And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark !"
And in an instant all was dark:

well

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,

When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,

When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,

When" Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'!
FOR NOW they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane* o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross!
But ere the keystane she could make,
NAE HAET a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle,
But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carline claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys ower dear-
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

fret

nest

the hare

frightful scream

dare not

endeavour

own laid hold

who each

too

STANZAS

ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN UNDER PECULIAR

CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS.

SWEET floweret, pledge o' meikle love,
And ward o' mony a prayer,

much

What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!

It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard In turning back.-B.

November hirples o'er the lea
Chill on thy lovely form;
And gane, alas! the sheltering tree
Should shield thee frae the storm.

May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw,
Protect thee frae the driving shower,
The bitter frost and snaw!

May He, the friend of wo and want,
Who heals life's various stounds,
Protect and guard the mother-plant,
And heal her cruel wounds!

But late she flourished, rooted fast,
Fair on the summer morn;

Now, feebly bends she in the blast,
Unsheltered and forlorn.

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unscathed by ruffian hand!

And from thee many a parent stem
Arise to deck our land!

limps

gone

from

pangs

ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO.

LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize

As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
Nor envious death so triumphed in a blow,

As that which laid th' accomplished Burnet low.

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!

In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!

Ye heathy wastes, immixed with reedy fens;
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord.

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail?

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres;

But, like the sun eclipsed at morning-tide,
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care;
So decked the woodbine sweet yon aged tree;
So from it ravished, leaves it bleak and bare.

LAMENT

OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now Nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea:

Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight.
That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle, in his noontide bower,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild wi' mony a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose down the brae;

The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae;
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang!

I was the queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been;

Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blithe lay down at e'en :

blackbird

thrush, many

sloe peasant

must, strong

have

rose

And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,

And mony a traitor there;

many

Yet here I lie in foreign bands,

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee:

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

O soon, to me, may suinmer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;

And the next flowers that deck the spring
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

LAMENT

FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

THE wind blew hollow frae the hills,
By fits the sun's departing beam

would

no more

from

rocky

much

taken

oak

years;

Looked on the fading yellow woods

That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream:

Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,

In loud lament bewailed his lord,

Laden with years and meikle pain,

Whom death had all untimely ta'en.

He leaned him to an ancient aik,

Whose trunk was mouldering down with
His locks were bleachèd white with time,
His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears;
And as he touched his trembling harp,
And as he tuned his doleful sang,

song

The winds, lamenting through their caves,
To echo bore the notes alang:

along

"I've seen sae mony changefu' years,
On earth I am a stranger grown;
I wander in the ways of men,

Alike unknowing and unknown:
Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved,
I bear alane my lade o' care,
For silent, low, on beds of dust,

Lie a' that would my sorrows share.

"And last (the sum of a' my griefs !)
My noble master lies in clay;
The flower amang our barons bold,
His country's pride! his country's stay-
In weary being now I pine,

For a' the life of life is dead,

And hope has left my aged ken,

On forward wing for ever fled.

"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp!
The voice of wo and wild despair;
Awake! resound thy latest lay-
Then sleep in silence evermair!
And thou, my last, best, only friend,
That fillest an untimely tomb,

Accept this tribute from the bard,

80

alone, load

evermore

Thou brought from fortune's mirkiest gloom.

"In poverty's low barren vale

Thick mists, obscure, involved me round;
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye,
Nae ray of fame was to be found:
Thou found'st me, like the morning sun,
That melts the fogs in limpid air,
The friendless bard and rustic song
Became alike thy fostering care.

"O why has worth so short a date?

While villains ripen gray with time;
Must thou, the noble, generous, great,
Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime!
Why did I live to see that day?

A day to me so full of wo!-
Oh had I met the mortal shaft
Which laid my benefactor low!

"The bridegroom may forget the bride,
Was made his wedded wife yestreen;
The monarch may forget the crown
That on his head an hour has been;

The mother may forget the child

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,

And a' that thou hast done for me!"

darkest

80