 
 OBSERVATION. 
 
 I view'd from my window the whole that had pass'd. 
 While puss in her claws the poor sparrow kept fast ; 
 I pitied the creature which flutter'd no more, 
 For puss kept her hold and the sparrow she tore. 
 
 By this I perceived that when friends they fall out, 
 How weak and un watchful when scatter 'd about, 
 For puss view'd the scene with her sharp looking eyes, 
 And quick took advantage to seize on her prize. 
 
 Which made me remark, though the story be small, 
 That the sparrows may give a lesson to all ; 
 The cat still was watching, which makes us to see 
 That the enemy gains when true friends disagree. 
 
 ON SEEING A ROUND OF BEEF SET ON THE 
 TABLE BEFORE SOME HUNGRY TRAVEL- 
 LERS. 
 The Author being present made the following remarks. 
 
 Ye're welcome here good round o' beef, 
 To gie a hungry heart relief; 
 Ye're jolly like and nae that little, 
 Just fit to meet a braw sharp whittle. 
 Although ye be auld Scotland's feeding-, 
 Ye're fat, and fit for them here needing, 
 Rejoice now guts — complain nae mair, 
 For every ane shall get a share. 
 Nae want is here, but fa' to work, 
 Come neighbour get your knife and fork ; 
 A hungry warae was never nice, 
 Hand in your plate and get a slice. 
 
2-21 
 
 Cut down a piece and tak' a drink, 
 But dinna eat before ye think ; 
 Although ye glory o'er your cheer, 
 Forget not Him who sent it here. 
 
 *C'6t £* ^ V 
 
 ON THE ARMS AND THISTLE OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 The bonnet here attracts our view, 
 
 That our forefathers wore, 
 The battle axe, the dagger too, 
 
 And ancient claymore. 
 Likewise, within their arms, we find 
 
 The warlike Scottish shield, 
 Which formerly had been designed 
 
 To save them in the field. 
 
222 
 
 Also the thistle high renown'd 
 
 Extended here displays, 
 But listen to tradition sound, 
 
 And mark well what it says. 
 
 I am the thistle sharp and bold, 
 
 My name shall not be lost ; 
 What has been done in times of old, 
 
 Makes me old Scotland's boast. 
 
 Like Scotia's sons I keep my ground, 
 My stalk is strong and green ; 
 
 Like them I hardy still am found, 
 As they have always been. 
 
 Though in the garden flow'rs appear, 
 With blossoms grand and sweet, 
 
 The Scotsman's heart I always cheer. 
 Whatever time we meet. 
 
 And Great Britannia loves me more, 
 Than plants of distant lands ; 
 
 She often honoured me before, 
 And still by me she stands. 
 
 My roots are fix'd on Scotia's heights, 
 
 To stand against the blast ; 
 While England's rose and I unite, 
 
 We twine together fast. 
 
 The thistle, rose, and shamrock too, 
 
 To George we all belong ; 
 And while we keep together true, 
 
 Are still more rich and strong. 
 
 On Caledonia's braes I stand, 
 
 Majestic and secure ; 
 My pointed leaves shall pierce the hand, 
 
 That dares to crop my flower. 
 
223 
 
 VON THE DEATH OF HIS MAJESTY GEORGE 
 THE THIRD, KING OF GREAT BRITAIN; 
 
 January the 29th y 1820, — in the 82d year of his age, and 
 60th of his reign* 
 
 €Jh life's short etage we many changes see, 
 
 Kor from the stroke of death can man be free ; 
 
 Sigh rank cannot exempt us — all must die, 
 
 In death's dark mansions kings and lords must lie* 
 
 Sincerely now Britannia grieving* sore, 
 
 B^Eourns for her king, great George, who is no more; 
 
 A sovereign much esteem'd since he came on, — 
 
 Just, good, and kind, — deserving of a throne. 
 
 Exceeding great — and was his en'my's fear; 
 
 Sixty years nigh he did the sceptre bear. 
 
 Though in his time sore warlike days came on, 
 
 ITet he sat fast, and conquer'd was by none. 
 
 Since he has reign d most worthy he did prove, 
 
 Defending us who always had his love. 
 
 Each subject mourns for him, but hopes he gaiii'd 
 
 A better kingdom that shall never end. 
 
 Though Britain's crown has shifted from his head, 
 
 He has got one, we hope, that cannot fade. 
 
■ 224 
 
 TO HIS MAJESTY GEORGE THE FOURTH, 
 
 KING OF GREAT BRITAIN, UPON HIS 
 
 ACCESSION TO THE THRONE. 
 
 Gewge the Fourth ascended the British Throne> January 
 29th 9 1820, in the 58th year of his age> — and Crowned 
 July 19th, 1822. 
 
 &\\ hail ! great Monarch worthy of your place, 
 Kappy a»<J long the British throne to grace; 
 A reign of joy and comfort may you see, 
 Praisd by your people always may you be. 
 Patron of virtue, may you still be found, 
 Your subjects boast for worthy deeds renown'd, 
 Ruling with wisdom and a cautious mind, 
 Earnest for peace and to your people kind. 
 In all your time may you have pleasure still, 
 Governing Britain with unerring skill ; 
 Nothing can give us more delight than you, 
 To be our King — and we your subjects true. 
 On Britain's tbrone may it be your delight, 
 Giving your aid to see the nations right; 
 Each subject will delight in you while they 
 Observe how wisely you — the sceptre sway. 
 Rewarding virtue wbile vice is kept down, 
 Gives honour still to him who wears a crown ; 
 Ever may you be ruling with an eye 
 
225 
 
 To Him who sees — and always rules on high. 
 Having around you men both good and true, 
 Exceeding just while Britain's good they view ; 
 For many years may you our Sovereign prove, 
 Our enemy's terror — and your subjects' love. 
 Under your sceptre may we joy possess, 
 Rejoicing in you and our happiness ; 
 Through all your reign may your good counsel bring* 
 Honour to you, while you are Britain's King. 
 
 LINES TO Mr. G. M'K., 
 
 A young Officer going to the East Indies, Jan. 6th } 1824. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 As you for India mean to steer, 
 May you enjoy a prosperous gale ; 
 And when you leave old Scotland here, 
 May wish'd-for breezes fill the sail. 
 
 Out o'er the billows may ye fly, 
 
 With healthful joys which cheer the brave, 
 
 Yet on the Pilot still rely, 
 
 Who guides the ship and rules the wave. 
 
 May He protect and guide you through, 
 To lands you never knew before ; 
 May He in safety there bring you, 
 To India's rich and fruitful shore. 
 
 But when you reach that wish'd-for spot, 
 Where new acquaintances you'll find ; 
 Let not your country be forgot, 
 Nor dearest friends you leave behind. 
 
 Remember still your parents' care, 
 When here you spent your youthful days ; 
 Though foreign pleasures you may share, 
 Forget not Scotland's healthy braes. 
 
226 
 
 And while in India you remain, 
 Whatever time you take the field, 
 Kenown and lion our may ye gain, 
 But mind on Him who is your shield. 
 
 For scenes of vice lie in the way, 
 Too many there the tale have told ; 
 But walk with wisdom every day, 
 More rich by far than India's gold. 
 
 When distant far from British ground, 
 Where foreign climes you must go through ; 
 You always happy shall be found, 
 If my advice you keep in view. 
 
 And when a fortune you acquire, 
 May Scotland yet embrace you here, 
 The badge of honour may you wear, 
 And meet your friends that love you dear. 
 
 With the greatest respect, I remain, 
 
 Sir, Yours, &c. 
 
 W. G> 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF BUONAPARTE, 
 In the Island of St. Helena, May bth, 1821. 
 
 Now in death's small and silent cell, 
 
 Great Buonaparte is laid ; 
 Who from a pitch of grandeur fell, 
 
 When he the sceptre sway'd. 
 
 Though kingdoms once could not supply, 
 
 The w r ishes he had got ; 
 In St. Helena he must lie, 
 
 Plac d in a little spot. 
 
 His deep laid plans none could exceed, 
 To France he still kept true, 
 
227 
 
 He was a general great indeed, 
 A king and emperor too. 
 
 He was enrfu'd with active parts, 
 And few like him were found ; 
 
 For noble skill in warlike arts, 
 Still made him high renown d. 
 
 Thousands he made to him to yield, 
 While thousands he made high ; 
 
 And thousands on the blood-stain'd field, 
 By him were made to lie. 
 
 Through bloody scenes he did proceed, 
 
 His name created fear ; 
 And Europe often seem'd to dread, 
 
 The glittering of his spear. 
 
 But O how vain it is to boast ! 
 
 Time's things are not secure ; 
 For quickly was his power lost, 
 
 And vanish'd in an hour. 
 
 To fields of war he was expos'd, 
 From war he could not cease ; 
 
 Yet at the last his days he clos'd, 
 In solitude and peace. 
 
 France lov'd him ever to the last, 
 
 His loss they may deplore ; 
 But now the gates of death he pass'd, 
 
 And cannot conquer more. 
 
 THE WEAVER'S DIVERTING EXPEDITION. 
 
 Near Nairn's bonny running River, 
 There liv'd a man that was a weaver ; 
 His house was kent as well as ony ; 
 He made good death, — ids name was Johnny, 
 Lang did he wi' his shuttle jingle, 
 And sax and forty years liv'd single. 
 K6 
 
228 
 
 He dwalt in wi* his auid stap-mither, 
 
 Till death took ane and left the other. 
 
 He liv'd some years in that condition, 
 
 And lik'd a drink and took the sneeshan ; 
 
 But wearing o' a single life, 
 
 John was resolv'd to tak a wife. 
 
 At last he did draw up wi' Meg, 
 
 A braw stout lass though rather big; 
 
 To build his house John got the timmer, 
 
 And John and Meg were join'd in summer. 
 
 When a' the birds sung round their dwelling. 
 
 And John wrought constant at his calling. 
 
 But though they sair did toil for riches, 
 
 Meg did command and wore the briches, 
 
 Sometimes they greed — sometimes disputed. 
 
 But in a year or near about it, 
 
 Ae night that wasna unco bonny, 
 
 Meg cried in haste and waken'd Johnny. 
 
 To run wi' speed for Tibbie Goudy, 
 
 A worthy wife that was a houdy, 
 
 Lie still says John, ye fash me sairly, 
 
 I'm fu' the night — wait till its early ; 
 
 Besides I hear the wind is blawing, 
 
 And show'rs o' rain I ken is fa'ing. 
 
 But Meg cried out ye mak me wonder, 
 
 Run, though it should be rain or thunder ; 
 
 Get here the houdy and bring Meg, 
 
 That stays beside the white stane brig. 
 
 Bring cripple Janet at the water; 
 
 Run ! lose nae time till ye get at her ; 
 
 And Madge that stays in w r i' the sutor, 
 
 We canna rightly do without her. 
 
 But as Meg spake she gae a skirl, 
 
 That made the weaver's lugs to dirl; 
 
 Then up he got just in a flutter, 
 
 And off he gaed through loch and gutter. 
 
 He first ran through the rashy boggy, 
 
 Then had to pass an auld kiln loggie ; 
 
 But there a cry made him uneasy, 
 
 A fright he got near made him crazy 
 
229 
 
 Twa starin' een cam' glovv'rin* at him, 
 
 And farther on it wadna lat him. 
 
 He didna try for to get past it, 
 
 But back he ran and puff'd and blastit. 
 
 His hair wi' fear his bonnet lifted, 
 
 And yet he coudna get it shifted; 
 
 Great fear and trouble did it gie him, 
 
 And as he ran it still ran wi' him. 
 
 He thought it was some ghost or witches, 
 
 He ran through a' baith bogs and ditches ; 
 
 But looking back when wearied sadly, 
 
 And minding Meg that lay sae badly, 
 
 He saw what frighted him sae sairly 
 
 Was but a goat belong'd to Charlie, 
 
 That bairns oftentimes had pettit, 
 
 And it ran after a* that met it. 
 
 When Johnny saw his dreadfu' blunder, 
 
 He at himsel' began to wonder, 
 
 When thinking on poor Meg's distresses, 
 
 And minding he was on expresses, 
 
 He quickly took another turn, 
 
 A nearer cut down by the burn, 
 
 Griev'd that his charge had been neglected, 
 
 But soon the wives he got collected ; 
 
 Awa' they cam', he leftna ony, 
 
 They thought on Meg and cam' wi' Johnny. 
 
 He got them out, but bringing Janet, 
 
 Wi' her he lost his wig and bonnet, 
 
 For at a ditch just in the middle, 
 
 John and the wife fell in the puddle. 
 
