The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side,
The wounded conveys, reeling, scatter wide; The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie,
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie: (What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs;
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee, Proud of the height o' some bit half-lang
The hoary morns precede the sunny days,
Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noon-
tide blaze,
[the rays.
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in
'Twas in that season, when a simple bard,
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward,
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr,
By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care,
He left his bed, and took his wayward route,
And down by Simpson's (123) wheel'd the
left about:
(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate
To witness what I after shall narrate;
Or whether, rapt in meditation high,
He wander'd out he knew not where or why)
The drowsy Dungeon-clock (124) had num-
ber'd two,
[was true:
And Wallace Tower (125) had sworn the fact
The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen sounding
[the shore.
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e:
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, Swift as the gos (126) drives on the wheeling hare;
Ane on the Auld Brig his airy shape uprears,
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers:
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr pre-
side.
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk;
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain
them,
[them.)
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race,
The very wrinkles Gothic in his face;
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang,
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat,
That he at Lon'on, frae ane Adams, got;
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a
bead,
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head.
The Goth was stalking round with anxious
search,
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch;It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, He, down the water, gies him this guide'en ::
I doubt na', frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheepshank,
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! But gin ye be a brig as auld as me,
Tho', faith, that day I doubt ye'll never see; There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle,
Some fewer whigmaleeries in your noddle.
Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense,
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, Whare twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet[lime, Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time? There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducatstream (127), [swim,
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you.
Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride
[tide; This mony a year I've stood the flood and And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, I'll be a Brig, when ye'se a shapeless cairn! As yet ye little ken about the matter, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. When heavy, dark, continued a'-day rains, Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil,
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, [source, Or haunted Garpal (128) draws his feeble Arous'd by blust'ring winds and spotting thowes, [rowes; In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring | And agonising, curse the time and place speat, [gate; When ye begat the base, degen'rate race! Sweeps dams and mills, and brigs, a' to the Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's And from Glenbuck (129), down to the Rat- glory. [braid story! ton-key (130), [sea- In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling Nae longer thrifty citizens and douce, Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise! Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house; And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pour- But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gening skies. try,
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost,
That Archietcture's noble art is lost!
Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must
say't o't!
[gate o't!
The L-d be thankit that we've tint the
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
Hanging with threat'ning jut like precipices;
O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves:
Windows, and doors in nameless sculpture
drest,
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest;
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of misguided whim;
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended
knee,
The herryment and ruin of the country;
Men, three parts made by tailors and by
barbers, [new Brigs and Harbours!
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d-d
Now haud you there! for faith you've
said enough,
[through;
And muckle mair than ye can mak to
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle:
But, under favour o' your langer beard,
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd:
To liken them to your auld-warld squad,
I needs must say, comparisons are odd.
To mouth "a citizen," a term o' scandal;
In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can have a handle
Nae mair the Council waddles down the
street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops and
raisins,
Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins,
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp,
And would to Common-sense for once
betray'd them,
[them.
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid
What further clish-ma-claver might been
said,
[shed,
What bloody wars, if Spirites had blood to
No man can tell; but all before their sight,
A fairy train appear'd in order bright:
Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly
danc'd:
[glanc'd:
Bright to the moon their various dresses
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat,
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.
Oh, had M'Lauchlan (131), thairm-inspiring
Sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band
engage,
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore
with highland rage;
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting air,
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares;
ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON.
How would his highland lug been nobler fir'd, | Thee Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,
By wood and wild,
Where, haply, Pity stray's forlorn,
Frae man exil'd!
Ye hills! near neighbours o' the starns, While simple melody pour'd moving on the Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns (136), That proudly cock your cresting cairns!
My wailing numbers!
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens,
Ye haz❜ly shaws and briary dens!
Wi' toddlin' din,
Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens,
Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see;
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie,
In scented bow'rs;
Ye roses on your thorny tree,
The first o' flow'rs.
