RICHARD GALL.

RICHARD GALL, Scottish poet, was born at Linkhouse, near Dunbar, December, 1776; died at Edinburgh, May 10, 1801. At eleven years of age he was apprenticed to his maternal uncle, who was a carpenter and builder. After some time spent in this apprenticeship, he ran away and went to Edinburgh. Here he spent his leisure in study and writing, and was regarded as a poet of great promise. Gall was not destined to fulfill this promise.

FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.

SCENES of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew;
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu !

Bonny Doon, sae sweet at gloamin',
Fare-thee-weel before I gang-
Bonny Doon, where, early roamin',
First I weaved the rustic sang!

Bowers, adieu! where love decoying,
First enthrall'd this heart o' mine;
There the saftest sweets enjoying,
Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine!
Friends sae dear my bosom ever,
Ye hae render'd moments dear;
But, alas! when forced to sever,
Then the stroke, oh, how severe !

Friends, that parting tear, reserve it
Though 'tis doubly dear to me;

Could I think I did deserve it,

How much happier would I be !
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew;

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure;
Now a sad and last adieu!

THE BRAES o' DRUMLEE.

ERE eild wi' his blatters had warsled me down,
Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom,

How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light,

To the knowes yellow toppit wi' broom!
How oft hae I sat i' the bield o' the knowe,
While the laverock mounted sae hie,

An' the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around,
On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

But, ah! while we daff in the sunshine o' youth,
We see na the blasts that destroy;

We count na upon the fell waes that may come,
An' eithly o'ercloud a' our joy.

I saw na the fause face that fortune can wear,

Till forced from my country to flee;"

Wi' a heart like to burst, while I sobbed "Farewell,"

To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee!

Farewell, ye dear haunts o' the days o' my youth,

Ye woods and ye valleys sae fair;

Ye'll bloom when I wander abroad like a ghaist,
Sair nidder'd wi' sorrow an' care.

Ye woods an' ye valleys, I part wi' a sigh,
While the flood gushes down frae my e'e;

For never again shall the tear weet my cheek
On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

"O Time, could I tether your hours for a wee!
Na, na, for they flit like the wind!"
Sae I took my departure, an' saunter'd awa',
Yet aften look'd wistfu' behind.

Oh! sair is the heart of the mither to twin

Wi' the baby that sits on her knee;

But sairer the pang when I took a last peep
O' the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

I heftit 'mang strangers years thretty an' twa',
But naething could banish my care;

An' aften I sigh'd when I thought on the past,
Whaur a' was sae pleasant an' fair.

But now, wae's my heart! whan I'm lyart an' auld,

An' fu' lint-white my haffet locks flee,
I'm hamewards return'd wi' a remnant o' life
To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

Poor body! bewilder'd, I scarcely do ken
The haunts that were dear once to me.

I yirded a plant in the days o' my youth,
An' the mavis now sings on the tree.

But, haith! there's nae scenes I wad niffer wi' thae;

For it fills my fond heart fu' o' glee,

To think how at last my auld bones they will rest Near the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.