 The ditch was fu' o' dubs and water, 
 
 And to get free they had a splatter ; 
 
 Yet they got out for a' their falling, 
 
 And at the last reach'd Johnny's dwalling. 
 
 They didna want what he had ready, 
 
 Then John at last becam' a daddy ; 
 
 And after that they aye lir'd happy, 
 
 Though rul'd by Meg John took the drappie, 
 
 When warld's canker'd cares got near him 
 
 He took a wee thing aye to cheer him. 
 
230 
 
 And on a knowe baith green and bonny, 
 I or mouy years livVi Meg and Johnny ; 
 And a' Ids days he was a weaver, 
 
 Near Nairn's bonny running river. 
 
 THE FALL O' PATIE'S ILL-GUIDED MARE. 
 
 The Author passing by at the time wrote the folio icing piece. 
 
 My neighbour Fat he had a beast, 
 
 That gain'd him many a cake ; 
 Oft did he mak' her drive wi' haste, 
 
 Till age it made her weak. 
 
 She trudg'd about baith night and day, 
 
 For she was worn sair; 
 Ker feet they faii'd, and down she lay 
 
 Poor beast to rise nae main 
 
 When Patie saw her legs stretch'd out, 
 
 He sadly scrateh'd his crown, 
 And said that laziness nae doubt, 
 
 Had made the beast lie down. 
 
 Then in a rage he took a stick. 
 
 And brake it o'er her back ; 
 The poor atild beast began to kick, 
 
 And in her language spak' : — 
 
 Says she, O baud your ban' a wee, 
 
 O Patie, ye're severe ! 
 The load that ye ha'e put on me, 
 
 Was mair than I could bear. 
 
 Sair wark has almost broke my heart, 
 
 Although that I had will ; 
 When ye ha'e put upon the cart, 
 
 Far mair than I could pull. 
 
 While I had strength I did my best, 
 
 To draw the plough and cart ; 
 But at your wark I coudna last, 
 
 Now Patie we must part. 
 
231 
 
 Ye laid upon me mony a time, 
 When I was out o' breath ; 
 
 Now sair wark and a hungry waaie, 
 Has hasten'd on my death. 
 
 Says Patie ye're a dying beast, 
 
 It is a lie ye say, 
 Did 1 not for your grass at least, 
 
 Near twenty shillings pay. 
 
 Ye eat it up as hare's the street, 
 What I had bought for you ; 
 
 And yet ye tumbled off your feet, 
 For a* that I could do. 
 
 Says she, it's true I ate it bare, 
 A s bare as bare could be ; 
 
 Yet that but shew'd the little care, 
 That ye did take o' me. 
 
 For often times ye drave me out, 
 And laid upon my banes ; 
 
 And made me seek my meat about, 
 Among the land and stanes. 
 
 Was that a way to guide a beast, 
 That gain'd your bread for you, 
 
 And what I gain'd ye ran in haste 
 And drank till ye got fu'. 
 
 How I was us'd I coudna tell, 
 
 Ye scarce would muck my stable : 
 
 And yet I took upon mysel', 
 Far mair than I was able. 
 
 mony a time ye thraw'd my head, 
 The time that I wrought sair ; 
 
 1 to your door took mony a lead, 
 But never will take mair. 
 
 Though night and day ye cam' wi' me, 
 Through mosses and through bogs ; 
 
 I see the day ye wish to gie, 
 Mv carcase to the doers. 
 
232 
 
 To daily drudgery a 1 my time, 
 
 Did I not still e mit ; 
 WT scarce a morsel in ray wame, 
 
 Or shoe upon my foot. 
 
 Sare was the thumps I got frae you, 
 These twenty years by-past , 
 
 And still ye knock at me till now, 
 Though I am near my last. 
 
 Yet though that I should rise again, 
 
 I coudna haud a foot ; 
 Whoever looks at me may ken, 
 
 I coudna stand nor sit. 
 
 Though mony a day a shift I made, 
 Bad guideship made me frail ; 
 
 O Patie ! dinna knock my head, 
 But try to lift my tail. 
 
 Before your stick I canna last, 
 
 O think upon my case ! 
 Ye winna let me tak' my rest, 
 
 Nor let me die in peace. 
 
 WV my auld cart I gaed about, 
 
 Till I was fore d to fa' ; 
 O lat me now my legs stretch out ! 
 
 Your feeling must be sma\ 
 
 Bad recompence ye surely gie, 
 
 For a' that I hae done ; 
 Is this the thanks at last to me, 
 
 For a' that I hae won ? 
 
 Sair at your wark I tir'd my banes, 
 
 And for you did provide ; 
 Which ye will shortly miss, when ance 
 
 The tanner gets my hide. 
 
 Now Pat, says she, my end ye've seen, 
 
 Remember what I tell ; 
 She said no more — but clos'd her een, 
 
 And down her head it fell. 
 
233 
 
 Then Pat for help began to ciy, 
 
 In hopes to lift her head ; 
 But that was needless for to try, 
 
 The poor auld beast was dead. 
 
 Paties Lament for his Mare. 
 
 Alas ! says Pat, the mare is dead, 
 Who mony a day has gain'd my bread ; 
 Lang did I try to baud her head, 
 
 But skill gaed wrong ; 
 O ciuel death ! to kill a beast, 
 
 I had sae lang. 
 Through Nairn lang we trudg'd thegither, 
 And happy were wi' ane-an-ither ; 
 How vex'd were we to part wi' ither, 
 
 I coudna say ; 
 For ae leg there dang o'er the other, 
 
 And down she lay. 
 But when the poor auld beast there fell, 
 Nae mair to rise I'm vex'd to tell, 
 Alas ! how did it grieve nersel', 
 
 When on her side ; 
 That she could leave me naething mair, 
 
 Except her bide. 
 
 JOHNNY CRONY AND HIS DOG AT A 
 COUNTRY KIRK. 
 
 Ae sunday at the kirk the folks had met, 
 And a compactly in their seats were set ; 
 To hear the word they had conven'd thegither 
 Frae ae end o' the parish to the other. 
 Some gave attention, some o' them did not, 
 But view'd the fashion o' their neighbour's coat ; 
 Although the parson preach'd both loud and long, 
 The day was very warm — the kirk was throng. 
 
234 
 
 At last some dogs that chanc'd to rov r e about, 
 
 Through perfect kindness fell in a dispute ; 
 
 The peace was broke when ance that they got in, 
 
 Frae words to blows they made a waefu' din. 
 
 Some ran to kick them for to end the fray, 
 
 But that's a thing that unco ^ew would try, 
 
 And others thought to put them to the door, 
 
 But that made them nae better than before. 
 
 For a' the means they used to end debates, 
 
 The dogs were always in among the seats, 
 
 Which put the folks then in a dreadful hurry, 
 
 To guard their shins the time o' a' the worry. 
 
 But aukl John Crony sitting in a neuk, 
 
 Quite sound asleep — his head upon his book ; 
 
 And as he quietly snor'd awa' his nap 
 
 By cam' the dogs and gae his shin a snap. 
 
 Poor Johnny wakened in a drpacffu' flight-, 
 
 And thought the day was turned into night ; 
 
 The dogs about him kick'd up such a din, 
 
 He scratched his een and rubb'd his wounded shin, 
 
 And being sae disturbed in his sleep, 
 
 He thought the fox was worrying a' his sheep ; 
 
 And thinking for to gie the fox a crack, 
 
 He cam' across his ain poor colley's back. 
 
 When colley frae his master got the clout, 
 
 He snarling hasty turn'd his head about ; 
 
 Yet he was fear'd to stand there to debate, 
 
 And thought it better for him to retreat. 
 
 The lang pikestaff poor colley felt it sair, 
 
 He quickly ran and stay'd nae langer there ; 
 
 He grumbl'd sadly a the passage ben, 
 
 Yet what he thought or said I dinna ken. 
 
 The blessing being said the folks gaed hame, 
 
 But Johnny crippl'd and was unco lame; 
 
 He limped aff the best way that he could, 
 
 His staff did help him and the road was good. 
 
 Poor John got hame, but coming past the byre, 
 
 He met auld Meg just new come frae the fire, 
 
235 
 
 John, cries she, there's something, I trow, 
 Ye cripple sairly — what's the matter now. 
 Black is the matter, Meg, I hae to tell, 
 The like I met na since I kent yoursel' ; 
 
 1 fear this eight days here I canna work, 
 And got it a' wi' sleeping in the kirk. 
 
 1 chanc'd to lean to tak' a wee hit nap, 
 And just as fast as ye your hands could clap, 
 Our ain hlack colli* rais'd a waefu' din, 
 And in the fray has hroken a' my skin. 
 Ay, ay, says Meg, was that what ye met wi', 
 I'm sure yestreen ye hrawly snor'd wi' me ; 
 Ye might as well heen herding at the sheep, 
 As for to gae out to the kirk to sleep. 
 
 Meg, says John, I meant na that at a', 
 To tak' a lang sleep sitting near the wa ; 
 
 1 only sat a while to close my een, 
 
 Aad met wi' this Lcfci^ my nap was deep. 
 
 I little thought o' this when I gaed out, 
 
 But in the kirk nae dogs should gae about ; 
 
 For my sair skin I ken will fash us baith, 
 
 And colley must he fell'd that did the skeath. 
 
 Hout hout, says Meg, I'm griev'd for what ye tell, 
 
 But John ye canna justify yoursel', 
 
 For colley's but a dog — a poor auld beast, 
 
 That we hae had this saxteen years at least. 
 
 But ye're a man, and should be getting holy, 
 
 For ye must 'count for far mair faults than colley ; 
 
 Poor beast he only has but just to die, 
 
 But that is not the way wi* you and I, 
 
 Mind John that now ye're turn'd a bow'd auld carl, 
 
 Ye should be thinking on another warl', 
 
 And at the kirk ye always should determine, 
 
 Never to sleep when sitting at a sermon. 
 
 For when ye careless there begin to snore, 
 
 Ye leave the sermon a' within the door ; 
 
 And though that some get good o't round about, 
 
 Ye just gaed hame as wise as ye gaed out. 
 
236 
 
 If in the kirk ye aye sleep soundest there, 
 The other warld gies you little care ; 
 If every ane would sleep baith auld and young, 
 The parson just as well might baud his tongue. 
 But ye should rise up when tbe sleep comes roun', 
 Tak' out your mill and then sit though tfu' down, 
 Although the kirk ye lik'dna a'your days, 
 Ye now should mind well what the parson says. 
 For John it's time to think where ye must gae, 
 When wi' four-score ye're tottering down the brae, 
 But now come in and pree your ain Scots kail, 
 And shortly yet your broken shin may heal. 
 Sae after that auld Johnny took good care, 
 That in the kirk he never slept nae mair : 
 At hame he always took a morning nap, 
 For fear his shins might get another snap. 
 
 ON MEETING A DRUNKEN IRISHMAN WITH 
 A BROKEN NOSE, 
 
 The Author made the following Observations : 
 
 A drink or dram is good, it's true, 
 To take a little spark o't ; 
 
 But he that tumbles when he's fu', 
 His nose may bear the mark o't. 
 
 Ay, Pat, I see ye're on the rig, 
 I think ye're brawly serv'd man ; 
 
 See how the dubs have stain'd your wig, 
 And bleed runs o'er your beard man. 
 
 Says Pat, the big sow dang me down, 
 
 I got a drap and fell man, 
 And then my wig fell off my crown, 
 
 But how, I coudna tell man. 
 
 Says I, I see yeVe lost your feet, 
 And been upon your tap man ; 
 
237 
 
 Draw up your breeks, I think they're weet, 
 For shame tie up the flap man. 
 
 Says Pat, they loosM just wi' the fa', 
 Shame tak auld Scotland's drink man ; 
 
 For harky dang me to the wa, 
 And ga'e my head a clink man. 
 
 Says I, the beast ye sair condemn, 
 But frae the faut she's free man ; 
 
 It's nae the sow that ye should blame, 
 But just the barley-bree man. 
 
 Says Pat, I met wi' drouthy Rob, 
 
 And had a merry drap man ; 
 But when we fought and rais'd a mob, 
 
 My nose there got the rap man. 
 
 Says I, I think ye got a blow, 
 Ye're like a worried sheep man, 
 
 And broken noses sometimes shew 
 The company we keep man. 
 
 That's true, says Pat, but ye can see 
 
 That Rob did use me ill man, 
 And then the sow sair danc'd on me, 
 
 And brak my sneeshan mill man. 
 
 But Pat, says I, ye should be wise, 
 Your conduct ye should rue man, 
 
 Or ye may fa' nae mair to rise, 
 If tumbling wi' the sow man. 
 