The Genius of the stream in front appears, Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, A venerable Chief advanc'd in years; His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, His manly leg with garter tangle bound: Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; [Joy, Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye: All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding [show, Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary By Hospitality with cloudless brow. Next follow'd Courage, with his martial stride; [hide (132); From where the Feal wild woody coverts Benevolence, with mild, benignant air. A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair (133); Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode (134); [wreath, Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel To rustic Agriculture did bequeath The broken iron instruments of death; At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.
On Captain Matthew Benderson,
A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT
FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM
ALMIGHTY GOD. (135)
"Should the poor be flattered?”—SHAKSPEARE.
But now his radiant course is run,
For Matthew's course was bright;
His soul was like the glorious sun,
A matchless heavenly light!
OH Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
The meikle devil wi' a woodie
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,
O'er hurcheon hides,
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie
Wi' thy auld sides!
He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn,
The ae best fellow e'er was born!
At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade
Droops with a diamond at its head,
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed,
I' th' rustling gale,
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade,
Came join my wail.
Mourn ye wee songsters o' the wood;
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud;
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud;
Ye whistling plover;
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood!-
He's gane for ever!
Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals
Ye fisher herons, watching eels;
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels
Circling the lake ;
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,
Rair for his sake.
Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day,,
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay;
And when ye wing your annual way
Frae our cauld shore,
Tell the far warlds, wha lies in clay.
Wham we deplore.
Ye owlets, frae your ivy bow'r,
In some auld tree, or eldritch towr,
What time the moon, wi' silent glowr
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour-
Till waukrife morn!
Oh, rivers, forests, hills, and plains!
Oft have ye heard my canty straius::
But, now, what else for me remains
But tales of woe?
And frae my een the drapping rains
Maun ever flow.
Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year!
Ilk cowelip cup shall kep a tear :
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear
Shoots up its head,
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear
For him that's dead.
Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air
The roaring blast,
Wide o'er the naked world declare
The worth we've lost!
If thou art staunch without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man,
This was a kinsman o' thine ain-
For Matthew was a true man.
If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man,
This was thy billie, dam, and sire-
For Matthew was a queer man.
If ony whiggish whingin' sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man,
May dool and sorrow be his lot!
For Matthew was a rare man.
Tam O'Shanter,
A TALE. (137)
Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light; "Of brownysis and of bogilis full is this buke."
Mourn, empress of the silent night!
And you, ye twinkling starries bright,
Stop, passenger !-my story's brief
And truth I shall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o' grief-
For Matthew was a great man.
If thou uncommon merit hast,
Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man,
A look of pity hither cast-
For Matthew was a poor man. If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heartFor Matthew was a brave man. If thou on men, their works and ways, Canst throw uncommon light, man, Here lies wha weal had won thy praise For Matthew was a bright man. If thou at friendship's sacred ca’ Wad life itself resign, man, Thy sympathetic tear maun fa' For Matthew was a kind man!
WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neighbours, neighbours meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And gettin' fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonnie lasses).
Oh Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld the weal thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Mon-
day. (138)
She prophesied, that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon,
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises;
But to our tale :-Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-
They had been fou' for weeks thegither!
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious,
The Souter tauld his queerest stories.
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle-
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy;
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be biest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snowfall in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Nae man can tether time or tide,
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-
That dreary hour he mounts his beast on;
And sic a night he taks the road in
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd,
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The del had business on his hand.
Weal mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scot's son-
Whiles glow'ring round wi prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares.
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh (139),
Where ghaists and owlets nightly cry.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn ;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.
Before him Doon pours all his floods ;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Near and more near the thunders roll ;
When glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou can'st make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil!—
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he car'd nae deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillon brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels:
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim and large,
To gie them music was his charge;
He screw'd the pipes and garb them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantrip slight
Each in its cauld hand held a light-
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;
Twa span-lang, wee unchristen'd bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted;
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled,
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft:
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.
As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew ;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they
cleckit,
Till ilka carline swat and reckit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark ;
Now Tam, oh Tam! had thae been queans
A' plump and strapping, in their teens;
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