Leith, and Glencross, not far from the high waterfall, on the latter stream, said by some wiseacres of late to be in Habbie's How; and that such is the popular opinion! A large octavo volume of his poems was published some years ago, corrected by Mr Maclaurin of Dreghorn, near Kinleith, who wrote, and prefixed to it, an account, and portrait of the poet. Less attention has been paid to them than they de

serve.

His

The south, as well as the north, side of Ramsay's favourite Pictland Hills, has, likewise, its native selftaught bard, of the same trade too; who resides in the village of Carlops, and was born in a cottage, called the Turtle Bank *, over the Esk and Washing Green, south from New-Hall House, and east from Habbie's How, in the very middle of the original scenary of THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. name is JAMES FORREST, the son of a labourer, and author of several poems in the Scots Magazine, with the signature J. F. His genius is of a serious, plaintive, cast. He furnished the anecdote of Ramsay, repeated in the description of the Craigy Bield; and also, among others, three poems connected with the scenary, which have considerable merit, and are subjoined, to show that the popular

* See the Map.

opinion on both sides of the Pentland Hills, on this subject, perfectly agrees with evidence, and common

sense.

VERSES,

IVritten after taking a walk through the WASHING GREEN, and HABBIE'S How, at New Hall on the North Esk; by JAMES FORREST of the village of the Carlops.

Addressed to Mr BROWN of New Hall.

WEAK are the strains my humble muse can show;
With hand unskill'd I touch the trembling string;
Fair science never taught my heart to glow,
Nor cleared the way to the Castalian Spring.
In rural solitude, I pass my days,

Among the swains on Esk's fair winding stream;
To please myself, I sing my artless lays;
To court the voice of fame I never dream.

To view the beauties of the pastoral glade,
Awhile, I bid the haunts of men farewell;
To linger, listening, by the bright cascade,

Or through the mazy wood-walk, lonely, stray,
Where bards, of old, felt inspiration's fire;
In yonder “howm" my listless limbs to lay,
Where tuneful RAMSAY strung his melting lyre.

O, could I paint, the white, romantic "Lin;" The fir-crowned steep, high-waving o'er the stream; The twilight grove, the glass-like “ Pool” within ; The ruddy cliffs reflecting yonder beam;

The moss-grown cave, from noon's fierce heat a shade, Fit haunt for love, or friendship's social hour,

Or musing bard, by restless fancy led,

Who seeks, at eve, the lonely birchen bower.

Fair handed spring weaves her green livery here: She rears the primrose on the bank unseen; Robes in its lively dress the thorny briar; And paints the daisy on th' enamelled green. The purple violet, and the hare-bell blue, In gay profusion, ornament the lawn: The lily bends, surcharged with morning dew, Its reddish-white proclaims the rosy dawn.

Thro' these sweet glens still may the muses stray; Where native beauty scorns the show of art; Where the plain shepherd sings his simple lay; And rural innocence enchants the heart.

PROLOGUE

To THE GENTLE SHEPHERD, when acted at Roger's

in the year 1807.

Rig, near the Carlops*, in the

Written by James Forrest and spoken by F. Govan.

:

HERE are no foreign actors with laced coats, Who ne'er can speak a word o' plain braid Scots; But simple country fo'ks, who seek no fame : Just to amuse ye is our greatest aim.

Have patience then a while, till I rehearse
My PROLOGUE Short, in rough unpolished verse.

Thanks be to ALLAN, that queer, funny wight, Who wrote the Play we mean to act this night. What, though it lash some follies o' the age; Fair virtue shines triumphant in each page: Here's steady loyalty, that nought could move; Friendship sincere ; and truth; and constant love; Beauty, in tears while hope eludes her view, Fair, like the lilly wet with vernal dew.

Such were the lays blythe RAMSAY Sweetly sung, When on the banks of Esk his lyre was strung;

As, oft, he wooed the muse, at twilight's fall, Among the green-wood glades around NEW HALL.

So long as May produces smelling flowers: So long as bees delight in sunny hours: So long as truth with innocence shall dwell: So long THE GENTLE SHEPHERD shall excel. Let bigots rail; and kankart critics snarl; And crafty priests about sma' matters quarrel; We scorn, alike, their malice and their rage: There's nought immoral seen upon our stage.

LINES

On returning from the other side of the Pentland Hills, after visiting, in summer 1806, the place, on Glencorse water, which some crazy, interested, or envious persons, have taken it into their heads, in opposition to their senses, and intellects, to call HABBIE'S How!

By James Forrest, of the village of the Carlops.

AE day a thought cam in my pow,
To see that place ca'd HABBIE's How;
Up, near the head o' Glencorse water,

'Bout whilk there's been sae muckle clatter.