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view him with the severity of letter. Whyles, on the strong-winged tempeft Ayin,

'Tirlan the kirks; ed criticism, judge him by the fastidious rules of art, will discover Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,

Unseen thou lurks. that he has not the doric fimplicity

I've heard my rev'rend graunie say, of Ramsay, nor the brilliant imagi« In lanely glen: ye like to ftray; nation of Ferguson; but to those Or where auld ruin’d castles, gray, who admire the exertions of untu

Nod to the moon, tored fancy, and are blind to many Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way,

Wi' eldritch croon. faults for the sake of numberless beauties, his poems will afford lin

When twilight did my graunie summon,

To say her pray'rs, doufe, honest woman! gular gratification.

His observa- Aft 'yont the dyke she's heard you bum. tions on human characters are acute and sagacions, and his defcriptions are

Wi eerie drone; lively and just. Of rustic pleasantry Or; tuftling, thro' the boortries coman

Wi' heavy gróan. he has a rich fund; and fome of his softer scenes are touched with inimi. The Stars Thot down wi klentan light,

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, table delicacy. He seems to be a Wi' you, myfel, 1 gat a fright, boon companion, and often startles us

Ayont the lough; with a dash of libertinism, which Ye, like a rafb-buss, stood in fight


waving sugh. will keep some readers at a distance. Some of his subjects are serious, but Each briftid hair stood like a stake,

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, those of the humorous kind are the When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick, beft. . It is not meant, however, to

Amang the springs, enter into a minute investigation of Awa ye squatter'd like a drake

On whistling wings. his merits, as the copious extracts we have fubjoined will enable our

Let warlocks grim, an wither'd bags,

Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, readers to judge for themselves. The They skim thé muirs an' dizzy crage Character Horace gives to Osellus

Wi' wicked speed; is particularly applicable to him. And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,

Owre howeket dead. Rufticus abnormis sapiens, craffaque Mi

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, Address to the Dell.

May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; O Prince, O chief of many throned pow'rs,

For oh! the yellow treasure's taen

By witching kill, That led thembattl’i Seraphim to war

An' dawttet, twal-pint bawkie's gane

As yell's the bill.
Thou! whatever title suit thee,

Thence mystic knots mak
Wha in yon cavern grim an' footie,
Clos'd under hatches,

When the best wark-lume i' the house,
Spairges about the brunftane cootie,

By cantraip wit,
To scaud

Is instant made no worth a louse

Just at thc bít. Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,

When thowes diffolve the snawy hoord, An' let poor damned bodies bee;

An' float the jinglan icy boord, I'm sure Ima' pleasure it can gie,

Ev'n to a deil,

Then water-kelpies haunt the foord
To kelp an' fcaud poor dogs like me,

By your direction,
An' hear us squeel!
An' nighted trav’liers are allar'd

To their defruction
Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy famc;
Far kend an' noted is thy name;

An' aft your moss-traversingspunkies An' tho' yon lowar beugb's thy hame,

ay Decoy the wight that late ana drunk is :

The bleezan curft, mischievejus monkies Thou travels far;

Delude his eyes, An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate nor scaur. Till in some miry flough he: funk is,

Ne'er mair to risc. Whyles, ranging like a roaran lion, When Mason's mystic word an' grip, For prey, a' holes an' coppers tryin; 14 forms an' tempests raise you up,



great abuse


Some cock or cat, your rage maun stop; I to the crambo-jingle fell,
Or, strange to tell!

Tho' rude an' rough ; The youngest brother ye wad whip

Yet crooning to a body's fel
Aff straught to b-ll.

Does weel enough Lang fyne, in Eden's bonie yard,

I am nae poet in a sense,
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, But just a rbymer like hy chance,
An' all the foul of love they shar'd An' hae to learning nae pretence;
The raptur'd hour,

Yet, what the matter?
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry Twaird, Whene'er my muse does on me glance
In saady bow'r ;

I jingle at her. Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog!

Your critic folk may cock their nose, Ye came to paradise incog,

And say, ' How can you e'er propose, An' play'd on man a cursed brogue,

• You wha ken hardly verse frae profe, (Black be your fa’!)

• To mak a fang?" An' gicd the infant warld a fog,

But by your leaves, my learned foes, 'Maist ruin'da'.