 Says Pat, shame tak her muckle snout, 
 Though mony a rap she got man, 
 
 The drink and her have beat me out, 
 And torn a' my coat man. 
 
 Says I, I think they fash'd you baith, 
 
 But ye had a' the faut man ; 
 Nae doubt you nose got a' the skaith, 
 
 But ve must blame the maut man. 
 
238 
 
 Says Pat, the sow sair made me ratt> 
 To see my wig dang aff man, 
 
 And when I thought to grip her tail, 
 I lost my sheen and staff man. 
 
 Says I, how harky dang you o'er, 
 
 I fear ye canna tell man, 
 For now through dubs ye sadly glow'r, 
 
 Ye "re blacker than hersel' man. 
 
 Gi'e o'er your drouthy drunken brags, 
 
 And live a sober life man ; 
 Yell bring your family a' to rags, 
 
 And vex your bonny wife man. 
 
 Hear how your bairnies cry for bread, 
 Your wife cries out there's nane man ; 
 
 The strength o' maut is in your head, 
 And a your siller's gane man. 
 
 But now gae hame and wisely think, 
 And try to work for brose man, 
 
 And aye when ye meet Scotland's drink 
 Be sure to ^uard your nose man. 
 
 REMARKS ON INTOXICATION, 
 
 Or, the Drouthy Man Discovered. 
 
 Let not intoxication be our choice, 
 "Which drowns the senses in the streams of rice, 
 Its borrow'd pleasures suddenly fly past, 
 And ler.ve the man in ruins at the last. 
 
 I low unwise is the man who to drink is a slave, 
 When lie sits and forgets that his place he must leave; 
 His pleasures may rise, but when making too free. 
 His head soon gets light, and his bonnet agee. 
 
 Yet the strength o' the barley he thinks to withstand, 
 And soon gets more high than the laird o' the land; 
 
230 
 
 Far wiser than Solomon, great as a prince, 
 
 But dealing too deep makes him shortly a dunce. 
 
 For sitting o'er lang, upon any pretence, 
 
 Is hurtful to business, to siller, and sense ; 
 
 Yet the man that is drunk in the place where he sits, 
 
 The mair that he drinks still the wiser he gets. 
 
 What strange alteration the drink brings about ! 
 His feet brought him in but can scarce bring him out ; 
 Yet he thinks all is right and most perfect secure, 
 Till the first thing he finds is his head on the floor. 
 
 Yet though it is down he imagines he's right, 
 But the vessel is weak and the ballast is light ; 
 So beat with the storm he kens na the faut, 
 And lies there content wi' his burden o' maut. 
 
 At last he gets up by the help o' the table, 
 He thinks then to sit but he scarcely is able ; 
 While far from his view is his home and his all, 
 His neighbours around him they laugh at his fall. 
 
 Now, reader, observe and you plainly may find, 
 Intemp'rance ruins the health and the mind ; 
 The drouthy man's conduct may plainly denote, 
 Sometimes he's a man and sometimes he's a sot. 
 
 Yet the wisest that lives with a friend they may share, 
 If steadily guided by compass and square ; 
 But if drink turns master the man breaks the rule, 
 He soon leaves the compass and acts as a fool. 
 
 LINES TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WITH 
 A WATCH. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your watch lo you this day I send, 
 
 Which goes exceeding well ; 
 And if to it ye do attend, 
 
 The time it well can tell. 
 
240 
 
 Your watch now lets you plainly see, 
 
 While through this life you go, 
 That you should always steady be, 
 
 Not fast nor yet too slow. 
 
 Your watch shows time will stop for none, 
 
 Although we count it slack, 
 And yet one single moment gone 
 
 Can never be brought back. 
 
 Your watch makes all the pinions move, 
 
 And drives the wheels about, 
 To shew that you should time improve 
 
 Before your time runs out. 
 
 Your watch needs wheels and springs, we find, 
 
 To measure night and day ; 
 And so do you, but keep in mind, 
 
 Your springs may first give way. 
 
 Your watch you at the dial view, 
 
 To see how close they run, 
 But try to keep yourself as true, 
 
 To Him who rules the sun. 
 
 Your watch has got a silver case, 
 
 Yet yours is only skin ; 
 But mind, your watch rules by the face, 
 
 While your main work lies in. 
 
 Your watch requires a balance wheel, 
 
 To make the verge move true, 
 Which shews that ye should balance well, 
 
 All matters that ye do. 
 
 Your watch goes with an equal beat, 
 
 Your breath must do the same ; 
 Your watch with you may near compete, 
 
 For brittler is your frame. 
 
 Your watch-chain has many a link, 
 The main-spring rolls them round ; 
 
 But just as often you should think, 
 While time may here be found. 
 
241 
 
 Your watch now marks this moment yours, 
 
 Which here returns no more ; 
 And measures time to mind the hours, 
 
 That you have lost before. 
 
 Your watch now shews how time proceeds ; 
 
 Your watch needs winding too ; 
 Your watch a regulator needs, 
 
 And also so do you. 
 
 Your watch may let you understand, 
 Though you are in your prime, 
 
 You must be guided by the Hand 
 Who rules the wheels of time. 
 
 I remain, Sir, 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 w. a 
 
 LIZY LINZIE'S LEGACY. 
 
 Told by herself to the Author ', who wrote the following state- 
 ment of her riches. 
 
 Now aunty's dead and tane awa; 
 
 She's laid and happet fairly ; 
 But since I got her siller a' 
 
 I dinna miss her s airly. 
 
 Tor her I griev'd, ye may suppose, 
 
 To see her laid sae lowly ; 
 But few tears drappit o'er my nose, — 
 
 I thought that that was folly. 
 
 My blint rin' een I rubb'd them sair, 
 
 As mony a ane might see me ; 
 But ance that I got aunty's gear,. 
 
 Grief staid nae langer wi' me. 
 L 
 
242 
 
 The legacy fell to my lot, 
 That makes me unco canty, 
 
 And now ye'll hear o' what I got, 
 A' left me by my aunty : 
 
 A good big sow, — a hummel cow, — 
 Four sarks o' aunty's spinning, — 
 
 A bag near fu' o' tarry woo', — 
 And forty ells o' linen. 
 
 A hairy dog without a tail> — 
 Twa heckles and a ladder, — 
 
 A hack — a hoe — a fork — a flail, — 
 And three ewes on a tether. 
 
 A cannas and a bow o' maut, — 
 A cog that bauds a lippie, — 
 
 Besides a peck o' braw white saut, — 
 And three chairs and a creepy. 
 
 A rock — a reel — a pock o' meal, — 
 A web o' aunty's plaiding, — 
 
 A knocking stane, — her yard o' kail, — - 
 And a' her claes and bedding. 
 
 Her brander'd cat, and mair than that, 
 Twa brechims and a saddle, — 
 
 Besides, I gat her brewing vat, — 
 Her dishes and her laddie. 
 
 And spectacles that she lik'd still, 
 That made her see sae clearly, 
 
 Besides her siller-mounted mill, 
 That lang she had lik'd dearly. 
 
 Her amry and her stack o' peats, 
 
 For winter blasts providit, 
 And a' her shining pewter plates, 
 
 That mony a day she guidit. 
 
 Her ancient arm chair I got, 
 Where aunty sat sae happy, — 
 
 A year auld stot — a ten pint pot, — 
 A hatchet — and a nappy. 
 
243 
 
 Besides, a good fu' butter pig, 
 (For aunty aye liv'd cothie) ; 
 
 And on a knag her gutchers wig, 
 I gat it in the bothie. 
 
 A chimney crook — a corn hack, — 
 And hens baith big and little ; 
 
 And frae the amry head I took 
 Her gutcher's rusty whittle. 
 
 His brachan frae Culloden moor, 
 
 I gat it tatter'd sairly, 
 That had been fu o' bleed and stour 
 
 The time they conquer'd Charlie. 
 
 My aunt had kept it wi' great care, 
 Sae carefu' and sae ready, 
 
 And wi' her gear she had it there 
 Since they had fell'd her daddy. 
 
 And on the sooty vessel-board 
 
 I got a bunch o' candle, 
 And in the neuk a rusty sword, 
 
 Wi' auld bleed on the handle. 
 
 Besides, a gun baith lang and stout, 
 That had gi'en mony a rattle, 
 
 That Donald ance wi' him had out, 
 When at Culloden battle. 
 
 But what was better than them a', 
 
 Beside a rusty filler, 
 Beyont it, far ben in the wa', 
 
 I got a pig o' siller. 
 
 I danc'd, I sang, I lap, I flang, 
 
 I took it frae the bowal, 
 And cried out, now I hope ere lang 
 
 That I shall get a jewel. 
 
 A man a man I will get now, 
 The pig and me can fit him ; 
 
 I wanted lang a man it's true, 
 But now I hope to get him. 
 
244 
 
 Though three score years hae made me bowd, 
 
 And a' my teeth are rotten ; 
 l'Jl now get ane wi' aunty's goud, 
 
 If ane can yet be gotten. 
 
 Although I hae a crooket knee, 
 
 I'll throw awa my plaidin'; 
 And some ane yet may fancy me, 
 
 When I get brawer claddin', 
 
 For since the pig came to my ban', 
 
 Beyont the rusty filler ; 
 I'm sure that now I'll get a man, 
 
 Since I got crear and siller. 
 
 Lizy at last obtained the summit of her wishes, and although an old 
 maid she shortly got married to a highland farmer near the banks of 
 the river Nairn, they purchased sheep and goats to feed round their heal-, 
 thy dwelling, and soon stocked there little farm with the produce of 
 Lizy's Legacy. 
 
 THE AUCTION. 
 
 The author once chancing to make out a list of sequestrated goods to 
 be brought to sale, wTote it for amusement in the following manner. 
 
 Advertisement 
 
 As Mr. B. has ta'en the flight, 
 And left the town wi' candle light ; 
 His goods and gear, baith auld and new, 
 Must be expos'd and brought to view. 
 The public now will please remember, 
 That on the eighth day o' December ; 
 Just at the hour o' twelve o'clock, 
 Will be expos'd the weighty stock. 
 A great assortment o' hardware, 
 A lang time kept wi' greatest care, 
 Girdles, branders, hoes, and hacks, 
 Spades, and things o' different makV. 
 
245 
 
 Hatchets, razors, knives and forks, 
 Snuffers, trays, and bottle corks ; 
 Screws, and hinges, keys and locks, 
 Nails and sprigs, and barrel cocks. 
 Dig wire-traps for catching mice, 
 Stna' bane traps for catching lice ; 
 Dressing irons, pots, and kettles, 
 A' made up o' different metals. 
 Shovels, pokers, tongs, and basses, 
 ANY mony things to fit the lasses ; 
 Trinkets, beads, and keeping keams, 
 And fifty things o' different names. 
 Besides there's groceries on the spot, 
 Some are auld and some are not ; 
 Yet still depend ye'll get them cheap, 
 Sneeshan, treacle, starch, and seap. 
 And when ye h bae gathered there, 
 Yell get a store o' ear then- ware ; 
 Free o' rust and great in number, 
 Besides a mighty lot o' lumber. 
 For since the times wheeled this about, 
 Things that are in must a' come out ; 
 By this the public may observe, 
 They must be sold without reserve. 
 When ye come there we hope to see you, 
 But mind to bring your siller wi' you ; 
 And then let it be recollected, 
 Great bargains there may be expected. 
 
 ON THE BATTLE OF AULDEARN, 
 
 Fought between the Covenanters and the Marquis of 
 Montrose, about the year 164.5. 
 
 When Charles the first was sovereign of our land, 
 For prelacy most firmly did he stand ; 
 And gave a law to shew his fix'd design, 
 That Scotland all with prelacy must join. 
 
246 
 
 But presbyterians quickly took the field, 
 
 To Charles' laws in no ways would they yield, 
 
 For their religion nobly then they stood, 
 
 And for the church tbey fought through fields of blood. 
 
 But when the king observ'd how fast they rose, 
 
 He quickly sent the Marquis of Montrose 
 
 To force them in, he brought a numerous host, 
 
 Who conquer' d many round the Scottish coast. 
 
 Lord Napier joiu'd them in his bold design. 
 
 Lord Gordon, and the Earl of Aboyne ; 
 
 With many more who made his army strong, 
 
 Threatening destruction as they went along. 
 
 But Scottish chiefs soon met without delay, 
 
 Determin'd not to change but fight their way ; 
 
 And for their rights zealously to stand, 
 
 While general Urry took the north command. 
 
