My ewie never play'd the like,

But teesed about the barn wa': My ewie never play'd the like, &c.

A better or a thriftier beast
Nae honest man could weel hae wist,
For, silly thing, she never mist

To hae ilk year a lamb or twa:
The first she had I gae to Jock,
To be to him a kind o' stock,
And now the laddie has a flock

O' mair nor thirty head awa': And now the laddie has a flock, &c.

I lookit aye at even' for her,
Lest mishanter should come o'er her,
Or the fowmart might devour her,
Gin the beastie bade awa';
My ewie wi' the crookit horn

Well deserved baith girse and corn,
Sic a ewe was never born,

Hereabout nor far awa':

Sic a ewe was never born, &c.

Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping,
(Wha can speak it without greeting?)
A villain cam' when I was sleeping,

Sta' my ewie, horn, and a';
I sought her sair upo' the morn,
And down aneath a buss o' thorn
I got my ewie's crookit horn,

But my ewie was awa':

I got my ewie's crookit horn, &c.

O! gin I had the loon that did it,
Sworn I have as well as said it,
Though a' the warld should forbid it,
I wad gie his neck a thra';

I never met wi' sic a turn
As this sin' ever I was born,
My ewie, wi' the crookit horn,
Silly ewie, stown awa':

My ewie, wi' the crookit horn, &c.

O had she died o' croup or cauld,
As ewies do when they grow auld,
It wad na been, by mony fauld,

Sae sair a heart to nane o's a';
For a' the claith that we hae worn,
Frae her and hers sae aften shorn,
The loss o' her we could hae borne,

Had fair strae-death ta'en her awa': The loss o' her we could hae borne, &c.

But thus, poor thing, to lose her life
Aneath a bleedy villain's knife,
I'm really fleyt that our gudewife
Will never win aboon't ava:
O! a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn,

JOHN O' BADENYON.1

When first I cam' to be a man

Of twenty years or so,

I thought myself a handsome youth, And fain the world would know; In best attire I stept abroad,

With spirits brisk and gay, And here and there and everywhere Was like a morn in May; No care I had, no fear of want,

But rambled up and down, And for a beau I might have pass'd In country or in town;

I still was pleased where'er I went, And when I was alone,

I tuned my pipe and pleased myself Wi' John o' Badenyon.

Now in the days of youthful prime
A mistress I must find,
For love, I heard, gave one an air,
And e'en improved the mind:
On Phillis fair above the rest

Kind fortune fixed my eyes,

Her piercing beauty struck my heart,
And she became my choice;
To Cupid now, with hearty prayer,
I offer'd many a vow;

And danced and sung, and sigh'd and swore,
As other lovers do;

But when at last I breathed my flame,
I found her cold as stone;

I left the girl, and tuned my pipe
To John o' Badenyon.

When love had thus my heart beguiled
With foolish hopes and vain;

To friendship's port I steer'd my course,
And laughed at lovers' pain;
A friend I got by lucky chance,

'Twas something like divine,
An honest friend's a precious gift,
And such a gift was mine:
And now whatever might betide
A happy man was I;

1"An excellent song." says Burus; and Allan Cunningham writes, "There is something of the sermon in this clever song: the author puts his hero through a regular course of worldly pursuits, and withdraws him from love, friendship, politics, and philosophy, with the resolution of finding consolation in his own bosom. When the song was composed John Wilkes was in the full career of his short-lived popularity; and honest Skinner, incensed probably at the repeated insults which the demagogue offered to Scotland, remembered him in song."--ED.

In any strait I knew to whom

I freely might apply.

A strait soon came: my friend I try'd;
He heard, and spurn'd my moan;

I hied me home, and tuned my pipe
To John o' Badenyon.

Methought I should be wiser next,
And would a patriot turn,
Began to doat on Johnny Wilkes,
And cry up Parson Horne.
Their manly spirit I admired,

And praised their noble zeal,
Who had with flaming tongue and pen
Maintain'd the public weal;

But e'er a month or two had pass'd
I found myself betrayed;
'Twas self and party, after all,

For a' the stir they made;

At last I saw the factious knaves
Insult the very throne,

I cursed them a', and tuned my pipe
To John o' Badenyon.

What next to do I mused awhile,
Still hoping to succeed;

I pitched on books for company,
And gravely tried to read;

I bought and borrow'd everywhere,
And studied night and day,
Nor miss'd what dean or doctor wrote
That happen'd in my way;
Philosophy I now esteemed
The ornament of youth,

And carefully through many a page
I hunted after truth.