Ye're maybe wrang. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,

What's a' yoar jargon o' your schools, Wi' reeket duds, an' reeftet gizz,

Your Lacin names for horns an' stools; Ye did present your smoutie phiz

If honeft Nature made you fools, 'Mang better folk,

What fáirs your grammars? An' sklented on the man of Uzz

Ye'd better taen up spades and foools,
Your spitfu' joke!

Or knappin bammers.
And how ye gat him i' your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house an' hal'.

A set o' dull, conceited hashes,
Whil (cabs an' bocches did him gall

Confuse their brains in college-classes!

Wi' bitter claw, They gang in stirks, and come out asses, An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scawl,

Plain truth to speak;
Was warft aya? An' fyne they think to climb Parnassus

By dint o' Greek!
But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce,

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire,
Sin' that day * Michael did you pierce, That's a' the learning I defire;

Down to this time, Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse,

At pleugh or cart, In prose or rhyme. My muse, tho' hamely in attire, An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkan,

May touch the heart. A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, Some luckless hour will send him linkan,

From bis Description of a Sermon in the

To your black pit ;
But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkan,
An' chưat you get.


TERE stands a Med to fend the show'rog But fare-ye-weel, auld Nickie-ben; Owad ye tak a thought an'men'!

There, racer Jess, an' twathree wh-ses, Ye aiblins might I dinna kena

Are blinkan at the entry.

Still hae a fake Here sits a raw o'tittlan jads,
I'm wae to think upo? yon den,

Wi' heaving breasts an' bare neck;
Ev'n for your fake! An' there, a batch o' wabfter lads,

Blackguarding frae K- -ck
We regret that we have not room to in-

For fun this day. sert the poems of Hallow-E'en, The Cote

ter's Saturday Night, and the Epistle to a Here some are thinkan on their fins,
Brother Poet; and must remain content with An' Tome upo' their claes ;
a few miscellaneous extracts from the poems Ane curses feet that fyld his shims;
in general.

Apother fighs an' prays :
On this hand

sits an ele&i swatch,
From his Epistle to e Brother Bard. Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud faces;

On that, a set o chaps, at watch,
UT first an' foremost I Mould tell, Thrang winkan on the lasses

To cbairs that day.


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Vide Milton, book 6th.

Poems; by Robert Barho.

Our very


An' monie lads an' laffes fates O happy is that man, an' bleft!

Are there that night decided : Nae wonder that it pride him!

Some kindle, couthie, lide by side, Whase ain dear lafs, that he likes best, An'burn thegither trimbly; Comes clinkan down befide him!

Some start awa wi' faucy pride, Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back,

An' jump out owrc the chimnie He sweetly does compose him ;

Fu' high that night. Which, by degrees, flips round her neck,

Au's loof upon her bofom

Jean lips in twa wi' tentie e'c;
Unkend that day. . Wha 'twas the wadna tell;

But this is Jook, an' this is me,
But now the L-'s ain trumpet touts,

She says in to hersel: Till a' the hills are rairan,

He blecz'd owre her, and the owre him, An' echos back return the shouts;

As they wad never mair part, Black is na spairan;

Till, fuff! he started up the lum, His piercing words, like Highlan (words, An' Jean had e'en a fair heart Divide the joints an' marrow;

To fee't that night. His talk o'h-ll, where devils dwell,

** fauls does harrow'

Wec Jenny to her graunie says,
Wi' fright that day ! • Will ye go wi' me, graunie?

I'll eat the apple t at the glass,
A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit,

• I gat frae uncle Johnie: Fill'd fou o' lowan brunftane,

She fuff't her pipe wi' fic a lunt, Whase raging flame, an' scorching heat, In wrath she was fae vap'rin, Wad melt the hardest whun-tane!

She notic't na an aizle brunt The balf asleep start up wi' fear,

Her braw new worset apron An' think they hear it 'roaran,

Out thro' that night. When presently it does appear,

IV, 'Twas but fome neebos fnoran

Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
Alleep that day. I dare ye try lic sportin,

As seek the foul thief onic place,
Now Clinkumbell, wi' ratelan tow,

For him to spac your fortune : Begins to jow an' croon;

Nac doubt but ye may get a hight! Some swagger hame the best they dow,

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; Some wait the afternoon.