 Those Covenanters rais'd a powerful force, 
 
 Of noble clans besides four hundred horse ; 
 
 True to the church they quickly did increase, 
 
 And from each county met at Inverness. 
 
 While great Montrose who was by Charles sent, 
 
 Came from Strathbogie on destruction bent ; 
 
 He march'd through Moray making no delay, 
 
 Whilst devastation daily inark'd his way. 
 
 But Covenanters hearing of their rout, 
 
 From Inverness then quickly wheeld about ; 
 
 To meet Montrose they came to try their fate, 
 
 And at Auldearn both the armies met. 
 
 Montrose then view'd the highlanders with rage, 
 
 Although at first he seem'd not to engage ; 
 
 Yet soon his troops for slaughter did prepare, 
 
 As General Bailie then had not come there. 
 
 Great was the strength of all those highland clans. 
 
 But yet Montrose defied them by his plans ; 
 
 For when that they confus'dly gatherd round, 
 
 Montrose there took advantage of the ground. 
 
 He form'd his men but kept some out of sight, 
 
 Behind Auldearn sbelter'd by the height; 
 
And while the battle keenly did commence, 
 
 His veteran troops lie sav'd them by a fence* 
 
 Montrose in haste the royal standard reard, 
 
 And death ere long amongst the clans appear'd ; 
 
 For on the right M'Donald cut them down, 
 
 That blood and slaughter might gain him renown. 
 
 Yet noble clans their valour did display, 
 
 Though men and horses trampled lifeless lay ; 
 
 While near Auldearn fighting there they stood, 
 
 The burn ran deeply dy'd with human blood* 
 
 For when the royal army made a charge, 
 
 Through Urray's ranks the breach was wide and large ; 
 
 His cavalry they shortly cut them through, 
 
 And his best troops lay slaughter' d in his view. 
 
 As General Bailie came not for relief, 
 
 Montrose's rude horsemen, bent upon mischief. 
 
 Their bloody swords brought death on every hand, 
 
 Till mangled bodies overspread the land. 
 
 No longer then the clans could stand the shock, 
 
 Since men decreas'd and all their lines were broke ; 
 
 They by the royal army were defeated, 
 
 And in confusion quickly then retreated. 
 
 Montrose there lost but iew men there that day, 
 
 Though Covenanters for religion lay ; 
 
 They lost two thousand and were fore'd to yield, 
 
 And great Montrose reign'd conqueror in the field. 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THAT EVENT. 
 
 Although the Marquis of Montrose completely gained the victory over 
 the Covenanters at the battle of Auldearn, yet that did not satisfy his 
 rage, for we find that he proceeded as far west as Calder, and burned 
 houses on that estate, as also in the town of Nairn. Elgin and many 
 other places he plundered, and levelled houses w 7 ith the ground, as he 
 proceeded on his way back to tell his beloved sovereign Charles of his 
 great success over the Covenanters, boasting that he had slaughtered 
 the greater part of those avowed enemies of prelacy at the battle 
 of Auldearn 
 
 Yet great Montrose so high renown'd, 
 Soon suifer'd for his crimes. 
 
248 
 
 And Covenanters still kept ground, 
 Through all those bloody times. 
 
 To make them change vain was the thought. 
 
 For sprouts rose from their stock, 
 Till Charles to his end was brought, 
 
 And died upon £ie block. 
 
 For we find that Charles was brought prisoner to London, carried 
 before a Court of Justice, and after an extraordinary trial his head 
 was cut off before his own palace at Whitehall on the 30th of Janu- 
 ary 1649, being the 49th year of his age, and 24th of his reign. 
 
 ON VIEWING BURGIE,— July 24, 1826. 
 
 The Seat of the late Lewis Dunbar Brodie, Esquire. 
 of Burgle and Lethen. 
 
 Burgie I I view'd thy pleasant seat all round, 
 
 Your rural scenery, and your fertile ground ; 
 
 While nature sweetly did her charms display, 
 
 With joy I spent with you a summer's day. 
 
 Along your walks amus'd I did proceed, 
 
 Where flowers and plants gave much delight indeed; 
 
 And various birds I found them there unite, 
 
 Chanting their notes with pleasure and delight. 
 
 Within your parks the fleecy sheep were seen, 
 
 Where grass with verdure grows both sweet and green : 
 
 Thy house commodious, elegant and neat, 
 
 Crowns all the beauties of your country-seat : 
 
 Your pleasant prospect much attracts the eye, 
 
 The sea — the woods — and all the country nigh. 
 
 Yon distant mountains make your landscape more, 
 
 And various seats all round the Moray shore; 
 
 Also the structure of your ancient tower, 
 
 I much admir'd, as still it stands secure : 
 
 Brave Scotia's sons had rear'd it on your land, 
 
 And still it stands to make your scenery j<rand. 
 
 But what still adds more lustre to your charms, 
 
 Your fruitful gardens, and surrounding farms ; 
 
249 
 
 Your rising trees at once attract the view, 
 Both useful, grand, and ornamenting too. 
 Since all those things your pleasant prospects show, 
 May they be still improving as they grow ; 
 And while the Brodie on this spot shall dwell, 
 May gen'rous deeds make you beloved well. 
 Long may you here in joy and comfort live, 
 With all the pleasures that this life can give. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON THE POWER OF LOVE. 
 
 Love has a power that here can charm the heart, 
 Love can do more by far than human art ; 
 It gilds through life the comforts of our day, 
 And still shall reign when all things else give way. 
 
 What can Love do ? 
 Love can do much upon this ball, 
 Though some may count the gift but small, 
 Yet what on earth unites us all, 
 
 But Love. 
 Love sure must be a gift divine, 
 Created for a grand design, 
 For what can make two hearts to join, 
 
 But Love. 
 Look round and see through every land, 
 How men and maids join hand in hand, 
 And what can tie the marriage band, 
 
 But Love. 
 What makes them both as one unite, 
 Though worldly cares may not be light, 
 Or what through life crowns their delight, 
 
 But Love. 
 What makes the tender mother here, 
 Embrace her darling infant dear, 
 When all its smiles make it to cheer. 
 
 But Love. 
 
250 
 
 What makes the father's heart rejoice, 
 To see his prosperous family rise, 
 Bound near his heart by nature's ties, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 When death near by us strikes his blow, 
 And some dear friend we lay them low, 
 What makes the tears of sorrow flow, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 What makes a child to parents kind, 
 And sweetly bear them long in mind, 
 Nothing can that affection bind, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 What makes kind friends delight to meet, 
 To make their pleasure more complete, 
 Or what makes social friendship sweet, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 What makes the eye to cease to mourn, 
 When friends meet friends on their return, 
 Or what can make the bosom burn, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 What makes the champion of the field, 
 For her he loves, — to drop his shield ; 
 Nothing can make him quickly yield, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 W T ho can describe what love can do, 
 Where strong affection binds it true, 
 Or what can elevate our view, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 What makes us look beyond this scene, 
 While we uncertain here remain, 
 Or what can bring us endless gain, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 Much have we in this world we know, 
 From Him who rules all things below, 
 Yet what return here can we show, 
 
 But Love. 
 
2.51 
 
 What was it here that raised our race, 
 And bought for us a nobler place, 
 Where endless joys can never cease, 
 
 That darling Love shall never die, 
 Though all terrestrial things must fly, 
 For yonder world resounds on high, 
 
 But Love. 
 
 W 7 ith Love. 
 
 REMARKS ON READING THE HISTORY OF 
 ADMIRAL LORD NELSON; 
 
 Who defeated the combined Fleets of Trafalgar, capturing 
 or destroying twenty saiL — His Lordship was killed 
 during the Action, 2 1st October, 1805. 
 
 The page of history here we see, 
 A noble character displays, 
 Of him who faithful prov'd to be, 
 Long time to us in former days. 
 
 Whose martial deeds, and warlike skill, 
 Defending Britain's favour'd Isle, 
 Makes him to be remember'd still, 
 The noble hero of the Nile. 
 
 With courage keen he play'd his part, 
 Wliile plowing on the dashing wave, 
 And with a bold courageous heart, 
 Still show'd that he was true and brave. 
 
 Britannia's foes sore felt his blow, 
 Whatever place they chane'd to be, 
 And at the Nile he made them know, 
 Great Britain's guns can sweep the sea. 
 
 The Spanish fleets he met at last, 
 And British strength that day they found, 
 L6 
 
252 
 
 While hardy tars stood true and fast, 
 To active Nelson long renown'd. 
 
 The different ships his eye inspects, 
 While hopes of victory rais'd his view. 
 He cried that England now expects 
 Her faithful sons will all he true* 
 
 But while the combin'd fleets there lay* 
 Alas ! that action brought his end ; 
 Yet British tars triumphal that day* 
 And victory and renown obtain'd. 
 
 W T hile life and vigour did remain, 
 Brave Nelson faithfully there stood, 
 Until the deck with crimson stain, 
 Bespangl'd with his dropping blood. 
 
 Unlucky event — but we find, 
 Commissions! was the deadly ball, 
 That made Great Britain's faithful friend ? 
 Near to Trafalgar quickly fall. 
 
 Unto the world he bade adieu, 
 Who long had been his country's theme, 
 Yet here his life attracts our view, 
 And honours noble Nelson's name. 
 
 Adieu, then, Hero ! since we see 
 Trafalgar Action clos'd your days ; 
 Yet here you shall remember'd be, 
 While history can display your praise* 
 
 We hope you gain d a nobler place, 
 And landed on a better shore, 
 Where you shall live in endless peace. 
 To hear the sound of war no more. 
 
253 
 
 SCOTCH DIVERTING ENIGMAS FOB AMUSE* 
 ME NT; 
 
 Or, New Cracks for the Winter Ingle-side. 
 
 An Enigma, or Riddle, is ingeniously to obscure the plain* 
 est things which may seem strange till they are made 
 known. They have been esteemed in every age. and 
 when new they are still found to be diverting. 
 
 Those enigmas you have in this ; 
 Come, try if you can quickly guess. 
 When round a ranting fire you sit, 
 This I have penn'd to try your wit. 
 
 ENIGMA I. 
 
 I am made for great use and my body is stout. 
 With my back turn'd in and my face turn'd out; 
 I still do my duty, — J fear not a boast, 
 Though led on by many I krep at my post. 
 While man here shall dwell I must be to the last, 
 Yet I walk upon nothing and always keep fast. 
 
 II. 
 
 On my feet I stand fast yet I constantly go ; 
 
 I daily direct you though nothing I know. 
 
 My heart it is hard, I am both deaf and blind, 
 
 And yet I am useful and often in mind. 
 
 There are few in the place but may know me full well, 
 
 For they see by my looks what I mean for to tell. 
 
 111. 
 Though 6mall is my station I meet with regard ; 
 I am oft with the lady and oft with the laird. 
 Though I never could fly yet I stretch out my wings ; 
 So highly esteem'd I am rais'd above kings. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My colour is good, yet I see not nor feel, 
 
 And there's nothing on me from the neck to the iieel. 
 
254 
 
 There are many like me where true wit is but thin, 
 They appear like a man when there's little within. 
 
 \T 
 
 v . 
 
 My master he needs me though short is my length, 
 And my ribs are hut thin though great is my strength ; 
 Tor the hardest cf steel I can drive at my ease, — 
 Come, try now, and guess me as soon as you please. 
 But yet I am sure ye will wonder at me, 
 I am scarce an inch broad yet as deep as the sea. 
 
 VI. 
 My mouth is wide — it must be so ; 
 I have two feet but cannot go. 
 No head nor tail is found on me ; 
 I cannot hear, I cannot see; 
 But guide me as you ought to do 
 And I can drive as fast as you. 
 
 For fire I was made, and by fire I must die, 
 And at last into vapours of smoke I must fly ; 
 Yet still I stand fast till my two ends do meet, 
 For my inside destroys my outside complete. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Great is the use that's found in me, 
 
 Though I am never used at sea ; 
 
 Yet thousands need me every day, 
 
 And force still makes me take my way. 
 
 Through every land I take a round, 
 
 Through Scotland and through English ground. 
 
 My teeth are long but need no meat, 
 
 Yet I must work that you may eat. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Two noses it has and it flies on with force, 
 More swifter by far than the best riding horse. 
 It keeps at its duty and seldom is slack ; 
 It instantly flies and as quickly comes back. 
 
255 
 
 It flies without wings and it soon comes about, 
 Yet still it keeps driving with its guts falling out. 
 
 X. 
 I came on the wing, o'er the rivers I flew ; 
 Much here have I done and much more shall I do. 
 Esteem'd by all nations I make it appear, 
 I speak every language that is far and near. 
 My bill still is black and my tail often white ; 
 I still am in motion by day and by night. 
 I speak to the wisest, — much can I produce, 
 Though some think me blind, and my father a goose. 
 