A thousand various schemes I tried, And yet was pleased with none;

I threw them by, and tuned my pipe To John o' Badenyon.

And now, ye youngsters everywhere,
That wish to make a show,
Take heed in time, nor fondly hope
For happiness below;
What you may fancy pleasure here

Is but an empty name,

And girls, and friends, and books also,
You'll find them all the same.
Then be advised, and warning take
From such a man as me;
I'm neither pope nor cardinal,
Nor one of high degree;
You'll meet displeasure everywhere;
Then do as I have done,

E'en tune your pipe, and please yourselves
With John o' Badenyon.

With no worldly projects nor hurries perplex'd,
He sits in his closet and studies his text;
And while he converses with Moses or Paul,
He envies not bishop, nor dean in his stall.
Derry down, &c.

Not proud to the poor nor a slave to the great,
Neither factious in church nor pragmatic in state,
He keeps himself quiet within his own sphere,
And finds work sufficient in preaching and prayer.
Derry down, &c.

In what little dealings he's forced to transact, He determines with plainness and candour to act;

And the great point on which his ambition is set Is to leave at the last neither riches nor debt. Derry down, &c.

Thus calmly he steps through the valley of life; Unencumber'd with wealth and a stranger to strife;

On the bustlings around him unmoved he can look,

And at home always pleased with his wife and his book.

Derry down, &c.

And when, in old age, he drops into the grave,
This humble remembrance he wishes to have:
"By good men respected, by the evil oft tried,
Contented he lived, and lamented he died!"
Derry down, &c.

THE MAN OF ROSS.

When fops and fools together prate,
O'er punch or tea, of this or that,
What silly, poor, unmeaning chat

Does all their talk engross!
A noble theme employs my lays,
And thus my honest voice I raise
In well-deserved strains to praise
The worthy Man of Ross.

His lofty soul (would it were mine!)
Scorns every selfish, low design,
And ne'er was known to repine

At any earthly loss:

But still contented, frank, and free In every state, whate'er it be, Serene and staid we always see

The worthy Man of Ross.

Let misers hug their worldly store,
And gripe and pinch to make it more;
Their gold and silver's shining ore,

He counts it all but dross:
'Tis better treasure he desires;
A surer stock his passion fires,
And mild benevolence inspires
The worthy Man of Ross.

When want assails the widow's cot,
Or sickness strikes the poor man's hut,
When blasting winds or foggy rot

Augment the farmer's loss;

The sufferer straight knows where to go
With all his wants and all his woe;
For glad experience leads him to
The worthy Man of Ross.

This Man of Ross I'll daily sing,
With vocal note and lyric string,
And duly, when I've drank the king,
He'll be my second toss.

May Heaven its choicest blessings send
On such a man, and such a friend;
And still may all that's good attend
The worthy Man of Ross.

Now, if you ask about his name,
And where he lives with such a fame,
Indeed, I'll say you are to blame;

For truly, inter nos,
'Tis what belongs to you and me,
And all of high or low degree
In every sphere to try to be
The worthy Man of Ross.

THOMAS BLACKLOCK, the blind poet and divine, was born at Annan, Dumfriesshire, November 10, 1721. Before he was six months old he was deprived of his sight by the smallpox. As he grew up his father, a poor bricklayer, educated him at home, and read to him instructive and entertaining books, particularly Spenser, Milton, Pope, Prior, and Addison. The blind boy became enthusiastically fond of poetry, his special favourites being Allan Ramsay and Thomson. He began to compose poetry when he was twelve years of age, and one of his early pieces is preserved in the collection published after his death. When twenty years old some of his poetical compositions came under the notice of Dr. John Stevenson, an eminent physician of Edinburgh, who kindly invited him to that city, with the benevolent design of improving his genius by a liberal education. Young Blacklock arrived in Edinburgh in 1741, and after attending a grammar-school for a short time he was enrolled as a student at the university, where he remained until the breaking out of the rebellion, when he retired to the residence of a sister in Dumfries.