For monie a ane has gotten a fright, At flaps the billies halt a blink,

An' liv'd an* di'd dclecret, Till Jaffes strip their fhoon :

On sac a night.' Wi' faith an' bope, an' love an' drink,

They'rc a' in famous tune

Then up gat fechtan Jamie Fleck,
For crack tha: day. An' hc (wore by his conscience,

That he could faw bemp-feed a peck;
How monie hearts this day converts,

For it was a' hut nonfense. O' finners and o' laffes !

The auld guidman raught down the pock, Their hearts o' ftane, gin night are gane,

An' out a handfu' gicd him; As faft as ony flesh is.

Syne bad him flip frae 'mang the folk, There's some are fou o' love divine;

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, There's some are fou o' brandy ;

An' try't that night An' monie jobs that day begin,

May end in bougbmagandie

He marches thro' amang the stacks,
Some ither day. Tho' he was something austan ;

The graip be for a barrow taks,
From Hallow-Een.

An' haurls at his curpan :

And ev'ry now an' then, he fays,

• Hemp-seed I saw thee; THE

An' her that is to be my lass,
Are round an' round divided,

Come after me an' draw thee

As fact this night.,



* Shakespeare's Hamlet.

+ Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular nut as they lay them in the fire; and according as they burn quietly together or Itart from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.

Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass: eat an apple before it, and some traditions fay you should comb your hair all the time: the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.


He takes a swirlie auld moss-oak He whiti'd up lord Lenox' march,

For some black, groufome carlin ; To keep his courage cheary;

An' loot'a winze, an' drew a stroke, Altho' his hair began to arch,

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin He was fae fley'd an eerie :

Aff's nicres that night, Till presently he hears a squeak,

Xll, An' then a granc an' gruntle ;

A wanton widow Leezie was, He by his howther gac a keek,

As cantie as a kittlen ;
An'tumbld wi' a wintle

But och! that night, amang the Shaws,
Out owre that night. She gat a feasfu' settlin!

She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,
He roar'd a horrid murder-fhoot,

An' owre the hill gaed scrieven, In dreadfu' defperation !

Whare three lairds lan's met at a búrn t, An' young an' auld come rinnan out,

To dip her left farkasleeve in, An' hear the fad narration :

Was bent that night. He swore 'twas hilchan Jean M!Crawy.

XIII. Or crouchie Merran Humphie,

Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays, Till stop! Me trotted thro' them a';

As thro' the glen it wimplit;
An' wha was it but grumpbie

Whyles round a racky scar it (trays;
Alteer that night? Whyles in a wield it dimplt;

Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,

Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle;
To winn three wechts e' naething * ; Whyles cooket under neath the brads,
But for to meet the deil her lane,

Below the spreading hazle
She pat but little faith in ::

Uniseen that night, She gies the herd a pickle nits,

XIV. An twa red cheeket apples,

Amang the brachens, on the brae, To watch, while for the barn she sets,

Between her an' the moon,

7 In hopes to see Tam Kipples

The deil, or else an outler quey,
That vera night * Gat' up an' gae a croon:

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool;
She turns the key wi' cannie thraw,

Near lav'rock-height she jumpet, An'owre the threshold ventures;

But milt a fit, an' in the pool But first on Sawnie gies à ca;'

Put'owre the lugs fhe plumpet, Syne bauldly in fe enters.

Wi'a plunge that night, A ratton rattl'd up the wa,',

Al' fhe cr'yd, L-d preserve her! In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
An' ran thro' midden-hole an'a',

The luggies & three are ranged ;
An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour

And ev'ry time great care is taen,
Fu' fast that night. To see them duly changed :

Auld uncle Jobn, wha wedlock's joys
They hoy't out Will wi' fair advice;

Sin Mar's-year did defire, They hecht him fome finc braw ane; Because he gat

the toom difh thrice, It chanc'd the fack he faddom't thrice t.

He heav'd them on the fire , Was timmer-prope for-thrawin:

In wrath that nights * This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if pollible; for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may fut the doors, and do you fome mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country-dialect, we call a wecht, and go through all the attitudes of Jetting down corn against the wind. Repeat it thrce times; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.

+ Take an opportunity. of going, unnoticed, to a bearəftack, and Fathom it three times round. The lait fathon of the lalt time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.

# You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a fouth running fpring or rivulet, where three lairds lands meet,' and dip your left shirt-leeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet Deeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and some time'near midnight an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand obje& in qneftion, will come and turn the Deeve, as if to dry the other side of it.

+ Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are rawged; he (or the) dips the left hand : if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a mạid : if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty diska, it foretels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.

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