 XI. 
 
 It is blind as a mole yet it never was seen ; 
 Most deeply it goes and it pierces most keen. 
 It conquers the champion, the rich and the poor, 
 And the wound that it gives few Doctors can cure. 
 Much here has it done in all times that are past, 
 Yet it was, and it is, and will be to the last. 
 
 XII. 
 
 My body is stout and my head always bare, 
 My inside is empty for nothing is there ; 
 Though bound most securely I raise up a din, 
 And numbers around me I make them to run. 
 For great is my pow'r though my station is low, 
 And many most quickly attend where I go. 
 Oft-times, by my friends, I am knock'd on the head, 
 Yet I may be safe where a thousand lie dead. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I here am well-known, though hated by all, 
 
 There's none that's in fancy with me ; 
 
 I long have been here and I ever more shall, 
 
 I was and I ever will be. 
 
 I visit the rich and I visit the poor, 
 
 On pleasures I often intrude, 
 
 Unwelcome, unsent-for I call at their door, 
 
 And sometimes I come for their good. 
 
c 256 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I come from a country where none yet has been ; 
 
 I go to a place where I cannot be seen. 
 
 I rise in the morning sometimes ere it's bright. 
 
 And the king I defy for to binder my flight. 
 
 My size or my pow'r there are few that can tell, 
 
 Yet I do my duty that's known full well. 
 
 I drive at my freedom throughout every land, 
 
 And yet I must stop at my master's command. 
 
 XV. 
 
 It is greater by far than India's bright gold ; 
 
 It cannot be bought nor it cannot be sold ; 
 
 Yet still where it is greatest pleasure is got, 
 
 But joys are not found in the place it is not. 
 
 It still is admir'd you may ev'ry day see, 
 
 Though sometimes it dwells not in the place it might be ; 
 
 For oft iii the palace it does not abound, 
 
 And yet in the cottage it's oft to be found. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I saw four brothers try a race 
 
 With all their might and speed, 
 Yet still they kept an equal pace 
 
 And swiftly did proceed, 
 Though two drove slow and two drove fast, 
 
 So equally they ran, 
 That they all halted at the last 
 The same as they began. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 1 see not, I bear not, nor nothing can know, 
 But yet at command round the globe I must go : 
 Yet while to the sky I am raising my head, 
 I carry my friends though my body be dead. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 I have been long on British ground, 
 And virtue still in me is found ; 
 
257 
 
 Though many thought to do me ill 
 I flourish to condemn them still. 
 The various things in me that're seen 
 Are useful to the great and mean. 
 Though slighted often by mankind, 
 I change the thoughts — I cure the blind. 
 1 am renown'd, and ever shall, 
 While mortal man can tread this ball. 
 Come, search me well, and I shall show 
 What all this world could never know. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 My name is well-known, and great it must be, 
 When kings, dukes, and lords must depend upon me. 
 I hold them all up from the great to the small, 
 But if I give way they are sure of a fall. 
 
 XX. 
 
 In evYy rich country we are known by all, 
 
 For our numbers are great though our pow'r be small ; 
 
 We live in rich soil till our house is cut down, 
 
 And are sometimes devour'd by the best in the town. 
 
 In groups we are found in the place where we lodge, 
 
 Yet they slaughter us quickly without any grudge. 
 
 As we are not able to fight or to fly 
 
 They bruise us to death and in thousands we die. 
 
 ANSWERS TO THE ENIGMAS, 
 
 Enigma 1. The Door on the Hinges. 
 
 2. An Eight-day Clock. 
 
 3. An Umbrella. 
 
 4. A Mask. 
 
 5. A Tailor's Thimble without a Bottom. 
 
 6. A Wheel -barrow. 
 
 7. A lighted Candle. 
 
 8. A Harrow. 
 
 9. A Weaver's Shuttle. 
 
258 
 
 10. The Pen. 
 
 1L Love. 
 
 3 2. A Drum in the Field of Battle. 
 
 13. Grief. 
 
 14. The Wind. 
 
 15. Contentment. 
 
 16. The four Wheels of a Carriage. 
 
 17. A Ship. 
 
 18. The Bible. 
 
 19. The Chair you sit upon. 
 
 20. The Mites in the Cheese. 
 
 BIITEK^ING EPITAPHS. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A CHIMNEY SWEEP. 
 
 Stop, passenger ! this epitaph to read ; 
 To mind your end you always should take heed ; 
 For Pat lies here, beneath this slane, compact, — 
 Regretted sair although his face was black. 
 The narrow road he took delight to- go, 
 Ascending daily from this world below; 
 1 hough oft in darkness many times, no doubt, 
 We find his views were often stain'd with soot, 
 To be in blackness still was his delight, 
 But yet at last we hope he will be white ; 
 For though his bones in dust must disappear, 
 They now lie equal with the greatest here. 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN OED WOMAN WHO MADE 
 
 CANDLES. 
 
 Beneath this stane lies Janet Clark, 
 A woman worthy o' remark ; 
 
259 
 
 She rots now in the grave's dark shade, 
 Though making light was once her trade. 
 When some would wish their deeds lie hid, 
 She brought to light the deeds she did ; 
 And now to shew her good designs, 
 The work she left most brightly shines. 
 Yet some may wonder her desire 
 Was, that her works might go on fire, 
 And burn briskly on thegither, 
 Frae ae week's end unto another. 
 Baith auld and young she help'd their sight, 
 And brought ten thousand things to light; 
 But since she darkness did dispel 
 We hope she's gaen to light hersel'. 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN HONEST WEAVER. 
 
 Here lies Tarn W r ebster's last remains 
 
 In unco little room ; 
 He was a weaver free o' stains 
 
 As ever wrought a loom. 
 While he at yarn wrought wi" speed, 
 
 Swift did his shuttle fly; 
 But now, alas, he broke the thread 
 
 That none on earth can tie ! 
 He liv'd respected on the stage, 
 
 Belov'd by great and sma', 
 And died, regretted, at the age 
 
 Of three-score years and twa. 
 For death wha speers nae body's leave, 
 
 Has laid him here it's true ; 
 But why should we regret or grieve, 
 
 For Tarn had spent his clue. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A RAG-MAN. 
 
 Here lies the banes o' Willy Scott, 
 Wha left this warld o' care ; 
 
260 
 
 Though he ha J still a drouth y throat 
 
 His friends lament him san\ 
 Weel was he kent in ev'ry town, 
 
 When he cam' wi' his hags ; 
 He twenty years gaed up and down 
 
 Wi* earthen- ware for rags. 
 The gear he kept was unco free, 
 
 They broke whene'er they fell ; 
 His goods were earth and sae was he, 
 
 At last he broke himsel'. 
 For though he lang had dealt in earth; 
 
 On earth he was na slack ; 
 At last poor Willie died on earth, 
 
 And left on earth his pack. 
 He liv'd on earth, he dealt in earth, 
 
 Which broke on earth again ; 
 He cam' frae earth, and here in earth 
 
 He lies beneath this stane. 
 
 ON VIEWING THE ANCIENT CATHEDRAL 
 OF ELGIN. 
 
 O high Cathedral ! when we view 
 Your noble structure all around ; 
 Such buildings now we see but few, 
 Once for magnificence renown'd. 
 
 Centuries of years have now rolFd past, 
 Since worship first in you began ; 
 Yet your remains still stand the blast, 
 To shew the pattern of your plan. 
 
 Your lofty arches still retain, 
 Resemblance of your early prime ; 
 And will be prais'd while you remain, 
 Though wore by ravages of time. 
 
 V\ hy did they strip your aged head, 
 But Scotland's records plainly tell; 
 
2(31 
 
 They brought away your covering lead, 
 Which long preserve! your building well. 
 Great was your architeet'rists' skill, — 
 Yet though your builders are no more ; 
 Your fine carv'd stones are standing still, 
 To tell of those that's gone before. 
 But where are all those bishops now, 
 Who sat beneath your lofty tower; 
 We find that time remov'd them too, 
 With all their mighty earthly power. 
 For round your lonely mouldering spot. 
 Great many thousands lie unseen; 
 Yet though that man must be forgot, 
 Your fabric tells what you have been. 
 By death your ancient friends retired, 
 Yet while in Elgin town you stand ; 
 Your Gothic walls shall be admir'd, 
 Which stand as yet majestic grand. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE TOWN OF FORRES, 
 The Author s native place. 
 
 Hail bonny town ! W 7 here I have spent 
 
 My happy early hours ; 
 With greatest pleasure and content, 
 
 Amongst your walks and flowers. 
 
 In you I pass'd my youthful days, 
 
 All round your fertile lands ; 
 Delighted with your woods and braes, 
 
 Which near your Burgh stands. 
 
 I often on your rising ground, 
 
 The summer day pass'd by; 
 And view'd your charming scenes around, 
 
 Which still delight the eye. 
 
 And many days glad have I been, 
 When walking from the w r ood, 
 
262 
 
 And sporting on the honny green, 
 Where Forres castle stood. 
 
 A castle that was built most strong, 
 
 With iron gates and bars ; 
 When Moray and all Scotland long, 
 
 Were tried with bloody wars. 
 
 For long it stood well to defend, 
 
 In former times of strife ; 
 Yet Scotland's king there met his end, 
 
 By Donald's bloody knife. 
 
 Those places are delightful still, 
 Where I spent many an hour ; 
 
 And often climb'd the lofty hill, 
 Now bearing Nelson's tower. 
 
 Where memorable marks remain, 
 Of battles that were fought ; 
 
 When here the hostile bloody Danes, 
 The Scottish lands had sought. 
 
 And often near your standing-stone, 
 I watch'd with much delight; 
 
 Which was set up for victories won, 
 When Scotland kept her right. 
 
 When Moray was a warlike seat, 
 And Danes possessed this land ; 
 
 But by King Malcom they were beat, 
 Who Scotland did command. 
 
 Those ancient places I walk'd round. 
 
 I view'd the distant shore ; 
 And many pleasures then I found, 
 
 That will return no more. 
 
 For youthful joys remain not still, 
 From us they must be gone ; 
 
 And as through life we climb the hill, 
 The cares of life come on. 
 
 Yet early days are not forgot, 
 That once had made us glad ; 
 
263 
 
 We always love the happy spot, 
 
 Where youthful joys we had. 
 To Forres I regard shall pay, 
 
 Which was my native place ; 
 And may your commerce every day, 
 
 More richly still increase. 
 Long to display your beauties grand, 
 
 When we shall all remove ; 
 And still the longer that you stand, 
 
 May you the more improve. 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS ON THE TOWN OF 
 FORRES. 
 
 Forres, the Author's native place here mentioned, is a fine Burgh 
 situated about 12 miles from Elgin, 11 from Nairn, and about 3 
 from the A obey of Kinloss. Forres had been a place of great resort 
 in former times, when Morayshire was inhabited by the Danes, who 
 were at last with great slaughter completely defeated near Forres by 
 Malcom the Second, King of Scotland, about the year 1005 ; and 
 it is supposed that the standing-stone near the Town of Forres, was 
 set up in remembrance of the complete expulsion of the Danes out 
 of Moray, by the Scots : others think that it was erected as a memo- 
 rial of the assassination of King Duff* of Forres Castle. That me- 
 morable stone here mentioned is well worth the notice of those who 
 wish to see pieces of antiquity. Though it is now much defaced, it 
 appears to have been one of the stateliest monuments of the kind in 
 Europe, rising about 23 feet in height above ground, and it is 
 thought 12 or 15 feet below — near 5 feet in breadth, and all one en- 
 tire stone. At the west end of the town of Forres, there formerly 
 had stood a very ancient castle of great strength, in the times of the 
 Scottish wars — for about the year 966, Duff, King of Scotland, was 
 murdered by Donald, Governor of the castle of Forres, and his body 
 buried near Kinloss. But Forres castle it would appear was destroy- 
 ed about the same time with the castles of Nairn and Inverness, by 
 the forces of Edward King of England, in the year 1303 ; — yet as 
 in those ancient times the highest eminences were counted the next 
 safest places of refuge to fortify themselves against their intruding 
 enemies The Cleeny Hills, near Forres, has been a place of great re- 
 sort, where Lord Nelson's monument now stands, erected by the in- 
 habitants of Forres in memory of the battle of Trafalgar in 1805, 
 which ornaments the Town very much, and honours all those who 
 contributed for that memorable to-', er to remain as a piece of national 
 antiquity. Forres stands in a fine situation, and has been long ad- 
 mired for the beautiful scenerv around it. 
 