At the close of the civil commotions Blacklock returned to Edinburgh, and pursued his studies at college for six years longer. He was licensed as a preacher of the gospel in 1759, and three years afterwards married the daughter of Mr. Johnston, a surgeon in Dumfries. The year of his marriage he was presented to the church-living of Kirkcudbright, although at the time labouring under the loss of eyesight. It is related that when he was preach

ing one of his trial discourses an old woman who sat on the pulpit stairs inquired whether he was a reader of his sermons. "He canna be a reader, for he's blind," responded her neighbour. "I'm glad to hear't," rejoined the old wife; "I wish they were a' blin'." In 1746 Blacklock published at Glasgow a volume of his poems, which was reprinted with additions in 1754 and 1756. The last edition attracted the attention of the Rev. Joseph Spence, professor of poetry at Oxford, who wrote an account of Blacklock's life and writings, with the design of introducing his name and character to the English public.

The parishioners of Kirkcudbright having refused, on account of his blindness, to acknowledge him as their pastor, a lawsuit was commenced, which after two years was compromised by Blacklock retiring upon a moderate annuity. He then removed to Edinburgh, and added to his income by receiving as boarders into his house a number of young gentlemen, whom he assisted in their studies. This system he continued until 1787, when age and increasing infirmities compelled him to give it up. In 1765 he received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from Marischal College, Aberdeen. "The Graham," a heroic ballad in four cantos, was published in 1774, but was excluded from Mackenzie's collection of his works, as being inferior to his other poems.

Dr. Blacklock was one of the first to appreciate the genius of Robert Burns; and it was owing to a letter from him to the Rev. Dr. Laurie, minister of Loudour, that Burns in

On

his arrival in the metropolis the doctor treated him with great kindness, and introduced him to many of his literary friends Blacklock died at Edinburgh, July 7, 1791, and was buried in the ground of St. Cuthbert's chapel of ease. A monument was erected to his memory, with a Latin inscription written by his friend Dr. Beattie. In 1793 a quarto edition of his poems, with a memoir by Henry Mackenzie, was published in Edinburgh. In addition to his poems Dr. Blacklock wrote several theological treatises; an ingenious and elegant article on "Blindness" for the Encyclopedia Britannica; and two dissertations, entitled "Paraclesis, or Consolations deduced from Natural and Revealed Religion," one of them original, the other translated from a work ascribed to Cicero. "In his person," says Alexander Campbell, “Dr. Blacklock exceeded not the middle size, but his erect posture gave an air of dignity mingled with perfect simplicity; and a peculiar involuntary motion, the effect of habit, added not a little to interest the beholder, as it usually accompanied the glow of his feelings in conversation." "To his

Of Dr. Blacklock, of whom it was said that he never lost a friend or made a foe, Robert Heron remarks:--"There was, perhaps, never one among all mankind whom you might more truly have called an angel upon earth. He was guileless and innocent as a child, yet endowed with manly sagacity and penetration. His heart was a perpetual spring of overflowing benignity; his feelings were all tremblingly alive to the sense of the sublime, the beautiful, the tender, the pious, and the virtuous. Poetry was to him the dear solace of perpetual blindness; cheerfulness even to gaiety was, notwithstanding that irremediable misfortune, long the predominant colour of his mind. In bis latter years, when the gloom might otherwise have thickened around him, hope, faith, devotion, the most fervent and sublime, exalted his mind to heaven, and made him maintain his wonted cheerfulness in the expectation of a speedy dissolution."

ODE TO AURORA ON MELISSA'S

BIRTH-DAY.1

Of time and nature eldest born,
Emerge, thou rosy-fingered morn;
Emerge, in purest dress arrayed,

And chase from heaven night's envious shade,
That I once more may pleased survey,
And hail Melissa's natal day.

Of time and nature eldest born,
Emerge, thou rosy-fingered morn;
In order at the eastern gate

The hours to draw thy chariot wait:
Whilst Zephyr on his balmy wings,
Mild nature's fragrant tribute brings,
With odours sweet to strew thy way,
And grace the bland revolving day.

1 Of this ode Mackenzie says:-"A compliment and t.ibute of affection to the tender assiduity of an excellent wife, which I have not anywhere seen more happily conceived or more elegantly expressed."—ED.

But, as thou lead'st the radiant sphere,
That gilds its birth and marks the year,
And as his stronger glories rise,
Diffused around the expanded skies,
Till clothed with beams serenely bright,
All heaven's vast concave flames with light;

So when through life's protracted day,
Melissa still pursues her way,
Her virtues with thy splendour vie,
Increasing to the mental eye;
Though less conspicuous, not less dear,
Long may they Bion's prospect cheer;

So shall his heart no more repine,

Blessed with her rays, though robbed of thine.

ABSENCE.

Ye rivers so limpid and clear,

Who reflect, as in cadence you flow, All the beauties that vary the year,

All the flow'rs on your margins that grow!