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For me, before a monarch's face,

E'en there I winna flatter;
For neither pension, post, nor place,

Am I your humble debtor :
So, nae reflection on your grace,

Your kingship to bespatter ;
There's monie waur been o' the race,
And aiblins ane been better

Than you this day.

O ye douce folk, that live by rule, Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, Compared wi' you— fool! fool! fool!

How much unlike! Your hearts are just a standing pool,

Your lives, a dyke! Hae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! In arioso trills and graces

Ye never stray, But, gravissimo, solemn basses

Ye hum away. Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise ; Nae ferly though ye do despise The hairum-scarum, ram-stam boys,

The rattlin squad: I see you upward cast your eyes

-Ye ken the road.

IV. 'Tis very true, my sovereign king,

My skill may weel be doubted : But facts are chiels that winna ding,

An' downa be disputed : Your royal nest, beneath your wing,

Is e'en right left an' clouted, And now the third part of the string, An' less, will gang about it

Than did ae day.

Whilst 1—but I shall haud me there Wi' you I'll scarce gang onywhere Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,

But quat my sang, Content wi' you to mak a pair,

Whare'er I gang.

Far be't frae me that I aspire

To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,

To rule this mighty nation !
But, faith, I muckle doubt, my sire,

Ye've trusted ministration
To chaps wha in a barn or byre
Wad better fill their station

Than courts yon day.

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All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mused on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu' time,

And done naething, But stringin blethers up in rhyme,

For fools to sing.

Had I to guid advice but harkit, I might, by this, hae led a market, Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit

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

Is a' th' amount.

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ayr staw through his words,

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

With seeming roar.
Low, in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient borough rear'd her head;
Still, as in Scottish story read,

She boasts a race,
To every nobler virtue bred,

And polish'd grace.
By stately tower or palace fair,
Or ruins pendent in the air,
Bold stems of heroes, here and there,

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

With feature stern.
My heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a race* heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dyed steel

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

Their stubborn foes.

I started, muttering, blockhead! coof! And heaved on high my waukit loof, To swear by a' yon starry roof,

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

Till my last breath

When click! the strink the snick did draw; And jee! the door gaed to the wa'; An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,

Now bleezin bright, A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw,

Come full in sight.

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; The infant aith, half-formn'd, was crusht ; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht

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

And stepped ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows; I took her for some Scottish muse,

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

Wou'd soon been broken.

His country's saviour,t mark him well! Bold Richardton'st heroic swell; The chief on Sarks who glorious fell,

In high command; And he whom ruthless fates expel

His native land. There, where a sceptred Pictish shade! Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, I mark'd a martial race, portray'd

In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featurd, undismay'd

They strode along. Through many a wild, romantic grove, 9 Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, (Fit haunts for friendship or for love,

In musing mood,
An aged judge, I saw him rove,

Dispensing good.
With deep-struck reverential awe
The learned sire and son I saw,
To Nature's God and Nature's law

They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw,

That, to adore.

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

Shone full upon her ;
Her eye, e'en turn’d on empty space,

Beam'd keen with honour.

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

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

Nane else came near it.

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

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

A well known land.

* The Wallaces.

+ William Wallace. # Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish independence.

Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1443. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct, and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.

Il Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the Montgomeries of Coil's field, where his burial-place is still shown.

| Barskimming the seat of the Lord Justice Clerk

** Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor and present Pro fessor Stewart.

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

With surging foam; There, distant shone art's lofty boast,

The lordly dome.

Brydone's brave ward* I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; Who call'd on fame, low standing by,

To hand him on, Where many a patriot name on high,

And hero shone.

“Some hint the lover's harmless wile; Some grace the maiden's artless smile; Some soothe the labourer's weary toil,

For humble gains, And make his cottage scenes beguile

His cares and pains.


“ Some, bounded to a district space, Explore at large man's infant race, To mark the embryotic trace

Of rustio bard; And careful note each opening grace,

A guide and guard.

“Of these am 1-Coila my name ; And this district as mine I claim, Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,

Held ruling power: I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame,

Thy natal hour.

“ With future hope, I oft would gaze Fond, on thy little early ways, Thy rudely carollid chiming phrase,

In uncouth rhymes, Fired at the simple, artless lays

Of other times.

“ I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Delighted with the dashing roar ; Or when the north his fleecy store

Drove through the sky, I saw grim nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heavenly-seeming fair ;
A whispering throb did witness bear,

Of kindred sweet,
When with an elder sister's air

She did me greet.
“ All hail! my own inspired bard !
In me thy native muse regard !
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,

Thus poorly low !
I come to give thee such reward

As we bestow.
“ Know the great genius of this land
Has many a light aërial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,

As arts or arms they understand,

Their labours ply.
“ They Scotia’s race among them share ;
Some fire the soldier on to dare;
Some rouse the patriot up to bare

Corruption's heart;
Some teach the bard, a darling care,

The tuneful art.
“ 'Mong swelling floods of recking gore,
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour;
Or, ‘mid the venal senate's roar,

They, sightless, stand,
To mend the honest patriot lore,


the hand.
« And when the bard, or hoary sage,
Charm or instruct the future age,
They bind the wild poetic rage

In energy:
Or point the inconclusive page

Full on the eye.
“ Hence Fullarton, the brave and young;
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ;
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung

His Minstrel lays;'
Or tore, with noble ardour stung,

The skeptic's bays.
“ To lower orders are assign'd
The humbler ranks of human-kind,
The rustic bard, the labouring hind,

The artisan;
All choose, as various they're inclined,

The various man.
" When yellow waves the heavy grain,
The threatening storm some strongly rein,
Some teach to meliorate the plain

With tillage-skill ;
And some instruct the shepherd train,

Blythe o'er the hill.

“Or, when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth

In every grove,
I saw thee eye the general mirth

With boundless love.
“When ripend fields, and azure skies,
Callid forth the reapers' rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their evening joys,

And lonely stalk,
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise

In pensive walk. “When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,

Th' adored name, I taught thee how to pour in song,

To soothe thy flame.

“I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, Misled by fancy's meteor ray,

By passion driven ; But yet the light that led astray

Was light from heaven. “I taught thy manners-painting strains, The loves, the ways of simple swains, Till now, o'er all my wide domains

Thy fame extends : And some, the pride of Coila's plains,

Become my friends.

• Colonel Fullarton.

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