SONGS, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM GORDON, Nairn. 
 
 When Winter's nights are unco lang, 
 And surly blasts o'er Scotland blaw, 
 We may be cheery wi* a sang, 
 To pass a lang cauld night awa'. 
 
 THE LASSIE I WISH TO BE MINE. 
 
 (Tune Lassie come under my plaid.) 
 
 The lasses o' Scotland are bonny and braw, 
 But the lassie 1 love is the flower o' them a' ; 
 She'* charming and young, and it is my design 
 To sing- of the lassie I wish to be mine. 
 
 She is blooming and sweet as the roses in June, 
 Her eyes are like diamonds that shine in the crown ; 
 If I could obtain her I would not repine, 
 1 low glad would I be if the lassie were mine. 
 
'265 
 
 We chanc'd for to meet near a bonny green wood, 
 Quite struck with her beauty amazed I stood ; 
 She wore a silk plaid of the tartan so fine, 
 And I wish'd that the bonny young lassie were mine. 
 
 I stepp'd up unto her and briskly I said, 
 
 Will you take me with you my charming fair maid ; 
 
 But quickly she told me she did not incline — 
 
 Yet I said that I lov'd her, and wish'd she were mine. 
 
 Had I all the gold round the Indian shore, 
 
 My lassie should have it and twenty times more ; 
 
 This heart that I have I to her would resign, 
 
 If she grant me her love she shall surely be mine. 
 
 I am courting my darling ev'ry day that goes by, 
 And now she esteems me and seems to comply ; 
 To make her my partner it is my design, 
 Rejoicing for life if the lassie were mine. 
 
 I have lov'd and ador'd her these three months and more, 
 And never till then knew what love was before ; 
 She's the flower of the north, and does many outshine, 
 This bonny young lassie I hope she'll be mine. 
 
 Since I unto her by kind fortune was led, 
 
 There's none but my lassie I wish for to wed ; 
 
 May it be decreed by the Powers Divine ; 
 
 That this charming Scotch lassie at last shall be mine. 
 
 SCOTLAND'S BONNY BRAES. 
 
 (Tune — A' the airts the wind can blaw. 
 
 Some sing about a foreign land, 
 
 Sae bonny and sae fair, 
 Where Scotia's sons get great and grand, 
 
 When ance that they get there. 
 But let them brag about their wealth, 
 
 As meikle as they please, 
 Gie me contentment and good health, 
 
 On Scotland's bonny braes. 
 M 
 
266 
 
 O* gouden mines we dinna boast, 
 
 Like nations far awa', 
 But often round their spicy coast 
 
 The deadly breezes blaw. 
 Gie me my lovely lassie dear, 
 
 My plaid and highland claes, 
 And I am far mair happy here 
 
 On Scotland's bonny braes. 
 
 Baith sweet and healthy are our knowesr, 
 
 Where I hae always been, 
 Where heather grows, and bleating ewes 
 
 Feed round the woods sae green. 
 Delightful can my lassie sing, 
 
 When we sit at our ease ; 
 Then I am happier than the king 
 
 On Scotland's bonny braes. 
 
 While sporting round our rivers here 
 
 The fishes sweetly play, 
 And on their banks sweet flow'rs appear 
 
 Still blooming ev'ry day. 
 While birds they cheer us as they pass, 
 
 Their lovely notes they raise, 
 Then I am happy wi' my lass 
 
 On Scotland's bonny braes. 
 
 My lassie's sweeter than the rose, 
 
 She likes to sit wi' me, 
 Where berries and the brackens grow 
 
 Beside the birken tree : 
 She has my hand, my heart and a', 
 
 Whatever place she gaes ; 
 And marriage soon shall join us twa 
 
 On Scotland's bonnv braes. 
 
267 
 
 ELIZA'S LAMENT FOR HER LOVER, 
 
 Who was lost in the Inverness Comet Steam-Boat, 
 October 21 st, 1825. 
 
 (Tune — Banks and Braes o' Bonny Doon.) 
 
 The grieving news from Gourock shore, 
 Makes many a one lament with me ; 
 He that I lov'd is now no more, 
 And here again w T ill never be. 
 He with the Comet chanc'd to go, 
 What is ordain'd none can avoid ; 
 But now the Comet is laid low* 
 And cold my love lies in the Clyde. 
 
 Unlucky voyage — my love is gone, 
 And vexing thoughts I have to bear ; 
 For galling grief comes pressing on, 
 To make me drop the crystal tear. 
 My love was kind, my love was sweet, 
 But now he rolls before the tide ; 
 On Ness green banks no more we'll meet, 
 For cold my love lies in the Clyde. 
 
 No danger seem'd, they reach'd the Firth, 
 Amongst them joy resounded there, 
 But death appear d in midst of mirth, 
 When swift the Comet met the Ayr. 
 Although the moon was newly set, 
 The pilot should have been their guide ; 
 But now I mourn both eve and late, 
 For cold my love lies in the Clyde. 
 
 Ayr ! ye came with rapid speed, 
 But why did you so quickly go ; 
 For many here may mind indeed 
 The night ye struck the fatal blow. 
 
 1 think I hear the awful cry — 
 
 The Comet sinks ! — the breach is wide ; 
 But to my love no help came nigh, 
 For cold he lies beneath the Clyde. 
 
268 
 
 Unlucky captains — now ye see 
 What you have done, none can restore ; 
 But others drop a tear wi£h me — 
 My love expir'd with many more. 
 The awful scene I grieve to tell — 
 For instant death made friends divide ; 
 Farewell my love ! — a long farewell ! 
 For cold ye lie beneath the Clyde. 
 
 THE LOSS O' MEG'S TEA AND THE 
 BREWING O'T. 
 
 (Tune — The rock and the wee pickle tow.) 
 
 As Meg and her comers sat down to their tea, 
 
 John came at the very beginning o't ; 
 
 I wat weel, quo Johnny, ye dinna want me, 
 
 But your table shall ken o' the thinnin' o't. 
 
 For ye sit and ye crack — o'er the tea-pot ye craw, 
 
 And dabble at tea, frae the great to the sma*, 
 
 And bodies like me we must pay for it a', 
 
 My aukl banes must ken o' the winnin' o't. 
 
 O Johnny, says Meg, mak your passion lie down, 
 For the wives like the tea and the shakin' o't ; 
 There's nae ane aukl wife in the country or town, 
 But is brawl y acquaint wi' the takin' o't. 
 For it clears us, it cheers us, it passes the time — 
 It cures a sair head, and it warms the wame ; 
 And Johnny, although that ye count it a crime, 
 In spite o' your teeth they'll be makin' o't. 
 
 Says John, weary fa't it was pride brought it here, 
 And now gi'es sae mony the keepin' o't ; 
 For baith wives and lasses that dwall far and near, 
 Are cheer'd wi' the tea, and the steep in ' o't. 
 A cog o' good purritch, and a bicker o' ale, 
 Wad make them look better, and wadna soon fail ; 
 But shame tak the tea, it's the dearest o' a', 
 My guidam she ne'er took a dreepin' o't. 
 
.069 
 
 John got in a passion and rais'd up a row, 
 lie spoil'd a' the brewst and the drawin' o't ; 
 He kick'd o'er the tahle, the tea-pot it flew 
 And plottit t!ie wives wi' the fa'ing o't. 
 They jumpit, they thumpit, and rais'd sic a rig, 
 That into the fire fell his bonny brown wig ; 
 Yet Johnny at last he was eonquer'd wi' Meg, 
 And sair was his neck wi' the thrawin' o't. 
 
 Says Meg, ye auld carl ye surely are daft, 
 The tea-pot ye now are the ruin o t ; 
 Your wig took the low, and my cups got the laft, 
 And ye spoil'd a the tea and the brewin' o't. 
 Ye rais'd and ye teaz'd baith my comers and me, 
 The table is tumbled and sae is the tea ; 
 If this be the way John, we never can gree. 
 And dear shall ye pay for the doin' o't. 
 
 But John, be advis'd, and the thing we'll replace, 
 Though the tea-pot has gaen and the tappie o't ; 
 We'll set up the table and now mak a peace, 
 And a' the wives here will be happy o't. 
 We habbled and squabbled, and the tea I grudge say:, 
 But we'll get a tea-pot and mak a drap mair ; 
 Then John he sat down wi' the wives for to share, 
 And they cheer'd his auld heart wi' a drappie o't. 
 
 THE LASS AT THE TAP O' THE GLEN. 
 
 (Tune — Here awa' there awa\) 
 
 Ae morning in May when the lavrocks sung cheery, 
 
 As through the green arns I chanc'd for to gae, 
 
 The sun it was warm, and I being weary 
 
 Sat mysel' down on a gowany brae. 
 
 The mavis there chanted, nae bird could sing sweeter, 
 
 But as I look'd round me my Mary I saw ; 
 
 My heart it grew light while I jump'd down to meet her, 
 
 She stays in our glen — she's the darling o' a'. 
 
270 
 
 Her cheeks bloom'd like roses, she blush'd when she saw me, 
 
 And blyth was the blink o' her bonny blue e'e ; 
 
 She wish'd to gae hame, yet her kind hand she gae me, 
 
 And we sat oursel's down at a green arn tree. 
 
 True love was our tale a the time she was wi' me, 
 
 And moments unheeded flew quickly awa' ; 
 
 Nae bonny Scotch lassie mair pleasure could gie me, 
 
 She stays in our glen, she's the darling o' a'. 
 
 Sweet kisses were plenty, glad was I to see her, 
 There's nane like my lass among a' that I ken ; 
 And kind she invited me back for to see her, 
 At her mother's braw house at the top o' the glen. 
 She shall be my ain, for I promis'd to tak her, 
 We settled the bargain ere she gaed awa* ; 
 My bonny young lassie my wife I shall make her, 
 She's the toast o* our glen, and the darling o' a'. 
 
 MARY'S KIND SCOTCH LADDIE. 
 
 (Tune — The Corn Riggs aro bonny.) 
 
 I met my lad the other day, 
 
 I joy'd to see my dearie, 
 For he came whistling o'er the brae, 
 
 Sae briskly and sae cheery. 
 I kent his bonny blinkin' e'e, 
 
 He laugh'd whene'er he saw me ; 
 I ran to him and he to me, 
 
 And kind his hand he ga'e me. 
 
 My lad was dress 'd in tartans true, 
 
 I wat they set him finely ; 
 His blue Scotch bonnet clad his brow, 
 
 His cheerfu' looks were kindly. 
 He said indeed he lik'd me best, 
 
 His heart he seem'd to gie me ; 
 He gripp'd my bosom to his breast, 
 
 And glad was he to see me. 
 
271 
 
 Through Scotland there is raony a lad, 
 
 But few are like my Sandy, 
 For o'er them a' that wear the plaid, 
 
 My laddie is the dandy. 
 He's handsome, kindly, brisk, and hraw, 
 
 There are nane I like dearer; 
 I wish our hrithal day we saw, 
 
 But still it's getting nearer. 
 
 THE BONNY BRIDGE OF FINDHORN, 
 
 Formerly published by the Author. 
 
 ( Tune — Charming Mall- Boy. ) 
 
 The Bridge speaks : 
 All you that have seen me, or heard of my name, 
 Cannot but with pleasure approve of the same, 
 Of raising my fabric most gallant and brave, 
 For the good of the country, and lives for to save. 
 
 It was long since proposed that I should be here, 
 But my bulk being large and my price being dear, 
 They could not contrive for to rear up my frame 
 Till the country all round me subscrib'd for the same. 
 
 Great need was for me it's needless to tell, 
 Because I am certain you know very well, 
 This river did often come down with such force 
 That no one could cross her with boat or with horse. 
 
 The brave town of Forres was eager for me, 
 
 No wonder, indeed, then although they would be, 
 
 This blood-thirsty river so rapid came down 
 
 That she oft-times did hinder the trade of their town. 
 
 In the year ninty-eight was my fabric begun, 
 And by brave Mr. Burns I was carried on ; 
 Completely sufficient my builders made me, 
 As late after ages I hope they can see. 
 
' 
 
 272 
 
 In a fine situation I certainly lie, 
 Which looks most delightful as you do pass by ; 
 I likewise am strong and most beautiful too, 
 With three noble arches which stand to your view. 
 
 Rage on now, you river, I value you not, 
 A good strong foundation I hope I have got ; 
 Since I was set here for the good of the land, 
 My three noble pillars thy strength shall withstand. 
 
 Likewise my three arches extended most high 
 Shall stand across thee and thy force shall defy ; 
 Though thy streams they be rapid I shall stand over thee, 
 And conduct them safe over that crosses on me. 
 
 Thou blood-thirsty river did never relent, 
 
 But many to death you have instantly sent : 
 
 No mercy you show'd them for all they could say, 
 
 In the height of your rage you would sweep them away. 
 
 Why would you delight in the spilling of blood, 
 And drowning mankind in your merciless flood ; 
 But now for to vex thee I hope long to be 
 The safety of all that will cross upon me. 
 
 But the river call'd out with a murmuring sound : 
 
 boast not my bridge though you now are renown d ; 
 For those who fall in where my current is strong, 
 Although you stand here I must sweep them along. 
 
 1 know there are many had reason to cry 
 For those that I drown'd in my bottom to lie , 
 Yet I have no feeling — I roll ev'ry day, 
 
 Till 1 meet with the sea I must keep on my way. 
 
 The Bridge then replied : you may roll as you please, 
 Swell'd up with the streams that come from our braes; 
 But while 1 can stand though you're raging and broad, 
 I safe shall preserve those who come on my road. 
 
 For since 1 was rais'd for the good of the place 
 I fear not the storms that blow in my face ; 
 I stand in the water though never so cold, 
 To be a conductor of both young and old. 
 
273 
 
 Now all you that cross upon me each day, 
 Walk on at your leisure there's nothing to pay ; 
 My price it is paid and your passage is free, 
 But give thanks unto them that subscrib'd for me. 
 
 And closing my strains, I wish success to all 
 That gave their assistance in rearing my wall ; 
 The deed was most useful no one will deny, 
 So I wish them all pleasure and prosperity. 
 
 But I shall say no more lest you think me too proud, 
 For my author he thinks it is time to conclude ; 
 Yet hope that no one shall have reason to grudge 
 That they did subscribe for the Findhorn Bridge. 
 
 THE AULD MAID AND THE BACHELOR. 
 Which may be acted, 
 
 (Tune — BJythe was she butt and ben.) 
 
 I was a lass that ance was bonny, 
 
 Though I wasna dressy braw ; 
 I wish'd a man but ne'er got ony, 
 
 Now my age is sixty- twa. 
 Mony a wooer cam to see me 
 
 When I was just in my prime ; 
 Twenty said that they would hae me, 
 
 But they didna tell the time. 
 
 Grand rich lads gaed careless by me, 
 
 Since I hadna wealth o' gear, 
 And the rest that cam to try me 
 
 A' had fauts I coudna bear. 
 The fir^t that sought me was a weaver, 
 
 Wi' a patch upon his e'e ; 
 He courted me to get my favour, 
 
 But wi' him I coudna gree. 
 
 The next that cam was tailor Johnny, 
 But he had a crooked back, 
 
274 
 
 Mony a time he kiss'd me bonny, 
 
 But I didna like his mak. 
 Drunken Charlie thought to get me, 
 
 But at last I chanc'd to rue, 
 I kent weel he coudna fit me 
 
 For he ev'ry night was fu'. 
 
 Cripple Rob cam limpin' to me, 
 
 Wi' ten marks tied in a clout, 
 He said the siller he would gie me 
 
 If wi' him I made it out. 
 But I got up in a rage, 
 
 And Rob took to his heels and ran, 
 I said I never would engage 
 
 To buckle wi' a crooked mar. 
 
 Ten times o'er my guidam bade me 
 
 Tak him, though he had a thraw, 
 But although she aft misca'd me 
 
 I would rather want for a'. 
 But now it grieves me a' my life, 
 
 The chance is off and age comes on, 
 I wish that I had been a wife, 
 
 And buckl'd in my legs wi' John. 
 
 But then I thought him rather auld, 
 
 While others thought mysel' o'er young, 
 And auld deaf Geordie thought me bauld, 
 
 And left me for my wicked tongue. 
 Mony a ane they did bespeak me, 
 
 And for courtin' a' cam ben, 
 Yet it seems they didna like me, 
 
 Though I dearly lik'd the men. 
 
 I in the house can do my duty, 
 
 Though my legs be something bow'd, 
 I was ance a perfect beauty, 
 
 And had hair like yellow goud. 
 Sae lasses now tak my advice, 
 
 If wi' a man ye wish to gree, 
 When ye can get ane be na nice, 
 
 Or ye may want as lang as me. 
 
275 
 THE BACHELOR'S ANSWER. 
 
 (Tune—- Blythe was she butt and ben.) 
 
 Now Jenny I heard your lament, 
 
 Because ye didna get a man, 
 But if ye gie me your consent 
 
 We'll mak a bargain out o* han\ 
 For I hae liv'd a bachelor's life 
 
 For mair than three-score years and twa, 
 Now I intend to tak a wife, 
 
 Or then for ever want for a'. 
 
 Shame fa' the lasses they were saucy, 
 
 Though I ken I woo'd them lang ; 
 I courted many a bonny lass, 
 
 But our courtship still gaed wrang. 
 In twenty I on marriage thought, 
 
 And had sweethearts baith new and auld, 
 But thirty years a change it brought, 
 
 And forty made my love grow cauld. 
 
 Three reaths and mair I courted Kate, 
 
 And thought that she would be my ain ; 
 But she took Jock, I got the cheat, 
 
 And a' my courtship was in vain. 
 Then I made up wi' auld gleed Meg, 
 
 Because she had the name o' goud, 
 But for me she car'd not a fig, 
 
 My love on her was ill bestow'd. 
 
 1 thought to tak a lady ance, 
 
 But she could never do wi' me, 
 I coudna keep up her expence, 
 
 And I kent weel we wadna gree. 
 I then drew up wi' muckle Nell, 
 
 For to be buck'ld in three weeks, 
 But I the bargain brak mysel' 
 
 For fear that she might wear the breeks. 
 
 Now Jenny, lass, gie me your hand, 
 
 If ye would wish to be a wife ; 
 I want a wife — ye want a man, 
 
 And we may mix our legs for life, 
 M6 
 
276 
 
 But if that we a bargain mak 
 
 Ye must guide weel what I can gain, 
 And we'll be buckl'd in a crack, 
 
 And hae a brythal o' our ain. 
 
 Content then Geordie I agree, 
 
 Ye shall enjoy ray good auld banes ; 
 Well Jenny here's my hand to thee, 
 
 We winna 1 anger lie our lanes. 
 Our plaids and plenishin' we'll mix, 
 
 And we can lire baith braw and trig ; 
 The night our brithal day we'll fix, 
 
 And I'll come wi' my Sunday's wig. 
 
 THE LAD WITH THE JACKET OF BLUE. 
 
 (Tune — The Lass o' Glenshee.) 
 
 The Birds on the branches sung sweet in the morning 
 When lovely young Bett from her pillow arose ; 
 The sun the Scotch meadows was brightly adorning. 
 When near to the sea-side a walking she goes. 
 That bonny young lass for her lover did mourn, 
 Who though he was absent still ran in her view ; 
 To Scotland she wish'd that he safe would return, 
 And long'd for her lad with the jacket of blue. 
 
 Blow briskly ye winds from the southern ocean, 
 Says Betsey, to send home my laddie to me ; 
 May fortune befriend him and send him promotion, 
 My heart it is with him wherever he be. 
 O if he were near me, his presence would cheer me ! 
 Our hearts join'd in love when our days were but few ; 
 And still I adore him, and love none before him, 
 My charming young lad with his jacket of blue. 
 
 He is now far at sea tossing high on the billows, 
 On board with our gallant Britannia's sons: 
 He sails in the fleet with those noble brave fellows, 
 Who guard our brave Island with Britain's great guns. 
 
277 
 
 This heart that I have, unto him once I gave it, 
 And though he he ahsent it still shall he true ; 
 And when he returns lie always shall have it, 
 My charming young lad with his jacket of blue. 
 
 But while that young Betsey in this way lamented, 
 For him that she prized and still did adore ; 
 O thrice happy morning tier grief was prevented, 
 A boat from a vessel had just come on shore. 
 She ran to the beach and at once did discover, 
 Her dearest young lad who directly she knew ; 
 She cried out in raptures and ran to her lover, 
 The bonny young lad with his jacket of blue. 
 
 With joy he met with his bonny young lassie, 
 And no one on earth was more happy than he ; 
 He says, my dear Betsey, the wars now are over, 
 Our ship is paid off, now my darling I'm free. 
 And five hundred guineas ray pocket possesses, 
 And five hundred more for our prizes are due ; 
 All the fortune I have shall be shar'd with my lassie, 
 Since I have return'd with my jacket of blue. 
 
 I fought for great Britain a long time to save it, 
 Which still is a nation both happy and free ; 
 No enemy ever by fighting shall have it, 
 While brave British Tars are masters at sea. 
 I sail'd with bold Nelson who long was commanding, 
 And many long nights we our foes did pursue ; 
 Yet on you I thought when aloft I was standing, 
 And fac'd the cold blast with my jacket of blue. 
 
 There are seven long years since the last time we parted, 
 And seldom since that have I been upon land ; 
 Yet though we were parted, I still was true hearted, 
 And now came to Scotland to give you ray hand. 
 Where cannons were roaring I still was protected, 
 And was in the tempest preserved for you ; 
 Now since by ray Betsey I still was respected, 
 You shall have your lad with the jacket of blue. 
 
2? 8 
 
 Now this constant couple are happily married, 
 And true love between them great happiness brings ; 
 And Jack that so long on his Betsey had tarried, 
 In wedlock's soft hammock most cheerfully swings. 
 No more now he thinks on the battle alarms, 
 But talks of the dangers that he had come through ; 
 He lives with his Betsey enjoying her charms, 
 This bonny Scotch lad with his jacket of blue. 
 
 RICHARD AT MATILDA'S TOMB. 
 
 (Tune — The Wounded Huzzar.) 
 
 O cold silent tomb ! I stand here admiring^ 
 Thy beautiful marble delightful to view ; 
 But when from your door I am slowly retiring, 
 The tears trickle down like the drops of the dew. 
 For her that I lov'd, by death is remov'd, 
 The pressure of grief makes me sorely deplore ; 
 But why am I crying, for her that's here lying, 
 My lovely Matilda returns no more. 
 
 No, here she was laid when the solemn bell sounded, . 
 
 From life's noble grandeur, Matilda has gone ; 
 
 In silence here wrapt by the dead all surrounded, 
 
 But why at her tomb am I making my moan. 
 
 It all is in vain, no answer I gain > 
 
 My grief never can the fair maiden restore ; 
 
 She still was my treasure, my joy and my pleasure, 
 
 But lovely Matilda returns no more. 
 
 O let me retire, why has Richard lamented, 
 There's nothing I hear but the owls' mourning cry ; 
 Yet the strong hand of death can by none be prevented. 
 In the cold silent tomb my Matilda must lie. 
 She died in her prime, but since that my time 
 Is now as uncertain as hers was before ; 
 While here I am moving let me be improving, 
 For lovely Matilda returns no more. 
 
279 
 
 Farewell my dear charmer farewell now for ever, 
 No more shall we meet, by the side of the grove, 
 No more I embrace you, — no ! no ! I can never, 
 But I hope my Matilda rejoices above. 
 Yet still I can find her memory in mind, 
 The fair darling maid that I long did adore ; 
 But why am I grieving she is none of the living, 
 For lovely Matilda returns no more. 
 
 DONALD'S BRAED BONNET. 
 
 (Tune — Whistle and I'll come to you my Lad.) 
 
 When I was a young man there were few like me, 
 The dandy young lasses I courted wi' g\ee f 
 For I was admir'd wi! my wig and my cue, 
 The first time my bonny braed bonnet was new. 
 
 How kind was the warld, but great is the change 
 Since love turn'd caulder and kindness mair strange ; 
 But when I was young social friendship was true, 
 And pride was mair scant when my bonnet was new. 
 
 Then tea wasna here and it rais'dna a strife, 
 Scotch cheer made me happy wi' Janet, my wife, 
 For frugal contentment has still led us through, 
 Since the very first day that my bonnet was new. 
 
 And every goodwife then she span her ain gown, 
 Admir'd by the laird and the best in the town ; 
 But now there is naething but muslin can do, 
 That wasna the way when my bonnet was new. 
 
 For still round the ingle the lasses wrought well, 
 And span their ain sarks while they sung at the wheel ; 
 But now they blush sair for to twine out a clue, 
 O what a sad change since my bonnet was new. 
 
 Then wealth made us glad, and the laird had his rent, 
 While Scotland enjoy'd the siller was spent ; 
 
280 
 
 And the farmers ale bicker cbeer'd him at the plough, 
 Those times when my bonny broad bonnet was new. 
 
 A ffood honest man then was honour'd by a', 
 
 As well as in days that our forefathers saw ; 
 
 But cheatry we see is in fashion mair now, 
 
 Than the clays that my bonny broad bonnet was new. 
 
 For honesty then was the shake o' a hau', 
 
 But the cleverest rogue now is cheat if we can ; 
 
 For back doors and by doors there are many get through,. 
 
 The warld has chang'd since my bonnet was new. 
 
 But through life's ups and downs let us decently jog, 
 As some by ambition fa's into the bog ; 
 For some that ran fast here had reason to rue, 
 That wasna the way when my bonnet was new. 
 
 Content still I dwall wi' my jolly auld Jauet, 
 
 \\T my braw sneeshan mill and my bonny braed bonnet ; 
 
 The warld gies fash, yet our love is as true 
 
 As the very first day that my bonnet was new. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF STRATHDEARN. 
 
 Which may be sung and acted by a Lady and Gentleman, 
 in the Highland dress. 
 
 (Tune — Sleepy Maggie— slow.) 
 
 Shepherd : — 
 
 Well met, my lassie, on the muir, 
 Glad am I the night to see ye ; 
 Sweet we courted mony an hour, 
 Joyfu' now my hand I gie ye. 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me, 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me ; 
 If ye do come tell me now, 
 And blythe and happy will ye mak me. 
 
281 
 
 Lassie : — 
 1 gie you thanks my shepherd kind, 
 Since ye think me sae sweet and bonny ; 
 But though that love runs in your mind 
 I hae na fix'd my heart on ony. 
 Though I happy now might mak ye, — 
 Though I happy now might mak ye, 
 I may repent to gie consent, 
 Sae, shepherd lad, I canna tak ye. 
 
 Sltepherd : — 
 
 But, lassie, look at yonder knowes, 
 
 Cover'd brown wi' bonny heather, 
 
 Yonder's a* my bleating ewes 
 
 That I would like to see you gather. 
 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me, — 
 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me ; 
 
 If ye do come, tell me now, 
 
 And blythe and happy will ye mak me. 
 
 Lassie : — 
 
 lad ye like me well I ken, 
 
 But though I hae your love and favour, 
 My mother's house reeks in the glen, 
 And I am now o'er young to leave her. 
 Though I happy now might mak ye, — 
 Though I happy now might mak ye, 
 
 1 may repent to gie consent, 
 Sae, shepherd lad, I canna tak ye. 
 
 Shepherd: — 
 
 But, lassie, ye'll get milk and meal, 
 
 And twenty things baith sweet and dainty ; 
 
 Braw's my house and yard o' kail, 
 
 And in Strathdearn ye'll hae plenty. 
 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me, — 
 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me ; 
 
 If ye do come tell me now, 
 
 And blythe and happy will ye mak me. 
 
282 
 
 Lassie : — 
 
 lad I carina many yet, 
 
 But dinna think that I'm oe'r saucy ; 
 
 1 hope a better ye may ge^ 
 Because ye want a highland lassie. 
 Though I happy now might mak ye, — 
 Though I happy now might mak ye, 
 
 I may repent to gie consent, 
 Sae shepherd lad I canna tak ye. 
 
 Shepherd: — 
 My dearest lass my plaid I wear, 
 But dinna ye be proud or airy, 
 I'll get a lass ye needna fear, — 
 The morn I'll mak up wi* Mary ; 
 Sae tell me, lassie ■, will ye tak me, — 
 Tell me, lassie, will ye tak me ; 
 If ye do come tell me now, 
 And blythe and happy will ye mak me. 
 
 Lassie: — 
 Well, laddie, since I plainly see, 
 That ye're sae fond to hae me wi' ye, 
 Wi' a my heart consent I gie. 
 And joy and pleasure may I gie ye. 
 Yes, my laddie, I shall tak ye, — 
 Here's my hand that I shall tak ye ; 
 Since ye're fain I'll be your ain, 
 And blythe and happy may I mak ye. 
 
 THE SUTHERLAND EMIGRANTS' FAREWELL 
 TO THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND, 1810. 
 
 (Tune — Logan Water — slow.) 
 
 Adieu, dear Scotland, and the spot 
 Where we our early pleasures got, 
 For now we hae nae house nor ha', 
 But shortly must gae far awa. 
 
283 
 
 We now must leave our native place, 
 Because we hae nae langer lease ; 
 They turn'd us out, which mak a' 
 To try a nation fur awa. 
 
 Far from our country we must go, 
 To distant lands we dinna know ; 
 We hae nae hame nor cock to craw, 
 Yet may be happy far awa. 
 
 farewell, Scotland, we must steer, 
 And leave the highlands we like dear, 
 To cut down woods in America, 
 
 But you we'll mind when far awa. 
 
 To leave our hame our hearts are sair, 
 Where we had a' our warld's care ; 
 Our little farm, our house, and a* 
 We'll mind on them when far awa. 
 
 And fare ye well our healthy knowes, 
 Where bonny blooming heather grows ; 
 But och, we never thought at a' 
 To gae frae hame sae far awa. 
 
 The sweet moor-hen round us would flock, 
 While hunters chac'd the heather-cock ; 
 
 1 lik'd our hills though clad wi' snaw, 
 Still dear to us when far awa. 
 
 For oft we sported where we staid, 
 I lik'd the gun and highland plaid ; 
 We oftentimes were check'd by law, 
 Yet we'll be miss'd when far awa. 
 
 Sae farewell friends we leave behind, 
 Here rural joys nae mair we'll find ; 
 But may the gentle breezes blaw, 
 To send us safely far awa. 
 
 And fare you well our birken trees, 
 And bonny glens for milk and cheese ; 
 Where men we rear'd though wealth was sma', 
 That prov'd true 9oldiers far awa. 
 
284 
 
 Oclon, ochon, it gar's me weep, 
 There's naething in our glens but sheep ; 
 And down our cottages must fa', 
 When o'er the seas we're far awa. 
 
 And fare you well our bonny braes, 
 Where first I spent my youthfu' days ; 
 And courted highland lasses braw, 
 Though now I must gae far awa. 
 
 We always here had plenty still, 
 While cows here grass'd upon the hill ; 
 But now our heads it makes us claw, 
 To leave our glens sae far awa. 
 
 And fare you well our wimpling burn, 
 To you nae mair will we return ; 
 I cross'd you forty years and twa, 
 But now farewell, we must awa. 
 
 And fare you well our bits o' land, 
 
 Because the factor gi'es command; 
 
 Though ewes did feed where ploughs should draw. 
 
 They'll wish us back when far awa. 
 
 For now the ship prepares for sea, 
 And Janet she must gae wi' me ; 
 Wi' a' the siller we can draw, 
 To help us when we're far awa. 
 
 And three young sons wi' us we bring, 
 While other three here serve our king ; 
 But worthy George deserves them a\ 
 To fight for him when we're awa. 
 
 Now dearest Scotland fare you well, 
 And Highlands where we lik'd to dwell ; 
 For the happy days in you we saw, 
 We'll mind on you when far awa. 
 
THE BANKS O' NAIRN. 
 Wrote during the time of the War. 
 
 (Tune — The Sheffield Apprentice.) 
 
 One morning in the month of June, delightful, sweet & fair, 
 For fishing sport I rose in time to take the country, air ; 
 I was delighted for to hear the charming blackbird's song, 
 While near to Nairn River's banks I gently mov'd along. 
 Cheer'd with the warm morning sun I still kept on my walk, 
 Till coming to some spreading trees I thought I heard some 
 
 talk; 
 I quickly turned round about to hear the words were said, 
 And saw behind a bramble-bush a charming pretty maid. 
 Her fleecy flocks around her amongst the grass there fed, 
 While she was sore lamenting upon a primrose bed ; 
 And while she vented forth her grief, the little birds there 
 
 sung, 
 Upon a tree whose branches out o'er the river hung. 
 The reason of her grieving I understood quite plain, 
 The lad that gain'd her tender heart had gone away to Spain, 
 For three long years he had been off, which griev'd her 
 
 heart full sore, 
 And still she cried, I fear my love will here return no more. 
 But while she thus was grieving, there came a little boy, 
 Who had a letter in his hand, which turn'd her grief to joy ; 
 She quickly knew her lover's write — she open'd it with 
 
 speed, 
 Thinking no one was nigh her, she thus begins to read : — 
 
 The Letter. 
 Dear Kattie, from the coast of Spain this letter I have sent, 
 With my dear wounded comrade who to Great Britain went ; 
 I send it for to let you know I am alive and well, 
 And hope dear Scotland yet to see, but when I cannot tell. 
 For day and night we're on the flight the enemy to subdue, 
 Yet while the bloody bullets fly I often think on you ; 
 And of the pleasant days we had amongst the banks so 
 
 green, 
 By Nairn's bonny river side, where happy we have been. 
 
286 
 
 Grieve not for me ray darling lass although I distant be, 
 I hope all dangers to surpass, and safe return to thee, 
 For if kind Providence preserves, who guides the flying ball, 
 Though dangers rise I shall be safe where thousands round 
 me fall. 
 
 Since I am on the seat of war where death doth daily rage, 
 And where the bay'net, sword and ball sweep many off the 
 
 stage ; 
 I have great dangers undergone, more than I well can tell, 
 Yet though I'm wounded, still I live, where many near me 
 
 fell. 
 
 Yet tho' I be far off from you, and here must take my lot, 
 I love you still and always will, my dear you re not forgot ; 
 For while I trample o'er the dead, which ofttimes I must do, 
 Bright on my mind I still can find your image in my view. 
 
 Like brethren with the Spanish troops undaunted we ad- 
 vance, 
 
 While we with vict'ry and success keep down the pride of 
 France ; 
 
 Long have we been engaged here, but never did we yield, 
 
 While brave Lord Wellington and us can keep the bloody 
 field. 
 
 Like midges on a Summer day the French around us lie, 
 But soon our British bay'nets here shall make them fight 
 
 or fly ; 
 May every British heart unite to drive them out of Spain, 
 That war may cease, and bring a peace, to send us home 
 
 again. 
 
 Soon may the happy day arrive to make us both complete, 
 That we on Nairn banks again in happiness may meet, 
 To join our hands and hearts which are as constant as before, 
 But loudly now our bugles blow — I here can add no more. 
 
 But remain, Dear Kattie, 
 
 Fort Sebastian, in Spain, \ Your affectionate Lover, 
 
 January 21th. J 
 
 A. S. 
 
287 
 THE HARDY BRITISH TAR. 
 
 (Tune — Female Drummer.) 
 
 My name is Jack, a hardy Tar, 
 
 Who long has been at sea ; 
 And while I fought throughout the war, 
 
 Great pleasure it gave me. 
 We were paid off when peace came on, 
 
 Which made me for to sing, 
 And drink to merry Scotland still, 
 
 And George our noble King. 
 
 How happy am I for to think 
 
 We have our Island still, 
 Although we sometimes got a clink, 
 
 They never got their will. 
 Their lofty ships we often chac'd, 
 
 And made their heads to swing, 
 And always when the battle ceaYd 
 
 We drank to George our King. 
 
 Oft-times my jacket of true blue, 
 
 My neighbour's blood did dye, 
 And on the deck I griev'd to view 
 
 My nearest messmates lie. 
 But when the victory we obtain'd, 
 
 We cheerfully could sing, 
 And take our glass, since we had gain'd, 
 
 And drink to George our King. 
 
 Though round me balls like lightning flew, 
 
 With death at every blow, 
 Yet to my gun I still stood true, 
 
 And never fear'd my foe. 
 Our prizes I rejoic d to see, 
 
 And cheerfully would sing, 
 Since Providence protected me 
 
 To fight for George my King. 
 
£88 
 
 Great many ships he made them wrecks, 
 
 To make them to comply ; 
 Our roaring guns upon their decks, 
 
 Made many hearts to lie. 
 Each trusty tar for Britain fought, 
 
 And then would gladly sing, 
 When to our ports their ships we brought, 
 
 A prize for George our King. 
 
 Sore tempest toss'd, and weather dash'd, 
 
 For many years was I, 
 And threatened by the lightning flash, 
 
 That bursted through the sky. 
 Yet in the sea I took delight, 
 
 And merrily could sing ; 
 And fight or die for Britain's right, 
 
 And George my noble King. 
 
 Great many hardships I went through, 
 
 Since first I plough'd the wave ; 
 But never mind, they're oveV now, 
 
 And Britain still we have. 
 We made her proudest foes submit, 
 
 Which makes me still to sing, 
 Long may the British helm yet 
 
 Be steer d bv George our King. 
 
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